#fitting rooms THREE DAYS IN A ROW

[fereldenshero]

lord almighty let this neverending stress end 💆‍♀️

[anashins]

Room 803

Pairing: university student!Jaehyun x kindergarten teacher!reader

Genre: fake engagement au, neighbors au, age gap, hate to love, drama, romance, smut

Word Count: 26k

Warnings: reader is five years older than Jaehyun; Jaehyun doesn't treat women very nicely in the beginning; there is a lot of scheming going on; some characters have a questionable moral compass (cheating, blackmailing, lying, traditional family arrangements); there is an explicit rated scene (handjob, mc gets hand over mouth) and two suggestive ones, all of which you can skip if you want

Summary: You hate your neighbor in room 803 to the core, because his raunchy and very vocal bed activities always keep you up at night. There is no scenario in which you can ever imagine tolerating a lousy brute like him—until you get entangled in a web of lies and your neighbor comes into picture to play along. Your raunchy, lousy neighbor, who, to your surprise, fits the role of your fake fiancé very well. Almost too well.

A/N: Hi! So this is the result of ring window shopping and the Unconditional MV. I drew inspiration for the opening scene from my very own fic "Sinned" that I've first published on Aff. Leave feedback if you want <3 Happy reading! (D-482 until Jaehyun returns)

Finding a suitable apartment in the downtown of a very busy metropolis was a challenge. 

There were many things to consider during apartment hunting: the location, the price, the layout, the facilities, and also the distance to the next station depending on your commute. Nobody wanted to live in a rundown one bedroom on the 10th floor with no elevator and paper thin walls for which you still paid a fortune.

You were very lucky to have none of that.

Your apartment consisted of two rooms in a new building and was located on the 8th floor. It had three elevators, a concierge service, and even a small convenience store connected to the lobby. It cost more than a third of your salary, but with all the benefits, it was worth it. You couldn’t have thanked your co-worker enough to have passed it on to you when she had moved away, so that you could finally live closer to your workplace.

You loved your new apartment. 

But you hated your neighbors.

A neighbor on the 9th floor liked to play the drums for at least two hours a day and usually chose to do that when you had already returned home from work. A neighbor on the 7th floor liked to discuss things very heatedly with his girlfriend right by the window. Three rooms away from you on the 8th floor, there was a dog barking constantly, and somewhere else in the building, a tenant invited guests over to throw a party almost every Saturday night.

But your next-door-neighbor living in room 803 was the worst. 

“Yes, right there! Oh my… yes, yes yes!”

It was 1am on a Sunday night and you were supposed to get up in five hours, not having found even a single minute of sleep until now since the noises had been going on for an hour already at this point.

“Oh… Jaehyun! Ahhh! Oooooh!”

You pressed your pillow against your face and muffled your agonized scream in it. Almost every night, it was the same. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, and you were able to count yourself lucky if he paused these sessions for two or three days in a row. But then they came back even stronger. And tonight was such a night. 

“Yes, oh god… oh my god! Ahhh, Jaehyun!”

You clenched your fist, raised your arm and hammered against the wall. 

But instead of slowing down, stopping or even reacting to you, you now heard his bed pound against the wall that separated your rooms, accompanied by the woman’s constant screaming.

“Shut up, it’s in the middle of the night!” you yelled.

“Get lost, we’re done already!” he yelled back.

Following his words, you then noticed the silence that had suddenly filled your room, finally allowing you to welcome your well-deserved sleep as tomorrow, another long workday awaited you. But your neighbor, of course, didn’t understand as he would start all over again tomorrow night. 

He was a university student in his senior year, his naturally dark hair constantly messy and bleached blond to the brink of extinction, always dressed in joggers and hoodies, and apparently enjoying life to the fullest. 

He was your neighbor Jeong Jaehyun, living in room 803 and your personal enemy since day one.

____

After having tried to conceal the dark circles under your eyes with heavy makeup the next morning, you were late again as you let the entry door fall closed behind you and hurried along the hallway with your heels audibly clacking over the floor. You called for the elevator by pressing the button and waited nervously, praying in silence that you would still catch the next subway.

From behind you, you heard another door getting opened and pivoting around, you spotted a woman stepping out of apartment 803. Or better say, she was thrown out as she only stood in the corridor in her underwear, another two pieces of clothing falling to her feet that had come shooting from the opened entry door. 

“I don’t even get breakfast?” she sulked as she picked up her clothes from the floor. 

“I told you not to rummage through my home.”

Jaehyun emerged by the door now, his blond hair sticking out to all sides as he seemingly tried to block her away back in. He was wearing a bathrobe and was clearly still tired too. Even though you wanted to, it was so hard for you to look away as you were curious about what was going on. 

“You’re an asshole!” the woman ranted while gathering her clothes. “I was only looking for a toothbrush!”

“You can look in your own home.” Jaehyun then dropped something else next to her on the floor while she was still crouching down. “Don’t forget your purse.”

You thought you were fast in turning away from the scene without anyone noticing, but he was faster in catching your curious eyes before you were facing them with your back. You drew in a breath and hoped he wouldn’t call you out on that, but Jaehyun wasn’t that kind of person. 

“Hey, Miss Neighbor!” he yelled. “Next time, instead of complaining… how about joining?”

Bringing your bag closer to your body, you suppressed your embarrassment and looked back again to threaten, “Next time, I won’t be yelling only, but come over with my baseball bat!”

You hated the grin he then threw at you. “So you’re into that kind of stuff, huh? Come over and we’ll see about that.”

Luckily, one of the elevators reached your floor at exactly that moment and you were quick enough to get in before Jaehyun’s one night stand could make it to the door at the same time.

The entire commute to the kindergarten, you thought about nothing else than your lack of sleep and how to finally put an end to this entire nonsense. At this point, it was ridiculous. You had been enduring that kind of shenanigans for one month already, and you were slowly getting fed up. No, actually, you had reached your wit’s end already. In the beginning, it had been all good and quiet, and from one day to another, it had suddenly started.

You didn’t know who had hurt him so much that he needed to compensate for his pain in this manner, but you’d rather he wouldn’t drag you into it. It only forced you to interact with him when you wanted to be left alone altogether to focus on your career.

“What is it?” your class’ homeroom teacher asked you as you entered the common room that morning. “You look so tired again.” 

“Ah, it’s just that I can’t seem to sleep well lately,” you tried to budge as you placed your bag on the desk. “A weird planet constellation or something.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the truth. What were you supposed to say anyway? That your neighbor smashed different girls so loudly every night, it kept you up for hours? People would only laugh at you.

“Try lavender tea,” she recommended to you. “This always helps me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

On your way to your respectant classroom, you were greeted by the children who had just been dropped off and getting ready to start the day.

Teaching children had always been your dream, and being an assistant teacher at a reputable private kindergarten came with few advantages in comparison to public ones, a higher salary was one of them. The hardest part was not the amount of work or the long working hours, but the strict and high-demanding parents whose individual expectations you always had to meet.

But looking into these brightly smiling faces greeting you each morning, it was all worth it.

“There is something I need to tell you,” the homeroom teacher then announced when you reached the door of your respective classroom.

“Yes? What is it?”

She kneaded her fingers in reluctance, her bag clipped between her upper arm and body. “I’m going to transfer to another school.”

“Where would you go?” you asked, perplexed. “This is Shi-A kindergarten. There are no other more prestigious kindergartens in the entire district or even country if I dare say so. Except… It’s not a kindergarten.”

She smiled and nodded. “I’m going to transfer to Shi-A elementary school. A teacher will quit by the next semester and they offered the position to me.”

You grabbed her hands, excitement written all over your face. “This is such great news! I’m so happy for you!”

“Hold on, the greatest part is yet to come.” She was five years your senior, but you saw her more like a sister than your supervisor. “I recommended you to the school board as the new homeroom teacher. The principal has agreed already, we’re currently preparing your recommendation letters.”

You were too stunned to ask more than, “Me?”

She nodded and squeezed your hands back in encouragement. “There is no one better here for this position other than you. You’re compassionate, you’re helpful and intelligent. The kids love you and rely on you. You’re finished being an assistant only, I can tell. And the principal as well.” 

“Me, as a homeroom teacher?” It sounded like a faraway dream.

“Miss!” A girl from your class, Soah, tugged on your coattail. She was holding something out to you. A yellow flower. “This is for you! I just plucked it, it was the prettiest on the playground!”

You took the flower into your hand and thanked her.

“Like I said,” the homeroom teacher commented with a wink as you entered the classroom, “there is no one better for this position other than you.”

____

“Ahhh, yes!! Jaehyun, Jaehyun!”

BAM BAM BAM

“I swear to god, Jeong Jaehyun, it’s 2am now, I will come for you!”

You jumped out of your bed, only dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a simple t-shirt, not bothering about throwing your bathrobe on or slipping into a pair of shoes at this point. You would only go to Jaehyun’s door and ring the bell to interrupt whatever they were doing right now.

“If I’m not getting any sleep, you’re not getting nutted either!”

Tomorrow, you had a very important meeting with the school board members and wanted to be well rested. So at least, for tonight only, you had hoped to get a few more hours of sleep. You had studied possible questions and answers for days by now and were not only tired, but also mentally exhausted.

But, of course, a reckless university student like Jaehyun wouldn’t understand.

When you reached your entrance door, just about to exit your apartment, you halted mid-motion, interrupted by a sound you had never heard before in this apartment building.

The fire alarm.

You were petrified at first, unsure how to react in such a situation as your mind wasn’t able to grasp the entire meaning yet. As it slowly sank down on you that it most likely meant danger as the alarm hadn’t subsided by now, you reacted very fast by finally opening the door and looking to your left and right.

At first, nothing happened, and you questioned whether your neighbors would react according to emergency plans. But then, one door after another opened on your floor and out stormed the tenants, passing by you and running down the stairs like their lives depended on it.

“Damn it!” you cursed and left your apartment the next moment as well, thinking about all your electronics and important papers that were still inside. 

But in kindergarten, you also regularly taught the children how to behave during a fire alarm, and the first and most important thing was to drop everything and get the hell out of the building. So when you were about to run down the stairs, you remembered that there was one person who hadn’t come out of their apartment yet.

“Hey!” you hammered against Jaehyun’s door after you had returned. “Hey! It’s a fire alarm! Can’t you hear?!”

Your own voice didn’t drown out the signal tone, but you tried nonetheless - to no avail. Jaehyun and whoever was with him wouldn’t come out.

“Miss, what are you still doing here?” The middle-aged man whose dog was always barking on your floor approached you with his pet. “We need to leave! Who knows where the fire has spread already!”

“But Jae-”

But the man just grabbed you by your hand and dragged you along the corridor, his strength too overpowering for you to resist. Even with your head turned and your eyes fixated on Jaehyun’s door, you couldn’t spot him coming out.

Inwardly, you just prayed that he perhaps had reacted fast and left already, but as all the residents slowly gathered in the front yard one by one, you couldn’t recognize Jaehyun among the people storming out of the lobby.

You didn’t know why you cared about that brute, just enough to look out for him.

Perhaps, your job as a teacher had made you sensitive to your surroundings and responsible for the people around you regardless of age and behaviour. You wanted everyone around you to be safe and sound, and that didn’t apply to children only.

“Where are you?” you muttered more to yourself as you got on your bare tiptoes and looked over the crowd as the last people were leaving the building, still no sign of Jaehyun.

“Looking for someone?”

“Oh my-!” you called out and stumbled backwards against the person that had just addressed you.

When you turned around, Jaehyun was standing in front of you, fully dressed in checkered pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt, his blond hair reflecting the light from the street lamp. So he had really made it out without you noticing, even after getting dressed. God knew how this had been even possible.

“Mrs. Choi,” you dodged the topic quickly. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

Jaehyun pointed at someone only two meters away from you, an elderly lady from the same floor. “There she is.”

“Ah, I see. Thank god.”

You buried your hands deep into the pockets of your pajama pants and stepped from one foot on another to warm them up a bit. You indeed had left your slippers behind in a hurry and had only noticed when it was already too late, so your toes were now cold and your soles dirty.

“Here.” Jaehyun slid out of his slippers and then stood next to you with naked feet. “Take them.”

“I don’t need them.”

“Look, your toes are slowly turning blue, and even if it’s still warm during the day, at night it’s already chilly since we almost have October already. So take them.”

You crossed your arms to warm yourself up a little more and, with much hesitation though, slid your feet into Jaehyun’s slippers. They were way too big and didn’t protect your feet from the cool breeze, but at least you didn’t need to stand on the cold and dirty asphalt anymore.

“Thank you,” you said.

Jaehyun raised his head up to the building complex. “It doesn’t seem like there is a huge fire anywhere, otherwise there would be fumes coming out of an apartment already.”

Red and blue light caught your both’s attention that was coming from the firetruck currently pulling up into the lane. Different firefighters got ready and stormed into the building in full attire, but Jaehyun was right. You couldn’t detect a fire either.

“Maybe it was only a small one and they managed to put it out already. Or someone was illegally smoking inside the apartment and the detector still picked up the fumes.”

“Whoever that was, they robbed me of a night’s fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, isn’t that unfortunate? If they hadn’t done that, then I would have come for you myself, because I have an important interview tomorrow. But unfortunately, this situation is worse. God knows when we can return to our homes.”

“What interview? Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“For my promotion, it’s in the headquarters. I want to be a homeroom teacher, and in my kindergarten, there is no such thing as weekends.”

“Sounds annoying,” Jaehyun commented.

You flashed your eyes at him. “Of course, for someone who sleeps until midday and whose only aim it is to smash different women every night, this sounds annoying. But I’m a full grown adult with a real job, and if only you knew about how hard it is, you wouldn’t be so reckless with your noises at two in the morning!”

For the break of a second, you had hoped that you could possibly hold a normal conversation with Jaehyun. That he wasn’t that much of a prick, that you could explain yourself and he would understand your standpoint. But he was nothing other than your expected player, and you had had enough of them during your own time in university.

You then fled to the very front of the crowd right by the lobby without Jaehyun following you, and luckily, not much later, the firefighters declared the building safe. The alarm had been set off on the fourth floor by the partying tenant and his guests who had indeed ignored the rules and smoked inside.

You hurried inside along with the other residents, taking the stairs instead of the elevator to linger around long enough until you weighed yourself in safety from Jaehyun’s presence. 

You only returned much later to your apartment than all the others and were back in bed by 4am without having to face your next-door-neighbor again. Too late to get enough sleep still after all.

_____

“We are very pleased with your answers so far, miss.”

“Thank you so much, sir.”

You bowed in your seat, all the weight from the past days getting lifted off your shoulders. Despite the night before being a total chaos and you running on three hours of sleep only, you had made it on time to the interview and had even been able to revise everything during your commute.

Screw Jaehyun, you were great on your own.

“But there is one thing we’re concerned about,” the director said.

As you looked up, you perceived how nervously he was fidgeting in his seat as were the other board members, throwing some meaningful glances at each other. You knew it had been too easy until now. A woman in her late twenties who had only been teaching for three years overall, becoming a homeroom teacher at this prestigious kindergarten that quickly? There was always a catch.

“We’re concerned the students’ parents might not be content with our choice if we decide to put you in that position.”

“What could they be discontent about?” you asked as the director showed reluctance to continue. “I have my degrees, the experience, as well as the homeroom teacher’s and the kindergarten principal’s recommendation letters. With all respect, I am very qualified for this position, sir.”

“We are not concerned about your qualifications, miss.” He paused. “But about your living circumstances.”

You raised a brow. “My… living circumstances?”

“You’re a young woman living alone, who’s also unmarried,” a board member then raised his voice to take the pressure off the director. For sure, they had talked about this in private before. This felt like an ambush. “This is not something that is likely to be accepted among the childrens’ parents as they put great value in traditional family arrangements. As you know, it’s one of the pillars our schools are based on: tradition.”

You scoffed inwardly, but remained expressionless on the outside. Luckily, you knew how to deal with ambushes. You had so much to say about what they viewed as traditional family arrangements, but you loved it here and didn’t want to lose the job on the spot, so you kept your lips sealed and responded as politely as possible,

“I don’t know why my living arrangements would be any parents’ concern. If I can afford a nice apartment close to the kindergarten where I spend many hours preparing everything for their children to receive the absolute best education, shouldn’t that speak for my living arrangement? I also put great value on tradition. Just because I’m not married yet, doesn’t mean I never want to or won’t get married one day. Everyone has their own timeline and this should not block my career.”

“We’re aware about that, miss. But as you might also know, the parents have a fundamental right of co-determination in our schools.”

“Because since it’s a private institution, they finance everything,” you wanted to interrupt, but kept that sentence to yourself only. Instead, you said, “I dedicate all my time and passion to cater to their children. I am one of the firsts to enter and leave the kindergarten, even working more from home. I volunteer to teach on the weekends and during semester breaks. Does this not count more than the fact that I’m an unmarried woman who’s living alone?”

You were pushing boundaries by demanding an answer, you knew that, but it was nothing very reputable board members couldn’t rationally reply to. The fact that they didn’t, only proved that you were right and they were mere cowards under the invisible whiplash of wealthy parents. Without them and their money, their schools’ reputation wouldn’t be where it was now.

“We can’t change the parents’ opinions, miss,” the director eventually spoke up, retreating into a defending mode and putting the blame entirely on the parents instead of standing up for you, an assistant he had approved of hiring two years ago. Again, such cowards. “We will forward your documents and records to them, but that means a background check as well. And, if I may be frank, I can tell that you’re going to get ruled out solely for that reason.”

“Then change it,” you interrupted him. “Change my status to engaged. This is what they want, right?”

“Miss… we cannot counterfeit your documents.”

“They won’t be counterfeited, because it’s true,” you said with a confident voice. “I wanted to keep my private life private, at least until I get officially married. But I have no choice now to announce it before I actually wanted to. Yes, I am engaged and we’re going to get married soon.”

All the board members seemed to be taken aback by your sudden confessions. Perhaps, their reaction was genuine. Perhaps, they also knew you were lying. But what proof would they have to actually ascribe this lie to you? They threw meaningful gazes at each other again, unsure of what to make of this change in the situation. 

“Very well, miss.” The director eventually spoke up and nodded. “I will mention this in your documents and you can hand in a copy of your marriage certificate later when the papers are through.”

“But is this enough time, sir? It has to be decided within two months, the principal told me. I don’t know whether it will be enough time since the engagement is still new and we haven’t set a fixed date yet.”

“That’s true. If you want to convince the parents of your skills and background, I would recommend you to organize the school festival together with them. Volunteer for an activity in which your fiancé can participate as well and show them what a great couple you are. When they’re convinced, the paperwork will only be formalities.”

You swore you saw one corner of his lip tug up, either in malicious glee or in pure relief. Did he know?

“I understand, sir.” You bowed deeply. “Thank you very much.”

“And one last thing… You can start wearing your engagement ring from now if you don’t want to make a huge announcement. It’s more convincing.”

Oh, he knew. But he couldn’t care less as long as you didn’t get him in hot waters.

You nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir.”

On your way home, you stopped by a jeweler and picked out a nice, but cheap ring, a replica of your own dream ring, just beautiful and sparkly enough to get this lie through.

____

You had dedicated your entire life to this kindergarten, not only neglecting your family along the way, but also your friends. 

In fact you hadn’t talked or even answered your friends in months. You didn’t know what they were up to nowadays except for what they were giving away through status updates in your texting app. You scrolled through your contacts in the messenger, but sighed whenever one of the rare male names popped up. Some of them were married already, two had children.

They had all been your friends in university, but you hadn’t talked to any of them in an embarrassingly long time, so there was no one you could ask. How awkward must that be for someone to suddenly get a message about going along with a fake engagement from an old classmate they hadn’t seen in years?

“I’m so screwed!” you groaned and stretched out in your bed, throwing your phone aside. “Oh god, why!”

Perhaps, it was time to look for a new job, even though you loved the children and Shi-A kindergarten was the best reference for your CV. There was no coming back from all your lies anyway. Until now, you couldn’t quite grasp what had brought you to tell them what they wanted to hear. You should have just accepted their answer and moved on. Why did you have to be so impulsive at times, needing to get what you wanted right away?

People did separate before their wedding, that was possible, so there was a way out after all. You could stay an assistant teacher for several more years, there was nothing wrong with it. But the shame and pity you would need to deal with afterwards… 

The next moment, you sat up, your train of thoughts getting interrupted by the door bell, and the person behind the entrance was someone you hadn’t expected that day as he had never come over before.

“My shoes.”

“Huh?”

“My shoes.” A barefooted, messy blond-haired Jaehyun pointed at the shoe rack behind you. “You still have them.”

“Ah, right.” You quickly grabbed them and dropped the pair in front of his naked feet. “Here.”

But Jaehyun didn’t slip in right away. Instead, he questioned, “How did it go?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Did what go?”

“The interview.”

You growled and your tongue loosened over the newly awakened stress, “Apparently, they don’t want a young, unmarried woman, who’s also living alone, teaching their children, so it did not go very well. It went all downhill when I said that I was going to get married soon to save my promotion. They invited my fake fiancé to the kindergarten to help out at the festival so that the parents get a chance to bond with him.”

“So you’re getting married?” He sounded as perplexed as the board members. Why was it such a big deal to imagine you getting married anyway?

“No! I’m not! That’s the catch. Now I have to get a fake fiancé from somewhere.”

“Hm. So you lied.”

“A bit.”

“Hm. Doesn’t sound like a bit of lying in my book.”

“I know, okay? Thanks for pointing it out.”

You didn’t know why you had told him all that. Perhaps, among the path you had chosen for yourself, you had lost all your friends and now had no one you could talk to whenever you faced a problem. He was just there, at the right moment.

“Really sucks for you.” Jaehyun shrugged and slipped into his shoes. He then turned around and disappeared back into his apartment.

You could have also talked to a wall.

____

“You never told me that you were engaged! And what an amazing ring with such a big diamond!” Your homeroom teacher jumped up and down in excitement as you two made your way to the entrance gate in the late evening at the same time as club activities ended. “I didn't even know you had a boyfriend! All this time you were keeping it a secret!”

“It has spread quite fast, hasn’t it?” you laughed out shyly.

“Totally! Is he going to help out during the school festival? My theater class still needs volunteers and your fiancé can join as well.”

“Sure,” you lied. “I can’t promise anything for him though, because he’s so busy, but he’ll try.”

“Has he ever been here though?” she asked. “Have we ever seen him?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

She pursed her lips. “Then who’s that?”

“Who’s what?”

She stopped in her tracks and pointed at the entrance gate. “The dark haired man standing there who clearly doesn’t look like he’s here to pick up a child since he’s only staring at you.”

Shifting your head, you spotted your neighbor standing right by the gate. You had barely recognized him, because the light blond hair was gone and now dyed dark. No way! What was he doing here? And how was he looking?

“It’s him, isn’t it? Hello!”

“Hey!” You grabbed her arm and pulled it down. “It’s just… he’s an introvert. Wait here, please.”

With hurried steps, you approached Jaehyun who didn’t break eye contact along the way. Surprisingly, he was dressed business casual today, in a pair of slacks and a button up. In combination with his new hair color and the strands neatly combed aside, he looked… decently handsome. It was not like he hadn’t been attractive before, that was a thought you had always tried to push away. But now it was like a fact you couldn’t run away from any longer.

You wondered whether there was a reason. Maybe, he had a date set for later. Good for him to take the women finally out and not always straight to home. Good for him to have finally found a woman who didn’t put up with his former appearance.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him without a greeting. “This is my workplace, you can’t just appear out of nowhere!” Your gaze scanned the environment and you could tell that you two had already caught a few parents’ attention, so your expression softened. “What is it?”

“I locked myself out of my apartment,” he explained. “I kind of typed the code wrong into the system and cannot get inside anymore. So I need to open the door from the inside.”

“And how is that exactly my problem?”

“I need to crawl out of your window to get into my apartment since I’ve left it open anyway.”

You frowned. “Are you nuts? Just go to the lobby and let them call the landlord!”

“There was no one there.”

“There is always someone there!”

He heaved up his shoulders. “Maybe an emergency.”

“Then use your phone!”

“I left it in my room.”

“And that’s why you came all the way here instead of asking another neighbor?”

“I thought since I’m locked out anyway, I can just come here instead of waiting. I knew where the kindergarten was located because of an envelope that had once found its way into my mailbox by accident. And I didn’t know whether you’d return directly after finishing classes or whether you’d have a date with your imaginary fiancé.” He suppressed a chuckle. “Or other imaginary friends.”

“You find that funny, right?” you chided. “But this is the job of my life. This is my life.”

“Alright.” He lifted his hands up in defense. “Can we just go home then?”

“Yeah, let me just…”

“Excuse me, you’re her fiancé, right?” Your homeroom teacher had suddenly popped up next to you, apparently too excited to be kept waiting around. “I’m sorry to butt in, but I’m so happy to finally meet you, because none of us have known about you until today! She’s so secretive!”

Perhaps, because there was absolutely nothing you could tell about your boring life. And even if, Jaehyun surely was not included! You wanted to clear up this misunderstanding when suddenly, you realized that this was your only chance to go with your lie.

He was a man. 

And he was here. 

You had no other option.

There would not be another chance this easy.

You should thank the heavens that today was the day he had decided to leave his bleached hair and joggers at home.

“That’s true!” you then declared and linked arms with Jaehyun. “He came here today to pick me up since I’ve already come forward with the truth. I’m sorry that I haven’t introduced you sooner. This is Jeong Jaehyun.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jeong!”

You pinched his arm and felt how he sucked in a rush of air. Given he knew the context, he understood. You only prayed to the heavens again that he would just go with it. The logistics of this all, you would figure out only later.

“Nice to meet you too! I’ve already heard so much about you,” Jaehyun greeted back politely.

You didn’t believe your ears. Even if you had hoped so, you hadn’t actually thought that he would play your imaginary fiancé so well from the spot. 

“I already suggested that you volunteer in my theater group for the school festival, but she said you’re always so busy. Nonetheless, I still hope for you to step by every now and then, or at least come by on the day of the festival itself. That would be awesome as many of the teachers’ families and the childrens’ families are also visiting. It’s a chance to get to know each other.”

Jaehyun smiled broadly. “Of course I will help out as well, that’s a given. I’ll make time, no worries.”

“Such a polite and kind man!” Your homeroom teacher beamed at you. “Where have you been hiding him all this time?”

That was a question you were asking yourself now as well. 

____

“Nice furniture,” Jaehyun commented when you walked into your apartment. “But a bit too tacky for my taste.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my interior. I still don’t know why you just didn’t refer to the lobbyist who’s already back by now.” 

“Calling the landlord and setting a new code is just too much hassle and takes up too much time. This way, it’s quicker.”

You opened the window in your bedroom and dragged Jaehyun across the carpet by his arm. “Then, get out.”

“When should I be ready?” he asked instead and turned to you.

“Be ready for what?” You blinked in puzzlement.

“The theater activity.”

“There is no way I’m going to let you join me in school!” you quickly defied him. “You’re… loud, rude and reckless! Only this one time was enough, there were enough witnesses to prove your existence.”

Jaehyun cleared his throat. “In your teacher’s words, I’m a very polite and kind man.”

“Only to authorities, apparently.”

“I can be very nice!”

“But not to me.”

“You’ve never given me a reason to be nice to you.”

You halted. “And the women you throw out every morning? You’re not nice to them either.”

“That’s a whole other story. I only throw out the rude ones, sometimes they get breakfast.”

You snorted when he grinned. “What’s differentiating me from them?” 

“They’re an obligation. You’re a choice.”

“So you’ve chosen to be mean to me?”

“No.” Jaehyun climbed on the window sill. “I’ve chosen to act according to what you’re giving me. Have you ever been nice to me at all? All you’ve ever done was hammering against my wall and ignoring me whenever our paths cross. That’s not very nice. Today, I’ve chosen to do something nice for you. Can I expect the same from you? I’m not quite sure.”

And off he went, out of the window, leaving you behind with much food for thought over what had happened since you had moved in. With slow steps, you returned to your living room, taking a seat on the couch. You stared into nothingness, pondering over Jaehyun’s words thoroughly. 

What did you know about him, actually? Not very much, if anything at all. Where you had spoken to your other neighbors almost in an instant upon moving in, you had never given Jaehyun a chance to properly introduce himself. You had quickly written him off as a player who you didn’t want to get involved with. What could you have in common anyway since he was so much younger?

But as a preschool teacher, you knew how dangerous it was to hold such prejudices towards people you didn’t know. This wasn’t your philosophy. 

So two hours later, you stood in front of Jaehyun’s door. It was past 9pm already, but you had to do the deeds today, otherwise you were afraid that all courage would leave your body by the end of the day.

“What is it?!” Jaehyun barked, then stopped. “Oh, it’s you.”

You held out the plate in front of him, still not having gotten used to the dark hair. “Here.”

He raised his brows, looking at a simple chocolate cake. “What’s this?”

“A peace offer.”

You didn’t dare to look him in the face, but his hand finally moved and clasped around the plate, touching yours in the process. With a slight smile on his face that you encountered when you lifted your head, Jaehyun took the cake.

“Peace offer accepted. So, when’s the start?” 

You inhaled deeply. “Wednesday.”

“I’ll be there.”

“But why?” you still wanted to know. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I think there might be something you can give me in return.”

Of course, there was always a catch. “And what would that be?”

Jaehyun made a meaningful pause. “Tutoring lessons.”

You nearly laughed out loud. “I teach kindergarteners, not university students. I mean, yes I studied with the focus on elementary school, but higher education is not my forte.”

“Isn’t it the same? Teaching people, who don’t know stuff, stuff they must know?”

“I don’t even know your major, your courses! How am I supposed to help you?”

“I’ll send you my sheets beforehand and you can teach me to understand the essence of them.”

You stood there, totally flabbergasted as you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the situation yet. “And that’s all that you want?”

He nodded. “That’s all.”

“It’s not on par with what you offer to me.”

He shrugged. “For me, it is.”

You didn’t know why, but you quite didn’t believe him fully. Either he bore some ulterior motives or he was so bad in university that he was on the brink of failing his classes anyway. In regard to his lifestyle, you could very well imagine the latter. Why not hire a professional tutor then? What was the point of all this?

“Fine,” you then gave in. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow right away. I’ll send you the stuff.” 

You walked out of the door, but not before shifting around to him one last time. “Your new hair color… I like it. It suits you. Though I was used to always seeing your hair first before your face.”

“I still have to get used to it as well.”

“Why did you dye it?”

“I thought it was time for a change.” Suddenly, his gaze fell on your finger. “That’s the ring I have supposedly given you? I should know about it.”

“Princess cut, two carats. Or so it seems.” You held out your hand and looked at the piece of jewelry. “Actually, it’s my dream ring, but it’s not real, just a cheap replica. I hope nobody will notice though as they surely wear diamonds much bigger than that.”

“Women… such an enigma. I never understood why they pay so much attention to an expensive engagement ring anyway. Triple the amount of the man’s salary it should be, no?”

“First, that kind of scale is already dated. Second, I share your opinion. But…” You were about to say something very private, but you felt safe enough to do it at that moment, “I haven't grown up being able to afford nice things myself let alone getting these kinds of things gifted. So the thought of me being so important to someone to invest in valuable jewelry for me means very much.”

“I see.”

He nodded acknowledgement and let you leave.

____

According to his papers, Jaehyun was studying business management. 

You didn’t know much about the subject, but the papers were quite clear with what they wanted their students to grasp, and as it was indeed your job to teach even preschoolers exactly how to study the material, you didn’t see a reason as to why it would be different with your grown up neighbor.

Of course, upon entering his apartment for the first time, you had also scanned the entire space that was exactly like yours in the layout, only mirrored. Against your expectations, he was furnished and equipped quite comfortably and modernly, not too spartanic as you had expected from a young man his age. The door to his bedroom was closed though. Too bad, you were curious about that one the most.

“That’s quite a delicious cake!” Jaehyun praised as he sat down next to you at the table, the plate with the slice in front of him. “You’re a good baker, I have to admit.”

“Having to participate in many kindergarten events, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“Say.” Jaehyun put his fork back on the plate and leaned in to you. “Why do you love this job so much? Aren’t you annoyed by the children? The parents? The other teachers? Having people around you all day long?”

You flipped through his papers, marking the passages you deemed worth memorizing. “Of course it gets stressful and annoying when, for example, children won’t listen, when you can’t meet the parents expectations or when the teachers put so much pressure on you. But…” A smile spread across your face that Jaehyun still encountered even though you had kept your head low. “... the reward, when they all succeed in the end, is all worth it.”

“Hm.” He kept staring at you, and his unwavering gaze made you flush a little. “Sounds legit for someone like you who loves her job so much, she’s willing to put up with a fake engagement.”

“I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am now,” you explained to him with a calm voice. “I don’t want to throw everything away because I’m an unmarried woman.”

“What’s so bad about being an unmarried woman?”

You hadn’t expected such a question. “Nothing, honestly. It just doesn’t meet their norm.”

“And when it’s all done… What will you tell them? That your fiancé left you at the altar? That you broke off your engagement?”

“By then, if you play along, I will have the job already. And yes, then I will then tell them exactly that. That we’ve broken up.”

“I see.” Jaehyun leaned back, giving you room to breathe again. “Well, if you think so.”

“Can we start with your studies now?” you asked. “We’re not only here for you to question me.”

“Of course.” Jaehyun took the fork in his hand again and broke a piece off the cake that he then led to his mouth. “Go on, what should I know?”

In the two hours you were teaching your neighbor, you came to the conclusion that there was no difference between being his teacher or one to your kindergarteners. Even though Jaehyun was a university student, you could maintain your teaching methods despite having a different subject at the base.

“I’m done!” Jaehyun raised his arms and stretched himself. “Finally!”

You closed the books and jumped out of your seat. “It’s almost 11pm already! I need to go, catching up on some sleep.”

“Ah yeah, my visitor will also be here soon, so you better hurry.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Can you please stay a bit calmer tonight for me to sleep in peace?”

He winked jokingly. “As I said, you can always join. But today, I will, as a thank you for your tutoring lesson.”

He didn’t keep his promise.

____

“Miss, how do I look?” A little boy from the parallel group appeared next to you, dressed as an apple tree. His expression radiated insecurity, but you remembered very well how pumped he had been about finally landing a role in the play. “The others are all laughing at me.”

You crouched down and took the boy’s tiny hands into yours. It was Wednesday, so this was another evening dedicated to the preparations for the festival. His costume consisted of brown pants and a green shirt. He also wore a headgear that framed his face from which apples made of polystyrene were hanging. 

“You look amazing! Don’t listen to others. Your role is very much important. And you know why the apple tree is so important in the play?” He shook his head and you squeezed his tiny fingers in encouragement. “Because you’re the only apple tree. Without you, we wouldn’t even be able to perform. So regardless of what the others say, remember that you’re one of a kind, that you’re unique and very important. Okay?”

Now, a bright smile spread across his face. “Okay!”

You arose from your crouching position and turned around to let your eyes scan the hall. Then, you spotted your neighbor for whom you had waited already. And he was not alone.

With fast steps, you descended from the stage and nervously approached Jaehyun who was currently having a seemingly nice chat with a parent. And not any parent as a matter of fact. In front of him stood Shi-A schools’ main investor, and you hadn’t prepared him for that kind of situation! 

You had aged Jaehyun up to one year your senior and had also come up with a background story both of you agreed on was believable enough. Of course Jaehyun couldn’t be a student in front of these successful parents who were all directors, doctors and builders. You had first suggested for him to be a lawyer, but, in his words, Jaehyun didn’t want to be “such a stuck up suit-wearer”.

“Ah, miss, there you are!” Mr. Nam, Soah’s father and the owner of several bank branches across the country, welcomed you as you joined their chat and came to a halt next to Jaehyun. “I’m so disappointed that I haven’t gotten to meet your fiancé much sooner! Such a charming and smart man!”

You looked at Jaehyun who had dressed up in suit trousers and a white button up again, his hair neatly slicked back with only one strand falling into his face. His entire presence radiated a successful businessman, inferior to no one. You were quite impressed, he looked very much believable. And insanely handsome.

“Mr. Nam, it’s so good to see you! Yes, my fiancé is usually really busy, so I’m glad he was able to make time today to help out with the preparations for the festival,” you explained. 

“Of course.” Mr. Nam nodded. “I was only able to come today, because I canceled a meeting to see my precious Soah. I know what it’s like to run a business and having to miss important school events, so I talked about that with your fiancé. I didn’t know he was a COO!”

You tried to hide your surprise and forced a smile. Jaehyun had chosen to be involved in running a business according to his major, the age old enough to be COO, but not CEO yet. You just hoped he knew what he was talking about with the professionals, being so close to graduation.

“You know, honey,” Jaehyun addressed you, and it made your skin crawl how he used this pet name for lovers, “Mr. Nam invited us to his getaway in the countryside in two weeks.”

The middle-aged man nodded. “Mr. Jeong and I have instantly bonded over our occupations and our weekend getaway will help him form connections. Several friends of mine as well as parents of this school and other business partners will be present too. Your fiancé is still fairly young and new to the business as a COO, but I’m always pleased to show the next generation their way. It will be a great chance for you both.”

You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. Two years of working at this school and no parent had ever invited you anywhere. But it had taken Jaehyun literally five minutes only to get invited on a weekend getaway with the main investor! 

This was such a big chance for you to strengthen the bond with the most influential parents and investors, and show them that you were indeed capable of doing this job right - with and certainly without a man. 

“Of course we will join, Mr. Nam!” You bowed to him. “We’re very grateful to have received this invitation.”

Mr. Nam went on with his duty of helping his daughter and Jaehyun followed you to the stage. 

“You know that it’s not going to be easy during that weekend, right?” 

“Yes, but I need this weekend. If they see that I fit in, they will acknowledge me as a capable teacher, even without a marriage certificate. This will be the best opportunity to win their favor and then play the broken hearted teacher who they will all sympathize with after my breakup. Only Mr. and Mrs. Nam’s approval is enough, and every other parent will do as they say, that’s how powerful they are.”

“And what does being a capable teacher have anything to do with you being married or not?” he genuinely wanted to know. “You said there was nothing wrong with you being an unmarried woman living alone.”

You stopped in your tracks and smiled crookedly. “Apparently, they pay much attention to tradition, I told you already. And an unmarried woman living alone does not live up to their expectations since they’re very conservative. But I’m sure I can prove to them-”

“This is bullshit and you know it,” Jaehyun interrupted you dryly. “If I were a parent, I would favor an unmarried woman, who is a great person herself, to teach my children rather than someone trapped in a loveless marriage, who passes on her misery to her students.”

“You’re not wrong, but what can I do? It is how it is.” You shrugged. “Are you saying you’re not with me in this now?”

“Of course I still am if you also still want it. But as I said, it’s not going to be easy.”

“Why? It’s going smooth now as well.”

Jaehyun cleared his throat. “Well… we truly have to act like a couple, you know, since it’s a private setting. With all the pet names, skinship and stuff, honey.”

Again, you cringed. “Shut up, Jaehyun, it’s not that deep.”

He laughed. “If you say so…”

You two approached the stage, stepped on the platform and immediately had a group of boys run towards you. 

“Mister, you’re so tall,” one of them said to Jaehyun. “Can you help us hang these lights up please?”

“Of course!” Jaehyun agreed with genuine joy. “Where do you need them?”

“Over there, please!”

He rolled his white sleeves up his elbows in preparation. With much caution, Jaehyun took the string of lights they had been holding out to him into his own hands and attached them shortly over his head to the background of the stage.

“You wanna do this yourselves?” he then asked the boys as they came over to him with another chain of colorful lights.

“But we’re too short!”

“Not anymore now!” Jaehyun got on his knees and lifted one of the boys up in the air. “You’re tall enough now?”

The boy giggled and pumped his fist. “A bit higher, mister, please!”

“Alright!”

Jaehyun laughed along with them and stretched out his arms until the boy could reach the marked spots in the background. The child was effortlessly able to attach the lights onto where they belonged before Jaehyun set him back on the floor.

“Thank you, mister!”

You watched the scene with a smile, unknowingly. The fact that Jaehyun was this good with children had been a secret to you too, until now.

Perhaps, he wasn’t always your prick of a neighbor and there was much more to him than his nocturnal activities. Somehow, this piqued your interest and you wanted to get to know more about him in all sincerity.

____

“So, you got the gist of it, right?”

Jaehyun nodded. “Enough for me to not flunk the exam this time again.”

“Alright.” You snapped the book shut and stretched yourself. “I’ll get going now then.”

“Are you hungry?” Jaehyun asked instead when you made a move to raise from the chair. “It’s past 9 already and I’m hella hungry.”

“Well… I haven’t eaten anything since lunch and just wanted to go to the convenience store to grab a quick bite.”

“I’ll prepare dinner.”

It was a subtle invitation, and although he didn’t speak it out, he wanted you to stay for a reason you didn’t quite understand yet. Reluctant at first, you wiggled in your seat, unsure of what to do. But Jaehyun didn’t leave you much room for decision as he already opened the refrigerator and took out a sealed pack of chicken.

“Should I help you?” you asked and jumped up, eager to put this awkwardness behind you.

“Yeah, you can cut the vegetables. They’re in the fridge, I just put them in there just in case, so they’re not frozen yet.”

“Okay.”

When you opened the fridge, you spotted the cake you had given to him, only halfway eaten and frozen. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, and surely not openly, but it kind of hurt you. Yet, you couldn’t bite down a snarky remark.

“You could have just told me the truth instead of lying… that it doesn’t taste good.” 

Jaehyun looked up from the chicken he was currently washing, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Your disappointment broke through your facade eventually. “The cake. It’s still there.”

With careful deliberation, Jaehyun put the meat on a cutting board and took out a knife. “Because I don’t want to share it.”

“What?”

“I can’t eat too much sugar at once. So one, at the most two, slices of cake a day does suffice. I used to grind my teeth in my sleep, so they’re very sensitive now and hurt when I eat too many sweets at once.”

“Oh, it’s like that.” You paused. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of this problem…” Again, it dawned on you that you knew absolutely nothing about Jaehyun. If you had known he wasn’t able to eat an entire cake within a few days, then you would have brought something else. “But you’ve had enough visitors over the past couple of days to share it with them, you don’t have to trudge through eating it to the last bites, you know.”

“But I want to!” he then defended himself and turned around to you. “I want to eat it all by myself, I don’t want to share it with anyone else what you’ve made only for me.”

This was not a joke, nor a mocking comment. He meant it in all honesty. You just had no idea why. 

“Okay.” You closed the door to the fridge with the vegetables in your hand now. “I’ll help you cut the ingredients. But we should probably hurry before your visitor comes, right?”

You didn’t want to sound mean by mentioning this topic, but the syllables fell from your lips much sharper than you had intended. It was none of your business anyway, but as you took the leek into your hands, you realized that you couldn’t help but to be curious about his lifestyle.

He shrugged. “It’s still a few hours, we’ll be fine.”

“But every night a different woman? Why don’t you get a girlfriend? Don’t misunderstand me, I just genuinely want to know.”

Jaehyun didn’t even bother thinking about coming up with a morally right answer. “I did have a girlfriend.”

“And?”

“It sucked.”

“Then you just didn’t have the right girlfriend for you.”

“We were together for three years,” he clarified and proceeded to cut the chicken while you did the same with the leek.

“Did she cheat on you?” 

“No. She stole all my money, lied about it and disappeared from my life from one day to another.”

“Holy-” You swallowed the rest of the sentence, your cutting hand now pausing too.

“My parents weren’t very fond of her from the beginning and told me to cut ties with her as she wasn’t the ideal daughter-in-law for them anyway. But I was a rebel and wanted to date whoever I wanted just because I could. She only used me as a money machine, and everyone knew - except for me as I was in denial. The me back then was so blind and so in love. I did everything for her, and in the end, I was left alone, robbed of my money and unfavored by my parents.”

You didn’t know what to say as you hadn’t expected such an honest conversation with him. The tough and cool Jaehyun had been through some miserable phases indeed, and you somehow regretted not having asked about it much earlier. 

“Jaehy-”

“It’s okay.” He brushed it off and put the sliced chicken in the pan. “Not all women are bad, I just need to pick better. Next time, I need to be a hundred percent sure she’ll be my future wife.”

“It’s odd hearing these words from a university student.”

“Why?”

“Nowadays, from my own dating experience, I can say that marriage or children are not one of the top priorities for many people wanting to enter a relationship anymore. They struggle a lot with these nowadays for so many reasons, most of which are valid, like money and economics. So I’m positively surprised to hear you’re not one of them and actually want to marry out of love.”

“Do you want to marry one day?”

This question took you aback. “Yes, for the same reason as you, actually.”

“Mhhmm. And do you believe there is someone out there for you?”

“Yes, I honestly believe it. When there is you and me already, here in this very room, then there are also more people with the same mindset out there in the world. I’m sure, there are many women who have so much genuine love to give to a man like you, even when you’re still so young.”

“A man like me?” You now made eye contact. “What do you mean a man like me?”

You averted your eyes again as you started to list while finishing cutting the leek, “You’re caring, because when we were standing outside on the night of the fire alarm, you noticed that my feet were freezing. You gave me your shoes to wear even when that meant you needed to freeze yourself. And I was so mean to you that night. You’re helpful, because you come to every single festival preparation date and support everyone wherever they need a helping hand, kids and adults equally. And not a single complaint comes out of your mouth. You’re intelligent, because even if you need my help to understand a subject, you’re quick to solve every answer in your very own way. On top of that, you volunteered to play the part of my fake financé. And to this day, I still don’t know why.”

Jaehyun was about to turn on the stove, but then stalled, looking at you partially confused, partially what you somewhat interpreted as… touched? His features then softened and he was moved by your words, you clearly saw it in his eyes.  

“Look at you, Miss Neighbor. Not knowing what you’re blabbering again.”

You cracked a smile and put the leek in the pan with the chicken. “It’s just the truth.”

“I help you out, because you’re a good person who is being treated unfairly. Is that so hard to believe?”

After how you had acted in his presence before all this? It was very hard to believe. 

“So you think it’s better if I stay in my old position and choose the conventional, non-scheming way?”

“I’ve seen you around the children. I think you’re too good of a teacher to waste your potential on insufferable parents who are too stuck up to question their own values.”

After this short time only, he had seen through this all, and was holding such a high opinion of you?

As you continued preparing dinner right here in room 803, of which you had never imagined setting a foot in, you came to the truthful realization that your neighbor was not resentful towards your behavior from the beginning anymore. 

Then, you started to forgive yourself as well. 

This dinner had been an invitation to do exactly that, and you were grateful for it.

____

“My, my… hello, miss!”

You turned around and encountered Mrs. Nam, Soah’s mother, approaching in your direction. Another Wednesday meant another preparation and practice evening for the kindergarten festival that was set to take place this weekend.

“Hello, Mrs. Nam.” You bowed deeply. “What brings you here?” 

“I heard my husband talk about your fiancé so fondly last time, I wanted to meet him personally since you’re going to accompany us to the getaway next weekend, right?”

“Yes, we feel so honored. What a pleasure!”

A lie. You hated this woman to the core. She didn’t care much about Soah, but more about her reputation and appearance. Yet, she was the main investor’s wife and thus one of the people you had to convince of your capability to be her daughter’s homeroom teacher.

“I'm going to introduce myself,” she declared and strutted away.

Jaehyun was currently sitting in a circle with several kids, helping them prepare their costumes with a glue gun. The kids were talking excitedly to him, interacting with him and laughing along with him. The scene warmed your heart and you smiled the longer you observed them. Jaehyun was so popular and got along so well with them. 

“Miss!” Little Soah stood in front of you. “Look what Mr. Jeong made for me!” She raised her arms and presented a golden crown to you, adorned with pink plastic jewels. “He helped me glue the jewels on. Now I’m a true princess, right?”

You smiled and patted her back. “Yes, you truly are! Here, let me help you put it on.” You got on your knees and settled the crown on her head. “All good now.”

“Miss, when you’ve married Mr. Jeong, are you Mrs. Jeong then? Should we then address you as such?”

“I guess so,” you laughed. 

You weren’t worried about the rest, because you were going to break this fake engagement off anyway. But somehow, her question had caused a lump to build in your throat that you weren’t able to swallow down. 

“Then I’m happy,” Soah beamed through her missing front teeth, “because I like him very much!”

With jumpy steps, she hopped away in her crown as your own expression fell. That was something you hadn’t thought about before. The fact that the kids could get attached to Jaehyun. Or the other way around. Eventually, you would need to break their world apart and rob them of a person they had gotten emotionally attached to. But that was life, wasn’t it?

“Everything alright?” You got stunned as Jaehyun suddenly appeared next to you. “You’ve been standing like this, totally motionless, for a solid minute.”

You nodded. “Have you talked to Soah’s mother?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “A very annoying woman.”

“Right?!” you whispered to him with a giggle, relieved he shared your opinion. 

“And she totally has the hots for me,” Jaehyun mentioned almost nonchalantly as he made his way to the stage.

“Wha-” You quickly fell into his step. “What are you saying?!”

“That she wants to rip off my clothes and take me right here and now. That she wants me to bend her over one of these small tables and make her scream in pleasure. That she-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” you stopped him and feigned choking noises. “She favors you. It’s nothing surprising, honestly. She apparently has a weak spot for younger men and even teachers here. It’s an open secret she stays married to Mr. Nam for the sake of their business, and it’s also an open secret that some men here, teachers and parents equally, have fallen for her charms already.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Charms… Exactly.”

At the same moment, you lifted your finger. “Don’t you dare! I swear, Jaehyun, you’re involved here to help me with my promotion, not cause havoc. Stay as far away from my childrens’ parents as possible!”

Jaehyun stopped in his tracks, lifting his hands in defense. “I know, I know. I get it. Don’t worry! She’s annoying and not my type either way.”

“Because she’s much older than you, hm?” 

Somehow, this assumption put you at ease, but not fully. Because, in the end, you were five years older than Jaehyun as well. You weren’t quite able to wrap your head around the reason as to why this even bothered you in the first place. 

“No,” he denied. “I don’t mind age. Neither do I mind education or status, despite my parents saying so. I embrace smartness, wittiness and the gift to enrich my life.”

“And the girls you bring home are none of that?” It was supposed to be a tease, but your curiosity for an answer dominated the entire question. 

He laughed, scarcely and briefly. “Hell, no!”

“I see.” This was a response you could live with very well, along with the statement that he didn’t mind an age gap. 

“But this Mrs. Nam…” Jaehyun lowered his voice. “She’s neither of those qualities that I’m looking for. She’s only a shell with no personality who’s been living in her husband’s shadow and seeks quick affairs for validation.”

You were quite flabbergasted, because his judgment seemed totally on point. “Well, you nailed it.”

He smiled smugly. “You said I’m smart after all.”

You playfully slapped his arm. “This again?” 

“Nevertheless,” Jaehyun continued, “you’re all that, Miss Neighbor.”

You frowned. “All what?”

“Smart. Witty. And an enrichment to my life.”

With these words, he jumped on the stage where the children already came running towards him.

And you were left behind with hot ears and a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

____

As you had expected, the school festival turned out to be a success, and with as many parents attending as possible, you had been able to introduce Jaehyun as your fiancé to everyone who was interested in finding out who that young man was, supporting and playing with their children.

It had warmed your heart, seeing how they all got along so well with Jaehyun that, the further the day had progressed, the warmth had turned into a stingy ache. The sheer fear that probably, you would never find someone like him again to replace the hole that he would most certainly leave when you had to call this entire thing off.

After all, this was only a pretense. 

Wasn’t it?

____

The weekend after the festival, you drove all the way out to the countryside to spend two days in the Nam family’s second residence. Jaehyun had apparently rented a car and he was a naturally good driver, you had to admit. 

The family’s holiday home consisted of three big houses in different sizes that were all connected to each other and formed a huge residence, surrounded by many acres of nature. There was a tennis court, a pool, a festive terrace, and even a few horses grazing in the fields. The residence overall looked both spectacular and intimidating to you, who had never set foot into such a habitation ever before.

“This is your room,” the housekeeper announced to you and Jaehyun when she opened the door.

You swallowed, hard. This was a fact that had totally passed by you. The room where you were supposed to spend the night only had one bed. No couch, no canopy, nothing else to lie down on except for this one bed. 

“Thank you very much,” Jaehyun said gratefully, not having lost a single ounce of his composure in comparison to you who was still too stunned to speak. 

He led you into the room and closed the door behind him, dropping your two bags on the floor. It was a nice room that, apart from the queen size bed, had a balcony and huge windows where the sunlight was able to stream in. 

“You brought your tennis clothes, right?” Jaehyun asked, and at that moment, you were quite relieved he hadn’t encountered your sleeping arrangement problems yet or chose to purposefully ignore it. Either of it was fine for you as for now, there was another hurdle to master before this day would end: lunch, followed by tennis with the Nams, and then dinner.

“Yes, I just haven’t expected that you would be able to play.”

He snickered. “Oh, you would be surprised about many of my skills.”

“Ew, if this means what I think it means, stop it!”

“Come on, did you always have this huge stick up your-”

You lifted one finger to silent him. “Don’t say it out loud!”

“Fine,” Jaehyun gave in and shrugged. “But try loosening up every now and then, even when you’re in teacher mode. I tell you, life is much more fun like that.”

You decided to ignore him and circled the bed that was somehow ironically the center of the entire room. You then seated yourself on one side of the bed where you dumped your bag on your lap and started unpacking. 

“I’m sleeping on this side and you on the other. You're gonna stay as far away from me as possible and we’ll build a wall of pillows. If I catch you breaking through the barrier at any point during the night, I’ll kick you.”

“I promise, I won’t touch you.” And then, he added sneakily, “Unless you say so, of course.”

Luckily, he couldn’t see your face as you arose and put your clothes in the closet. 

Your cheeks were so heated.

____

Lunch went by fast with you not having to interact with the Nams much as you had eaten at another table. But you were able to connect with a few other parents whose favor you had won very easily - mostly thanks to Jaehyun who was perfect in his role and did most of the chit chat himself. You didn’t complain, it played all too well into your cards as smalltalk wasn’t your strongest character trait anyway. 

Jaehyun nailed the late-twenties COO scheme like he was living it in reality. It was insane how well he knew about almost everyone’s work environment as though he had indeed already graduated years ago and could keep up with the other guests in regards to business talk. He seemed well-educated, eloquent and charming. He was perfect in his role.

"We’re doing well, but I feel like we could improve our international growth a bit,” one man on your table, also the parent of a child enrolled in your kindergarten, pointed out. “The European market is proving to be a bit more complex than anticipated."

"I hear you,” Jaehyun acknowledged. “Expanding into Europe can definitely be tricky. It’s a diverse market with varying regulatory environments, consumer preferences, and competitive landscapes.”

“What’s been your experience so far in terms of the challenges?” the man asked back. “Have you already tested the waters?”

You inhaled sharply. How was Jaehyun supposed to answer that? 

“Yes, we did,” he replied almost nonchalantly though and sipped at his water glass. “Is it more about local market adaptation, or are there specific operational or regulatory hurdles that are slowing things down for you? Personally, I can tell-”

It was unbelievable. But you were not complaining and just let him do his job while you shifted your attention to the women at the table. One of them was the business man’s wife who had just asked about the European market, and thus a parent of the child attending your kindergarten as well.

“I heard that you were very popular among the children, miss,” she told you with a smile that didn’t seem quite sincere. 

Perhaps you were just paranoid, but you believed that by now, working among mischievous children for years already, you were able to tell the difference. With another two women turning their attention towards you, you felt like you had been thrown right into a shark tank, and your lifeline in the form of your fake fiancé was in no sight but caught up with the European business market. 

“I heard so too, miss,” one of the other women chimed in. “Tell us, what makes you so different from other teachers? One would guess you aren’t strict enough.”

There it was, the flash of guile that nearly simultaneously was visible in all the women’s eyes for not even the blink of a second, yet it hadn’t passed by you. You weren’t determined to let these hyenas eat you up alive, you had worked too hard to come this far just to let mean girls make you give up.

“I believe I strike the perfect balance between kindness and strictness,” you explained with a calm voice, but under the table, you were nervously kneading your sweaty fingers. “Every child knows they can always come to me, be it for struggles concerning their school experience or personal ones.”

Instantly, the eyebrows of the student’s mother raised up. “Personal struggles?” she nearly squealed, but the loudness luckily got drowned out by the heated business talk of the men at the same table. 

“Does this mean you’re asking them about personal things?” the second woman pressed the topic.

Now, you furrowed yourself. What were they on? “What I mean by it is that if my students ever encounter problems of any kind that they cannot share with anyone else at that moment, my door is always open for them, and they know it.”

“For me,” the third woman intercepted, “it sounds like you’re more of a friend than a teacher.”

“Respectfully, that’s not what I said, and I apologize if I delivered the message wrongly. But-”

“Oh.” They looked at each other meaningfully and let you become quiet before the first woman picked up the conversation again. “Are you saying we are too uneducated to get the gist of your sentences?”

You were completely flabbergasted. You had already gotten to know many parents, but always in a safe environment and in the presence of other teachers where they had never acted like this in any scenario possible. Was this how the parents treated the teachers in private? Was this the environment the children grew up in and you would need to deal with on a daily basis when you got the promotion?

While you were still in your thoughts and preparing a reply in your head that didn’t consist of any curse word, you suddenly felt a warm hand wrapping around yours under the table and giving you an encouraging squeeze. 

“What my fiancée wants to say,” Jaehyun interrupted confidently, but politely, “is that with the educational environment given nowadays, teachers are trained to be strict and rule with an iron fist. They are pressured to push their students towards the top regardless of their feelings and needs. Thus, the children feel pressured themselves and rarely have no authority person they can turn to.” You halted your breath, and the women apparently did as well as they looked at Jaehyun with shock over his provoking words. He was harshly criticizing the entire education system for which, to a huge part, the parents were responsible for as well. “Under these circumstances, they really appreciate a teacher like my fiancée, who does not only make sure that every child reaches its full potential at this young age, but she also gives them the feeling that not all teachers only care for their success, but also for their personal wellbeing. And if this is not a trait that more teachers need to have nowadays, then I don’t know what is. I think your children are very lucky to have a teacher with a strong message like my fiancée.”

The entire table had quiet down at this point to listen to Jaehyun’s words who still had not let go of your hand. He was right, to a hundred percent, but speaking these words out among these people was like an invitation to get you fired on the spot. 

“I agree with Mr. Jeong,” a female voice behind you then said, and as you shifted around, you spotted Mr. and Mrs. Nam standing right behind you. “His fiancée teaches my daughter Soah and not only does she get the best grades, but she’s also very happy with her teacher. I think we need more teachers like her.”

This was a support you had never expected of ever receiving. From them? And then, the men at your table, followed by the women, agreed with the Nams vocally. Was it really that easy, would they go with everything this married couple wanted just to stay in this circle? It was an interesting observation. 

But then, your gaze fell upon Mrs. Nam who stared at Jaehyun, and then everything fell into place. 

Well, if it helped with your promotion, then you would let her look at him as long as she wanted. 

As long as he only looked at you and held only your hand, just like now.

____

“Ouch.”

“I thought you were able to play tennis?” Jaehyun asked as he carried you up the stairs in a piggy-back. “I didn't expect you to trip and fall all within the first fifteen minutes.”

Even though you weren’t able to see his expression, you felt that he had to clearly suppress a laugh right now. “Be quiet, I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

“Ah, did someone maybe sugarcoat their skills a bit too much? To your luck, the Nams were just as shocked and cared more about your wellbeing than your lack of skills, so all’s good. I believe they found it rather endearing.”

You grumbled and lowered your head, resting it on his shoulder. Jaehyun had regularly only worn loungewear, so you had never quite made out the shape of his body. Or you had never been particularly interested in it. But now that you were being carried on his back, you couldn’t help but feel his strong muscles tense beneath your body, lifting you like you weighed nothing for him. 

It was true. You had only taken three tennis lessons and had then dropped it for the lack of time and motivation. But since this had been not too long ago, you had thought the experience would suffice. You had been so, so wrong though. Mr. and Mrs. Nam were immaculate and Jaehyun didn’t fall short on them.

Was there something he did not master?

“Who are you even?” you asked Jaehyun when you were finally through your room’s door. He placed you on the bed where he inspected the wounds on both your knees. “Honestly, Jaehyun. It’s like you’re not only blending in, you’re really… living this role.”

Jaehyun approached the door to leave again and get a first aid kit, but not without pivoting back to you one more time and saying with a meaningful and nearly reproachful tone, “You still haven’t cared enough to get to know me on a deeper level, right? All you wanted to know so far was about women, not me as a person. You’d wonder how easy it is to find information about my family online if only you know enough.”

And with that, he left you alone in your room with not only scraped and bleeding knees, but a heart that slowly started hurting nearly just as much.

It was true. You had been too busy with preparations for the upcoming events, pulling through your scheme and working towards a potential promotion, that you had not once put a single thought into Jaehyun as a person. You had wondered at times, but had never really made the effort.

Wasn’t that what he had preached about you earlier? That you were so open-minded, the children could always come to you? So why did you lack this skill when it came down to your personal life? That was probably also very much the reason you barely had friends left anymore. Too selfish, too focused on your career and only using people for the sake of your own benefit. Like Jaehyun.

But you didn’t want to continue with this behaviour anymore and eventually become like the parents here, so bigoted, condemning and toxic. You couldn’t let that happen to yourself.

So you did what Jaehyun had wanted you to do all this time: You just looked up his name online.

… And stared at him with your mouth agape when he returned to the room with the first aid kit. 

He stood by the door, unsure how to proceed. “So, you know.”

You threw your phone on the bed and folded your arms across your chest. “Why did you never tell me?”

“Well, did you ever ask?” His gaze was sharp, but he didn’t seem reproachful anymore as he had most likely caught on the deep regret reflected in your eyes. “All you ever did was assume based on what you’ve seen or heard in some cases. Assuming I was some lazy student with nothing in my mind except for women. There were enough hints given by me for you to look through this facade. But you never cared in the first place.”

That was true, but it was also part of your job. Children were more likely to never tell you what was going on in their lives, so you had to be really attentive as a teacher. Most of the time, you were right about their current feelings, especially the struggles, despite them not talking about it. 

This skill apparently didn’t apply to adults as you had gotten proven wrong several times today already. Adults were way smarter in hiding who they truly were, only revealing what they wanted others to see. Jaehyun was the perfect example.

“I’m sorry.” Your head dropped and you only heard how Jaehyun shifted in his position, followed by his footsteps approaching you. 

He then knelt in front of you and opened the first aid kit as he started talking, “The corporation is my parents’ business, I have nothing to do with it and don’t want anything to do with it.”

“All this time, I thought it was just a company that you’ve made up yourself when you talked to the businessmen during lunch.”

“Of course my position was made up, and it won’t take them too long to find out that a certain Mr. Jeong, who coincidentally holds the same last name as its CEO, is indeed not a COO, but an entirely different man.” He took out some disinfectant that he then sprayed on your hurt knees. You inhaled sharply and under much pain, but were determined not to make a sound. “I’ve grown up in this business environment, so naturally I’m very conversational in this matter if you had wondered about that. I just know a lot of business chit chat to make them keep talking, nothing that needs too much deep dive into a topic. I also took tennis classes when I was younger and the car we came here with? That’s also mine.”

You gulped. You had not even asked about the car at all. All that you had been doing was assuming and assuming and assuming. You had pegged him as a lousy student from the very beginning, and not once had it crossed your mind to ask him about anything. 

All you ever had to do was ask, and he would have replied in all honesty - just like now.

“You said you wanted nothing to do with your parents’ business,” you repeated his words when he gently patted your knees with a clean cloth. “Why?”

“Currently, I’m still under my parents’ guard and sadly also financially bound to them. I didn’t have another choice after what happened with my ex, even though I really despise my current situation. I was lucky enough that they didn’t cut off my financial support altogether, otherwise I couldn’t study at all. But at least I can live alone and thus can taste a bit of freedom and independence. They expect me to join their business after my graduation, even though I refused so many times already.”

“What do you want to do then?” You were genuinely curious now. “If not joining their business?”

“Start my own business.” He then pulled out a long string of band aid and cut respective pieces from it, two in the sizes of your injuries. “I was able to enroll in this top university with a promise to my parents that I will join them after my graduation. Hell will break loose when I come forward with the truth though, but I will pay it all back to them. That is why I’m now saving up as much money as possible to be independent after my studies. There are so many varieties of fields business management is useful for.”

Gently, Jaehyun put a bandaid on your injury, one on each side. His touch was so tender, almost feathery-light, and you shuddered comfortably. “What kind of business do you have in mind?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I will eventually find out. After my graduation, I want to travel around first and go to Europe, see a little bit of the world. And then it will all fall into place, I’m positive about that. If anything, I don’t want to be dependent on my parents anymore and follow in their footsteps. I want to be my own person, I need to be.”

“The bleached hair… the women… when you only hung around in joggers… Was that some kind of rebellion?” A glimpse into a life he had never been fully able to live out under his parents’ guard. A bit of fun.

“Let’s say I got raised very strictly by my parents, just like the children in your kindergarten, so I can very much relate.” That was why he could grasp exactly how the parents and children felt. He had grown up in this exact environment. It all made sense now. “My mother nearly fell off the chair when she saw that I’ve bleached my hair and wanted to send me to a hairdresser right away. My father stopped bothering me about joining business meetings. It worked all to my favor. It’s not that I’m not grateful that they still help me out, they just haven’t learned to respect my own wishes. Maybe one day, when I’m successful too, they’ll eventually understand.”

“So, why did you agree on doing this with me then?” you wanted to know when Jaehyun put the utensils back in the kit. “Just to practice your skills for the future? For the connection? Because I don’t believe you need that much tutoring after hearing all this. Or was it solely for fun?”

“Perhaps,” he interrupted hesitantly, “I just wanted to help my Miss Neighbor when she needed someone without asking for anything in return, because nobody ever helped me. Is that too far off when I need to answer this question again? Does it not fit your narrative?”

Nobody ever helped him? Ouch.

So people could really be selfless. People like Jaehyun.

Even though you were older, you were still able to learn so much from him.

“You don’t fit my narrative at all,” you reluctantly confessed. “But I am willing to change it.”

He lifted his head to face you and smiled in agreement. “There you go, all good now.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you too.”

“So, Europe,” you picked up the topic again, swung your legs onto the bed and leaned back into the pillows. “Which countries excite you the most?”

That afternoon, you learned that Jaehyun had never been outside of the country, which really shocked you considering how wealthy his family was. But you also learned that, as the only son of successful business people, there had never been more to his world than his parents’ own little world. They had offered to send him abroad to study, but he had declined as he had never been on his own and got cold feet. Something he deeply regretted now.

You realized that Jaehyun had been living under the pressure and expectations of his strict parents all along and was only now slowly discovering the world. The fact that he fully went out in university, additionally with another woman by his side almost every night, was a response to his upbringing. You had studied this in your major.

It was the mere acts of a boy who had only discovered freedom, as he should.

“Living on my own was already a huge step towards independence. I can’t wait to see more of the world,” he elaborated, sitting on your bedside now. “Have you already been somewhere out of the country?”

“Japan and Vietnam, yes,” you replied and yawned. “But that was a long time ago, even before I studied.”

“You’ve never been to Europe either?” You shook your head. “Then you should consider coming with me.”

“I’ll probably be a teacher soon, Jaehyun. Even now, I hardly get any time off, so sadly, I won’t be able to do that. But it’s nice to dream about it. Maybe in the future it will be possible.”

“Hm.” He arose from the mattress and suggested, “You seem tired, how about you take a short nap until dinner? I’ll wake you up then.”

“Oh, that would be nice.” You yawned again. “But what are you going to do until then?”

“Making sure you'll get that job you really want.”

He was fascinating you more and more with each bypassing day.

____

During dinner, you were seated at the Nams’ table, exactly at the opposite of the married couple. You didn’t miss the fact that Mrs. Nam seemed to be in really high spirits, and she and her husband had asked about your wellbeing more than once.

“Tell us, Mr. Jeong, how did you meet your fiancée?” Mr. Nam eventually wanted to know from Jaehyun. 

You had prepared yourselves for this, you had made up an entire story about your first meeting with all the details someone could be curious about, and the rest you would just improvise. Jaehyun was supposed to say that you had met in university since you had both aged him up to fit the storyline.

“We first met when she moved into the apartment next to mine.”

Thank god you were already done with the main course, because you were sure you would have choked on your grilled beef they had served earlier.

“It was early in the morning, just a few days after she moved in. She was in a rush and I had just come back from an all nighter at the library. It was exam time and I suppose she was also in a hurry because of these circumstances.”

At least Jaehyun stayed true to the fake story by making you both university students. But what was he up to, why didn’t he follow your plan in all details? 

You desperately tried to lock eyes with him to give him some kind of signal to stop this, but he ignored you on purpose and just smiled at the guests while telling the story. Though he reached his hand out to your lap, searched for your fingers and embraced them as though in reassurance. Reassurance about what when he was not acting according to the plan at all?

“I was in the lobby, about to get on the elevator when the doors opened and a young woman stormed out of it. She had her bag in one hand, books and her jacket in the other, as well as a cup of coffee balancing on her fingers. She unsuccessfully tried to close the lid with the hand that was holding her bag.”

Wait… 

This was not a made up story. You vaguely remembered being in such a situation shortly after you had moved in. Instead of running late to university, you were running late to work, because you had calculated the commute time wrongly from this part of the city, even though it was closer to the kindergarten. You had successfully wiped this memory out of your mind, for the reason of…

“She was so caught up with her stuff that she didn’t see me and just stormed out of the elevator as soon as the door opened,” Jaehyun continued and earned a few giggles from the listeners. “She bumped right into me and the next moment, I had her coffee all over my shirt.”

… for this exact reason. It was too embarrassing to be kept as a memory. And the guy from that fateful having turned out to be Jaehyun himself was the cherry on top. Why had he never said a word about this incident?

Your embarrassment visibly showed on your cheeks as their color changed, gaining you a few amiable gazes from the guests. 

“She barely looked up as she apologized and tried to drop all her things to clean up the mess.”

“But I didn’t,” you remembered, speaking out loudly, “because you said I should hurry up and go to wherever I needed to go right now, and then cleaned everything up yourself.”

“Exactly,” Jaehyun laughed and a few joined. “You apologized three times and ran out, and I cleaned up the mess with the help of the lobbyist. I knew someone in such a haste had to be somewhere important early in the morning, and I didn’t want to be a hindrance to that, even though I didn’t know you yet.”

A few women at the table let out an “awww”, Mrs. Nam being one of them. 

Now, Jaehyun turned to you and met your confused face with a confident expression of his own. “I had barely looked up,” you added, “because I was too embarrassed, so I couldn’t remember your face. I was just hoping that I would never meet that person again, whoever it might have been.”

Jaehyun addressed the guests and declared, “Fate was not on her side when it turned out to be her next-door-neighbor. Luckily for her, I never mentioned it.”

Laughers from all sides now and you had a hard time keeping your mouth closed that was constantly on the verge of falling agape at this story. You had had no idea.

“Why not?” you then pressed the topic, your role threatening to crumble as you quickly filled in, “I think everyone here is curious as to why you have never told me until we got together.”

“Because I knew how hard working and busy you always were.” You returned to looking at each other, now unsure whether he spoke through his role or spoke as Jaehyun himself. “And I didn’t want to teeter your attention and let our first meeting get overshadowed by an embarrassing moment for you that might bear negative echoes. From that day on though, I was determined to win you over another way and kept this story a secret for later on. I just haven’t expected how difficult that would be.”

“A real gentleman,” a woman commented and she gently nudged her husband in the side.

“For two months, I was trying so many things to get her attention. But it turned out to be rather challenging, because this woman wouldn’t look at me even once if it was not for pouring coffee all over me.” Jaehyun covered his face with the back of his hand as if shyness threatened to break through. “I held the door open for her, waited for her in the lobby, took the same elevator or coincidentally ran into her in the convenience store. All to no avail. She didn’t spare me a single glance again. Not even when my attempts went more…” He paused and withdrew his hand, letting a serious expression full of regret flash by his face before it returned to his gleeful mien, “... vocal. I think at some point, she even started resenting me. But for me, it was enough. She finally recognized me.”

You didn’t know what to feel. It was a totally new story for you, and you were so sure he had just come up with it. But on the other hand, the entire storytelling sounded too real, too full of details and emotions to have just been made up on the spot. 

And the way he looked at you while telling all that... It was a story for the public, but the way he delivered it, the way he still held your hand under the table, indicated that he was telling it to you, and only you. The entire table, even the room, didn’t exist anymore, only you two.

Your fingers started to tremble.

“So, how did you eventually win her over?” Mrs. Nam asked curiously and Jaehyun’s gaze swiftly shifted to hers before returning to you. 

“I found out she needed help with a small favor, so I offered it to her. As to not make it so obvious and awkward for her again, I feigned to not be as good at studying as I actually am and needed to get tutored by her. Otherwise she would have never accepted my help without giving anything in return, or the feeling of it. And the rest is history.”

The crowd was partially in awe and partially shocked at this bold move. You belonged to the latter. Was this still part of your scheme? Then why was he telling the story so close to the truth?

“Mr. Jeong saw what he wanted and went for it,” Mr. Nam concluded. “That’s a true businessman here.”

“How did you react?” Mrs. Nam then wanted to know from you. “Finding out he schemed his way into your heart?”

It was supposed to be a funny remark, but you were not amused by it one bit. Yet, you brought yourself to crack a smile that was far too crooked to be genuine and shook off Jaehyun’s hand from yours. 

Luckily, no one noticed. 

Except for Jaehyun himself.

“I was totally shocked,” you answered Mrs. Nam. “But it turns out his scheming abilities have become really beneficial for him as he’s always geeting what he wants, am I right?”

Everyone at the table failed to notice your disappointed tone and made the connection to Jaehyun’s business skills as they all started talking again, first complimenting his traits, then falling back into a talk about what to invest in next.

Dessert arrived the next moment, but as you looked at the Panna Cotta in front of you, you didn’t crave for it one bit anymore. In fact, you felt sick to your stomach, and Jaehyun, whose hand now was placed on your thigh in a comforting gesture to make amends, was the cause of all this.

“Excuse me,” you quietly apologized, but nobody noticed you arising from your seat and then disappearing into the hallway.

Jaehyun followed you instantly.

____

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time we met. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Shut up, Jaehyun, I don’t want to hear a single word anymore!”

He was right at the other side of the door, waiting patiently while you were sitting at the other side in your room, grabbing your head in despair and trying to string together the words that had just come out of his mouth. 

“But it’s true,” he said with a softer voice now. “What more can I say for you to believe me?”

“All these women…” It just didn’t make sense in your head. “You wanted me and still were with all these women.”

“I was only with them, because I couldn’t be with you. Sometimes, I’m just… a little boy still. What else was there for me to do when the woman I love wouldn’t even look at me? I’d rather had her look at me with disgust than not looking at me at all.”

A long pause followed. 

“Yes, you’re just a little boy, Jaehyun. You’d rather trick me than tell me the truth straight up.”

“What would you have said if I had one day just appeared at your doorstep and asked you out? Me, a student, five years your junior, who cannot even compare to the men you meet every day at your job? Sometimes, I regretted wanting to go a different path than what my parents mapped out for me just so that I could keep up with them. But I thought, if you finally got to know the real me, all my other qualities, you would eventually see that I am indeed a match to them. A match for you.”

“But that is no valid reason to lie to me! First the tutoring lessons that you clearly didn’t need just to spend time with me, then…” You gasped. “Had you also lied about getting locked out on that day you appeared at the kindergarten?”

The day he had suddenly exchanged his casual clothes for decent ones and had dyed his hair back to dark. That had not been a fateful coincidence. The fact that he had come to your kindergarten on that exact day dressed like that, it had all been carefully planned.

“I knew you probably thought I wouldn’t be the right candidate for that role with my appearance back then, so I wanted to prove to you that I, indeed, was the best choice with my background, and adapted according to the circumstances. I genuinely wanted to help you, even if not for selfless purposes only. I wanted you to want me too.”

“You tricked me, you manipulated me, and you schemed all your way into my heart.”

You heard him shuffle through the door, probably as perplexed as you were as you repeated your last words in your head. Oh no. You were grateful that he let it pass by him though.

“I’m deeply sorry. I am just a boy who didn’t know how to handle his feelings and who was used to getting whatever he wanted. I think I still have a long way to go to grow up.”

You pulled your knees close to your chest and hugged your arms around your legs. “Why today? Why did you choose today to reveal everything? In front of all these people? Was it one of your schemes too?”

“Not once did I have in mind that I wanted to hurt you. I came out with my feelings today, because they were genuine, and your reaction would be genuine too. And it worked, everyone out there believed it. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Yes, this was everything that you had wanted. But why was it hurting so much then? Not only because Jaehyun had gone through all these lengths to make your dream come true, but also because you had wasted this much time together. So, so much time.

“So what if I disposed of you right after this?” Your voice sounded icier than it was supposed to, and he noticed it. “Would you have told everyone the truth out of spite?”

“After all, is that what you still think of me?” His pain was almost palpable and you regretted your question right away. Perhaps, because you wanted him to answer differently, but he replied just like you had secretly wanted him to, “If I had helped you make your dream come true, and you had still chosen them over me, then yes, I would have been very hurt. But I would have been happy for you, too. Isn’t that what love is about?”

This was probably the most mature thing he had said to you today. “And if I had chosen you?”

“After tonight, I believe that if it comes down to me and them, you would pick them.”

Was that what he was thinking of you now? Your heart ached when you asked, “Why do you think that?”

“I saw what you’re dealing with, what you try to achieve. You are too much of a hard worker to throw this all away for a normal student with no real plans, no perspective. Someone who can offer you nothing but a promise that he will work hard to help you achieve everything you want.”

A student with no perspective. Was that how Jaehyun saw himself? 

Yes, he had grown up in a business environment and surrounded by wealth, but he was an enrichment to your life without all that too, in ways your workplace and the people in it had never been. Yes, you loved your job and your students, they were the center of your world, and you were working so very hard for achievement after achievement. 

So hard that it had totally passed by you that you yourself had been the center of the world for someone, and it was actually nice to finally have a person look at you when you had only been overlooked by exactly these people before, who you were trying so hard to impress. And what for?

Jaehyun might only offer promises, but he always made sure to live up to them. Wasn’t this worth so much more?

“I’ll go downstairs again,” he then announced quietly when you didn’t say something in an uncomfortable long time. “If you don’t feel like coming, you can stay here and I’ll find an excuse, don’t worry about that.”

Your front teeth sank into your bottom lip. Jaehyun had been right. Perhaps, you would have called him an idiot for having asked you out the very first day you met. 

“Idiot!” you called out to him now for a whole other reason as you opened the door and dashed after him.

With much surprise twinkling in his eyes, you now stood in front of him and crossed your arms. 

“What?”

“You’re an idiot,” you repeated. “If you believe that after everything, when it comes down between you and them, I’d pick them, then you’re an idiot. Because I’d pick you.”

Jaehyun didn’t have much time to process what you had just said as you slung your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you. 

The moment you kissed Jaehyun for the very first time you realized that all of this might not have entirely been a scheme at all, from both of your sides. 

He kissed you back with much passion and fierceness, and you felt that exactly these feelings had been lingering inside of you as well.

You just weren’t sure for how long already. In the end, it didn’t really matter.

____

“Here?” you asked Jaehyun with widened eyes when you fell back on the bed.

He crawled on top of you. “Do you think I’ll wait any longer for this?”

“But everyone is still downstairs, finishing dinner.”

“Good,” he whispered and kissed your neck. “Then no one will hear us.”

You chuckled when his playful pecks turned into sensual kisses and he eventually started sucking on the sensitive skin. Goose bumps spread all over your upper body, and you couldn’t remember when you had last been with a man while Jaehyun… You balked.

Immediately, he heaved up his head, looking at you with a surprised expression. He stroked your temple. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t want to admit it. The fact that you felt intimidated by his experience despite you being older. That you felt inferior to all the women he’d ever let in his bed that were far prettier than you. Or so you thought.

But Jaehyun didn’t share your opinion when you hesitantly tried to explain your worries to him.

“You don’t have to worry about any noise coming from my apartment anymore. Because you’re the only one who’s gonna lie in my bed from now on. Okay?”

“Okay.” You giggled when he kissed your cheek. “I really like that.”

Jaehyun sat back up on his knees while suggesting you to keep laying still. He reached out his hands and unbuttoned your blouse. You helped him take off the piece of clothing by winding your body to the side for better access. He then brought his head down to the beginning of your breast and placed a light kiss on a spot that made you shudder. 

With both his pointer fingers, he then searched for the straps of your bra and pulled them aside. You wiggled your arms out of the tightness it had provided, having Jaehyun drag the underwear down enough only for your breasts to lay bare. You turned your gaze to the ceiling and hoped he wouldn't notice your flushed cheeks as you weren’t quite sure what to do or how to behave anymore. 

But Jaehyun, on the contrary, knew exactly what he was doing and how to behave. He put your nipple between his lips and started sucking on it, supporting his body with one hand. A pleasurable feeling streamed through your body whenever he wetted the mound and had his teeth gently tug on it. 

With his free hand, he massaged your other breast that had still remained untouched, and the blissful feeling of being pleasured on both sides suddenly started coiling between your legs where you already felt Jaehyun growing hard in between.

“You like that?” He was suddenly up by your ear again, muttering, “By the sounds you make, I take it as a yes.”

You had made sounds? You hadn’t been aware of that, but Jaehyun seemed to enjoy it very much, judging the way he beamed at you. 

He helped you up to a seated position so that you were able to take off your bra entirely before he let you fall back onto the mattress. Jaehyun had his own shirt unbuttoned and on the floor the next moment, and you swallowed a gasp at how well built he actually was. Prominent muscles showed off abs and his arms were unexpectedly muscular. You stared at him in awe, somehow desiring to have his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Like what you see?” He flashed a grin.

Jaehyun was on his knees now, fiddling with his belt that he intended to open, but you couldn’t wait that long to finally touch him. So you arose from your position and grabbed him by his belt yourself. With one swift motion, you had him freed from this barrier, but didn’t withdraw your hands right away. Instead, you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants yourself.

Jaehyun stayed patiently silent during your actions, his hand entangled in the hair at the back of your head. When you were about to drag down his pants, a huge bulge was already foreshadowing what you would find underneath. Yet, you still let out a gasp when you slid down his boxers and his cock sprang free in front of you. 

You lifted your hands, but then halted. “May I…?”

You didn’t know if asking was even necessary, but given that it was your first time with him, you wanted to be sure that he really wanted his intimate favors to be returned. 

“You may do whatever you want with it,” Jaehyun growled in anticipation of what was about to come.

You cupped his entire length with one hand and watched in amusement how his head rolled back in satisfaction. His chest irregularly lifted with each breath when you started moving your hand up and down. 

You cracked a smile, speeding up your motions that then elicited moans out of Jaehyun that he eventually successfully suppressed through gritted teeth. People were still dining downstairs, but you also didn’t want to risk being overheard. With your thumb, you slid over the tip of his dick that was already wet and sticky from his precum.

You looked up to Jaehyun who turned his gaze down to you, probably wondering why you had suddenly stopped. But then he found you looking at him with much lust, bringing your thumb to your mouth from where you then licked up all his precum.

It was one of the hottest things Jaehyun had ever seen, and he immediately brought your faces together to kiss you passionately and fiercely.

Not much later, you were laying on your back again, entirely naked this time, and Jaehyun was settled between your legs, his elbows braced against the mattress on either side of your head. He nudged you to open your thighs, and you were more than willing to finally welcome him.

Jaehyun did everything in his might to reassure you as you distorted your face at the sharp pain shooting through your lower abdomen upon him entering you with his tip. It had been a long time, so your body was not adjusted to this kind of stretching anymore, and it let you feel it. 

Jaehyun moved very slowly though, with pauses in between, until he was fully sheathed inside of you. And eventually, when he stilled to let you adapt, pain turned into the long awaited pleasure. Suddenly, him filling you out so fully was not an inconvenience anymore, but something inside you screamed for him to go deeper than that so that you would feel more of him. 

Your fingers interlaced in the back of Jaehyun’s neck and his lips came down to kiss you over and over again. He wanted to be assured that you were really okay with him continuing before he ultimately started stroking. 

It still stung when he withdrew himself. But after only two thrusts, you felt nothing anymore except for the ungraspable desire for him to push inside you again. And again. And again. Whenever he pulled out, you couldn’t bear to have him in this position for too long, because you wanted him to hit the spot he had just found. And again. And again.

“Shhhh-” Jaehyun halted and laughed quietly before kissing you. “You want everyone to hear you now?”

“Oh!” You brought your hands in front of your mouth to suffocate the moans that you apparently had let out unconsciously. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t ever be sorry. You can moan if you don’t mind them.”

But you shook your head. “I don't want them to hear, but I just can’t help it.”

Jaehyun nodded in understanding and started thrusting into you again. And again, you let out a moan despite your efforts to keep your lips sealed. You slid your arms under his and hugged his back. Simultaneously, you brought your legs up and hooked them behind him. The bed shook under you, but luckily it was not making much noise. 

Gently, you bit into Jaehyun’s shoulder to muffle your sounds, and as he didn’t react to it with a wince of pain, you got assured that it was okay for him. On the contrary, he got even braver now. Where he had seemingly been holding himself back this entire time, he was now grabbing the headboard and used it as a support to speed up his stroking game. 

He slammed into you over and over, and you were holding onto him like a lifeline now with your head buried in his chest. Your thighs tensed around his hips as you felt the pleasure that had accompanied you all throughout the act coiling up to a destructive ball between your legs. It tugged on every fiber of your body, and you had to squeeze your eyes shut to focus on it, otherwise, you thought, it would tear you apart.

“Oh, Jaehyun,” you breathed, your nails digging deep into his skin on the back. “I-”

You let out a long breath, very well aware of the fact that when the feeling finally came crashing down on you, you would be in no position to hold in the noises that would pass your lips. 

You then were petrified, eyes widening in shock when you suddenly overheard steps and noises in the hallway. People had finished dinner and were now returning to their rooms, it seemed. There was no way you could now end this with noises!

Jaehyun was very well aware of your surroundings too though, but was not determined to let anyone disrupt what he had been dreaming to do to you for months already. He nodded in silence and pressed you back down on the mattress. With his palm flat, he then covered your mouth, but made sure your nostrils were still free for you to breathe properly. You looked at him with glistening eyes, your arms now loose around his neck.

“Scream,” he summoned. “Scream all you want. I’ll make sure nobody will hear you.”

And you did. 

You screamed your heart out into his hand when you came undone beneath him, fingers scratching over his shoulders and toes curled up as your entire body convulsed. And he drowned every single sound so that nobody could hear you except for him only.

When Jaehyun let go of you with a sneaky grin, your mouth was dry and your vision blurry, but you could still watch his sweaty chest arise above you when he prepared himself for his own heights. Deep toned moans entered your ears and you smiled softly as you let him cum all inside you with a few more thrusts that eventually slowed down.

Jaehyun fell limply next to you, but, with his remaining strength, he still managed to pull you up to his chest so that you could find a comfortable spot there. It was already dark outside and you heard one door close after another, indicating that people were now ending the day.

“So, you still want to sleep with a wall of pillows between us?” Jaehyun teased and played with a strand of your hair.

You laughed when you remembered how you had initially been so worried about the one bed setup. 

Now, it was very conventional.

____

You only remembered falling asleep and dreaming soundly in Jaehyun’s arms after two more rounds of muffled screams and shaking orgasms. 

When you woke up much later, still in the middle of the night though, those arms that had held you warm were no longer wrapped around you, and your bed was missing his body.

Your first thought was that Jaehyun had fled and your heart jumped to your throat. That he had realized he didn’t want you after all and just dropped you like that. That you were, in fact, unlovable.

You slowly started to calm down again though when you saw his bag still laying where he had placed it and part of his clothes that he had worn the evening before still neatly folded on the chair in front of the dressing table. 

“Jaehyun?” you asked carefully when you got out of the bed and threw on your pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You approached the bathroom, but no light was coming from inside, indicating that no one was in there after all, and when you eventually opened the door, you found out that you had been correct. 

Where could he have disappeared to? It was so odd. 

You slid into your slippers with the intention of leaving the room as quietly as possible. You knew you could have also waited for Jaehyun to return, but something inside you wouldn’t be able to casually get back to sleep without an anxious feeling, so you needed to get rid of it in an instant and find him.

You didn’t need to look for long though. The moment you opened the door, he was already standing right in front of you, not less surprised by your sudden appearance as vice versa. 

“Where have you been?” you whispered when he closed the door behind him after stepping into the room.

With a swift motion, he held a bottle of water in front of you. “I was thirsty, so I went to get something to drink from the kitchen.”

“Oh…” You had been so anxious for nothing. 

“What?” he grinned when he went over to the table and placed the bottle on it. “You thought I sneaked out in the middle of the night?”

You shrugged and seated yourself on the bedside with a long sigh while Jaehyun opened the water bottle and drank from it. “When I woke up after my nap this afternoon, you weren’t here either. I know you went to the talk with the Nams, but…”

Jaehyun placed the bottle down again and closed the lid. “Were you afraid I had suddenly left? Or worse… that I was with another woman?”

“Well…” You averted your gaze by turning your head to the side. “You’ve been with many women after all. And I’ve always heard everything.”

Jaehyun didn’t respond until he stood in front of you and had your face cupped with his hands. “What if I tell you that throughout this childish act, there has always been just one woman I wanted to be with, and now that I have her, I don’t need anyone else anymore?”

You lowered your gaze and smiled reluctantly. Despite the darkness, you saw the entire truth flicker in his eyes and believed every word that he said. Why shouldn’t you after all? He had done all this just for you.

“I believe you.”

“Very well.” He kissed you and crawled back into the bed to where you followed him. “So, what should we do when we return home tomorrow?”

You first got on your knees and fluffed up your pillow. “What do you mean?”

Jaehyun grabbed you by your arm and pulled you towards him. The next moment, you laid with your stomach flat on top of him and he brushed through your hair, gently kissing your parting. “I don’t mean we have to get married by the time of your promotion. Yet.” You blushed, but luckily he couldn’t see. “But if you start going out with me, I’d be just as happy, Miss Neighbor.”

You braced your arms against the mattress and lifted your upper body up so that you could wind yourself and face him. “If you think I would ever give up that spot next to you on the bed now, then you’re so wrong.”

“I like the way you think.” 

A deep kiss followed, only interrupted by your muffled whimpers when he pulled down your pants and nudged hard between your legs again.

____

You had parted with the hosts on magnificent terms with Mr. Nam exclusively promising you that he would vote for you to get the job. As of this weekend, you, with the help of your fake fiancé turned real boyfriend, had proven to be the best candidate for the soon to be open position, and if anyone still thought otherwise, Mr. Nam would convince them himself. 

Mrs. Nam had only silently nodded, seeming displeased over something, but you didn’t bother too much about her mood swings since you had never liked her anyway. If you had her husband’s word, then nothing else mattered anymore.

You had one week left to prepare yourself for the meeting with the board, but since everything seemed to be home and dry, you could relax most days and spent every night at your neighbor’s over there in room 803. 

“Scream,” Jaehyun had said the first time you went next door, sitting naked on top of him with your hips locked on his. He had let his hands roam over your cheeks and squeezed tightly into the flesh. “You can scream as loud as you want here. Don’t care about the neighbors.”

And, as a matter of fact, the screams that came out of room 803 from that night on, only belonged to you.

____

“I’m very sorry to deliver this message to you, miss,” the director said, “but we cannot offer you the position at our kindergarten in this city.”

In front of you, you visibly saw your whole world shatter.

What had gone wrong? Had you not spoken to the Nams just last weekend, who had promised you that you had secured the position already and the rest were only formalities? What had happened in the past days that must have apparently changed their minds completely?

“I’m sorry, I think I might have misunderstood,” you apologized, “I assumed the parents who are also part of the investor group, for example Mr. and Mrs. Nam, also have a say in this. Do they not?”

You had already been welcomed with a dreadful feeling when you had opened the door and only found the director sitting in the room. None of the others had been present unlike the last time. Still, you had hoped that you were wrong.

“Oh, they do, miss. Actually, every parent has approved of you.”

“Then, what changed your mind?” You had a really hard time keeping your voice at a respectful level. You had done everything they had expected of you. Save from… “Is it because I’m still not married? They all know I’m engaged and they know my fiancé. I can always hand in a copy of the certificate later, but we do not have a date yet.”

“Miss…” The director lifted up his hand, smiling this time. “I said we cannot offer you the position at our kindergarten in this city. I repeat the last words: in this city.”

Your brows drew together in skepsis. “So that means…” You didn’t want to speak out loud what you were thinking as you didn’t know yet whether these were better or worse news.

“Congratulations!” The director arose from his chair, rounded the table and approached you. “We offer you the position of an elementary school teacher in one of our Shi-A schools in Busan!”

“In… Busan?”

It was odd how the city’s name was the first word that resonated in your head. Not “elementary school teacher” which even meant a significant upgrade from your current position. But the city’s name. A city on the other side of the country where you would need to move to if you accepted this position. Which meant in retrospect that you had to move out of your current apartment, away from…

“Miss?” The director looked at you curiously. “Are you not pleased about this?”

“I am!” you corrected yourself. “I am truly happy over the fact that you offer me an even higher position now.”

“Fantastic! We are aware that you will have to move then, but don’t worry about the logistics, we will provide for all expenses you need. You can start with the new semester, so there is plenty of time. Isn’t it fortunate?”

He wasn’t aware of the fact that this, indeed, was really unfortunate for you.

____

Not long after you had gotten the work contract to read through and sign until the week after that, you were standing outside of the director’s room, petrified to the core. Too many thoughts were flying into your head that you struggled with to organize. 

This was your dream. This was your dream coming true, yet…

“Not happy about your new position after all?” 

In front of you stood Mrs. Nam, arms folded across her chest, standing high on her heels. Her lips were curled up to a smile that was all too wicked and did not resemble the persona she had shown to you the majority of the past weekend. 

You were at a loss for words as you couldn’t define her expression, but she was happy enough to help you out when she explained, “In the beginning, I fancied your fiancé very much. I thought he wouldn’t say no to a bit of fun with me. Nobody ever had. Until then. Or should I better say… fake fiancé?” Your mouth fell agape, but you were quick to close it with a hard swallow. “Yes, my chin also dropped when I overheard your little conversation after dinner.”

“Let me ex-”

But she only lifted her hand to gesture to you to stop speaking. Her nostrils flared, anger clearly mirrored in her eyes. “After our tennis match, before I found out the truth between you two, I met with him and suggested that he would come to me during nighttime. I had so much fun watching you being all giddy during dinner, knowing that once you’d be asleep, he’d slip into my bed.”

You needed a moment to process everything she had said. When you had been asleep, Jaehyun had met with Mrs. Nam who had then offered him a place in her bed? You were furious. A married woman making advances on a taken man… you had heard about her reputation among the childrens’ mothers, but never had you thought that one day, you would become her victim too. 

But more so… Another thought suddenly cut off the air in your lungs. “Jaehyun has not declined?”

Her eyes narrowed. “He hasn’t declined.” Your heart dropped. “When we met during the night, I didn’t mention what I found out. I didn’t care if it meant I could see him more often. But he had recorded the entire conversation and then dared to blackmail me. That bastard had followed his own plan all along. He told me that if you wouldn’t get this position without him needing to share my bed, then he’d play it to my husband, to the entire board and the school if necessary. I told him that if he did that, I would tell everyone you weren’t even together. Unfortunately for me, unlike him, I didn’t have any proof.”

Suddenly, you felt like you could breathe again. Jaehyun hadn’t declined her invitation, because he had his own scheme mapped out and wanted to help you all along.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” you asked sharply. “Luring taken men into your bed as a married woman?”

She raised one brow in questioning. “As far as I know, he hasn’t been taken at that time, am I right?” Unfortunately, she was, but you kept quiet. “The men I’ve been with have never once been happy in their marriage or have drifted apart from their partner already. At best, they already had affairs going on. The only mistake I made this time was choosing someone who I thought was a naive kid. My fault.”

“Is that why you’re sending me away? To get revenge on him for doing what was right and not betraying me?”

Mrs. Nam slowly moved her head from one side to the other. “I’m not sending you away, otherwise my husband would start questioning. I’m giving you a choice. Either stay here in your old position or move to chase after a more glorious future. After all, that’s what you want, right? The lengths you’re going through to get what you want? What’s making you so different from me, then?”

She had thrown the truth over you like a bucket of ice cold water. You had lied your way into the promotion and dragged Jaehyun along with you in the process. Were you really different from them? It was written all over your face, apparently.

“Exactly.” Mrs. Nam grinned. “You remind me of me when I was younger. I also wanted power and wealth, and eventually got trapped in a loveless marriage. I’m not heartless, miss. After all, it only takes me a few phone calls to ruin your fake fiancé and everyone related to him. His little audio has nothing on my power.”

“Then why?” The contract was rattling in your shaking hands. “Why give me a choice in the first place and not fire me on the spot?”

“My daughter adores you very much, she talks about you every day.” A flash of regret passed over her face, but before you could catch the entire meaning of it, it had already vanished. Perhaps, she cared more about her daughter than she had let seen past, but failed to show it. “Back in the days, I made the wrong decision on what to choose. Perhaps, I hope, you’re going to make the right one.” She turned on her heels and lifted up her hand as though she wanted to bid farewell to you. “I’m sure you’ll know what to do.”

The contract was still shaking in your hand long after she had left.

____

When you walked into Jaehyun’s apartment later that day, your face was still like stone, the contract also still in your hands. 

On your entire way back home, you had read through each paragraph over and over again. It sounded too good to be true. Nearly the double amount of salary, more days off during vacation and your own assistant teacher. You were offered to teach the first two years of elementary school and if necessary, they would even provide housing for the first three months.

This was everything you’d ever worked hard for and dreamt of. 

“I got offered the position of an elementary school teacher from next semester on,” you declared nearly absent-mindedly as you sank down on the couch and handed him over the contract. 

“Congratulations!” Jaehyun wore a solemn expression on his face when he flopped down on the cushion next to you. “You want to celebrate?”

His happiness pulled you out of your thoughts and you faced him with an agonized expression. “There is nothing to celebrate about this, Jaehyun! The position is in Busan! That’s on the other side of the country!”

“Okay calm down…” When you made attempts to arise, he touched your upper arm and indicated to you to stay seated. “I know where Busan is. That’s no problem. I’ll just go with you, because I’ll finish university in two months anyway. And after that…”

You cracked a pained smile. “After that you want to go to Europe.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to go to Europe. I can go with you and find a job there.”

“And not living your dream? What you have worked so hard towards after you helped me achieve everything that I wanted? You want to drop that?”

He looked at you like you had just uttered the most ridiculous question someone could ask. “You’re more important to me than that dream.”

“Was that what you also thought when you blackmailed Mrs. Nam?”

Jaehyun drew in a sharp breath. “So you know.”

“You lied to me again!” you yelled. “When will you ever stop lying to me about serious stuff, Jaehyun?”

“I was about to tell you as soon as I knew about the offer, when your position was secured! I saw the chance and I took it! What did she tell you?”

You told him about your encounter with the parent and had arisen from your seated position by the time you finished, walking around the living room in nervous circles now. 

“She didn’t just suggest it,” Jaehyun opposed. “She told me, for you to get this position, I’d need to sleep with her, otherwise she would tell her husband what a bad teacher you are. And I was absolutely not going to do it, so I thought if she dared to blackmail me, I could do the same and pretend to be interested just to let it all blow into her face. What would you have done if you knew? There was absolutely nothing you could have done! I turned the situation to your advantage!”

“She could have come forward with the entire truth! She could have gotten me fired and your true identity revealed!” You came to a halt in front of him on the couch and he took your hand into his, trying to calm you down. “Do you know what that could have meant? If you had informed me, we could have tried to figure it out together!”

“And then for you to resent them and quit what you were working so hard for? I was not about to risk that! I was only acting in your best interest.”

You wiggled your hands out of his and shifted around, away from him. “You put both of our futures at risk by doing that, Jaehyun! What if exactly the opposite had happened? What then? Would you have taken responsibility for it?”

He didn’t say anything for a long time and you braced your hands against the table, losing a long breath. 

“I just… I just wanted to help.”

“I didn’t ask for your help! I never had! Look at what happened!”

You were just so, so frustrated. You had only gotten this offer, because Jaehyun had interfered. You had only been invited to the getaway weekend, because Jaehyun had interfered. You had only fallen into the parents’ favors, because Jaehyun had interfered. 

Had you achieved all this without him as well? Something inside you was assured that you wouldn’t have.

And you resented him for that.

“In the end, you’ve ruined everything I’ve planned and worked so hard for! Had you not come into the picture at all, then I would have gained their favors myself! After I’ve gotten the offer, I would have announced my separation and everything would have been fine!”

Suddenly, Jaehyun was behind you, turning you around by your shoulders. “You know that’s not true,” he said calmly. “I know how these people are, and you now know too. It wouldn’t have worked.”

Yes, you knew. That was why your resentment was so strong. Everything you had ‘achieved’ was ‘achieved’ through a man, with the help of a man. Even the board had only consisted of men, and in the end, Mr. Nam had given you his permission after having bonded with Jaehyun, not yourself. 

This was not entirely your own achievement. Everything you had worked so hard for, was in vain in the end, because Jaehyun had only needed to do a bit of small talk, play with his charms, and they were butter in his hands.

Yet, it still hadn’t all worked out in your favor.

“I also have the option to stay, but only in my old position.” 

“As I said,” Jaehyun interrupted you with a gentle voice, “I’ll go wherever you go.”

But you weren’t sure whether you wanted this.

You moved past him and grabbed your purse from the couch. “I need time to think.”

When you walked out of Jaehyun’s apartment, you found two neighbors in the hallway, talking to each other. 

One of them was Mrs. Choi and the other person was the neighbor with the dog. They were trying hard to pretend that they hadn’t eavesdropped all the yelling coming out of room 803 earlier as opposed to the usual noise, and greeted you, but you just ignored them.

That night, you didn’t return to Jaehyun’s room.

____

When you had first voiced the desire to become a teacher, your priority was to support and foster children who really needed special attention. Those who got overlooked in school, who suffered from the intense pressure and who possessed talents that weren’t recognized.

You had landed the assistant teacher position in that prestigious private kindergarten, because you had been sent there from your former teacher’s program when the previous one needed to be admitted to the hospital due to severe burnout. She had never returned and you were able to stay as it was in the middle of the semester. It had been sheer luck.

As an assistant teacher, you were only doing that: assisting. None of the things that had driven you to study this major could have come to use yet, and you were tired. You wanted to become a real teacher, because you thought you could finally get the wheels rolling this way.

Jaehyun saw it in your eyes the moment you opened the door. “You’re going to Busan.”

You bit into your lower lip, nodding almost noticeably. “I’ll go to Busan.”

“Without me.” He smiled in defeat.

“Yes.”

“Is it so hard for you?” he asked. “To just let people you love into your life?”

“It’s not that I go because I don’t love you.”

He had you in his arms and inside his apartment before the first tear fell. “I know. I love you too.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears dropped onto his shirt and lifted your arms, holding meekly onto the fabric. “You’re just so young and you’re going to finish your studies soon. You shouldn’t go with me.”

Quietly, he whispered into your hair, “I know.”

If Jaehyun went with you, he would give up his dream of finally breaking free from his parents and seeing the world. You were not going to rob him of that. If you didn’t go, you would need to give up your own dream, and he wouldn’t want that either. 

Perhaps, it was because you were older and more experienced than Jaehyun, but you had felt from the beginning that whatever you had started was going to find an end soon anyway. There was just no future for two people who were at such different stages in their life. 

Sometimes in life, there were no winners in love.

You snuggled up to him more and sobbed, “I’m really grateful for what you have done for me. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to come so far.”

In the end, you had come to your senses. You were not going to throw his selfless acts away and accepted the gift he had been willing to give to you without anything in return. Just because he selflessly loved you. As simple as that. You were willing to pass this message on to everyone who needed it.

At his age, perhaps it was really this simple to love so fiercely and unconditionally. Later in life though, he would realize that it would take much, much more.

“Nonsense.” Jaehyun chuckled lightly. “You can achieve anything you want, you know that. You were just in the wrong environment. You can still-”

You shook your head and withdrew yourself from his embrace. “It wouldn’t change anything. You helped me achieve my goal and I’m not going to stand in the way of yours. You never dreamed of staying here after your graduation. If you do, even with all the love you hold for me now, you’re going to resent me one day, and I don’t want to take credit for that. Perhaps you don’t understand now, but you will in the future. You have to go.”

Mrs. Nam was wrong. You didn’t choose wealth and power over love. There was a third option. You chose your dream. And Jaehyun should do that too.

“When I’ve finished my travels and started with my business, can I come find you again?”

He wanted a sliver of hope, a silver lining. If it put him at ease, you would give him that, even if the chance was so less, you wouldn’t even dare to dream about it in secrecy.

“I’ll wait for you.”

With the kind of lifestyle Jaehyun had been living before you, you were sure that he would forget about this sliver of hope all too soon.

When he met girls in other countries, he would forget about his neighbor in room 804 at his former apartment complex who had always been so mean to him. Soon, you would only be a blurry picture in a string of memories, joining the ranks of his many, many lovers.

He would not suffer too long, if at all. 

He would be fine, knowing that in the end, you still had picked them over him, just like he had initially predicted.

When Jaehyun kissed you goodbye, you were quite sure that this was the last time you would ever see him again despite living next door, which made getting over this breakup even more painful.

Back in your own room, you took off your fake engagement ring and put it into the far corner of a cramped drawer.

Whenever you went to bed the following days, you hoped that noises would start coming out of room 803 again. 

You were scared that without the noises, he would hear you cry yourself to sleep every night until you nearly passed out from exhaustion and only woke up with a swollen face the next morning over the pain of your heart breaking apart.

But no noise could be heard ever again coming out of room 803.

And it broke you even more, knowing he was suffering as much as you.

____

Two months later, in late December, Jaehyun moved out.

You came home to movers carrying box after box out of his apartment. You had lingered a bit longer at your front door, heart pounding at your throat, just to get a glimpse of Jaehyun for one last time. But he had not been present that day. When you left your apartment a few hours later to grab dinner from the convenience store, his room was entirely empty.

According to the semester plan, he must have finished his last exams by now, so he was unofficially done with his bachelor studies. You doubted he would come back for a ceremony in February, so he was free to do whatever he wanted now. Perhaps, he was sitting on a plane to Italy or France at this very moment. 

A few days later, an elderly woman moved into room 803.

And life went on.

____

One year later

“Teacher, what are you going to do during vacation?” one of your students, a four-year-old-boy, asked.

It was the day before winter break, but working for a public kindergarten meant you would at least get a week to yourself during New Year in January apart from desk warming the remaining break. A week in two months of winter break and thanks to public holidays only, but it was better than nothing at all.

“Perhaps,” you answered while putting one hand crafted paper star after another that the children had made for christmas on the classroom’s windows, “I’ll take a little trip.”

“To where?” another girl, one year older, chimed in. “I’m going to Busan to visit my grandmother!”

“I’m going to Busan too!” the boy then announced. “Teacher, have you ever been to Busan?”

You shook your head, reaching for another star he held out to you. “I’ve never come to visit there. Can you recommend it?”

“Yes!” Both children yelled excitedly. 

“Then I’ll ask you where I should visit when I go there!”

They nodded in acknowledgement and returned back to their work which was crafting more stars so that the entire windows would be covered in them by the end of the day. 

Twice a week, the kindergarteners were divided into different groups which either focused on art or music. The main subjects taught were reading, writing and maths. Apart from that, the children had enough free time to enjoy being real children, which they spent playing together, being outside and getting taught other necessary educational topics like brushing teeth and healthy nutrition in a playful way.

In comparison to Shi-A private kindergarten, where the teachers had paid homage to the parents with impressive courses including Chinese and English, topped with real diplomas and graduation ceremonies as well as teachers who had to work all throughout each break, this public school was where you felt you belonged.

This was where you finally felt you could actually support the children like you had always wanted, in an environment safer for them and their teachers.

And that was the very reason why you had never signed the contract for Shi-A elementary school in Busan in the first place.

In fact, you had never planned on doing so. How else would you have convinced Jaehyun to leave after everything? Just because you couldn’t live your dream didn’t mean he shouldn’t either.

You had never picked other people over him, you had always picked him. 

Before you had gone to him to break up, you had thought about the upcoming decision for very long. You had loved those children, but eventually, they would move on and forget you. While you would have been stuck in a slave contract in a worse environment than before with parents from hell. All the money and other benefits could have never made up for the mental suffering.

It had always been your dream to work for a reputable private school, but one day, you had remembered the little girl inside of you who had not wanted reputation and recognition and was only there to help children.

So you had quit altogether.

And then you had eventually landed a job as a teacher at this public kindergarten where the salary was much lower and the commute took over an hour one way, but the work conditions were much better and the teachers and children just as lovely. The parents were not less strict, but tolerable and nobody tried to sabotage anyone.

Yet nowadays, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was still not everything to your life as a teacher. This could not be it, there had to be more you could move in this entire system. You just couldn’t point a finger as to what it could be as this was everything you had ever dreamed of having.

“What are you going to do during our time off?” you asked your assistant teacher. 

“I’m going to meet my boyfriend’s family for the very first time, they’ve invited me to spend New Years with them,” she giggled shyly. “I’m so excited. And you?”

You smiled, happy for everyone who had plans except for you. 

“Perhaps, I’m going on a little trip to Busan. I’ve never been there before.”

____

It was already late when you arrived at home, and as always during winter, it was dark outside now as well. 

While you typed in the door code combination, you wondered which convenience store food you would get for dinner today as again, you were too exhausted to cook something yourself. A small vacation would surely help you relax and start into the new semester more fresh. Yes, you should definitely go to Busan.

You halted though when you opened your front door. Had you accidentally left the lights on?

You hurried through the narrow hall, at one point wondering if you had been robbed during your absence when a voice spoke up before you even reached the living room,

“I still remember your passcode from the day I climbed through your window.”

Jaehyun arose from your couch and your breath caught. 

He was still as handsome as the last time you had seen each other over a year ago. Nicely dressed, hair still dark and neatly combed aside. He looked healthy and happy, and it made you happy too to see him like this.

At one point, you had dropped your bag on the floor while you could do nothing else but stare at him and stare, wondering if this was a dream. One of too many from the past year, of which you had never hoped could ever come true.

“What… are you doing here?” You didn’t know what else to say, you had so many questions.

“I’m living here now.” With a grin, he pointed at a suitcase in the corner of the living room. “Temporarily.”

“Well…” You cleared your throat and feigned braveness. “As far as I remember, your room is the one next to mine, room 803.”

“Yeah, but sadly that one is already occupied by a very nice, elderly lady who was quickly able to assure me that you were still living here.”

Before you could think twice, you had already closed the distance between you two, and he held you tightly in his arms, quietly, for a very long time.

“You liar,” Jaehyun eventually said, with no trace of reproach in his tone though, pressing you even closer to his chest. “You big, fat liar. When I called Shi-A elementary school in Busan. They told me they never heard of you, and when I called your former kindergarten, they said you quit a year ago.”

“I’ll take credit for being a liar this time as opposed to you.” You smiled through your tears when Jaehyun gently pushed you away from him and cupped your face. “I didn’t want you to stay here with me. I didn’t want you to give up on your dream just because I did.”

“Say no more. I understand." His expression was so gentle, his face free of any worry and doubt. “I was a regular student with no real perspective and just one dream. You just told me to do what a good teacher would have told all their students. This time, all the trickery rightfully belonged to you, but I would be really happy if we stop that now.”

You nodded, your tears salty against your lips, but Jaehyun kissed them all away from your cheeks. “I’m so glad you came back,” you sobbed.

“I told you I would.”

It had never been only a sliver a hope for him. It had always been a promise.

“But what if I wouldn’t have been here anymore?”

“Then I would have come to Busan or to wherever in the world to get you.”

You blinked through your blurry vision. “To get me where?”

One corner of Jaehyun’s lips tilted up when he let go of you. “Eventually, my parents came to their senses and didn’t abandon me like they always threatened. The longer I traveled and the more people I met, the more I realized that with my background and roots, I am able to achieve something, to change something, and far faster than anyone else. I am so privileged and took it for granted when I can twist it to an advantage instead of being a selfish brat. When I have the possibility and opportunity, I don’t want to throw it away. So halfway through my trip, I was just building connections for my future. I will join my parents’ business after all, but not to work for them, but for myself. I will build my own sister company.”

“Jaehyun, that’s amazing!” you congratulated him. “I’m happy you figured out your future path! I can assure you, you’re going to do such a great job.”

Sometimes, it just took someone a few months off to figure out where they belonged, what they wanted. If he had followed you, he might or might have not come to the same conclusion. You couldn’t figure out an answer. But what mattered was that he had one after all.

“So all throughout your Europe trip, it was not only drinking and girls?” you teased. 

“Please.” He waved aside. “Everyone was annoyed by the fact that I kept talking about one woman only who I would return to eventually.”

You blushed. “Still, you told me you came to take me. To where, tell me?” 

Jaehyun’s expression turned stern, but hopeful. “To the UK. That’s where I want to build my company, kind of like an overseas branch. I still can’t offer you much, but in a few years, I promise you, when my business is flourishing and we live in a nice townhouse in the center of London with a small garden and a dog and children, you won’t regret it. But…” He halted as though a sudden thought had crossed his mind. “But if you have already found someone who can offer just as much now or even better, then I understand if you decline.”

“How many?” you asked while losing a breath you had been holding in.

“What?”

“How many children?”

Perhaps, that was it, what you were missing. Perhaps, you weren’t supposed to work in this environment for the entirety of your life. Perhaps, just like Jaehyun, you were destined for so much more, for another path, and that path was perhaps not etched into the grounds of this country.

How were you supposed to find out if you didn’t try just like he had?

“T-two,” Jaehyun responded, unsure whether it was the right answer.

He could have said one or ten for all you cared. “Sounds good. I should then tell my fiancé our engagement is called off, because he wants three.”

“...what?”

You shook your head and laughed. “There is no fiancé, neither real or fake. There… hasn’t been anyone since you.”

“Good. It’s good to see you so happy and carefree finally.” Jaehyun approached you and put his hands on your waist, drawing you close to him. “And I’m relieved there is no other man. Because when I’m going to propose to you, it’s going to be for real this time.”

A smile radiating pure bliss left your lips when you got on your toes and finally kissed him.

You were blissfully unaware of the fact that Jaehyun had already picked out the ring before he had left the country, one identical to your fake one, just made of platinum and adorned with a real diamond. Princess cut, two carats. Just like you had dreamed of. 

He had carried it with him whenever he went, like a lucky charm.

The ring was a reminder to him that there was always a reason to come back.

Because his future wife was waiting for him, and she deserved everything she had ever dreamed of. 

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Behind Closed Doors

Your admiration of his vest leads you to an empty office with his face buried between your thighs—and an urgent Emily demanding your whereabouts.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spence (are we even surprised), fingering, oral sex (f), semi-public, slight overstimulation, and Emily kind of overhears because she calls Reader in the middle of the deed (oops). 5k words

A/n: I don’t have any excuse for this one, I just wanted to rewrite this scene of him because looking at it is not enough

You heard him before you saw him. It wasn't his voice per se, but the distinct sound of rapid shots cutting through the air. The noise seemed to intensify as you stepped into the control room, almost overbearing, but you'd long since grown used to its piercing sound.

"Is that Reid?" You asked, your polished boots echoing into the confined space. The officer monitoring him through the surveillance camera glanced over at you, and even though her expression didn't betray outright displeasure, you could hear a subtle edge in her voice.

"Agent Y/L/N," she greeted, her eyes darting between the rows of monitors, then to you, and finally settling on the clipboard in her hand. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Actually, I am. It’s Tuesday, my usual training day.”

"Not for another hour."

"I know," you countered, holding up your wrist to check your watch. "But I have some spare time, thought I’d come by early."

“I’m afraid it’s occupied right now. Agent Reid is still in the middle of his test."

This caught your attention. "What test?"

She glanced at you, her expression conflicted. "It's just a routine evaluation."

"He's currently not an active agent," you pointed out. It hadn’t been too long since his release from prison. It didn’t make any sense for him to go through an evaluation, not when he was behind bars for the past few weeks. Then recognition dawned on your face. "He's being evaluated to rejoin the team, isn't he?"

"I... I'm not at liberty to discuss that," she replied. Her gaze faltered momentarily before she nodded slowly, confirming your suspicions. "But yes, it's standard procedure for agents returning from extended leave."

"Oh wow—okay," you responded, absorbing the information. Your eyes flickered towards the monitor. "How's he doing?"

Her lips formed a thoughtful line before she answered, "Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp."

You let out a laugh, finding the comparison amusing. You'd known Spencer for what, three, four years? While he wasn't bad with firearms, comparing him to a historical figure like Wyatt Earp seemed a bit exaggerated. However, as you watched him through the monitors, despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't deny the truth in her words.

You had witnessed him handle a gun countless times, but always in situations where there was a real threat, where you both had to be on high alert. Yet as you observed him now from a different perspective, it was hard to tear your eyes away. It was as if he was in his element, and Spencer Reid in his element never looked so... attractive?

Now that wasn't an exaggeration. Although you had never admitted this to anyone—god forbid what your teammates would say—there was an undeniable charm to the confidence he exuded. While Spencer had always been attractive, there was something different about the way he handled the gun.

You were sure it had something to do with his time in prison. After all, who wouldn't be affected by such a daunting place, especially when you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place? Yet, surprisingly, Spencer seemed to be coping better than you expected. Despite the toll it must have taken on him, it was evident that his experiences had shaped him, perhaps more than he let on.

Although he was still the same sweet, adorable guy you considered one of your closest friends. But you weren't sure your current observation of him fitted the typical definition of friendship… because there was nothing remotely friendly about the thoughts running in your head right now.

Not only was it not friendly, but it wasn't exactly innocent. Because look at him. Look at the way he was gripping the gun, his arms defined beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Look at the way his protective glasses covered his face, the black-rimmed frames accentuating his handsome features. And even though you had seen him wear the uniform vest countless times, somehow it was undeniably distracting the way it hugged his chest. 

Yep—there was nothing remotely friendly about how you wanted to climb up the man.

A sudden buzz echoed in the room, snapping you to reality. You glanced up and noticed the officer you were talking to entering the monitor screen and it dawned on you that you had been so distracted by your thoughts that you hadn't realized she had left the control room.

"I'll send the results to the review board this evening," the officer's voice resonated from the screen.

"Did I do okay?" His voice came through.

"Like the second coming of Wyatt Earp," she replied, echoing her earlier assessment. Her gaze shifted to the printed cardboard image of a man, supposedly representing the Unsub, which was shredded right around the face. "Or... Al Capone, maybe."

You observed Spencer's slight nod as she turned and walked out of the screen. Quickly, you exited the control room and met her in the hallway.

"Agent Y/L/N," she called out as she spotted you. "You can have the room in five minutes—"

"I need to reschedule."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Reschedule?"

"Uh... yes, something urgent came up," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

She regarded you for a moment before nodding. "Alright, just let me know when you want to reschedule."

"I will, thank you," you said quickly. Sensing her lingering gaze, you added, "Oh, I'm just waiting for Reid. I need his help on... something."

A faint smile played on her lips, though she didn't press further. "Of course, I'll leave you to it then." 

With a nod, she turned and walked away just as the door at the end of the hallway opened, revealing Spencer emerging from the room. His eyes met yours in confusion, and you could sense his curiosity as he approached you.

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing here?"

You cocked your head to the side.

What were you doing here? 

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before offering a shrug. "Just passing by, I guess."

His brow furrowed slightly as if he sensed there was more to your answer than you were letting on. "Alright," he said, though his curiosity lingered in his gaze.

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling the need to change the subject. "So, how did the evaluation go?"

"So you've heard.”

"Yeah," you confirmed, starting to walk down the hallway as he stepped in pace beside you. "I can't wait for you to be back on the team. Officially, that is."

"If they let me back on the team."

"Of course they will," you reassured him, your hand finding its place on his shoulder, offering support. "You're more than qualified."

He sighed, and you tried not to notice the subtle movement of his vest across his chest, or how it shifted under your touch. "You think so?"

"I know so," you affirmed, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, they'll definitely bring you back."

He stopped his pace, and so did you, before his eyes flickered towards your hand on his shoulder. He must've sensed something different, considering you weren't exactly the type of person who liked physical contact. Neither of you were, actually. While Spencer was known for his aversion to germs, you simply preferred maintaining a certain level of personal space.

"Seriously," he wondered, his tone laced with curiosity. "What are you doing down here?"

You cleared your throat. "I told you, I was just passing by."

"Really? Is that why you're talking to me instead of going through your usual training?" he pressed on. "It's Tuesday. I'm well aware of your schedule."

Damn him and his eidetic memory. You shifted away from his gaze. "Can't a girl just choose to have a chat with a friend?"

"You chose me over your scheduled routine?” his lips curved into a subtle smile. “Am I that much of a distraction?”

Yes, that damn vest is distracting me.

"Distraction might be a bit strong,” you replied, the lie sounding feeble even to your own ears.

"So you’re admitting I’m slightly distracting?"

"I never said that.”

Spencer leaned in and you felt the heat of his proximity radiating from his body. "But you didn't deny it either.”

You felt a faint blush creep onto your cheeks as you realized the shift in his tone. Dare you say he was... flirting with you? Or was it just your imagination running wild? From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle way he licked his lips, and without meaning to, your own gaze was drawn to the movement.

It was a habit of his, one you'd observed countless times before whether it was out of concentration or a mere reflex. But seeing it up close now, the way his tongue traced the curve of his bottom lip, was driving you insane.

You swallowed hard. This was not friendly behavior. A friend wouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to have his tongue on your lips instead.

"Y/N?"

Your face felt hot as you met his gaze. "I..."

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter and chatter from down the hallway reached your ears. You heard Penelope's unmistakable giggle with JJ's animated voice, and suddenly your instinct took over. Without a second thought, you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him into an empty office nearby. 

The door shut with a soft thud, and you frowned, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn't want to be caught in a state of flustered panic like some nervous school girl talking to her crush, but as Spencer stood behind you, you realized you were overreacting. The more you dwelled on it, the more absurd it seemed to hide away when there was no reason to.

With a sigh, you turned to face him. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to..."

But as your gaze met him, your words faltered because he was standing closer than you expected. Close enough that the color of his eyes seemed to intensify under the soft light filtering through the window—a rich brown, like warm chocolate, with specks of gold that danced in the sunlight.

Your eyes involuntarily traced downwards, from the sharp lines of his nose to the curve of his lips, lingering on the stubble lining his jawline. Your mind wandered, and now you couldn't help but wonder how it would feel having it against your skin. Or how it would feel pressed against your thigh.

Your face grew hotter at the thought.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" he asked, taking a step forward. You squeaked in surprise, an actual high-pitched sound leaving your lips, as you felt the hard surface of his vest pressing against your chest.

"It's just..." You hesitated, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. "You're standing really close..."

He glanced down at you, his eyes resting on your lips. "Do you want me to move?"

"I... uh..."

His eyes flickered back up to meet yours. "I'll take that as a no."

Before you could process his words, his hand reached up, fingers gently gripping your waist. You felt a rush of heat spread through you at his touch, the sensation seeping through your shirt and you found yourself leaning into him, your breath catching in your throat as his face hovered closely above yours.

It was happening. Your heart pounded in your chest as his lips drew closer. You couldn’t believe it, he was going to kiss you—Spencer-fucking-Reid was going to kiss you.

But just as his lips hovered dangerously close against yours, he suddenly stopped.

"Just to make this clear," he began, running a thumb along your side. "I respect you, both as a friend and a colleague. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with, so if you think this is pushing any boundaries then—"

"Spencer," you cut in. "Just kiss me already."

With a hint of relief and a small smile playing on his lips, he finally closed the gap between you.

You never imagined his lips could be so soft. He had the softest lips that moved against your own with a hint of coffee and something undeniably sweet. Those soft, soft lips parted away from yours for a moment before he leaned back in, more desperate, more needy. And when he swiped your bottom lip with his tongue, seeking entrance, you couldn't help but welcome him with a soft moan of pleasure.

He devoured you then, his tongue pushing eagerly into your mouth, his lips enveloping you with a hunger that left you breathless as he pressed himself against you. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, you were walking backward until your back collided with the solid surface of the desk. 

With strength you didn’t know he possessed, he effortlessly lifted you and perched you on top of it, prompting a surprised squeal to escape your lips. He laughed in response but you were too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he found you amusing. 

Your hands eagerly roamed over his chest, fingers curling around the strap of his vest as you pulled him closer. He slipped between your parted legs with ease and when he pressed his evident bulge against your core, you both gasped in pleasure.

"We should... we should probably stop, right?" he murmured, his voice muffled against your lips. Despite his words, his actions betrayed his self-control as he began to roll his hips against you.

“We're at work, someone might—” He groaned. “Someone might… hear us..."

He was right, but you found yourself unable to care about anything else but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your heat.

"We could stop, or..." you found yourself saying without thinking. Your hands moved with a mind of their own, finding their way between you as you started to unbutton your shirt, the fabric slipping away to reveal more of your skin. 

"Or..." He prompted, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip yet again, his breath coming out in shallow, ragged bursts.

"Or..." you repeated, pushing the front of your shirt open. "We could be quiet."

"We could be quiet," he agreed all too quickly. "We could definitely be quiet."

You let out an amused laugh. "We’re going to get in trouble if anyone finds us."

“Then you shouldn’t make a sound.”

“Me? What about—oh.”

His lips were already trailing down your body, leaving soft kisses as they lingered on your neck, across your collarbone, and then he moved lower, sucking lightly on the swell of your breasts. A whimper of his name escaped your lips, your fingers entwining in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes drinking at the sight of your breast pushed up against your bra, a glistening sheen of his saliva coating your skin.

“You are stunning,” he murmured, before leaning back in to place a tender kiss on the spot where your collarbone met your shoulder. “How far do you want to take this?”

You blinked, trying to ground yourself into the moment between the lust fogging your brain. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he muttered as he rutted his hips against yours, drawing a needy moan from you. “How far are you willing to go?”

“If you’re asking whether I want to have sex with you, the answer is a hundred percent yes.”

You could practically feel his smile on your skin as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“That’s good to know,” he whispered, causing you to arch your back as your chest pressed against the hard material of his vest. “But I don’t think we can do much considering we’re supposed to be working. Well, you at least.”

You grasped his shoulders, pushing him away to meet his gaze. “I thought we agreed to keep quiet.”

“We can keep quiet,” he assured you, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “But I can’t rush my time with you. Besides, you deserve a much better setting than an unoccupied office full of dust.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. “Maybe, but it’s more about time, really. I just want to take—” His lips brushed against your cheek. “My time—” A peck on your lips. “With you.”

You melted right there and then. You could’ve sworn you were nothing but a puddle mess. If he wasn’t holding you for support you were sure you could fall right back to the floor.

“Alright then,” you finally said, reaching for the buttons of your shirt with trembling hands only to be stopped as his fingers curled around your wrist.

“What are you doing?”

You shot him a puzzled look. “I thought you didn’t want to have sex right now.”

“I didn’t say anything about stopping,” he replied, releasing your hand before his palms slid up your thighs. “There are plenty of other things we can do.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks. “Like what?”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to get creative.”

Your breath hitched when his fingers hovered over the button on your pants. You watched with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he started to undo them, your mind turning into a mushy mess. It was as if every neuron in your brain had decided to stop working.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You met his gaze, trying to summon up your composure but you couldn’t help the nervous twitch of your lips. He smiled at you.

“Come on, pretty girl, we don’t have all day.”

Not only were you melting, but you were practically liquid by now. Your body moved on its own accord—your hands gripping his shoulders as you lifted your hips, synchronizing perfectly with his gentle movements to slide the material over your hips and down your legs.

He placed your pants on the empty space beside you while his eyes never left your body. His gaze lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, and he leaned in, his fingers trailing over your skin before settling on the hem of your panties. His thumb slid to the front, brushing along the delicate material. Your hips bucked as he continued to run his thumb up and down as if he were trying to map out your slick folds over the fabric.

“Look at you dripping,” he mused, his eyes fixated on the way his thumb slid over to your clit. “Are you always this wet?”

Your cheeks heated at the question. He wasn’t even trying to make it come off as dirty talk; he asked it like a normal question, as if he were simply wondering about what you ate for breakfast. But the question alone had your face burning because you did not expect it to come from him.

“I… I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he asked, his tone amused. He hooked his fingers into the material of your panties before pushing it to the side.

“I-I don’t know.” You let out a breathless moan when his fingers grazed your slit. “Whenever I’m turned on, I don’t... I don’t exactly touch myself just to check how wet I am.”

Spencer chuckled softly, angling his hand between your thighs before gently pushing his middle finger into your entrance. You gasped at the sudden stretch, brows furrowing as he pressed further, and your hand instinctively gripped onto his arm.

“Do you often touch yourself?”

Your head fell back as he started to move.

“M-Maybe,” you managed to stutter out.

"What do you think of when you do?" he asked slowly, his own breath starting to grow shallow as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He observed the way your mouth fell open, your tongue slightly slipping out in the corner, and the way your eyes shut closed. He was fascinated by the effect he had on you, on how just a simple touch had you squirming.

“A… a lot of things,” you managed to reply.

“Have you ever thought of me?”

Whoa.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned.

This was dangerous territory, but then again, nothing seemed quite as risky as being fingered by your coworker on a Tuesday afternoon. So what harm could it be if you admitted that yes, in fact, he had crossed your mind when you touched yourself wishing it was his fingers instead?

A lot of harm, actually. One, it seemed like an inappropriate confession given your friendship. Friends don't usually imagine each other in sexual scenarios. And two, you could die of embarrassment.

"No," you replied, hoping your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He hummed skeptically. “I thought we were past the point of lying between profilers.” With a pause, he added another finger inside you, causing you to bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. “Is this how you imagined it in your fantasies?”

What was the point of lying now? You swallowed hard, trying to think of a witty response to distract from the intense pleasure coursing through your body.

“Uh… This is slightly better.”

“Slightly? I’m hurt.” He pressed his thumb onto your clit. “What else did you think of then?”

Your cheeks flushed even more. “You… well, um, you also used your tongue.”

The airy laugh he let out sent a shiver down your spine. “Really? And how did that fantasy play out?"

Your heart raced as you tried to find the right words. "Let's just say it involved a lot more tongue action and a lot less talking."

His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “Then let’s reenact it.” He gently pulled his fingers out of you. “Lay on your back.”

With a shaky breath, you complied, sprawling out on the desk, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through you. When he reached for the waistband of your panties, you couldn't help but crack a joke. "If I knew this was the direction this day was heading, I would've worn my fanciest underwear."

Spencer shook his head. “Trust me, you don't need fancy underwear to drive me crazy."

He then deftly removed your panties, his movements confident yet tender, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. When the fabric pooled at your ankle, he got down on his knees and parted your legs wider, positioning himself between them.

You watched, anticipation building, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your inner thigh. Then, with a teasing glance, he pressed his lips to your skin, planting soft kisses along the trail of your inner thigh, inching closer to your core.

You shivered at the sensation and your heart raced with every kiss. His hands roamed over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns while his mouth brushed closer to where you craved him the most. You bit down your bottom lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped as his tongue flicked out, grazing your sensitive flesh.

This was definitely better than your fantasies, the ones you'd harbored in secret, too taboo to admit even to yourself. But here you were, living out those desires in the most deliciously real way possible.

You gasped as his tongue lavished your slit, tasting every inch, mixing your arousal that was beginning to drip from your core with his saliva. Your back arched off the desk, thighs trembling and when they threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag over your clit.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow it felt like a dream, but everything was real. His face was right between your thighs; his mouth pressed against your cunt, his tongue lapping through your wet folds. And it wasn’t as simple as tasting you, he was eating you, devouring you, swallowing every drop of your arousal as if he couldn’t get enough of your taste.

You started to lose control of your mind, your body, your actions. Your hips bucked to meet his tongue, your jaw slackening as stifled moans spilled from your lips. And that was when you felt it—a faint vibration against your thigh. At first, you thought it was just the sensation of his touch, but then the loud, unmistakable loud ringtone of your phone shattered the moment.

"Shit!" You squealed, scrambling to grab your phone from your discarded pants. The last thing you needed was for someone to discover you in this compromising position.

"It's Emily—“ You pushed his head away, trying to hide your flushed face as he looked at you with surprise. His lips were glistened with your arousal and his hair seemed messier. God, he looked so pretty.

"Don't answer it."

"It might be important." With a pointed look, you silently urged him to keep quiet as you brought the phone to your ear with trembling fingers. “H-Hey... what's up?"

Emily's voice came through the line, slightly muffled by the sounds of commotion in the background. “Hey, I need you to review the report you submitted yesterday, you left a few details about the Unsub.”

Spencer's lips brushed against your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine, and you had to bite back a moan. You shot him a warning glare, mouthing ‘stop’ before turning your attention back to the call.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “So… um, which report?”

"The case in Florida," your boss explained. "You mentioned that the Unsub was targeting women between the ages of 25 and 35…”

You were trying to listen, you really were, but it was hard when you felt his fingers ease into your cunt, your juices dripping out, coating his flesh as he curled them inside. You almost let out a whine as his thumb pressed to your clit, caressing in circular motions. 

“…he's also been stalking younger women."

Your eyes screwed shut as he sped up his pace. His touch was driving you crazy, and you could barely register the conversation over the sounds of your own arousal echoing in the room.

“Y/N.”

You snapped your eyes open, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks as you tried to concentrate on the call. "Uh, yeah, go on," you managed to stammer, hoping she didn't notice your wavering tone.

“Are you okay? You sound... off," Emily's voice cut through the haze of pleasure. You shot Spencer another pleading look, but he simply smiled at you with a hand still between your thighs and the other slipping underneath your bra.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, fighting against the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "Uh, yeah, I… I-I’m doing my training.”

You mentally cursed yourself for the terrible excuse. Emily didn't seem entirely convinced. "Training?"

"Yeah, you know, the uh... firearm training? I-It’s Tuesday.”

There was a pause on the other end before she spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you're in pain."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan as his fingers curled inside of you. "No, no, I'm fine. Just... a little out of breath from all the… shooting."

Spencer let out an incredulous scoff, and you shot him a pointed glare.

“Are you with someone?”

You hesitated, racking your brain for a believable excuse, but all you could muster was a feeble, "Uh, nope.”

There was a pause on the other end, and the tension in the air seemed to thicken as your body flushed with heat. Meanwhile, Spencer seemed intent on torturing you, never stopping his pace. If anything, it seemed like his movements were increasing. Just when you thought you couldn't feel more exposed, another scoff echoed through your ear, this time from Emily.

“Alright, where are you really?” she pressed, her tone indicating she wasn't buying your flimsy excuse.

“I told you I-I’m doing my training.”

She laughed. “Y/N, we profile people as a job. I can sense your lie even through the phone.”

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. What was up with these profilers and their knack for sniffing out lies? You were one yourself, but apparently, you were no match for their scrutiny.

“I’m not—“ your words were cut short when he stood up, hovering above you. You looked up at him, smiling at you innocently as his fingers continued to curl deep inside you. You clutched his forearm with your free hand, attempting to steady yourself.

"I'm not lying," you managed to squeak out.

"Mhm," came Emily's voice from the other end. “Just come by my office and grab the report, okay?”

Your breath hitched as his fingertips delved deeper, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of his hand moving between your legs, coated in your arousal with each thrust. You could feel your orgasm edging closer. Your hips moved in sync with his motions as the pressure built, the tension coiling tighter in your stomach and—

“Y/N!”

“Y-Yes, I’m… I’m coming.” Spencer's low chuckle filled your ears, and you realized what you'd unintentionally implied. Your eyes widened in embarrassment. “I mean, I-I’ll be there soon, okay, bye!”

You quickly slammed your phone down on the desk, ending the call with a thud. But before you could even take a breath, Spencer's fingers were back to their rapid pace, driving you to the edge of sanity. Your body staggered under his touch, your hips moving in sync with his relentless rhythm, the world outside the room fading away into a blur of pleasure.

"A-Ah—w-wait, fuck—"

You barely managed to utter a protest before his hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. Your back arched, your head thrown back as you tightened your grip on his wrist, your body writhing beneath him as your orgasm consumed you.

It lasted longer than you expected and Spencer seemed determined to push you over the edge as he shifted his attention from your cunt to your sensitive clit. His fingers withdrew momentarily, only to return with a renewed intensity, applying just the right amount of pressure.

Your senses were on overload as you moaned into his hand, the sound muffled but still audible. He worked you, over and over, and you didn't even know your body could take so much. Every stroke, every caress sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, building up to an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as the sensations reached a fever pitch. It was all too much, too intense, and in a moment of desperation, you pushed his hand away. When the last tremors of your orgasm finally faded away, you collapsed back onto the desk, panting heavily, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Spencer removed his hand from your mouth, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched you catch your breath. “Are you okay?" 

You nodded weakly. “Yeah, just… that was intense.”

“Good intense?”

“Really good intense,” you replied with a sheepish grin, which only made him smile. With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over you. As you began to dress yourself, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him—or rather, the evident bulge underneath his pants.

“That… that doesn’t look comfortable,” you remarked.

Spencer waved off your worry with a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of it myself.”

“Here? At work?” Your eyes widened at the implication. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That’s not what I meant. It’ll eventually go away if I ignore—stop staring at it,” he added with a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

Your gaze lingered a moment too long on his bulge. "I can think of another way to help.”

Spencer's breath caught in his throat, his imagination running wild with possibilities, but he quickly regained his composure. "Go," he said, gently nudging you towards the door once you were properly dressed. "Emily's waiting for you."

Your eyes swept over him and a wave of awkwardness suddenly washed over you. What was the protocol after experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life? Shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You couldn't help but stifle a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

After a brief moment of contemplation, you decided to trust your instincts. With a hint of hesitation, you stepped closer and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He blinked in surprise, but before he could respond, you were already rushing to the door.

He couldn't help but smile as he watched you leave, a tingling sensation lingering on his cheek where your lips had briefly touched. But as he licked his lips absentmindedly, he couldn't shake the taste of your arousal that lingered there.

Groaning softly, he shifted uncomfortably as his mind filled with vivid images of you squirming under him; your mouth agape, eyes half-closed, your pretty legs spread apart. The memory of your moans echoed in his ears and his cock stirred in his pants. 

He sighed, realizing he was in for a long day if he didn't do something about it. With a slight grimace—and the embarrassment gnawing at him for what he was about to do—he let his feet carry him to the nearest bathroom.

[moonlinos]

I can hear the siren (Siren part I)

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Camboy!Hyunjin, neighbors AU, strangers to “lovers”

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), sex work, voyeurism if you squint, hate sex kind of?, masturbation, thigh riding, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, Hyunjin’s a bit of an asshole but I love him

♡ Word count: 7.9k

♡ Synopsis: To say your new next-door neighbor is loud would be an understatement. Three times a week, at the same time every night, he will laugh and talk loudly for an hour. After that, like clockwork, a cacophony of his groans and moans will fill your room through your shared wall. He’s most certainly entertaining some hookup, or maybe a girlfriend. You frankly don’t care — all you know is you want your peace and quiet back. But you never would’ve guessed what you would find out upon confronting him.

♡ A/N: Once again, I cannot shut up and this ended up being much longer than I had originally wanted. One day, I will write a one-shot that’s less than 5k words, but today is not that day. I listened to Taeyeon’s Siren while writing this, hence the title. Also think the song’s a little fitting to the story.

part II →

Yet another night, yet another two hours of hearing your next-door neighbor moaning like a porn star for anyone to hear. The thin walls of your apartment, coupled with the fact that your room shared a wall with his own bedroom, make it impossible for you not to hear everything that happens inside his bedroom. Earphones have proven futile in muffling his voice, and you can only distract yourself with mindless YouTube videos for so long before you give up and simply wait for him to finish. Quite literally.

You noticed it was his routine: Fridays and weekends — the nights when he would graciously give the entire building a free show.

But that wasn’t all he did. And that’s what stirs up curiosity inside of you.

An hour before the unholy sounds begin, he spends a significant amount of time simply speaking, laughing loudly, and throwing the occasional suggestive comment here and there. But only his voice can be heard, and considering how damn thin the walls are, you can’t help but wonder why that is. Maybe his hookups aren’t into his long, drawn-out conversations, only there to get fucked and dip as fast as possible. Or perhaps it’s a girlfriend, and he enjoys gagging her. Your mind has had plenty of time to run wild with theories, seeing as he moved about a month ago, starting your own personal version of hell on his very first day.

You complained to your landlord three times now. On the first time, you were dismissed as being too sensitive to noise. Maybe invest in some earplugs, she suggested. The second time, after explaining through gritted teeth that perhaps the entire building could also hear him and it would be wise to give him a warning, she assured you that only your apartment had such complaints — after all, it was only the two of you on that floor. And, on your last attempt before you ultimately gave up, your landlord all but berated you for meddling in your neighbor’s business. She argued he was inside his apartment and could do whatever he desired.

And so, you accepted your fate.

As you walk out of the shower, your bliss at the realization that tonight is a Friday dissipates as soon as it dawns on you that you are in for three days in a row of your neighbor and his antics. You groan, reluctantly making your way toward your bedroom, your body aching after sitting at your desk at work all day. So sleeping on the couch was not an option; your limbs only ached even more the day after you did that to try and escape the raucous noise.

Like clockwork, at exactly ten p.m., his loud voice fills the small space of your bedroom.

“I’m actually going out tonight again, so we have to be quick,” he explains. “But you like it when I’m quick, don’t you? Like when I make you cum so fast you barely have time to understand what’s happening.”

You grimace at his words, burying yourself under your blankets. God.

“I’m going clubbing with a couple of friends,” He continues. “Hopefully, I’ll find a nice girl to take home, hm?”

Crossing out the word Girlfriend on your mental notes, you scoff. What a gentleman he is, letting his hook-up know he’ll have to fuck her fast so he can leave to meet another woman to take home.

“Maybe I’ll record a video for you if she lets me. Would you like that, seeing me fuck another woman? I bet you would.”

What the fuck. The word Girlfriend is added back to your list. Maybe the girl is into that shit, and you’re not one to kink shame so long as everything’s consensual. But you surely didn’t consent to knowing that information. 

Soon enough, his voice drops to a sultry tone, and incessant hums spill from his lips. And the worst part of your night begins.

You hate to admit it — seeing as the guy makes you lose sleep and disturbs your peace since he’s graced the building with his presence — but his dirty talk, when coupled with his groans, becomes far less unpleasant and much more enticing. Every night, you struggle for an hour with the uncomfortable feeling of arousal between your legs, the way he alternates between praises and vulgar words causing a twinge inside of you. But you never dare to masturbate to the sound of his voice — that would be going too far. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you follow your rule of waiting for him to finish whatever it is that he’s doing to then finally touch yourself. As you tightly shut your eyes, you focus on your upcoming work assignments, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Maybe boring yourself to sleep is your only escape.

“Oh, I know how wet you are just watching me — fuck,” he groans, a breathy scoff leaving his lips. “Don’t even gotta tell me. Just touch yourself, it’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot open as it feels as if he’s fucking talking to you. You shake your head, the awful feeling of embarrassment engulfing you in the privacy of your own bedroom.

“I know you want to,” His voice is unrelenting, reverberating through your dark room, punctuated by heavy sighs. “Do it for me, will you? Touch your pretty cunt for me.”

You feel your clit begin to pulse, and a loud groan escapes from your lips. So loud, in fact, you wonder if he heard you through the thin walls as well.

Fuck it, you tell yourself inwardly, it’s not like the guy will ever know what you’re doing.

The sound of his voice was as silky and dark as velvet, covering you wholly and clouding your judgment with each word. You allow your hand to slip underneath your sleep shorts, gasping as you find the fabric of your panties already soaking simply from hearing his words — almost begging, guiding you to let go of your reservations and touch yourself.

“Just like that. D’you like the sound of my voice?” He asked, voice breathless, a deep groan echoing through the walls. “Like hearing me moan for you? Bet you’d like it even more if I was fucking you.”

Your fingers delicately flick back and forth, teasing your clit, your mind now shamelessly imagining his fingertips, his tongue, his cock, anything he was willing to give you. You’re quick to lose yourself in this imagination, despite not knowing what the man looked like — you soon realize that wasn’t at all important, a dark shadowy figure hovering over you proving to be more than enough for you as you felt a rush of wetness pooling between your thighs when your neighbor let out a louder, guttural noise.

“Fuck, I’d love to be stretching that pussy out,” He chokes out, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any noise. You’re now hyper-aware that if you can hear him this loudly, he’d be able to hear you with the same amount of clarity.

Your embarrassment only goes so far, though, as you slip a finger into your cunt, your breath hitching and your eyes fluttering closed to better conjure up the fantasy your mind had been creating. You imagine his long fingers inside you in place of your own, the words he spilled almost nonchalantly being whispered directly into your ears. One finger soon turned into two, then three, the heel of your palm rubbing against your clit as you tilt your hips up. You throw away your last drop of inhibition as you indulge in vivid thoughts, imagining the shape and size of his cock and, most importantly, how it would feel as it filled you up. Your neighbor’s words almost faded into white noise, his grunting the only coherent sound in your ears.

Would he take his time with you, like he always did whenever you heard him? Teasing you for hours as he candidly talked about nothing in particular, rendering you unable to do anything but beg for him? Or would he be hasty, like tonight, his cock abruptly stretching you to the brim, making you feel every inch of his thick length? Would he rather finish on your breasts, your stomach, or maybe your face, taking a picture to keep as a souvenir he could show off to whoever he was with during these nights?

“Come with me,” His voice suddenly became clear once more, deep and hoarse as you imagine his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Think about how good it’d feel to have me come inside you, stuffing that little cunt while you milk me dry.”

You purse your lips as you feel your release approaching, coaxed purely by his words. The mental image of this stranger painting your insides with his release, all the while his intoxicating voice told you how good you were, how warm and tight you felt enough to have waves of pleasure wash over you, body tensing up as your orgasm surges through you.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel your consciousness come back to you. Your fingers leave your core as if you were just burned by fire, which is fitting as a feeling of burning embarrassment wraps around you tightly like a vice.

But the worst part is that the shame quickly ebbs away as you hear your neighbor’s chuckle, the laugh of a stranger you had come to almost memorize.

“You know I’m always glad to make you come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, everything around you falls into a quiet stillness. You faintly hear as he shuts his front door, presumably leaving for that club he had mentioned, and you’re left to lie with your regrets.

This has just crossed a line, and although you couldn’t bring yourself to feel all that guilty, you still knew it was wrong. You had no choice but to confront the cause of your troubles yourself.

Unfortunately, that cause was a person you had just shamelessly fantasized about as you fingered yourself.

The next afternoon, you stand at your neighbor’s door, hesitant to knock. Since he mentioned going clubbing last night, you knew coming by in the morning would be futile, but you also know — sadly, all too well — that Saturday nights are when he’s the loudest, and he only stops well past midnight. You settled for the afternoon, preparing lunch as you rehearsed your words in your head instead of enjoying your weekend.

You knock twice, and that familiar voice soon rings through the door, asking for a moment. A minute later, your neighbor is standing in front of you, holding the door open with sleepy eyes that focus on you. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but surely not a tired-looking tall man with messy black hair wearing a pout on his lips, as if you just rudely disturbed him from his sleep (how ironic). From what you heard during the last month, you were ready to have to face a shirtless fuckboy, a permanent smirk etched onto his lips as he eyed you indifferently. Instead, you’re greeted by soft cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Yeah?” Your neighbor croaks out, face still heavy with sleep.

You clear your throat, returning to the matter at hand. “I’m your next-door neighbor, I—”

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” he says before you can even finish your rehearsed opening sentence, his lips curling into a small smile. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Somehow, him being so soft is making you hate him even more.

“I wish I could say the same,” you mutter, “Y’know, you’ve been making my life a living hell since you moved in.”

He doesn’t answer, instead running a hand through his hair, the strands falling into place and away from his face. After a small nod, he opens the door all the way.

“Come on in,” he says, promptly walking inside and leaving you standing in the hallway all alone. You have no choice but to follow after him.

He snatches his cup of coffee from the counter, letting out a tired sigh as he collapses onto the couch and takes a big sip. You sit next to him and watch as he swallows slowly, humming contently, and only then speaking again.

“Why is that?”

You hold back another eye roll. “Well, you’re quite noisy at night,” you hesitantly begin, only now grasping just how awkward explaining this situation will be. “On Fridays and on the weekends, you’re… loud.”

And in an instant, you witness a complete shift in his entire demeanor right before your eyes. Like he’s possessed by something, his once sleepy eyes now bore into you with an intense gaze, and his lips curl into the smug grin you were expecting from the start.

“So you can hear me?” He asks as if you hadn’t just told him exactly that. You feel small under the weight of his darkened eyes, but you shrug, doing your best at feigning confidence.

“It’s pretty hard not to hear you,” you answer simply. “We share a wall, in case you didn’t know. I can hear everything you do in your bedroom.”

He raises a brow at your words as if they piqued his interest. But he doesn’t verbalize it; instead, he speaks in that same nonchalant tone you’re used to hearing through your bedroom wall, “You never told me your name. A bit rude, don’t you think?” He offers you his hand. “I’m Hyunjin.”

You scoff but shake his hand regardless, telling him your name with a sigh.

“You know what I think is rude?” You offer him a forced smile. “Keeping your next-door neighbor up all night with how fucking loud you are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. His gaze traces a path from your eyes to your lips before lingering on your thighs. You instinctively cross your legs, fingers smoothing down the fabric of your shorts. Locking his gaze with yours once more after a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side.

“So I’ve been keeping you up all night?” He muses, and you feel a warmth spread across your cheeks at the rough rasp in his voice.

It’s almost as if he knows what you did last night and is teasing you.

Although you know that’s impossible, your words still get choked up. Hyunjin was undeniably attractive — whether it was looking as soft as he did while answering the door or as if he could devour you with his gaze alone as he does now. You couldn’t be blamed for feeling flustered, especially after everything you heard this man saying and doing.

“Well,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Showing your outrage at this entire situation is your best bet, so you allow for the anger you felt during all those sleepless nights to seep through your veins. “It’s kinda hard to sleep when you’re moaning like a porn star.”

But Hyunjin fully chuckles at that. “So I sound like a porn star?” He nods with an amused hum. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Never mind anything you had thought upon seeing him open that door; Hyunjin is everything you thought he would be.

“Look, I didn’t come here to stroke your ego. You’re clearly doing just fine in that regard,” you grumble, and he scoffs beside you, leaning back on the couch with a smug expression you want to slap away from his pretty face. “I came here to ask if you could move whatever it is that you do to the living room, or maybe keep it down. I’m sure that’s not too much to ask.” 

Hyunjin clicks his tongue almost mockingly. “Oh, but it is too much to ask. I can’t really do any of those things. Sorry,” he shrugs, “The building has thin walls. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

You stagger at his words, his lack of common sense seemingly higher than you initially gave him credit for. You’re unsure whether to laugh in sheer disbelief or cuss him out as anger slowly bubbles up inside your chest. How unfairly attractive he looks at the moment isn’t helping your case — he spreads his legs further as he shifts on the couch, bringing his mug up to his full lips and watching you almost uninterestedly with half-lidded eyes.

Fuck this guy.

“What is it you do that’s so important that you can’t at least keep it down? Can’t your girlfriend get off without your obnoxious dirty talk? Is that it?”

Hyunjin shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Your dates, then. I honestly don’t care.” You roll your eyes, which elicits a small laugh from him. You have never wanted to punch someone so badly, all while also wanting them to rearrange your guts. “Whoever it is, whatever it is that you do, can’t we compromise and you be quiet, at least on Fridays? I get home from work exhausted and have to put up with your shit when all I wanna do is sleep.”

“Ah, but Fridays are the most important nights for me,” Hyunjin tells you with a condescending lilt in his voice. “That’s also not possible, I’m so sorry.”

“I see.” You suck in a deep breath, your eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists on your lap. “Then would it be possible for you to move your… activities to the living room?”

Hyunjin contorts his face, shaking his head while that grin is still etched onto his lips. “Yeah, no, that’s also not possible.”

“You’re extremely inflexible, do you know that?” You blurt out, “I’m not asking that you move out, I’m simply asking that you fuck whoever it is that you fuck every weekend somewhere else.”

His piercing gaze lingers on you briefly, as if he’s carefully considering his next words. Sighing, he sets his mug on the end table and sits up straight.

“Let’s make a deal,” he proposes, carelessly ripping a piece of paper from the open sketchbook that lay on the coffee table and jotting something down. “Tonight, you wait for me to start my activities,” he says with a poorly concealed chuckle. “And then you go on this website. Maybe it’ll clear up some things inside your pretty little head. Can you do that for me?”

He hands you the note, eyes darting down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze. The tone of his voice is the same that echoes through your bedroom during those nights — exactly like the one that coaxed an orgasm out of you just last night, and you absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together.

You need to get out of here.

With a small nod, you swiftly stand back on your feet and walk toward the door of his apartment that was left wide open. You quietly mutter a goodbye as Hyunjin says something about it being a pleasure meeting you, all while amusedly staring at you.

It’s only as you close your front door behind you that you look down at the piece of paper that you subconsciously crumpled up. Scrawled in a messy handwriting is simply a website address:

fivestarcam.com

You furrow your brows, walking toward your bedroom as you rack your brain for how a website could possibly give you answers. It dawns on you, then — all the trouble you went through, and yet, no solution to your problem.

Ultimately, you decide you’ve already wasted too much of your patience on this man today, throwing the piece of paper on your bedside table and going about your day, enjoying the tranquility of your apartment while you can.

Night comes too fast, the sun setting outside unbeknownst to you as you lie on the couch for nearly three hours, your focus solely on the plot of the movie playing on your phone. Soon enough, ten p.m. rolls around, and you drag your tired body toward your bathroom. You take a shower with no rush, knowing full well that by the time you walk into your bedroom, Hyunjin’s activities will already have started.

Sure enough, you’re greeted by a drawled-out groan as soon as you enter your room. With a heavy sigh, you throw yourself onto your bed. Your bedroom had always been comforting, your bed almost like a safe haven from all the stress life threw your way. Yet now it’s simply the place where you lie awake for hours, simultaneously vexed and uncomfortably turned on.

You lie still for a while, Hyunjin’s vulgar chatter like the background music to your spacing out, until you remember the piece of paper he gave you earlier. How would a website clear up any of your confusion? And, more importantly, why should you even care enough to find out? From the little interaction you had with the man, you know for a fact Hyunjin will remain unchanging in his obnoxious ways.

However, you’ve always been too curious for your own good, and the mere prospect of understanding this annoyingly enigmatic man even a tiny bit has you hurriedly picking your laptop off the floor and typing out the website address on your browser. Curiosity killed the cat.

The first thing that greets you is a message asking that you verify being over the age of eighteen. All you have to do is click a button, which seems counterintuitive, but you have little time to worry about that when your screen is filled with preview thumbnails of several live broadcasts.

You’ve heard of camming websites before, of course, but you didn’t know they were still a thing nowadays, what with the rise of Only Fans and other more independent ways to go about making money like this.

Your eyes scan the page with agape lips. Men and women — some in their underwear and some already naked, some showing their faces and some wearing masks. And then, your eyes land on a particular thumbnail. At the Top Cammers of The Month section, on the number one spot, is a fully clothed man with familiar long black hair. Only the bottom of his face can be seen due to his camera angle, but that is more than enough as your gaze fixes on his full lips.

That’s undeniably Hyunjin. Your neighbor, Hyunjin.

Before you can make sense of your actions, your fingers are already hovering above the touchpad as you watch the thumbnail image change into a new one. Curiosity is eating away at you, and you can’t deny that your nosy mind is eager to finally see Hyunjin rather than only hear him.

Ultimately, you decide this is ridiculous.

But your twitching fingers brush against the touchpad just as you move to close your laptop, promptly clicking the live video, your screen now filled with the image of Hyunjin in his bedroom. He’s shirtless now, palming himself through his sweatpants — the same ones he wore this afternoon.

“You wanna know how clubbing went last night?” He says with a grin, and you now understand his incessant talking is merely him answering comments from his viewers. Various different names fly through the right side of your screen, some with tips attached to their comments and some simply drooling over Hyunjin as he essentially sits in front of the camera doing nothing.

A cocky smile is spread on his lips once you shift your attention back to him.

“I guess you’re good at following orders,” he chuckles. You then realize your laptop’s volume is on high, and the speaker’s noise permeates through your wall and into Hyunjin’s bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, and you scramble to find your earphones in your bed.

You’re gnawing on your bottom lip as you plug them in, suddenly too aware of the fact that he can hear you just as well as you can hear him. Hyunjin’s smile shifts into a small laugh, his hand wrapping around his length through his sweatpants, the firm outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You feel a tingling sensation spread through your body, your inner muscles clenching as you watch the way his hand squeezes along the thick outline, the muscles of his stomach contracting as he lets out a broken sigh.

This feels wrong, as if you’re nothing more than a pervert watching Hyunjin for your own pleasure. But then again, it was he who gave you the website address in the first place. Why else would he have done that if not for you to watch him?

“I have a special someone watching tonight,” he murmurs, and you can just imagine his gaze right now — his eyes hooded and piercing, locked onto the camera with the same intensity as when he looked at you earlier today.

Hyunjin’s hand reaches inside his sweatpants, withdrawing his cock from the constraints of the dark fabric before you can make sense of what’s happening. Your gaze remains fixed, unable to look away from the red, swollen head that stands out against his pale skin. With lazy movements, he begins stroking himself, the precum dripping from the tip easing the glide of his hand. You bite the inside of your cheek as more arousal leaks from you, gathering in your panties.

“Hope she likes watching just as much as she liked listening to me last night,” Hyunjin rasps out, and you immediately close your laptop, throwing it to the side before burying your face in your pillow.

He knows you got off to his voice. He has to know.

And, unfortunately, your brain is currently too clouded by lust to function properly, and the only logical solution you can come up with is to go knocking at his door tomorrow.

You stand in front of Hyunjin’s door at the same time as yesterday, a strange blend of anger and curiosity making you knock frantically until he answers with that annoyingly alluring smirk on his lips.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Hyunjin asks before you can even utter a word, his voice filled with a goading tone.

You push past him, walking into his apartment with a scowl. “Why did you send me that?”

He only shrugs, closing the door behind him before stretching his arms above his head with a sigh. “Needed you to understand why I can’t just stop doing what I do. It’s my job,” he reasons, “I figured showing you was more effective than telling you.”

A scoff involuntarily falls from your lips, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “So you just sent me to a website full of porn without even asking me if that was okay? I don’t care if that’s your fucking job, I never asked you—”

“Did you stay till the end?” He asks, a lazy grin on his lips as his gaze wanders across your face. Clearly, he’d completely ignored every word that came out of your mouth.

“Hyunjin, are you even listening to me?”

“I was thinking about you, y’know?” He continues, taking a step toward you. “Was really easy to come when I knew you were watching me.” He cages your body against the door with his, both hands resting beside your head. His dark gaze locks onto you, causing your breath to hitch. “All I could think about was how you were secretly listening to me all this time. Such a dirty girl.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. You want to tell him you weren’t secretly listening to him; you were merely thrown into this situation against your will. But his gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, lingering before roaming over the swell of your breasts, causing your thoughts to blur and your words to die in your throat.

“Kept thinking about how I never heard you,” he says, almost as if he’s wondering aloud. “When was the last time someone fucked you properly?”

His gaze finally travels back up to yours, and the fog of desire clouding his eyes is unmistakable. The moment you knocked on his door, you knew this would happen. You weren’t naïve, and Hyunjin wasn’t stupid; the moment you pushed past him and into his apartment, you both knew where this was going.

“Don’t have time to go on dates,” you murmur as Hyunjin leans down, humming low on his throat.

“Well,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath tickling your face. “You got to listen to me, got to watch me… Don’t you wanna know what it feels like?”

You can only nod, and Hyunjin immediately presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He wedges his knee firmly between your thighs, as if he’s silently demanding that you give in to him. Little does he know you’re already way past that point.

Breaking the kiss, Hyunjin studies your features for a beat, the pad of his thumb gliding across your bottom lip as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“You really want this?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel he does it simply for the pleasure of hearing you beg.

But you happily comply either way.

“Please,” you breathe out, and Hyunjin chuckles, firmly pressing his thumb into your mouth and watching as you wrap your lips around it with a contented hum. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Hyunjin pushes his thigh against your core, the seam of your shorts creating a delicious friction against your clit. You can feel the warmth of his body as he presses up against you, and a sigh falls from your lips, your hands gliding up around his shoulders. You have no reservations left in your body; the only thing replaying inside your mind at the moment is the image of Hyunjin’s cock on your laptop. He was right. You were dying to know what it would feel like.

His strong hands firmly gripped onto your hips, guiding you to move against his thigh, each back-and-forth motion increasing the pressure on your aching clit. It felt too much, yet not enough at the same time. But just as you’re about to plead for more, Hyunjin’s pressing his lips to yours again and swallowing down your voice. His tongue slides against yours, the taste of coffee and smoke lingering in your mouth as he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth, pulling gently before letting go.

You feel your mind go fully hazy as Hyunjin lifts his thigh, bringing you up to your tiptoes, his muscles flexing and prompting you to roll your hips faster, harder.

“Who would’ve thought, huh? Just minutes ago you were acting like I was the worst person alive,” He lets out a low chuckle, amused, and your grip on his neck tightens as you feel the familiar vexation he brings out of you bubble up inside your chest. “Now you’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Shut up,” you choke out, your brain too lust-hazed to conjure up a better response. You don’t particularly care what he thinks of you so long as he keeps his bruising grip on your skin, guiding you to roll your hips against him.

Hyunjin trails kisses down the skin of your neck, settling at the dip of your collarbone and sucking on the skin while you eagerly quicken your speed. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, undoubtedly marking you, while his thigh begins to bounce against your cunt, and you can feel the familiar aching warmth of your orgasm beginning to tighten in your stomach. But just as you’re about to be hit by the release you’re so desperate for, Hyunjin’s hands leave your hips and slide down to your ass, any stimulation you had before coming to a halt as he picks you up and makes his way to the living room.

“What the fuck?” You all but yell, earning you a hearty laugh from Hyunjin. “I was close, you asshole.”

He roughly throws you onto the couch, a condescending pout etched onto his lips.

“But that’s no fun for me, is it, baby?” He hovers over you, spreading your thighs apart and slotting himself between them. In stark contrast to his words, he gently lifts your shirt over your head, feather-light touch sending shivers down your spine. “Greedy girls don’t get to come.”

You feel your insides clenching at his words, and although you despise the effect he has on you, you’re already here, laid out before him, so you might as well indulge him. You gently push Hyunjin back until he sinks into the sofa, legs lazily spread apart and half-lidded eyes fixated on you. As soon as you clutch at his shirt, he promptly tugs it over his head in one fluid motion, and you attach your lips to the bare skin of his stomach, trailing kisses down the expanse of his torso.

You waste no time tugging his sweatpants down and out of your way, his cock now hanging heavily before you, just as pretty as it had seemed on that little screen. Hyunjin’s hand soon wraps around himself, stroking lazily while you watch the precum dribble from his tip. Tentatively, you grab the base of his cock, bringing your tongue to the head and tantalizingly lapping at it. Hyunjin lets out a quiet gasp, his own hand leaving his length and tangling in your hair, guiding you forward toward his cock. You part your lips and suck the head into your waiting mouth, hands now stroking his length at a slow pace while you lick up his slit, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. You hold back a chuckle when you feel him twitch under your touch, a soft whimper falling from his throat.

Hyunjin’s hips buck up into your lips, and you promptly open your jaw wider and slide his whole length down your throat slowly. You weren’t lying when you said you had no time for dates, which is why you find yourself struggling a bit. It truly had been a while since you had a proper fuck, but you would never give Hyunjin the pleasure of hearing you admit it. Breathing through your nose, you’re finally able to move up and down his cock, swallowing all of him. Your eyes well up as his fingers tug harshly at your hair, shoving your mouth back down the entirety of his thick length. A choked-out whimper falls from your throat, and you instinctively move your gaze toward his.

“God,” he rasps out, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and eyebrows knitting together. “You take me so well.”

You promptly remove your lips from him with a loud pop, precum and saliva dribbling down your chin as you struggle to suppress a laugh at the utter indignation on his face.

“I doubt you could fuck me if I let you come,” you shrug, and Hyunjin’s expression softens, a scoff falling from his lips.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already pushed you back onto the couch, easily flipping you over so your face is pressed into the cushion. He snakes a hand under your stomach and lifts your hips, quickly working to rid you of your shorts before pressing his cock against your clothed ass.

He leans down, lips pressed against your ear — much like it was in your fantasy back in your bedroom — and whispers, “You need me that badly? I can feel how soaked you are, and all you did was hump my leg.”

You grumble under your breath, but it goes ignored by Hyunjin as he grips your hips and slides his cock under the fabric of your panties, stroking himself along your soaking slit with a low groan. You can feel your underwear gradually dampen more as his precum mixes with your own arousal, the sheer cloth clinging to his cock with each thrust.

Hyunjin’s hand splayed across your lower back, causing you to arch your body and press your hips back instinctively. He chuckles, hand coming down onto the supper flesh of your ass with no warning, a sharp whimper falling from your lips.

“I told you greedy girls don’t get to come,” He reiterates, clicking his tongue and grabbing a large handful of your ass before tugging your panties down your legs. You quietly hoped the trees outside obscured enough of his window, otherwise you’d be in for some interesting elevator rides with your other neighbors. With a hiss, Hyunjin’s thumb presses against your clit before gliding along your wet folds. “Soaking wet,” he mutters, eyes glazed over while he watches your slick coat his finger.

You simply hum, not wanting to stroke his ego any more than you already had by begging him earlier. But you’re unable to contain the gasp that leaves your lips as he pushes his hips forward, the swollen tip of his cock gliding against your warm core once, twice, all while Hyunjin’s hands travel across your ass and thighs. You’re sure he’ll tease you until you give in and beg, but it seems his facade is quick to crumble. He impatiently wraps a hand around his length, finally guiding himself toward your entrance, seamlessly gliding into you with a heavy sigh.

He stills for a second, gaze transfixed by the way your cunt stretches around his thick cock. Until he suddenly pulls out of you before snapping his hips forward again, then again, until he sets a rhythm of deep, fast strokes that have you rocking back and forth on the couch. Pulling yourself up to rest on your forearms, you choke out a loud moan, Hyunjin’s cock twitching inside you at the sound. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, strong arms encircling your body once more, this time pulling you close to him until your back presses against his chest. Hyunjin’s thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of skin slapping together echoing through his small living room as he relentlessly pumped himself into you. His hand wraps in your hair, yanking your head back and humming against your ear, “Go on, you can moan for me,” he hisses, “I know how good it feels.”

Fuck. His ego is surely something you would never get used to.

But you let go, freely groaning at the feeling of his cock pistoning into you. You can feel the curve of his grin against your cheek.

“Like that, I know how much you like it,” he rasps out, “Just as much as you liked touching yourself to my voice like a little slut.”

“Fuck off, you—” you huff, your words cut off by a drawn-out mewl as Hyunjin’s fingers firmly pressed down on your clit, flattening the swollen bud. You couldn’t control yourself after that, desperate whimpers and choked-out moans falling from your lips with each harsh thrust of his hips.

Your sounds seem to stir something inside of him, and his movements grow more erratic, his fingers circling your clit hastily. A crescendo of arousal and pleasure envelops you as more curses tumble from Hyunjin’s lips against your ear, his hand gripping your cheek and pulling you into a messy kiss.

You clench around him, body shaking with the force of your climax as you seek Hyunjin’s arm wrapped around your body for purchase. He continues pounding into you, and you feel yourself squirm, your vision going blurry from the stimulation.

“Gonna come,” he hisses against your lips, “Where do you want it?”

And you’re too far gone at this point, whimpering, “Anywhere you want.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath, pulling out while his hand finds your lower back once more, pushing you onto the couch before flipping your pliant body over so you’re facing him. You watch with hazy eyes as he strokes himself feverishly over your body, his cum soon shooting onto your breasts.

His unreadable gaze lingers on you for a beat and a half before he nonchalantly tucks himself back into his sweatpants and heads toward the hallway. You sit up on the couch, limbs aching, and chuckle to yourself. This was not your proudest moment, but you surely didn’t regret it.

You don’t expect aftercare from someone like him, so you resign yourself to searching for your discarded shirt. But Hyunjin’s tall frame appears before you, towel in hand before you can even stand up. His touch is gentle as he cleans your chest, and although the gesture is somewhat sweet, it feels extremely awkward.

“Really liked fucking you,” he tells you with a grin, “But you gotta leave now. I’m going live later, and I also gotta go to the club tonight, so I have to rest. But it was fun.”

And you simply scoff at his words, rising to your feet to dress yourself as quickly as possible. It was a bit baffling how he could fuck you the way he did, then tell you he’s off to pick up more girls at a club immediately after. But what did you expect? Hyunjin’s ego and arrogance were clear to you from day one.

“Why the fuck do you go clubbing so much, anyway?” You question as you head toward the front door, and Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “Is that your hunting ground or something?”

“You could say that,” he simply says.

As you unlock his door and step out into the hallway, Hyunjin’s voice calls out to you. Turning to look at him, you’re met with that familiar smirk adorning his lips.

“We can do this again anytime you want,” he assures, and the mere thought of letting him touch you again makes you roll your eyes in disdain.

“Yeah right.”

If only you knew then just how awfully torturous it would be to listen to him, knowing what he was doing — most importantly, knowing what it felt like to have him.

Lust completely clouds your judgment when it comes to Hyunjin, and you soon find yourself coming back to his apartment until it becomes an annoyingly pleasurable habit.

Every day, when he hears you get home from work, your phone buzzes with a text asking that you come over and help him ‘warm up for his job.’ The nights of suffering in your bedroom have transformed into watching him from the corner of his room, enthralled with the way he can make himself come on camera so eagerly and later fuck you with just as much vigor.

It’s a nice arrangement, but definitely not one you see yourself in for the long run. Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but you’re not foolish enough to anchor your feelings to someone like him. It’s not his job that’s the problem, but mostly his attitude toward life. He belongs to nobody, while you yearn to belong to someone. Routine is the last thing on his mind, while you revel in its comfort. You could never be with someone like him.

But it is a nice arrangement.

So you find yourself back in his bed again today, his heavy cock in your mouth as he tugs harshly on your hair, painting the back of your throat with his cum. Except this time, he doesn’t immediately ask you to leave.

“What?” You ask, “Don’t you have to go clubbing or something?”

“It’s my day off,” he shrugs, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close and falls back into bed. You furrow your brows, detangling yourself from him.

“Day off? From what, picking up girls?”

Hyunjin chuckles, eyes sleepy. “I work at the club,” he simply says. “I’m a host, I just act like I go clubbing when I talk about it during my lives ‘cause my viewers can be a bit stalkery.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of The Siren?” He asks, and you hum, recalling a faint memory of some of your co-workers mentioning the club in passing. “That’s where I work.”

You nod slowly, still confused. “What exactly does a host do?”

“Well, basically, I get to make money just by making lonely women feel wanted.”

You can’t help but scoff at his crude description. “And do you fuck them?”

“Well, yeah,” he answers like it’s obvious. “It’s part of the job.”

“Fucking hell,” You let out a hearty laugh, to which Hyunjin shoots you a questioning look. “Your sex drive really should be studied.”

His lips upturn into a smirk, and his arms reach for you again, beckoning you back into his embrace. “No need to be jealous, baby. I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you into his chest. He threads his fingers through your hair, and you can’t help but feel… awkward.

“You’re kind of an asshole, Hyunjin.”

He hums. “Sure, but you still let me fuck you.”

You two stay that way for a while, his fingers massaging your scalp as he presses a kiss to your head now and then. It feels disorienting, like a sudden shift from everything Hyunjin had been until now. He was never caring or sweet, he never kissed you if you weren’t fucking, and he surely never cuddled you. Your face involuntarily contorts into a grimace.

You detach yourself from him, getting up from the bed and telling him you’ll see him later. But Hyunjin is grabbing at your arm with a smile.

“Come on, don’t be sad,” he giggles as you try to free yourself from his grip. “I’m really not the type of guy you should have fallen for, anyway.”

You still at his words, face contorting into pure befuddlement. “Fallen for? Who the fuck says I’ve fallen for you?”

And Hyunjin simply scoffs, letting go of your arm as his smile shifts into his characteristic grin. “Well, there’s a reason I’m number one among the hosts at The Siren.”

“Hyunjin, those girls aren’t exactly after you for your personality,” you deadpan. “You’re really nothing worth falling for.”

His grin slowly fades, and it’s his turn to have confusion take hold in his eyes. “What?”

You can tell he wasn’t expecting this. Almost as if he was expecting you to have truly fallen for him simply because he… is him. And you can’t help but chuckle at the situation.

“Hyunjin,” you call out to him sweetly, and his gaze is back on you immediately. “You’re a nice fuck, but that’s really it. Don’t worry about me falling for you.”

You can swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it’s likely only your imagination. He opens his lips to speak but promptly closes them again. He simply stares up at you from where he’s sat on the bed and almost looks sweet. If you didn’t know him, you would undoubtedly be charmed by this convincing facade. You have to give it to him; you do understand why he’s number one at his job.

“But…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But I’ll see you again tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “We can keep fucking until I find something better.”

You run your fingers through his long hair and make your way to the door, leaving him with an expression frozen in bewilderment.

Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but he’ll never be yours.

But that’s not a problem, as you surely will never be his as well.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings

[prael]

Currents

Kinktember Day 12: Electrophilia

Aespa Winter x male reader smut

words: 3,194 Kinktember Masterlist

"Sign here. Here. And here."

"And what's this for, exactly?" Winter asks, pointing a dainty finger at the paperwork.

"Protection. When someone like you enters a place like this, I need you to sign a waiver stating that you're of sound mind and know what you're doing."

"My mind is far from sound," she says with a playful wink.

Winter takes the pen from your hand. Her nails are painted a matte red with glittery bits at the tips. When she scrawls out Kim Minjeong on the dotted lines, it looks akin to an intricate piece of calligraphy. She places the pen on top and slides it back across the desk. "Now. I've signed and paid. Can we get to the fun?"

With a smile and a nod, you wordlessly guide her to the room she paid for. On the way, you take a few glances back at her, there's this keen expression of wonderment as she spots rooms for every type of fetish she might one day indulge in. Little ideas fired around her mind. What she might try next and how it may very well send her to heights of pleasure unforeseen. She must feel your gaze upon her, as a small giggle and coy smile creep on her face, and she asks in a small voice, "What?"

"Nothing," you say as you pull open the door at the end on the right. "You just have this look about you."

"A good look, I hope?"

She walks through the threshold. As the door closes behind you, the neon strips light up the room in a pale violet. Black leather and cushions cover almost every surface and all the other items seem so insignificant around the electrified bed in the middle. "Intrigue and excitement are always a good look in a place like this."

Winter's eyes alight as if someone had set a flame to a blanket of kindling. "This place... it's amazing." The corners of her mouth inch towards her ears as her gaze sweeps every nook and corner of the room, from the hanging metal chains and restraints to the riding crops and collars lined up by size, perfectly uniformed and orderly on their wooden mounts. Her gaze settles on a coil of rubberized cable as the width of her pupil increases, darkening her eyes. "I thought I would be nervous, but..."

Winter steps further into the room, you watch her take delicate steps as she stares at the centre-piece, the bed that will soon become her salvation, her ruin, her desire personified. She takes her jacket off and carelessly drops it on the floor as she spins back towards you, her eyes are wild and yet bright with lust as her tongue runs over her top row of teeth.

"I'm so excited," she confesses. "It's... exhilarating."

She steps close to you, her breath washing against your neck, sending an enticing thrill down the base of your skull.

"How would you like me? And don't go easy on me okay? I might look fragile..." Winter steps back a couple of times, letting you size her up as if you haven't been doing it since the moment she walked it. "but I'm not."

"Let's start by getting you fitted with a little something," you say as you walk to the side, picking out the perfect shock collar to fit Winter. Something thin would be best, is what you decide. Such a slender frame as hers wouldn't suit a big chunky collar.

"Yes, please," Winter says, making an energetic skip up to your side and resting her hand on your shoulder. "Something light is usually my colour."

"I think so too. Something skinny too. Ah, I know just the one."

After a brief scan along the top three rows, you spot the perfect collar to suit her. It's a light pink, it's her size and looks as delicate and attractive as she is.

"Oh my. That's... so cute," she sighs.

You pull it from its hook and open it. "Now, come here winter. Let me put it on you. Make sure it fits."

Obedient and happy to comply, Winter eagerly steps forward, craning her neck back slightly. Her breaths are even and calm as she closes her eyes. "There's something so... vulnerable about being collared. It's intoxicating," she explains.

"Do you want to know why?"

Winter's mouth opens but she stays quiet.

"Because girls like you, get a kick from relinquishing control. Once the collar's around your neck, you become mine. Completely. Whatever I say goes, isn't that so? And if you don't, you get a shock."

The silence grows until she begins to nod her head gently. "That's exactly it... I have a taste for the painful stuff. For the hurt and submission."

You loop the collar around Winter's neck. It fits as though it were made for her. Tightly fitted, enough to lightly choke her, enough to make sure the contacts within it touch her skin. You take the remote in hand and fiddle with the dial. A mild charge hums from the wires as they heat, preparing to punish.

"That's an agreeable buzz," she whispers with closed eyes. "Perfect."

"Perfect indeed. Now, Winter, on your knees for me." You barely give her a chance to process the request before you determine she has taken too long, and hit the button on the control. A low crackle emanates as it pumps voltage into her neck. Enough for the contacts to spark a single charge through her. Just a sharp sting of pain for a split second before she cries out. Her knees buckle, sending her to the floor, one hand grabbing at the collar as the other seeks a stable point in the soft black mats covering the room.

"Agh— f—fuck," she swears quietly as she gasps for air. "That hurt. So good." Her breaths are quick, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her eyes are wide with delight.

"Top, off."

With trembling hands, Winter holds the hem of her black top. This time you give her all the time she needs to take it off, but she doesn't. "Shock me, I'm a bad girl."

Without hesitation you bring a bigger jolt through the collar, causing her whole body to quiver. Winter shouts and winces, but the smile on her face as she takes it, and pulls her top over her head, tells you that everything's going to plan.

With her top now on the floor and no bra ever being underneath it, you observe how gorgeous she looks. With her small breasts, tiny frame and mischievous face. You stand in place and look, taking her body in and enjoying it. Her waist is so slim, and when her breath quickens, it accentuates that little curve of her abdomen, even a hint at the grooves on each side of her lower stomach.

"Again," she pleads, with puppy dog eyes that are part-glazed.

"You do have a taste for being hurt," you respond as you turn the voltage dial on the collar a little more. A click of your thumb later, and this time she yells louder. Tears well up in her eyes, but her smile only widens.

"I do," Winter pants out the two syllables like they're the only words she knows. "I do. I do. I do."

She repeats it over and over until you hit it again. Her knuckles go white as her body tightens. Muscles bunching in her back and in her arms and legs. Her lithe body trembling through another delicious jolt.

You reach down and grab her by the neck, fingers catching her just under the shock collar. A strangled gasp bursts from between her lips as her wide and eager eyes stare right at you, wet with lust. You pull her to her feet. There's no resistance, nor do you expect there to be. Once she's on her feet, she rushes her mouth to yours. A desperate, needy kiss. Hungry and moaning into your lips.

You break her away from you by pushing her back, sending her stumbling towards the bed. "Those shorts. Take them off."

The delighted gleam of hunger and sadism in your eye isn't lost on Winter. She quickly shakes her head, hoping to earn herself another round of pain.

"Think you deserve more? Think you've been a good enough girl?" You ask, taking a step closer. "Shorts first, then I'll treat you."

Winter does as she is told and lets her denim shorts fall. And just like her top, there's nothing beneath. An amused smile appears as her eyebrows bounce once, and she says, "Surprise!" in the most cute manner.

"I have to say, Winter, everything about you is a surprise. Such a cute little thing you are, but so devious too. I'd love to take you apart, bit by bit."

"Take me however you'd like," she chimes in.

"Yeah?" You turn away from her naked, helpless body and to the desk, picking up the prod and flick the switch to make it come alive. "With this?"

You turn and present the long silver rod, where at the end of it, two metal prongs protrude. You push the button and an arc of electricity forms between them. Winter's eyes roll back, and her thighs press tightly together. She squeezes her own chest as she whispers, "Please," over and over.

Slowly, you stalk toward Winter, you can almost see the ache radiating from her like she is a bomb ready to explode. Then suddenly, before she has a chance to register what's happening, you stab the prod forward into her left calf. Winter spasms and convulses, her teeth clench and her hands grasp at nothing but air. She wails in painful, tortured delight and falls to one knee.

Her other leg now too.

"Yes," she squeals, "F... Fuck. Thank you."

You grab a fist full of her blonde locks, twisting them tightly between your fingers as you drag back to her feet. "On the bed. Now," you tell her, your voice as ice cold as the lack of emotion on your face.

She whimpers as you pull her hard until she's flat on her back in the centre of the bed. It's about waist height, and you look down at her lithe, naked frame. Strands of blonde hair stick to her cheeks from perspiration and tears of pleasure. Her limbs tremble in aftershocks from the latest barrage of electricity that was shot through her, and her skin glistens.

"Please... Again. Please," she whimpers, a feeble creature now after the latest shock. "I'm so wet." Winter shifts one leg higher, spreading herself, and tilting her hips. With one hand you reach into her, plunging two fingers into her cunt.

"Fuck." She lets out a deep gasp and turns her head to look up at you, lips trembling, wet with her own spit, and asks again for more.

You withdraw your fingers and push the prod against her abdomen. Without hesitation, you make her body buck and her cry cut through the still air of the room. Winter yells and twists, kicking her feet wildly into the air as she twitches in her spot. When you stop she lies flat, panting and gasping and eyes streaming. She buries her own fingers into her cunt now.

"Please do it again, I'm going to cum." Her voice is croaky and scratchy from yelling but still thick with urgency and desire.

Another shock.

Another twitch of muscles.

Another shock.

Another scream, and then finally, Winter throws her head back as her pussy tightens around her own fingers and spasms and writhes as waves of pleasure and pain hit her simultaneously. She cries out incoherent words. Scratches her nails at her own thighs while rubbing her clit through her orgasm. Winter shakes and trembles before you, her mouth hung agape.

She's still cumming and this time you hit the button for the collar around her neck. The brief, sharp flash makes her shake harder. The pitch of her orgasmic scream pitches higher.

"Again," Winter calls.

One last time.

You jolt her again, and Winter reaches a fevered pitch as she shakes with more ecstasy than any one person could take. Her whole body is trembling as one large, unceasing wave of pleasure sweeps through every part of her body. The lewd expressions of overwhelming satisfaction as she slowly comes back down are almost enough for you to fuck her, and right there and then, you are tempted.

You throw the shock prod, now it's time to make the bed do the work. Winter has no fight in her as you take hold of her wrists and then ankles, fastening them one by one in bindings that hold her spread and vulnerable. There's a strap for her upper arm too, and her thighs, and finally across her slutty little waist. You make them all tight, and they're all wired up.

"What—? What are you doing?" Winter questions, turning her neck to take stock of the restraints.

You simply ignore her question and focus on attaching the last restraint, that sits across her upper chest, just below her collar bones. Then you walk across the room and press a large red button. A thrumming of electricity hums through the metal bars. Every contact point on her body warms up and a chorus of muffled cracks and sparks come to life around Winter.

"This is special," Winter mutters to herself, her tone hinting at awe. She struggles against her bonds and they're secure. Tight and secure. Even with that futile exertion, she has no escape and smiles at that realization. "Looks like you have me trapped. Can you really hurt a pretty little idol like me? Can you go as far as I need you to?"

Winter swallows hard as she watches your mouth twist into a malevolent sneer.

You hit the button.

She starts to shake. The moan from her lips is loud and almost primal, the exhale laced with pain and excitement. She moans out loud, thrashing against her shackles, her small body thrusting back and forth as the lowest setting courses through her.

You stand over her, looking down and watching the way her muscles tense and her fingers clench. Her toes curl and the moans grow louder, and more frequent. More desperate, she can barely get a word out but she still pleads for more, the word yes spewing from her lips amidst an unending list of other slurred sounds.

You leave her there for a moment, struggling, while you slide your hand into a thick rubber glove, working it up your arm.

"Please make me cum," Winter pants through an agony of pleasure.

You walk back to her, pressing your hand against her flat stomach. She trembles under your touch, you can feel the way her body vibrates through the glove. Her eyes go wide with fear and excitement.

"Hurry, it's so good!" Winter squirms against the bonds but can't move an inch. You take your time looking between her thighs, at her soft and bare cunt, a shade of pink between two rosy folds. It's so slick as her pussy begins to trickle with her lust.

The thick rubber of the glove goes into her hole and makes Winter yelp like the pathetic submissive slut that she is. You stretch her pretty little pussy so easily, thanks to how creamy it is. She's so messy. At the same time, you raise a thumb to the control and push it up a notch.

An explosion of lightning and a sensation between her legs and another strangled moan of desperation. Her head whips from side to side. "I can't, oh shit," Winter manages to blurt out, her voice reduced to a pathetic squeak.

With your finger hooking into her sensitive spot, and her body stimulated with an electrical current, Winter doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell. You fuck her hard and rough with your hand until your arm begins to ache. You play with the current of the bed and the collar, sending shocks through her when she least expects it. She climaxes before long, her legs pulling taut at the restraints. She cries, "More!" as she loses herself to the pulses of her orgasm.

And as her back arches as best as it can, she floods over your glove with cum and screams for it. Winter's release is incredible, it gushes all over you, but you just don't let up. She's absolutely out of control and has to suffer more. Winter can't escape any part of her restraints as they don't give up shocking her through her orgasm, one after the other.

Her face twists in the most fucked up combination of pain and pleasure. It's an incredible sight.

You're just pounding her tight little cunt. Stretching it as it gushes out all the cum she has to give. Her body struggles against all the different sensations. She just keeps spilling out onto the bed as her body shakes.

It's only when she starts to choke out her moans that you finally twist the dial down to zero. It takes a few seconds to turn it completely off but the damage was done. Winter is heaving for air and when you slowly withdraw the digit buried inside her, pulling the plug on her cum spilling out.

"Wait a second," she breathes out in between pants, "let me just..." Winter stares up at the ceiling as she works on stabilising her breathing. When the world seems to slow back to an acceptable pace, her lips turn up into a joyous little smile. "Shit," Winter winces as her hips buck, the throb in her core making her moan ever so softly. "I think I made a mess."

You lift your wrist and nod as if to agree. "You made a lot of a mess."

Her pale skin has turned flush and warm with a sheen of sweat from exertion. She takes a deep breath, letting the sensation of the electrocution linger. Winter looks radiant, so beautiful that the urge to do all those things you wanted to come bubbling back. But you stay strong, despite how tempting her glistening little body is as her chest rises and falls.

"No regrets though," Winter comments, stretching against the confines of her restraints. "I've never cum like that before in my life."

"It really suits you, being tied down like this, cumming over and over. Are you sure you don't want another round?"

With a slight chuckle, Winter closes her eyes and gives her head a feeble, exhausted shake. "I do, but I can't." She can't even bear to open her eyes, she's spent and in a state, unable to cope with the aftershocks anymore.

"This is more like the woman I expected, shy and frail and overwhelmed. I guess you're just so easily broken."

"How did I do?" She asks in a raspy voice.

"For a first time? Great. Most people don't make it to the bed. And not many people look that good when they're cumming."

Winter lifts her chin a little higher. "I did that well?"

"You did."

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Maybe support me on kofi?🥺👉👈

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

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The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work. 

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had. 

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road. 

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate. 

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive. 

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion. 

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left. 

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look. 

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

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It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another. 

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything. 

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction. 

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

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The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John. 

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

[startaegi]

CHAPTER 002 . . .

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You floated through the next week like a ghost. You worked your usual shifts, took overtime for a few colleagues, barely spoke a word to anyone minus the patients you had to attend to and slept through the rest of the hours. You never saw the strange man again but you pondered a lot about that unusual night. The numbers on the card burned a hole in your pocket, every day becoming more tempting to dial.

It was like some form of twisted fate had heard your inner battle. You exited work with a phone flooded with messages and unanswered calls, all from the same number you had been avoiding. You sighed a little too loudly catching the attention of a passerby who didn't attempt to hide his scowl, you bowed an unamused expression on your face and quickly made your way towards the subway station. Your tired eyes read the messages over and over again.

You said Monday.

Don't give me the same shitty excuses.

Bring the money to the usual place or it won't just be pretty boy losing a kidney. Midnight, tonight.

You couldn't stand to look at it any longer, walking onto the train platform you tucked the phone into your backpack as far from your hands as possible. You took a seat, watching a train pull into the station. The doors opened and what looked to be college students exited, kitted in halloween costumes. It suddenly dawned on you that today was October 31st. Somewhere deep within you feel jealous. You’re here barely able to keep your head above the crashing waves, all your problems piling one on top of the other, ready to take you out any second. Your debts worry you most, you know the messages don't come lightly, they would happily take a body part or two just to cover what you owe. There was no way for you to get that kind of money so soon.

You groaned, forcing yourself from your racing mind to look at the notice board, your train was arriving in 8 minutes. You rested your head against the cold tiled wall, teeth nervously ripping at the skin inside your lips. A bad habit you were trying to break. Your fingers scraped against the card in your left pocket, you felt the grooves of the numbers carved into the back. Would it really be so bad? You could go and at least try, if you don’t win then you can just leave and give the loan sharks a kidney and maybe a lung too for all the interest they've added on top. You laughed out loud. You were going insane.

A few minutes until your train. There really was no other option. You pulled out your phone, dialling the eight digits and pressing call. It rang for a second then abruptly went through.

"Do you wish to participate in the game?" A voice on the other end questioned.

"Yes"

The male voice replied in an instant, "Seoul Tower, 11:30pm" You heard the faint rumble of your train approaching as the call ended.

Hushed whispers awakened you from your slumber. You reluctantly opened your eyes, they felt heavier than usual as did your limbs, as if they had been removed and reattached - and no longer belonged to you. You moved your pounding head to the side, rows of beds piled high greeted you. You slowly sat up in confusion. Your memory felt hazy, none of the pieces from the night before fitting together. You remembered leaving your apartment and getting into an unknown car, thinking now that probably wasn't the best of ideas but there was nothing after that. You took notice of the countless people making their way to the centre of the room - so bright and big it was blinding you, eyes squinting to see.

All of the people were dressed similarly. In matching green tracksuits, numbers stitched to their chest. You kicked away the thin blanket only now noticing you were no longer in your work scrubs. Like everyone else you were in a tracksuit that didn't belong to you, the numbers 382 rested against your chest. You should have felt some sort of panic at being kidnapped, like the woman beside you who was currently scanning the place in shock but instead your worries were on Namgyu. Even in the worst situation you were only scared for him. When the loan sharks arrived at the meeting place at midnight and hadn't found you there, ransacked your apartment and harassed your neighbours, it was him they would look for instead. They'd make good on their promise and probably kill him in the process. Your heart raced in fear thinking about it.

Commotion from the centre of the room pulled you from your darkening thoughts. Eight figures entered: all of them in red suits and black masks. You could vaguely remember one of them being the driver the night before.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," The masked man in the middle said, voice echoing across the room. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days, those who win all six games receive a handsome cash prize"

"Excuse me," a woman called out from across the room. You were too far to see properly, but you could faintly make out a face descending the stairs. “You said I'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me, so how can I believe you?" she asked the masked guards.

She was right, you thought. But right now you would do anything to get some extra cash in your pockets, so if it meant being kidnapped, then so be it.

"I apologise, please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game's security"

Another woman called, this time from somewhere at the front, "What's with the mask then? Is your face also a secret?"

"Yeah! Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?" A man cried out in agreement.

"Even the dealers don't cover their faces in those places" The same woman replied.

You watched as a hundred heads nodded in agreement.

The guards don't falter at the countless voices hurling questions at them, instead the centre one replied, "To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality it is our policy not to reveal the identities of staff." He paused. "Please understand"

The same thing goes on for minutes, different voices from all over the room calling out, sometimes ridiculous, questions. Your head flies up at the mention of a familiar name, "Player 333, Lee Myunggi"

You found him in the crowd, only seeing the back of his head and the number 333 on his back. He looked up at the screen as it changed to a clip of him playing ddakji.

Just as a hand raised to slap him, the masked guard spoke up again, "Age 30, used to run a YouTube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappear"

You always told yourself if you somehow bumped into the man who was one of the leading factors in your relationship ending, you would hit him and never stop. But now looking at him he was getting everything he deserved, his debt was big enough karma.

The guard continued naming off names, all of them in similar or more debt than you. Your questions had finally been answered, only after everyone had been shamed for their piling money worries. The prize amount was 45.6 billion. You couldn't fathom ever having that kind of money, what could you even spend it on; other than the obvious. Everyone around you seemed to be feeling the same, shocked whispers filled the room.

The masked guard - the centre one with the square, said loud and clear, no emotion in his voice, "If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate please speak up now, we will always give u the chance to leave the games"

PLAYER CONSENT FORM.

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit.

2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.

3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie players will vote again.

4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

SIGNATURE________.

You quickly signed the paper, no hesitation in your decision. You bowed your head at the guard, turning to leave the overflowing line. You noticed MG Coin, now known as Myunggi, signing where you once were. You walked back to the bed, eyes still on him. He turned, a little smile on his face that slowly dropped as two figures approached him.

Namgyu stood beside a purple haired boy. The number 124 attached to his chest. His hair was longer than it had been six months ago but his face was exactly as you remembered. No part of you was surprised to see him here. If money was involved, more than likely Namgyu also was. You felt stupid for worrying about him. All of your sympathy leaving at the sight of his smile, the same one you longed to forget.

You moved closer to hear their conversation but far enough away that they wouldn't notice. The purple haired one, player 230, spoke up, "You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin" He waved his hands in front of his face while speaking. "I was subscribed to your channel and I lost a shitload of money, asshole"

"So did I," Namgyu agreed, both boys staring Myunggi down. "Money and my fiancée" He added, side-eying 230 for a reaction but he gave none.

You laughed, hand quickly covering your mouth at the stares from beside you. He had the audacity to act as if he wasn't also to blame, as if your relationship wasn't already broken long before.

"You've got the wrong person" Myunggi defended, moving to pass through them.

Player 230 stopped him with a hand on his chest, knocking him back a little, "I watched your content all day, every day. Now I see you in my dreams, motherfucker" He swore. He rested a hand against Namgyu's shoulder who looked at him awkwardly. "Was your name Namsu?" 230 asked.

"It's Namgyu from Club Pentagon" He replied. You felt your heart drop at the mention of the nightclub. It was a place of nightmares.

"Right," 230 replied, waving him off. Myunggi looked to the side, uncomfortableness written all over his face. You sat still as his eyes met yours but he quickly turned again. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Namgyu here because we share the same pain" He finished.

The purple-haired boy turned to walk away and just as you thought it was over Namgyu spoke up again, "I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money. So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?" He asked.

"What do you want from me?" Myunggi questioned.

Player 230 rushed forward, his hand grabbing the back of Myunggi's neck, gasps erupted in the room. "What do you think? Give me my money" 230 seethed.

The grip on his hair was strong as Myunggi fought back, "Did I force you to buy that coin?" He broke free, questioning both of them.

"You told us to bet it all, you fucker." 230's voice was angry. "You swore it'd shoot up! You said we'd be fucking idiots if we didn't buy it" His voice grew louder.

Myunggi took in a deep breath, repeating like he had been rehearsing his entire life, "You are responsible for the final decision on your investment, didn't you hear me say that at the end?" He paused. "You said you watched every day"

You in a way knew he was right. He didn't force Namgyu to waste your joint savings on a coin that only broke you apart, Namgyu had done that on his own accord. But you needed somewhere to place that blame and Myunggi happened to be that person.

Player 230 grasped Myunggi's zip-up, fist raised at his face. "You asshole" He bit through clenched teeth.

Namgyu attempted to break the two apart, "Hey calm down" He repeated. "People are watching, you don't wanna be on the news"

The three eventually broke apart, Namgyu following his new friend like a lost puppy. Myunggi watched the pair, you could sense a little fear and embarrassment on his face.

With them finally gone it only gave you room to think about Namgyu again. You were going to finish these games without bumping into him, as hard as it would be in such a small confinement, you didn't need to open old wounds. You would win that money, pay your debts and never have to face him again.

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notes . . . warnings for future chapters include child abuse, drugs, alcohol, death, toxic relationships & all the usual squid game stuff. will add them before the chapter they're included

taglist . . . let me know if you wanna be added!

[keeryhours]

the needle and the damage done - chapter one

Older! Rockstar! Eddie Munson x female! reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

37 year old Eddie Munson is a washed up rockstar - reckless, wild, and heavily addicted to drugs. His drug use tore apart his band and his family. It’s up to him to make things right.

A bit of a prologue. Eddie destroys his own life.

Warnings:

(18+), HEAVY warning for drugs (weed, psychedelics, cocaine, pills, heroin), alcohol, addiction, one slightly smutty part, p in v, pregnancy, birth, medical conditions, rockstar and addict behavior, cycle of trauma, ANGST, mention of shitty parents, broken families

Word Count: 3k

A/N:

I hope you enjoy this new series! Please mind the triggers and warnings!

—

Corroded Coffin was Eddie’s first baby.

He started that band in middle school with his closest friends. He gave it his everything all throughout school, to the point that he repeated his senior year three times and still never graduated.

But that didn’t matter, because it paid off. Corroded Coffin made it big. Huge, in fact. Like playing three sold out shows in a row at Madison Square Garden big.

You had been there from the beginning, too. Friends since 3rd grade, growing up together in Forest Hills trailer park. Where Wayne and Eddie always gave you sanctuary from your own shitty parents.

You and Eddie started dating in 10th grade. It felt like it had been forever coming. You had both been crushing on each other since the beginning, both too scared to say anything about it. But one day, after a Hellfire campaign, Eddie cornered you in the drama room and asked you out. The rest was history, as they say.

You started working at Benny’s after graduation, waiting for Eddie to catch up with you. A few years later and Eddie was coming in with the mail screaming - the tapes the guys had sent off to record labels had paid off. One wanted to meet them.

It was a whirlwind of fame and music after that. Things happened so quickly it made your head spin. They recorded an album, released it to critical and fan acclaim, went on a tour. Eddie swept you off your feet and you spent 4 months living on the tour bus, seeing the country with him and the guys. Every show sold out, fans lining up outside after trying for even a glimpse of the band. They were usually happy to stop for autographs, unless they had to be somewhere, an interview or a magazine shoot.

The suits insisted it would be better for the band’s image if they all appeared single, but Eddie was having none of that. He paraded you around like his personal trophy, showing you off to anyone who would see. It was a little embarrassing, but you loved him.

Eddie pulled you onstage at the final show of the first tour. You were terrified to be on stage in front of so many people, already embarrassed about whatever Eddie was about to pull. But then he dropped down to one knee, pulled a ring out, looked at you like you were the only person in the world, and asked you to marry him. You said yes, of course.

Your wedding was perfect. You wore a beautiful white gown, form fitting with lace sleeves. Eddie wore a black tux. Gareth was his best man, Robin your maid of honor. It was a pretty small wedding, just your closest family and friends, but it couldn’t have been better. It was everything you’d dreamed of since you met Eddie.

With rockstar-dom came certain expectations, certain…hobbies. You and Eddie had always loved to share a joint or a bowl together, sometimes even fooling around with psychedelics. It was always an amazing time. But with fame came access to anything your heart could ever desire. And Eddie loved the drugs.

It started out slowly. He’d drink himself stupid at the after parties, climb on the bar and throw chairs and get rowdy, get into fights sometimes. He only behaved if you tagged along. But the fans loved him, the guys thought he was a blast. That was just Eddie, wild, just how he was. The life of the party, until he wasn’t.

Coke was the first new thing you ever tried together. Eddie definitely didn’t need to be any more hyped up than he already was on his own, but he loved the stuff. He’d carry the little baggie in his pocket at all times, pouring a little on his hand for a bump when you or he needed a top up. He’d spread fat lines on a mirror in his hotel room, passing you a rolled up $100 dollar bill to let you go first, ever the gentleman. Then you’d fuck like rabbits the whole night, doing more lines whenever you started to come down. For the first time in your lives, you had all the money and all the drugs in the world. The party never had to stop.

Next was pills. Oxy, Xanax, Adderall. Eddie really liked the pills. He always kept some on him, would sneak off to crush one up and snort it if he needed the high extra fast. You didn’t know. You thought they were just for parties. You didn’t know it had become a daily thing, a crutch.

1993, you were 26 years old. Corroded Coffin had been successful for the past few years. Everyone loved them, especially Eddie as the frontman. He knew how to put on a show, knew how to have a good time. You couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by fans and photographers. It threw everything off balance when you found out you were pregnant.

It had been an accident. You were terrified to tell Eddie. You didn’t want to ruin his fun, or get in the way of his dream. But this baby was happening whether you were ready or not. And you knew it was time to get sober. After his show that night, you asked Eddie to come back to the hotel with you instead of going to the after party. He had been reluctant - he loved the after parties - but he agreed. Back in the hotel room, you sat him down, the look on his face completely terrified of whatever you were about to drop on him.

“Eddie…” you had started, holding his ringed hands in yours. “I’m…I’m pregnant.”

His eyes had gone wide. Maybe if you had known then what you knew now, you would have noticed how his pupils were blown. You didn’t even know he was on anything at the time.

“Baby, that’s…” he shook his head, and your heart sunk. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want the baby. “That’s fucking incredible!”

It was your turn to widen your eyes when Eddie stood, pulling you into a tight embrace and lifting you off the ground, spinning you around. “A baby! Wow.”

“You’re not upset?” You asked once he’d sat you back down, a huge grin on his face.

“Upset? Why would I be upset?”

“Because of the band,” you said. “Your freedom.”

“I don’t care about all of that,” he said, hands on either side of your face. “I care about you. I care about this baby.” He lowered a hand to gently caress your stomach. “You’re my whole world. And now my world is about to double,” he laughed. You couldn’t help but return his smile, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” you said. “I‘ve always wanted a family with you.”

“Me too.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, then started covering your whole face in kisses, making you giggle. “I’m so fucking happy.”

A baby girl, Evelyn “Evie” Grace Munson was born August 1994. She was Eddie’s twin, born with big brown eyes and a head full of dark brown hair that got curlier the longer it grew. She was an angel of a baby, slept perfectly and hardly ever fussed. She was even a well behaved toddler, shy and reserved. She clung to you and Eddie and her Uncles Gareth, Jeff, and Grant.

Eddie’s drug problem ramped up after Evie’s birth. He was still able to hide it, to cover it up with his partying, but it was getting worse. He was starting to take oxy on a regular basis, snorting coke or taking adderall to counteract the downer’s effects. He was pretty much fucked up all the time, but he was functional enough that no one worried. And he did his best to keep it away from you.

After it all, you felt like an idiot for never noticing.

December 1998, you welcomed your second daughter, Rhiannon Raven Munson. She also looked just like Eddie, brown hair and big brown eyes. The Munson genes were strong, apparently. She was a fussier baby, suffering with colic. There were countless sleepless nights walking the halls with her, bouncing her and trying to get her to just sleep.

Evie adjusted to her big sister role perfectly. She loved her new baby sister, even if she wanted to treat her like a doll and push her around in her toy stroller.

After Rhiannon’s birth is when things really spiraled, although you were still oblivious. But the guys started to notice, because he was less careful around them. He started spending more time away from home.

This was when Eddie did heroin for the first time.

It was just snorting it, he didn’t think it was a big deal. But god, the way it made him feel. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, like he had literally gone to heaven. It was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.

He never wanted to stop.

Eddie was railing lines before shows, smoking heroin as soon as he got off stage before heading to the after party. You were home alone with the two girls.

He would come home late, long after you and the girls had gone to bed, climbing into bed with you and kissing all over your neck and shoulders until you turned around in his arms, kissing him deeply as he slid his hand beneath your panties.

“My pretty girl,” he’d mumble against your lips, pulling your body into his own. “Gonna make you feel so good tonight.”

Eddie was always incredible in bed, but being hopped up on coke always made him insatiable. He’d fuck your brains out, have his hand held tightly over your mouth to not wake the kids as your eyes rolled back and you came around his cock again and again.

July 2001, Ivy Maeve Munson was born. She was born prematurely and with a congenital heart condition, and spent months in the NICU. You left her side as little as possible, Wayne babysitting the girls while you spent every possible moment at the hospital. She had heart surgery at 3 weeks old, which thankfully went perfectly. Eddie had to leave for band commitments, but spent as much time as he could by your side. He didn’t mention the pills he was popping behind your back, or the heroin he was smoking in the bathroom of the studio.

Things really hit rock bottom after Ivy’s birth. You didn’t know if it was the stress of her health problems or what, but something had changed in Eddie. He wasn’t even trying to hide his drug abuse anymore.

She was only a few months old when he injected heroin for the first time.

The rush was nothing like snorting or smoking it. The first time he did it, with some of his rockstar friends, and the drug hit his veins for the first time, he had never felt happier. Not on his wedding day, not holding his daughters for the first time. It was like there wasn’t a single thing wrong in the world, everyone around him felt like his closest friend, he loved everyone and everything. He was wrapped in the warmest, most comforting hug, his stomach was filled with butterflies like the first time he’d kissed you. Only better.

He slumped over and let it take him.

His addiction became obvious to everyone around him after that. His bandmates first - they’d get into constant arguments over Eddie showing up late too high to play guitar, forgetting the lyrics and slacking off on songwriting and practices. It was getting embarrassing for the whole band when he’d act a fool in public now, usually getting into fights with someone every time before they’d have to drag his passed out form back home.

The first time you found his kit, you confronted him in the living room, throwing it down on the table. “What the fuck is this, Eddie?”

Fear struck into his very soul. “Baby, I-“

“No.” You shook your head. “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“I-I swear I can explain-“

“I don’t think you can.” You looked down at the drugs and paraphernalia, tears in your eyes. “What have you been doing to yourself?”

“It’s just some fun, okay?” He said, hands combing through his curls in his stress. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just some fun.”

“This is heroin, Eddie. There’s needles here.”

Eddie opened his mouth, his hand outstretched like he was going to come up with some excuse, but he really didn’t have one. He dropped his arms to his sides. “I’m sorry.”

You wiped your tears away, angry and scared for your husband. “What if the girls were to see you fucked up on this stuff?”

Emotions swam behind Eddie’s eyes. “That wouldn’t happen. I promise that won’t happen.”

“Because you’re gonna stop, right?”

Eddie didn’t say anything.

“You’re gonna stop, right?”

“I…” Eddie looked around. “Of course I’m gonna stop, baby. I can stop any time, it’s no big deal.”

It was a big deal, and he couldn’t stop. In fact, his addiction only got worse and worse. He started stumbling onto stage doped out of his mind, unable to perform and forcing shows to be cancelled and tickets to be refunded. His public breakdown took over the tabloids, which was humiliating for everyone involved. And despite his promise, he came home high every day. The girls were scared of him like that, they were withdrawing from their father day by day, but he didn’t even know what was going on.

You broke up with him countless times, saying you couldn’t handle it anymore. But he would always come back, banging on the door in the middle of the night, crying and withdrawing and swearing he was done and wouldn’t touch the stuff again. You’d take him back, help him through the sickness, and things would be okay for a week before he’d be right back to it.

The final straw was when you found him shooting up a speedball in the bathroom at the house. You had freaked out - “The girls could have walked in on you! What are you thinking?!” - and Eddie was too doped up to even have a conversation with you. You called Gareth, Jeff, and Grant to come get him, because you were officially done for good.

You found out you were pregnant again after that. It was a complete surprise - Eddie was 37 and you were 36. There had been no plans for more kids. Three kids was a handful, and Eddie was his own shitshow right now. You hadn’t even talked in a week, and last you’d heard he was still heavy on the dope.

The guys were getting sick of him. The band had gone on an indefinite hiatus because Eddie couldn’t get his shit together. Everything he’d dreamed of, everything he worked for was falling from his grasp faster than he knew what to do with. But he still couldn’t put the drugs down.

You showed up at Gareth’s house, walls up as you prepared for the conversation, prepared for the state Eddie would be in when you saw him. Gareth answered the door with a somber expression on his face, and you knew it wouldn’t be good.

“He’s on the couch in the den,” he said.

You were familiar with the house, so you walked down the hall and to the room yourself. Eddie was passed out on the couch, hair a mess, sweaty, dirty clothes he’d probably been in for days. Track marks visible on his strong arms you always loved having wrapped around you.

You nudged him, and he slowly woke up.

“Babe?” He said, voice hoarse. His pupils were constricted, eyes bloodshot. He’d clearly had something recently. His facial hair was scruffy, unkempt. He reached for you, but you pulled away.

“I need to talk to you.”

He sat up on the couch with a groan, rubbing his head. “What…what’s up?”

“I’m pregnant again, Eddie.”

He dropped his hands, looking up at you. “No.”

You pulled the tests out of your hoodie pocket, handing them over. He took them with shaking hands, examining them. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m 6 weeks. It’s still early.”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t- we can’t-“

“I’m giving you an ultimatum.”

His eyes shot up to you. “What?”

“An ultimatum,” you said again. “Either you go to rehab and get clean, for good…or me and the kids are out of your life. For good.”

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed, looking for something to say. “You- you can’t do that.”

“I can,” you said. “And I am. Because this is out of hand, Eddie. You’re an addict. You’re going to kill yourself doing this shit. You’re not 22 anymore. This is sad. It’s sad watching you do this to yourself.” You wiped away a tear. “I love you more than anything, and I’m just watching you destroy yourself.”

Eddie looked up at you sadly. “Please. Please don’t take my kids from me. Please don’t leave me.”

“I have to do this,” you said. You took a deep breath. “If you want to get clean, you know where to find us.”

With that you turned and left the room, leaving Eddie alone with your words. He knew something had to change. He was killing himself with the drugs. But he also didn’t want to stop. He never wanted to stop. They felt too good, made him feel so alive in a way he never did in normal life.

As you drove home, you wondered if Eddie would take your words to heart. You’d broken up with him plenty of times over his drug use in the past three years, and it hadn’t changed anything. Not a damn thing.

If losing his family and his career wasn’t enough to scare him straight, you weren’t sure anything would.

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@kellsck @birdysaturne @emxxblog @iheartgrayson

[jakeypaws]

classroom obsession 📘

yandere jake x fem!reader

content: college au, yandere behavior, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, manipulation, smut later on

chapter 1

you were a freshman at evergreen university, having just turned 18 a month before moving into your dorm. though a bit nervous about starting university, you couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling within you. you’d attended all the mandatory orientations before the semester began, trying to ease into campus life. your dorm, maple hall, was on the second floor in room 113. since your roommate hadn’t arrived yet, you had your pick of either side of the room. you chose the right side, appreciating the extra bit of space it offered. just as you started unpacking, your roommate walked in. after a quick round of introductions, you exchanged phone numbers, beginning the first steps of sharing your new space.

once you and your roommate, winter, finished unpacking, you both joined your resident assistant, giselle, and the other dorm residents for a required event. giselle led everyone on a ten-minute walk to juniper stadium, one of the main campus buildings, which was bustling with cheers and excitement as you arrived. she guided your group to a section about four rows from the stage, where the college president soon appeared, warmly welcoming everyone and sharing what to expect for the upcoming semester. after the speech, the crowd moved outside to tents giving away free supplies—everything from notebooks and pens to t-shirts. finally, after what felt like an eternity, you and winter returned to your dorm, ready to relax after a packed first day.

classes started the following week, and i spent some time organizing my planner to make sure my schedule was in order. as a biology major, i had a few extra classes to fit in. i double-checked everything: three classes on monday and tuesday, none on wednesday, two on thursday, and just one on friday. i was relieved not to have anything on wednesdays, giving me a bit of a break. when the first week of classes finally arrived, i was ready. in each class, we were asked to introduce ourselves to the person sitting next to us and exchange phone numbers for homework and projects. in my bio 101 class, a boy sat next to me. he had wavy black hair and glasses, and for some reason, he looked familiar, though i couldn't place where i’d seen him before.

as the teacher asked us to introduce ourselves to the person next to us, i turned to the boy beside me. he introduced himself as jake, and that's when the sense of familiarity hit me. "wait, didn’t you go to elm high school?" i asked. "i’m y/n, by the way." jake’s face lit up when he heard my name. "oh yeah, i remember you! i used to ask you for the homework answers in history class." he sounded surprised, but there was something off about the way he said it. it was as if he hadn't been watching me for years, ever since we first started talking back in high school. why was jake like this? well, he was a bit of a loner—no one really talked to him. one day, i noticed he hadn’t finished his homework, which was due by the end of class. i decided to help him out of kindness, never imagining it would lead to anything more. after months of helping him with homework and quizzes, something shifted in jake. this was the beginning of his obsession.

we continued talking like old friends, even though we’d only known each other for about two years. i learned that jake was a year older than me and had opted to stay at a cabin about an hour away from campus, rather than living in the dorms. curious, i asked why he’d choose to stay so far from the university. “oh, well... i enjoy long drives, and the woods are really pretty in the fall,” he explained. i couldn’t argue with that; the fall season was beautiful, after all. but underneath his calm demeanor, i couldn’t shake the feeling that jake wasn’t exactly the innocent, puppy-like person he appeared to be. he acted as though he wasn’t the one who had pictures of me on his phone, the one who had stalked my every move. he’d dug deep to figure out which university i was applying to, then tailored his classes to match mine. he was playing the part of a sweet, harmless guy, and it was working—too well. i had to admit, a small part of me had harbored a crush on jake since high school, but i never had the courage to ask him out. now, i wasn’t sure if my feelings were real—or if he had just manipulated them.

jake had always adored you from afar, never going so far as to act on his feelings, but now it was time to make his plan a reality. back in high school, he’d become jealous whenever anyone spoke to you, especially a group of four boys who liked to tease and nag you relentlessly, pushing you to the point of tears in the bathroom. jake couldn’t stand it, and he knew something had to be done. the next day, when you walked into class, you were surprised to find that the boys weren’t there. as you took your seat, you overheard your classmates gossiping about a horrific accident. apparently, one of the boys had invited the others to his lake house, but only one had returned—he claimed to have found the others dead. they said it was a murder-suicide, the boy stabbing the others with a knife before ending his own life. as you walked toward your desk, you noticed a letter waiting for you, and without thinking, you picked it up and opened it. across the room, jake watched you with quiet intensity. as you read the letter, your eyes widened in shock. the message inside read: “princess, those boys won’t bother you again. i knew how harsh they were to you, so i made them disappear. don’t worry, i’ll always protect you. ♡”

the bell rang, signaling the end of bio class, and i said my goodbyes to jake before heading out of the classroom. what i didn’t realize was that jake was following me, quietly memorizing my schedule. as the day went on, i made my way to the dining hall, which was only a minute’s walk from my dorm. i sat down, about to dig into my food, when i felt a tap on my shoulder. i turned around, startled, and found jake standing there, a casual smile on his face. "oh hey, what a coincidence!" he said, his tone light, as if he hadn’t been trailing me all day. "oh, hi!" i replied, forcing a smile, though something in my gut told me this wasn’t as random as he was pretending.

we chatted for a while, talking about the classes we had in common, and it didn’t take long to realize that we had every single class together. at first, i thought it was a coincidence, but the feeling of unease crept in. i brushed it off as paranoia. it was getting late, and i needed to head back to my dorm to freshen up. when i stood up to leave, jake offered to walk me back. "it’s okay, jake," i said, trying to downplay it. "my dorm is only a minute away. i can walk by myself." but jake insisted, his smile widening. "you never know what danger lurks in the darkness," he said, his voice too calm. reluctantly, i gave in and accepted his offer. he walked me all the way to my dorm, and when we reached the door, i said goodbye. what i didn’t realize was that this was all part of jake’s plan—he now knew the exact hall, floor, and room where i lived.

as i stepped into my dorm room, the door clicking shut behind me, a strange feeling settled in my chest. i couldn’t shake the image of jake’s eyes, still lingering on me from across the dining hall. it felt like he was watching, even though he was gone. i glanced at my phone, but there were no new messages. everything seemed normal, yet a heavy silence hung in the air, like something was about to break. i shook the feeling off, telling myself i was being paranoid, but deep down, i knew something wasn’t right. it was as if jake had somehow wormed his way into my life without me even realizing it—and that thought made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

chapter 2

a couple of months had passed, and you and jake had grown a bit closer. it wasn’t just his cute, puppy-like face that drew you in, but also his promise to protect you after someone started sending you creepy letters—letters that, unbeknownst to you, were from him. you were completely oblivious to it—or at least, that’s what jake thought. lately, though, a sense of unease had begun to creep in whenever you were around him. there was something off, a subtle strangeness in the air whenever you talked to him, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. at first, you didn’t mind when he insisted on walking you everywhere; it was nice to have someone look out for you. but over time, it started to feel less like protection and more like surveillance. the more he followed you, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that jake was everywhere you went, and it was starting to get unsettling.

things started to go downhill when jake saw you talking to another boy. you were just chatting, nothing serious—he had simply asked for the notes he missed in class. but before you knew it, jake appeared behind you, his grip firm as he wrapped his arm around your waist. he shot the boy a cold, stern look, and with a chilling calmness, he said, "she's mine." the boy, clearly startled, turned and walked away without another word. "jake, what was that for?" you asked, confused and a little angry. "he was just asking for notes." jake's expression hardened. "i don’t care. i don’t like it when other boys talk to you." the tension in the air grew thick, and you felt your frustration bubbling over. "okay, this is getting out of hand. i’m not yours, okay? we’re just friends." without waiting for his response, you turned and walked away, heart pounding in your chest. from behind you, you heard jake’s quiet murmur, "you’ll regret saying that…"

just a week later, news spread that the boy who had asked you for notes was missing. the police had received a report from his roommate, claiming that he had hanged himself in his dorm room. a suicide note was found beside him. of course, jake was behind it all—he had forced the boy to write that note, to twist his mind until the poor guy believed there was no way out. sitting in class, my eyes kept drifting to the empty seat where the boy used to sit. then, jake walked into view, pulling me from my thoughts. “hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice too calm, too sweet. my heart raced as i looked up at him. “did you do this, jake?” i asked, unable to stop the words from spilling out. my voice shook with the weight of the question, but i couldn’t bring myself to regret asking. he tilted his head, the puppy eyes appearing, as if he were offended. “why would you ask me that?” he said, pouting as though it were the most ridiculous thing. “i was with you when it happened, remember? we were planning to meet in the dining hall.” i faltered, guilt creeping up. “right... sorry. i don’t know why i asked that.” “that’s fine!” jake chirped, his smile far too wide, far too innocent.

that night, i couldn’t stop tossing and turning in bed, my mind racing. how did jake know about when that boy died? the question gnawed at me, pulling me deeper into unease. but eventually, exhaustion took over, and i fell into an uneasy sleep. when i woke up the next morning, the sight that greeted me was more horrifying than anything i could have imagined—my roommate, winter, lying lifeless in her bed, a pool of blood spreading beneath her. i screamed, my body trembling as i scrambled to call 911. who could have done this? and why so soon? the police arrived, ushering me out of the room as they began their investigation. as they retrieved winter’s body, one of the officers found a letter tucked under her pillow—my name scrawled on the front. he walked out and handed it to me. my hands shook as i opened it, the words sending a chill down my spine. “hi sweetheart, i know you’re sad that you lost your friend, but she wasn’t as kind as you thought.” my heart dropped as i read on. “she kept talking behind your back, spreading false rumors about you. but don’t worry, i got rid of her. remember, i’ll always protect you. ♡”

my eyes widened in shock as i read the last sentence. it was the same as the letter i received in high school. this couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? my mind raced, the connection too horrifying to ignore. as the day dragged on, i couldn’t stop thinking about the letter and the brutal death of my roommate. i felt a pang of betrayal—winter, someone i had considered a friend, had been talking behind my back. but that thought quickly faded as the terror crept in. how far would jake go? when i returned to my dorm, giselle, the resident assistant, told me that i could go home if i wanted to, to get away from everything. i hesitated but ultimately declined; my parents lived only half an hour from the university, and i didn’t want to trouble them. little did i know, that would be the biggest mistake i’d ever make. walking into my dorm, my gaze fell on the pile of letters stacked on my desk. another month of them, each one more unsettling than the last. when would it all stop?

as night fell, i began getting ready for bed, the weight of the day still heavy on my mind. just as i was about to settle in, a notification popped up on my phone. it was from jake. the message read: “hey, are you okay? i heard that your roommate died.” my heart skipped a beat. that was strange—no one had released any information about winter’s death, and the police had specifically told everyone not to post anything on social media while they were investigating. “how did you know?” i replied, my fingers trembling. his response came quickly: “oh, i don’t know, someone told me earlier today.” my suspicion deepened. “the police didn’t release any info, so how’d you know?” i texted back, my gut tightening. his reply came just as swiftly, as though he was waiting for me to ask: “are you being suspicious of me?” my breath caught in my throat. “sorry, i’ve just been on high alert.” “that’s fine, i understand how you feel,” jake responded, his tone casual, almost too calm. but something about it made my skin crawl.

later that night, jake knew it was time to set his plan into motion. this was the moment he had been waiting for—the moment when everything would finally fall into place. since he had learned which room i was in, he’d stolen a keycard from the main office to gain access to the dorm building. as he walked up to my room, he slid the keycard against the sensor lock, which let out a small beep before the door unlocked. quietly, he slipped inside. the room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon, casting long shadows. he spotted me lying on the bed, sleeping peacefully. a sinister smile crept across his face. he moved closer, leaning down until his face was mere inches from mine. then, without warning, he pressed a light kiss to my lips. the unexpected sensation jolted me awake, and my eyes snapped open in confusion and shock. my heart raced as i realized someone had broken into my dorm. before i could scream, jake swiftly climbed over me, his hand covering my mouth. “shh, darling. it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice low and calm, almost soothing. “i’m going to take you somewhere safe, away from all these people.” i froze. his voice. it was jake.

as i struggled to break free from his grip, tears began to stream down my face. my mind raced—what was jake going to do to me? his sweet, innocent puppy eyes were gone, replaced by something darker, something filled with an unsettling desire. “aw, baby, there’s no need to cry,” he cooed, his voice eerily calm. “i promised i’ll always protect you.” the words hit me like a ton of bricks. the truth slammed into me—the letters, the strange behavior, the way he’d always been there... jake had been stalking me all along. he had sent those letters. before i could scream or make another move, jake shoved a rag soaked in some chemical against my face. my breath caught, and i struggled to breathe, panic rising in my chest. but the world around me began to blur, my body growing heavier, until everything went dark.

as i drifted into unconsciousness, a strange, heavy calm settled over me. my body felt limp, my mind slipping further away from reality. the last thing i heard was jake’s low, comforting voice in my ear, as though everything he was doing was for my own good. “don’t worry, darling. i’ll keep you safe... forever.” his words echoed in my mind as the darkness consumed me, leaving me with nothing but a chilling sense of helplessness. and with that, i was lost to the void, unaware of what awaited me next.

chapter 3

i woke up in a daze, my head spinning as i tried to take in my surroundings. the air was damp, the room dark and suffocating. it looked like a basement—no windows, just the faint glow of a small floor lamp that barely illuminated the space. a mattress lay on the cold, concrete floor, worn and dirty, but i couldn’t focus on that. my mind raced with one thought: i have to get out of here. as i attempted to move, i felt the cold metal bite into my leg. a cuff was strapped tightly around my ankle, chained to the wall. panic surged through me as i tried to pull away, but the chain was unforgiving. then, the door creaked open. “hi, sweetheart, you’re finally awake,” jake’s voice cut through the silence, dripping with a sinister sweetness. he stepped closer, a twisted smile curling on his lips. and just like that, my memory flooded back—the terror, the rag, the darkness. he had kidnapped me.

i backed against the wall, my body trembling as jake knelt down in front of me. tears welled in my eyes, my voice breaking. “p-please don’t hurt me…” i pleaded, desperate for any sign of mercy. “don’t worry, doll, i won’t hurt you,” jake said softly, but there was a chilling edge to his words. he reached to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, but i flinched, pulling away. jake paused, then slowly withdrew his hand. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this,” he said, his voice low and dark. “for you to be mine... forever.” my heart raced, the fear almost suffocating me. “why, jake...?” i asked, barely able to speak through my sobs. his eyes softened, but there was an unsettling intensity behind them. “you wanna know why? you were the only one who was ever kind to me... since high school. you always helped me, always looked out for me, and i wanted to return that. i wanted you to feel the same way about me.” “not like this, jake,” i whispered, shaking my head. “this isn’t how you show love to someone.” he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my face. “but i had to do what i had to do,” he said, almost pleading. “i couldn’t stand it when another guy looked at you, when they even spoke to you. you’re mine, and i’ll do anything to keep it that way.” my chest tightened as i begged him, “jake, please... just let me go. i won’t tell anyone, i swear.” his face hardened, and with a finality that made my blood run cold, he said, “no. you’re not going anywhere.”

a month had passed, and jake had finally let me out of the basement, allowing me to stay in his bedroom. but with that came a restriction on everything—my freedom, my choices. he wouldn’t let me leave on my own, took away my phone, and insisted that i kiss him every time he came home. i knew better than to try and call for help; the consequences were severe. i hated myself for feeling this way, but i couldn’t deny that a part of me still cared for him. one day, we went out to a restaurant for a meal. we sat down at a table near the front door. when the waitress brought over the menus, i noticed someone from across the room. it was giselle. she locked eyes with me for a moment, and i saw her face drop in shock. i’d been missing for over a month now. jake saw it too. giselle hesitated for a moment before walking up to our table. “y/n! are you okay? you’ve been gone for a while now!”

i glanced at jake, who shot me a stern look before i turned back to giselle. “y-yeah, i’m fine…” i muttered. jake immediately spoke up, his tone sharp and annoyed. “may i help you?” giselle’s gaze shifted to him, her eyes narrowing as she sized up his cold expression. after a moment, she spoke slowly, her voice tinged with concern. “i’m sorry... it’s just... we were all so worried. you disappeared without a word, and we couldn’t get in touch with you. are you sure everything’s okay?”

i glanced nervously at jake, who was gripping his glass a little too tightly, then forced a smile toward giselle. “yeah, i just… needed some time away. it was… unexpected.” giselle didn’t seem convinced. she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “if you ever need anything, you know where to find me,” she said, her eyes flicking cautiously between jake and me. “i’m just glad to see you’re alright.” jake’s jaw clenched, his hand subtly squeezing my knee under the table. i held my breath, nodding at giselle as she walked away. as soon as she was out of earshot, jake leaned in, his voice low and icy. “you’d better not forget who you belong to,” he muttered. the restaurant buzzed around us, but his words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of my fragile position.

as giselle turned to leave, i mustered every ounce of courage i had and, when jake wasn’t looking, flashed her the discreet hand sign for help. her eyes widened in alarm, and i could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out what to do. but jake noticed. in an instant, his hand clamped around my wrist, halting my movement. a chilling smile spread across his face as he looked at giselle. “oh, don’t worry about that,” he said with a light, mocking laugh, though his tone was anything but friendly. “y/n has such a quirky sense of humor. just a little prank between us!” giselle’s eyes darted between the two of us, uncertainty written all over her face. she opened her mouth, but seemed unable to say anything, and i could see the moment she gave in. her lips curled into a forced smile before she nodded hesitantly. “right… well, okay then,” she mumbled, stealing one last glance at me before heading back to her table.

jake leaned in, his fingers tightening around my wrist as he hissed, “i’ll deal with you later.” his voice was a low, menacing murmur, a threat meant only for me. we barely made it out of the restaurant and into the car before he tightened his grip, his jaw clenched with barely contained rage. “you thought you were clever, didn’t you?” he spat, starting the engine. “well, i’ll make sure you never try something like that again. you’re overdue for a punishment.” i stared out the window, the restaurant disappearing in the distance, and with it, any flicker of hope i had left.

jake’s anger simmered beneath the surface, and i felt the familiar fear creeping up. i had seen glimpses of his collection—the ‘toys’ he kept hidden in the back of his room, things that weren’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. he didn’t want to hurt me, not really. he wanted to keep me, but in his own twisted way. the promise of punishment hung in the air as we drove home, and i felt my pulse quicken. jake wanted to own me, keep me by his side, and maybe—just maybe—he thought he could make me love him in the process.

chapter 4 (smut)

when we finally arrived back at jake’s house, he dragged me inside with a firm grip on my arm, not giving me a chance to even think about escaping. without a word, he shoved me into the basement, the same cold, dimly lit room i had grown all too familiar with. he attached the chain around my ankle once again, the clinking sound of metal echoing through the silence. as he stepped back to survey his work, his eyes glinted with a dark satisfaction, like he was relishing in the control he had over me. i couldn’t help but feel trapped all over again, my heart sinking with the realization that there was no getting away from him now.

jake stood in the doorway, his gaze dark and unyielding as he watched me struggle against the chains. “you should’ve listened to me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and smooth, as if savoring the moment. he took a step closer, his smirk growing with each word. “i told you not to make me angry, and now… well, i’m going to have to think of something to teach you a lesson.” his eyes twinkled with dark amusement, and there was a hint of something almost predatory in his smile. "you’ll learn to appreciate the way i show you just how much i care," he added, and my stomach churned with both fear and a strange, unwanted anticipation.

jake, with a methodical calmness, retrieves a length of rope from the corner of the room, his movements slow and deliberate. his eyes lock onto you as he removes your clothes, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. he begins measuring the rope, ensuring it's long enough to secure you properly. his hands move with unsettling precision as he wraps the rope around your wrists, binding them tightly behind your back. the ropes press against your skin, each knot pulled with firm intent. he never breaks eye contact, making sure you understand that every movement is calculated, every knot a reminder of his control. the ropes are tight, restrictive, leaving you unable to move, your body now positioned to heighten your vulnerability. jake steps back, taking a moment to admire his work, then turns his gaze back to you with a dark smirk playing on his lips.

jake steps toward the corner, retrieving the box of ‘toys’ he had kept hidden, setting it beside the mattress with a soft thud. his eyes gleam with a mix of anticipation and possessiveness as he turns back to you, his gaze unwavering. jake sits down on the mattress, patting his thighs in a silent command. “come here,” he says, his voice calm but firm, his eyes watching you intently. you don’t dare hesitate, moving toward him with reluctance. with a swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him. your back presses against his chest, your hands bound tightly behind you, the ropes restricting any movement. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place as the ropes dig into your skin. you can’t escape his hold, your body pinned against him, and you feel the weight of his control in every inch of your restraint. his breath grazes your neck as his presence consumes you, a constant reminder that you're entirely at his mercy.

jake’s lips press against your neck, soft at first, but quickly becoming more insistent. he kisses and nips at your skin, leaving a trail of fiery marks that make your body tense. his hands roam over your exposed skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you as he traces every curve. the ropes around your wrists pull, restricting you further as his touch grows bolder, more possessive. he lifts you slightly, adjusting your position as his fingers slide across your skin, exploring, marking you as his. you can’t escape, not when his grip tightens around you, not when the sensation of his lips and hands drown out everything else. it’s suffocating, but the deeper you sink into his embrace, the more you feel the undeniable pull of his control over you.

Jake’s hand slowly traveled downward, his fingers tracing along your sensitive clit, making you whimper at the unfamiliar touch. Instinctively, your back arched, a reaction he seemed to savor. He slipped one finger in, then another, moving with a slow, steady rhythm that drew soft moans from your lips. Despite the conflict brewing inside, you couldn’t deny the way your body responded, the heat building steadily. The knot in your stomach tightened, desperate for release. “J-Jake… I’m c-close!” you managed to gasp. A smirk crossed his face. “Go on, come all over my fingers.” And with those words, the tension inside you unraveled, leaving you breathless.

jake reached over to the box nearby, a glint in his eyes as he pulled out a few ‘toys’ that made your heart race. slowly, he revealed each one, giving you just enough time to take in what was coming next. he started with a teasing touch, his movements deliberate, experimenting with the new sensations against your skin. each press and vibration left you breathless, your senses overwhelmed as he skillfully alternated between each toy, drawing out every reaction from you. the intensity only grew, leaving you on the edge, unable to think about anything except the mounting pleasure that jake controlled entirely.

after a moment, you felt the wave of release wash over you, leaving you breathless and dazed. jake chuckled softly and guided you to lie back on the mattress, positioning himself over you. your gaze drifted to the unmistakable bulge in his pants, and you quickly looked away, flustered. catching this, jake smirked, unbuttoning his pants and lowering his boxers, letting his length spring free. your eyes widened, and doubt crept in as you took in his size, unsure if it could even fit. "like what you see?" he teased with a quiet laugh. he aligned himself at your entrance, ready to press forward when you stammered, "w-wait! i don’t think it’ll… fit…" jake’s only response was a reassuring smile as he murmured, “i’ll make it fit,” before slowly entering, inch by inch, filling you gradually.

you were a trembling mess as jake finally filled you completely, tears slipping down your cheeks from the unfamiliar stretch. he leaned close, his voice a soft murmur. "shh, it's okay. you can handle it," he cooed, his tone equal parts soothing and possessive. he began moving in slow, steady thrusts, gradually building his pace until he was driving into you with relentless speed. his hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer as he leaned down to capture your lips in a messy, breath-stealing kiss. the intensity left you reeling, barely able to process the pace he was setting.

“j-jake! i’m so close!” you gasped, arching your back as the pleasure reached its peak. “go ahead,” he murmured, “i want to feel you tighten around me.” moments later, you came undone, waves of ecstasy washing over you as you struggled to catch your breath. you felt jake’s movements grow uneven, his grip tightening as he groaned, “such a good doll, taking me so well…” with one final thrust, he shuddered, releasing inside you, and as he pulled out, you could feel his warmth begin to drip down. the overwhelming sensations left you lightheaded, and you drifted into unconsciousness. jake noticed, chuckling softly as he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. carefully, he untied you, lifted you up, and carried you to his bedroom. he dressed you in his t-shirt and boxers, then lay beside you, holding you close. “you’re mine, and you know it,” he whispered.

[inawickedlittletown]

Wear My Clothes - (bucktommy) - 8x04 coda

Read on Ao3

“Not that I mind, but why are you wearing my clothes?” 

Tommy was sitting at the island in the kitchen, his favorite red mug in front of him with a silicone sloth sticking over one edge and his tablet propped up paused on episode three of Nobody Wants This. Nothing could compare to his favorite romcoms from the 90s and 2000s, but Netflix was producing stuff that came close. 

Evan came to a stop. 

“What, do they not look good on me?” Evan turned his face, cheeky smile already in place. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” 

“Oh? That’s good. If I spend more nights in a row here I’ll have to borrow more clothes.” 

“Or we could find something to do that doesn’t require clothes,” Tommy said and stood up, heading in Evan’s direction. 

“Hmm, there is that,” Evan said and slid together into each other’s arms like it was a practiced move. 

Tommy’s arms snaked under his own coat and Evan’s arms landed over his shoulders and they both leaned into a kiss, meeting in the middle. Tommy backed Evan up into the fridge and Evan’s fingers found their way to his hair, tugging just a little on his curls. Kissing Evan was like finding the sun after a storm, it was time-stopping and surprising every time because Tommy still couldn’t quite believe that Evan was real and that Tommy had the privilege of being with him. 

In between kisses Evan told him about forgetting his bag back at the station. Tommy invited him to his clothes. 

“They suit you,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah?” 

“You could also just keep more stuff here.” 

Tommy had no real experience with this. He’d never had anyone that wanted to spend time with him like this, that wanted to be in his space or that Tommy wanted in his space. 

Evan seemed to light up at the idea. “I can?” 

“Yes. I’ll make some room for you. A drawer. Space in the closet.” 

Evan kissed him again. “I can still borrow stuff though?” 

Tommy laughed against his lips. “Hmm, yes. And maybe I’ll take a look at your closet too.” 

Evan’s hands drifted over his shoulders to Tommy’s biceps, giving them a squeeze. “Not sure these will fit in my shirts.” 

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” 

Tommy’s phone vibrated on the table. He let go of Evan reluctantly, grabbing it. 

“Getting called in,” Tommy said, apologetic. 

They were supposed to have the whole day off together, but this was the nature of the job. Tommy was on call and though it didn’t happen often, he did need to go when called in. Evan didn’t look upset even if it changed their plans. He just pulled Tommy back into his arms. 

“Be careful out there.” 

“I will,” Tommy said. “What, um, what are you going to do?” 

“Maybe I’ll go see Bobby. Get some clothes from my place. Make you some food for when you get back.” 

Tommy kissed him one more time. “When I get back, I want to be the one to take my clothes off of you.” 

“Now that sounds like a plan. Go, they’re waiting.”

Tommy placed a quick kiss to Evan’s cheek. “And I can’t wait to come home to you.” 

It was only after he had gathered his things and made it out to his car that he thought about it, about how much he did want to always come home to Evan. 

[illyrian-dreamer]

And Then There Were None – Part 2

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

<<&lt;Part 1

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage, suicidal themes

You woke in a bed as soft as the clouds, the covers silken with feathery pillows piled beneath your neck so plush your hardly felt them. 

A level of luxury you had never known could exist – and that’s how you knew you weren't home. 

Vision a blur, the room you woke to was dim, safe from the fire that crackled at the opposite end. Your vision reeled as it took in the space around you - an obnoxiously large bedroom. 

The haze lingered as you raised your hand in front of your face - a quick way to decide between reality or dream. If this were real, someone had done an awfully good job at scrubbing the dirt from your fingernails. 

But then a familiar ache throbbed as you bought your other hand from under the covers, and a stark white bandaged wrapped tightly at your wrist. Real then, and that fae male had indeed broken your wrist. The scars from your journey were faint now, but still there too. 

You felt for your stomach under the covers then, for any signs of your lingering ailment. They had changed you - thick cotton like padding within the fresh undergarment and the softest gown you had ever felt between your fingers.

You pushed the thought of who might have changed you from your mind. Healers - you hoped. 

Your skin beneath the gown was soft and oily, and smelt of salve. The healers had done well to heal you. Good, this was good. It meant you had a chance to return home, continue your search. 

Gods – the search, your family. You had to continue.

You were alone in this room, and it was night - all good signs. Perhaps with enough strength, you might slip be able to escape unnoticed…

With a slight dizziness, you swung your legs from the bed, toes pressing to the warm, rich wood - as if they floor was warmed from within. 

You wouldn’t dare to poke your head out the door - not in a house of creatures with heightened senses. 

The windows - that was your only option to remain unseen. 

Whether it was the delirium of the events days prior or the haze of exhaustion you were yet to shake, you didn't consider escaping into an unknown lands in nothing more than a nightgown was a fools choice, mortifying at the least. But survival called, your family called. 

Padding around the postered bed, you scanned quickly for your belongings . Clothes, waist belt, knives were no where to be found. 

The cupboard was empty, safe from a long black coat made from the softest velvet your had ever felt. Tying the fabric firm at your waist, you didn’t take the time to roll the sleeves that drooped well past your fingertips - clearly made for a much taller, larger form than your own. Black was good, especially at night, helping conceal the silky cream night robe that seemed to scream find me.

If you had the time, you would have marvelled at the  wall of windows - in shapes and sizes you didn't know a glass welder could blow. Arched in a row of three, each of them had smaller panes within - still large enough to fit through, and with latches. 

Perfect. 

You fiddled with the latch, the world outside dark and unmoving with no sign of light until you cast your eyes upwards. Fingers halting on the latch, your breath knocked from you chest as you observed the most brilliant array of stars you had ever seen. 

Were these the same stars as the human lands? How was it that such magnificent beauty was concealed from your own part of the world?

Another stab of loathing for fae found you then – it seemed even the Mother was versed in reserving luxuries only for them.

The latch clicked open, and you pushed gently against the pane, the window unmoving. Frowning, you pushed again, before trying to pull it inside instead. The glass moved on smooth, oiled hinges - and that’s when the howling began. 

As loud as a pack of wolves, yet that insistent noise was instead from wind. 

Fretting at the noise, you glanced behind you in urgency. Any second now they would come, the wind as good as any alarm. So with a strong grip on the window ledge, you pushed your head through, eyes squinting through the unforgiving gales. 

The wind almost knocked you, hair immediately whipping this was and that, eyes stinging with tears as you failed to see clearly.

Scanning as best you could, you saw no stairs of landings to climb to, no balcony from which you could hope to escape. 

And then you looked down.

It was instinct to back away, so fast that the back of your head knocked against the pane, and a quick profanity escaping your lips. 

You had never been so high up before. Never knew anything could be built so tall. 

With a roll of your stomach, you forced your head back out, avoiding looking anywhere below the horizon.

On the far left, hidden mostly by brick, was a distant glow of a city, the lights warm and flickering with glorious life. And between you and it - a river, it’s water the blackest of blacks in the night, besides from the reflection of the city that budded it’s banks. 

To your right - dark, intimidating forms of mountains and peaks. And with a quick flash below, far, far below, there was only night. 

Your gut lurched both from the height and realisation - it was suicide to try and escape. 

It took a moment to force your rigid muscles to push yourself back inside the room, hair strewn over your face and cheeks pink from the bite of the cold. 

“We don't usually advise opening the windows here,” a melodic voice spoke over the wind. 

Hissing in fright, you whipped your head behind you, to the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And beside her - the same blue siphoned male, his eyes aglow with hazel. 

You fished for your voice then, strained in your throat from days of not speaking, the rush from the wind and the awe of what and who stood before you fighting for silence. 

They were am incredibly handsome couple. 

Folded clothes in her hand, the blond simply placed the outfit on a spare reading chair, moving lightly to re-hatch the window behind you. You almost sighed in relief as the piercing howling stopped. 

“The windows are charmed to block out the noise,” she explained, her tone light and friendly despite the step of caution you took to distance yourself. “Well, don't you look good in black,” she perked, brown eyes scanning you, her smile sincere.

You looked down, the fabric of the coat drooping from your frame. 

“I stole this,” you said dumbly, before cursing yourself silently. 

The women laughed, and you could have sworn a slight smile pulled at the males lips too. 

“That’s quite alright, besides, you were awake before I could deliver you some proper clothes,” she gestured to the set she bought in, but you were fixed on those golden locks, the way they bounced when she moved, and that dress…

“I’m Morrigan by the way, but you can call me Mor.” If she caught you staring at her, she did not let on.

You frowned, senses returning, and you scanned the room again. Formalities, names, nicknames –completely unnecessary, unless…

“I must carry on with my search,” you said sternly, eyes darting between her and the blue-siphoned male. 

He knew. He would have told her.

Those large, towering wings pulled in tighter against his frame, and the male opened his mouth to respond. But Morrigon beat him to it. 

“You’re awake much earlier than the healers expected. They advised you may need a few more days rest.”

You tried to hide your panic, eyes scanning her, then the door, then where Azriel stood between it. 

Mor traced your eyes. “We are no threat to you,” she said gently.

You swallowed. “Then I am free to leave?”

Mor schooled her face into something softer, more sympathetic. “You may want to meet with out High Lord and Lady. I know they are eager to meet you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “They wish to discuss your predicament.”

“Have they found my family?” you all but blurted, heart thundering with anticipation.

She shook her head then, her face falling more grave. “I’m sorry, I haven't any news.”

A gnawing at your stomach then - something was wrong. How long had they kept looking, had they found anyone? 

“How many days was I-?"

“Four,” the male answered, hands still clasped behind his back. There was no smile on his face, but it remained soft. 

“And up and about well ahead of the seven days the healers predicted! Quite the fighter you are Y/N,” Morrigan chirped.

You almost jumped at the use of your name. And then a scowl fixed on your face.

“My apologies!” More gasped quickly, and you missed the glare Azriel threw her way, Mor’s eyes meeting his with guilt. “Please forgive me, I forget that humans aren't accustomed to-"

“Mind reading?” you gritted, more exposed under the ridiculous ensemble of clothes you wore. You wish you could drown in the lengths of extra fabric. 

Mor wore a broken smile. “Of sorts, yes.” She paused then, fretting to fill the silence. “Would you like to change your clothes? They should be to your size.” 

You looked at the set neatly folded at the chair. 

“The healers have washed you, but we can draw you another bath if you’d prefer?”

Your cheeks reddened at the question, the male’s eyes politely finding somewhere else in the room to fix that gaze.

Was this their way of telling you that you smelt?

Humiliated and frustrated, your eyes narrowed on the male. “What is your name?”

Hazel flicked back to you, and he took a moment of silence to observe you before answering. “Azriel.”

You eyed him up and down, taking him in fully. Tall, large, muscled - your attempts to stab him would have been laughable. Delirious indeed. 

As he eyed you back, his gaze fixed your wrist, even while concealed beneath the velvet coat. “I am sorry to have hurt you.”

Civilised - far more civilised than you would have expected fae to be. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I suppose I’m sorry for my attempts of murder.”

His mouth pulled into a polite smile, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the firelight. 

Mor chimed in then. “They told me you caught Azirel off guard, Y/N. Like I said - quite the fighter. Not just anyone can catch the Shadowsinger by surprise.”

Shadowsinger. As if at their mention, the furling, smoky shadows peaked from Azriel, and you let out a small yelp. It seemed it was your turn to be surprised. 

Without a whisper of a word, they withdrew into the Shadowsinger himself, as if scolded back into place. Azriel gave no hint of amusement as he kept watching you. 

Your eyes danced from him back to Mor, cheeks once again redening. 

“This is… overwhelming,” you admitted. 

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile, before placing a delicate, manicured hand on your shoulder. “A bath, then?”

You nodded, and she led you to the bathroom, candles lighting with the wave of her hand, and water now filling the marbled pool, steam quick to fill the room. 

You forget about Azriel in the other room as Mor closed the door behind her, marvelling at the arches and architecture, a new set of large windows in this room, this time facing the city. You padded there mindlessly, watching the twinkle of the town that beckoned. 

“Velaris,” Mor came to stand beside you. “Or, the City of Starlight. It’s location is well concealed, unknown by the other courts.”

You were reminded of the courts then, the brief lessons they had taught you at school. The divide of seven different courts, each ruled by a High Lord determined by their magic gifted the Mother and bloodline. Allies, enemies – it was complicated twining of politics and power. 

But you had never heard of Velaris. 

“This place is a secret?”

Mor nodded. “The true home of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. A paradise they keep concealed, untouched by others.”

“Why?”

Mor chewed her cheek. “It’s safer this way,” she said simply. 

“And you trust me with such information?”

Mor’s brown eyes warmed, but something sadder hid behind them. “It doesn't seem fair to lie to you about your own whereabouts.”

You nodded, eyes finding the city beyond again. “You mentioned the High Lord and Lady want to meet. Rhysand and Feyre?” Your head ached at the strain to remember their names, but the information found you. 

Mor smiled at their names, and you remembered the way the males had too when they first found you. Loyalty coursed through them like some kind of magic. If you wanted to survive, you would be sure to respect their hierarchy. 

“Morrigan,” you swallowed, bracing yourself for an answer. “Please, what do you know of the search?”

Mor stiffened, pausing for a moment. “The High Lord and Lady are on their way home to meet with you. They will tell you all they know.”

You eyed her carefully, your heart straining. “They haven't found my family, have they?”

Mor’s face of sympathy was beautiful, whether schooled or real. “I’m sorry, I really can not tell you.”

You swallowed once before nodding, eyes casting out to the city of Velaris, the name foreign in your mind.

“They are travelling as fast as they can, and should be here within a few hours,” she reassured. How or where from you didn't bother to ask. 

“A bath then,” you nodded.

Mor smiled tightly. “Should you need anything, just ask. This house - the House of Wind - is just as alive as you and I. You should only have to speak what you wish.”

You nodded, hiding the overwhelming thought of a magical living house as the pool of warm scented water beckoned you with furls of steam.

“A fitting name,” you murmured, remembering of the persistent howl that waited just outside those obnoxious windows.

Mor grinned, catching your every word. “Isn’t it just,” she called and she fluttered from the room, pulling the large, carved door closed behind her. 

You took a few moments of silence, again scanning the marble-splayed room you now found yourself in. Dream or reality, you were still yet to be convinced. 

That was, until your dropped your undergarments, the thick wads of cotton stained with specks of bright, fresh blood. A saddened whimper escaped you, and your hands instantly found your belly, phantom cramps pulling from within. 

You thought about calling for Morrigon, to demand an answer or to see a healer again. But deep down you knew, and that instinct to protect yourself, your privacy, was greater. 

A waft of essential oils blew your way, as if the house was beckoning you to bathe. Toeing the water, each of your muscles seems to relax and steam clouded around you. An uncontrollable sigh left you as you moved deeper and deeper, breasts bobbing beneath the water, the muscles in your abdomen glad for the relaxant. 

You had never had a bath like this, never indulged in such a level of luxury. Was this how all fae bathed, or just the ones so closely aligned with royals?

It was a jarring comparison to the tin bath in your family home, the steam quick to escape from the batches of hot water your mother boiled in the kettle when you were young. As you grew older, you would often forgo using the kettle, bearing the bite of the cold for efficiency, only treating the children when you bathed them.

A shock of panic found you as the pool dipped even deeper, and you shot from your toes back to the scooped edges of the pool, clinging to the edge. Obviously built for creatures much taller and larger than you, while you on the other hand had never learnt to swim. Not when your parents were so busy, and the creek behind your home merely ankle deep.

Bathe, change, and then you would have your answers - you reminded yourself. So you scrubbed with determination, dipping your head beneath the water and rubbing the pads of your fingers at your scalp too, washing away any remains of the taxing journey it took to get here. 

You would start your search fresh, start anew, even swallow your hate for fae if it meant the help of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. You could drink their wine and pass pleasant smiles if it meant they would aide you, if it meant your family returning home safely. 

———— 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the black tunic and pants gifted by Mor fitting better than any of your skirts and dresses back home. The fabric was soft yet thick, protecting you from the cold, even while the House of Wind seemed to warm from within. 

There were slippers waiting by your bed, black also, and your skin seemed to glow from the oils from the bath. The face staring back at you was clean, yet tired, the bags under your eyes still a swell of purple. Forcing your shoulders back, you forced a stance of determination. You could do this, you could meet with the most powerful creatures of Prythian, and you would convince them to help you.

With a gentle knock at the door, a voice called. “It’s Mor.”

“Come in,” you answered turning from the mirror, hands finding the pockets on your pants.

Her eyes warmed at the site of you. “Black certainly does suit you,” she repeated, and you wondered about the comment from earlier. Loyalty to black, it seemed, was also a part of their strange culture. Perhaps something to do with the Night Court, and you wondered if the other courts found such ties to certain colours. 

“Thank you for the clothes. I will return them once-"

Mor raised her hand dismissevely. “We’d hear of no such thing. Are you ready?”

You nodded. “Are they?”

“Rhys and Feyre arrived a half hour ago. They await you in their office.” 

Mor seemed to want to take your hand, but rethought it, and instead raised a palm to the door. 

“Follow me,” she hummed before striding for the door, red gown trailing behind her. 

With a deep breath, you followed in silence.

————

“Here she is,” Mor cooed musically as she pushed the doors open to the office, the High Lord and Lady stopping their polite conversation with as they turned to take you in. 

Your knees almost buckled under their gaze.

That power, even as a human you felt it from many steps away, steely blue and violet eyes seemingly pinning you to your spot. A heavy dose of intimidation overcame you and your body faltered, even though their eyes remained soft, their smiles friendly. 

They both stood, Rhysand donned in a neat black suit, Feyre’s dark gown falling from her frame like liquid night. Gorgeous – an absolutely gorgeous sight the both of them were. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Feyre spoke, her voice and as smooth as Morrigon’s, yet younger. 

“Welcome to our home,” Rhysand added. 

Blinking between the two, your knees almost groaned as you forced a curt bow. “Thank you, High Lord and High L-Lady,” you stammered. “For your hospitality.”

You waited for any sign of compliance from your bow - knowing that fae spoke a language of hierarchy and formality. 

But your were instead met with an informal sideways smile of Feyre. “Please, call us Rhys and Feyre.”

You nodded, although you couldn't see yourself respecting that wish. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Rhysand asked, violet eyes piercing, refusing to leave you. “We were told you had survived almost a fortnight on your own. That is very impressive.”

You weren't sure you’d ever get used to the unblinking ways of the fae as you blushed at his compliment. Had their parent’s never taught them it was rude to stare?

The smallest of smiles tugged at Rhys’s lips.

But you muffled your thoughts, forcing yourself to answer. “Feeling much better, thank you High Lord. You swallowed tightly, fishing for the right words to say. “And to your healers,” you added with rush. “Thanks to them too.”

“I am glad,” Rhysand smiled, moved back into his seat and gesturing for you to do the same.

“I’ve informed Y/N that you would update her on the search for the humans, to explain your own findings.” You could have kissed Mor for steering the conversation, desperate to hear what the High Lord and Lady had to say. 

Feyre immediately began fiddling with the fingers, before Rhysand took them in his own hand. You observed closely at the small interaction, Feyre’s nervous fidget, Rhysand’s immediate response. They seemed to speak na unspoken language.

Not good, not good, not good. Your nails instinctively settled into familiar wounds at your palms.

“Of course,” Rhysand answered, his beautiful features schooling into something more serious as his voice softened. 

Feyre’s eyes found you then, something like regret and sorrow burrowed within. In that moment alone, their difference in upbringing was at contrast. Rhys - ever the schooled socialite, tamed and controlled behaviour from years of perfecting courteous mannerisms. Feyre on the other hand – human, child-like sincerity shone through despite her pointed ears and occasional glimpse of canines. 

“I’m sorry to say that we have not found your family Y/N,” Rhysand said straightly. 

You nodded, assuming that had been the case. That didn't stop the sting in your eyes, or lurch of you gut. You clamped your lips against the wobble that already threatened.

“The truth is, we haven’t found a single human since finding you.”

Instantly the room began to reel, Rhysand and Feyre tipping slightly as your heart skipped to an irregular thunder. 

How could this be? You had been asleep for four days, between their armies and winged beings among them, how could they not find a single other? Your mind screamed a flurry of questions, but your remained stiff, only moving to grip the arms of your chair. 

Rhysand sighed then, glancing once at his mate who’s look of regret only deepened, tears shining in those grey-blue eyes. 

“It is with the deepest regret that we inform you we have traced a powerful magic from the lands of Hybern. A spell, rather.”

You forced your voice past the lump in your throat, past the bile that swarmed in your mouth. “What spell is that?”

Tears spilled from Feyre’s eyes, whatever control she had on her breaking into unmistakable grief. 

No, no don’t say it - your mind screamed. 

“As spell to kill all humans,” she whispered. 

You blinked. And the others watched, waiting.

You blinked a few more times.

"What did you say?"

Rhys's frown was pained. "It seems Hybern was intent on capturing your lands, and used a magic so strong it expelled humans..."

But Rhys's voice grew muffled as your vision narrowed, clouding with darkness.

And then it hit you.

It was as if someone had pulled the floor from underneath you. The room tipped unforgivably, vision blurring and stomach lurching with the lack of food in days.

A broken noise escaped you.

“Y/N, you must breath,” a voice spoke.

Panicked, laboured breaths wheezed from you, and you clenched your eyes shut past the horror of what they had told you.

Meek breaths passed your chest as you tried to speak. “I don’t-how, I don't understand.”

“Hybern has access to the cauldron, and we believe he used it to seize the territory of human lands.”

“It worked then, then spell? They’re gone?” You voice was hoarse, breathy with distraught. Tears had not found you yet, only an overwhelming dread laced with a flicker of denial.

Even while the room danced around you, you caught Rhysand’s tight nod, his face grave and solemn. “We are so sorry.”

Mor’s hand was gentle at your back, as an all consuming anxiety took over and you clutched at your head.

“Please do not touch me,” you rasped, audible wheezes catching in your throat.

Immediately her hand lifted.

“Dead, then,” you swallowed another rise of bile, raising frantic eyes to Feyre.

Broken eyes locked with yours. “I’m so very, very sorry Y/N” she whispered.

“My family, my siblings? Dead?”

She was crying, but you didn't care. You waited for the answer. All she offered was a nod. 

A broken, crazed laugh found you then. It was a cold, lonely thing, and you caught Mor exchange a look with her High Lord. There was nothing they could do except watch as you ran shaking hands over your face. 

You were trembling, eyes dancing frantically. No. No no no. This was unbelievable. You didn't believe them, you refused to.

“Impossible,” you scoffed.

“We wish it were, Y/N truly,” Mor said softly.

“Then pray tell, how it is that I survived?”

“We’re perplexed by you remaining, Y/N. We have no answer for it,” Rhys offered, a tanned hand stroking at Feyre’s back in practiced comfort. 

“Liar,” you snarled, standing so quickly your chair fell back. 

Liars - the lot of them, to tell you of the extinction of humans when you sat there alive and well in their home. 

Rhys’s eyes pinned you, as if expecting your outburst. “I can’t begin to imagine your grief Y/N, but we tell no lies.”

“I don't believe you,” you spat, hands curling into trembling fists. “You wish to keep me here, to trap me!” Anger rose within you. Typical fae tricks and fibs, that's all this was. 

“I would have thought the same thing if I were still human,” Feyre coaxed, wiping at her eyes. “I don't blame you for not trusting us. I truly wish we were lying.”

Something in her sincerity knocked you, cracking at your anger, demanding you to consider their words true. 

But your shook your head stubbornly, crazed by their audacity, distancing yourself from the devastation that loomed underneath.

“I will not stay here and listen to this.”

You heeded for the door, pulling on the handles with trembling hands, only to find that blue siphoned male waiting on the other side. 

Azriel.

His arms were neatly tucked behind his back, legs wide and ready as if waiting for you.

If only you had your knife.

“You will let me leave,” you all but growled, eyes darting from behind him back to his frame, looking for your way out. He bore no weapons this time , but it wasn't as if he needed them.

Azriel’s eyes softened. “I can’t.” His voice was soft and steady. “It’s not safe for you out there.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “I don’t care! I will not sit here prisoner, I need to find the truth for myself.” 

You made to step around him, but those rippled hands gripped you, from the shoulders this time. 

“Let go of me!” You struggled against him, but his grip remained strong.

“Listen to me. Hybern has sent an army and they sweep the human lands as we speak. I saw it for myself – if they find you, they will kill you.”

The integrity in his voice, deep down you knew he was telling the truth, even if you refused to believe it. Because believing it meant you had lost everything, everyone. It meant the cruelest punishment from the gods - not another day with the laughter of your siblings, the caress of your mother or hold from your father. No home, no love, no warmth - just a bobbing existence, with grief as your only friend. 

Perhaps that’s why you started sobbing, still trying to pry Azriel’s hands from you with his own. 

“I don’t care, I don’t care!” you cried, voice breaking as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “I want my family!”

Azriel cast a worried look back to the others who could only watch with pained expressions. 

Mor sprung into action, fetching a blanket from a nearby room.

“You are liars, territorial murderers, the lot of you! How could you let this happen?” your voice was hoarse once again, your knees buckling as shock took over. 

Azriel moved with you, gently bringing you to the ground as you wept, your legs folding underneath.

The blanket was strewn around you gently, Azriel’s touch surprisingly tender. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a strangely soothing balm against your turmoil. "I wish things were different. But your safety is paramount."

You wanted to fight against it, to push and claw and burrow in the bubble of denial, but you hadn’t any energy left.

Waking to an empty home, to empty streets, days of travel without another human in sight – perhaps you knew all along that this nightmare was real.

The room continued to spin as reality sunk in. Your family, gone. Your siblings, so young, so innocent. The humans wiped clean from the world. A full scale genocide, and you were the only one to survive it. 

"They were children," you wailed, your words a harrowing cry. "They were only children."

Injustice, isolation and grief was leaden on your chest, so constricting and heavy you thought you might die. 

“I-I can’t breath.” One palm braced on the wooden floor, the other against your heart as you began to pant. Eyes darting between the fae that watched on, you clutched at your chest, panic swarmed with bile. 

And then you made sick. 

Azriel's grip didn't falter, and someone moved to pull the hair from your stinging eyes. 

"Try to focus on your breathing, Y/N," a voice coaxed in your mind, male or female you couldn’t tell. "In and out, slowly."

But the air felt thick, suffocating, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on you. Each breath seemed to be a struggle against an invisible force, and panic tightened its grip around your heart.

That voice in your head again. ”Just keep breathing," it said gently, the voice cutting through the haze of your panic. "Focus on my voice. You're safe here, I promise."

The words were like a lifeline in the storm raging within you, and you clenched your eyes shut, clinging to it.

Rhysand approached cautiously, his expression a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "Az," he prompted, and the male raised from his knees.

Rhysand crouched down in front of you, his gaze unwavering. "We'll explain everything after you've rested Y/N, I promise," he said, his voice carrying the weight of truth.

And as the room slowly ceased its relentless spinning, you found yourself clinging to that promise, holding onto the hope that amidst the devastation, there was still a path forward, however uncertain it may be.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and threats you couldn't begin to comprehend. And Hybern. He had killed your family. Your siblings, those sweet innocent children who you loved so dearly. Your parents too.

Sobs wracked through you again, your body giving out as you let out a muffled whimper of grief.

Strong arms slid from under you turning you over to cup you by your arms and knees. And then you were being carried, away from that horrible scene, from the mess on the floor where your world came crashing down. 

You clung to whatever you could, the blanket, Azriel’s shirt, you didn't really care – but you clung and cried. Even when you were again met with the softness of a mattress, even when the weight of the duvet being drawn over as it settled against your skin. 

In that tumbleweed of devastation, a rippled hand soothed you, coaxing you to sleep. You gladly let it, letting the horrors of the world slip away, even if only for a moment. 

“Just rest now. You are safe.”

And with a final thought, you sent a prayer to the Mother to not wake up to this nightmare.

A/N: Hey pals, thank you so so much for the love and support of Part 1!! I sincerely hope you liked part 2! <3 <3 Now would you like some fries with that angst? Because it'll only get darker from here. Again, I'll tag everything I can at the top of the fic, but please have a look at the warnings ahead, I would hate to hurt anyone <3 <3 If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, drop a comment! Thank you so much for reading, mwa!!

[100vern]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. &lt;3

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Winter special!

Sorry this took so long, my phone decided typing wasn’t a thing it could do anymore and my brother is too nosy for me to write on my laptop.

As always: GN!Reader, Pre-established relationships, Tooth rotting fluff

Characters: Wars + Wind, Legend, Four & Time

Part one Next part (to be continued)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Wars + Wind

Winter traditions weren’t the same on Outset. It didn’t snow on the island, just as it hadn’t for the many years that came before. Warm waves frothed as they lapped against golden sands. The only cool thing was a slight breeze, which combed through the palm trees.

Wind knew it wouldn’t snow. But still, he found himself longing for the cozy days inside by the fire and the occasionally reckless days spent in the flurries of snow.

Even as you investigated his pouty lip and unusual quietness, he couldn’t bring himself to feel better. He couldn’t quite understand it. Logically, he knew it wouldn’t snow. Still, he found himself disappointed with the outcome.

“I just-“ He sighed, shrugging noncommittally, “It doesn’t feel like winter… It’s the same as it’s always been, but I-“ He shakes his head and turns away from the window.

“Don’t worry, i’ll shove you in a pile of snow when we get back to my Hyrule” The captain smirked, leaning against the door. You managed to throw him a soft glare over your shoulder as Wind grumbled (read: shouted) something threatening in return.

Oh how you yearned to see the two pelt each other with snowballs. Truly, it’d be amusing. Shame sand can’t hold its shape that well being thrown.

The two pause their exchange of school ground taunts at the sight of your pure and utter delight.

“I think we broke them” The sailor side eyes his brother, concerned. Wars inspects you from his side of the room before walking over. He grabs each side of your face to examine you further. His hands are warm. Comforting. Secure.

“If you kiss them i’m going to throw up” Wind’s face is contorted into something of a judgemental scowl, comical on his face. You both scatter off each other, garnering a fitting amount of cackles from the youngest hero. You grab him while he’s distracted, managing to tug both him and warriors outside in a fit of confusion and voice cracking shrieks. In fact, you drag them the entire way through outset and to the beach.

“Alright, C’mon you both. We’re making snowmen” Your victory is short lived.

“Really, hun? And how’d you suppose we do that” sassed by your own boyfriend… wow.

“Sandmen. You get my point” You roll your eyes and start gathering damp sand into a mound like shape. It

“Don’t just sit there, you were the one down in the dumps” You lovingly jab at Wind, who cracks a grin and gets to work adding sand to the lumpy collection of the body.

Between the three of you it was easy enough work, save for trying to stay out of the tide and avoid stepping on any sharp rocks.

In just over an hour, a sandman had formed. Adorned with little shell eyes and mouth, draped with seaweed and driftwood for arms, your sandman stood proud against the sea. The three of you sprawled out on the sand, basking in the waning warmth of the sun as it set. The sky was full of vibrant oranges and yellows, the sea waved the same colors back. Your stomach hurt from laughing, your arms were sore from wrestling the stiff sand. Your fingers interlaced with War’s, Wind half laid over you. The whole scene was magical.

Quietly, Wind was thankful. Not many people on his small island quite understood him. Not even himself. The weather was great, and yet he still felt sad. But with his two parents, he felt understood. Cared for. Loved. And that’s what winter was about, he supposed.

Legend

It was, however, really goddamn cold in Legend’s Hyrule. Snow, crystalline and white was packed thickly up to your knees, making any movement a challenge. The wind blew through you and scattered loose bits of snow on top. The rows and rows of apple trees are barren, and looked to have been for quite some time.

When you both finally managed to make it home, you practically fell into the doorway. But alas, it was cold inside too.

The cluttered home certainly did well to lift your spirits, but did little in preventing the onset of hypothermia.

“Hey” Leg’s voice pulled you from shivering. He sounded soft, warm in his regard despite the many times you heard him curse out the weather.

“I’ll see if I have anything here to help keep us warm, it’s usually not this bad” He smiles, wincing slightly as he flexes his hands. You knew even if he did manage to find some cloak or enchanted jewellery stashed away in the depth of his house, it would do little to soothe his aching joints. However, you knew no matter what you said, no one could get the vet to sit still for ten minutes while you tried to light a fire. Hylia herself could order him to sit down and wait, but you knew he’d never listen. It just wasn’t the person he was.

“Just- be careful, ok? Don’t overdo it. I’ll try to start a fire in the meantime” He nods, redirecting his familiar determination mixed with spite towards finding something to warm you both up.

You yourself began gathering wood from various places around the house to light a fire. Apparently, you’d forgotten that the wood you intended to burn should go next to the place you burn it. You were ever so in love with your past self, at the moment

Trips to the kitchen, paddock and small forger rewarded you with just enough wood to start a hearty fire going. It cast patterns on the wall, meeting and reflecting on the many weapons, souvenirs, paintings, photos and other such trinkets which lie mounted on the walls or placed onto shelves. It was comforting. Calm. A serene feeling of warmth, both literal and metaphorical washed over you.

Swift steps echoed through the house as your beloved pink-haired hero returned, blankets and cloaks gathered in a massive mound in his arms. They hit the ground with a soft whoosh, Legend grinning, proud he’d completed his task. He sits down, bracing himself on the fireplace and the floor, a pained look passing his face. Brows furrowed, teeth bared as his mouth pulled into a wince, it wasn’t what you wanted for him. The cold months made everything with his joints hurt worse. Even if he wore all his braces, used all his salves, worked an adequate time, the cold pierced through him.

“C’mere” You pat the floor in front of you and assist him as he shuffles over. Your hands cup each cold, pink cheek, thumbs brushing over their blushed surface. He melts into you, his eyes closing in comfort and contentment for one of the first times in his life. Your hands slide back to weave through his hair, delicately setting his hat off to the side. Wordlessly, you press him forward to lean against your chest, scratching his scalp and whispering soft assurances. His ears flush and wiggle, his head is tucked away in the crook of your neck.

Finally, you lean back, laying down on the floor. You drape the heavy collection of blankets, cloaks and quilts over you and he resigns to his fate. He’s a little achy, but finally he can settle.

“There we go, you can rest” Your voice regards him softer than anyone else has before. It cradles even the most pained parts of himself. From the scared child he started his journies as, to the paranoid hero who was constantly hunted, to the jaded man he grew to be, you placated him. He was never built to be so soft. He smiles, grateful you can’t see his giddy lovestruck face and tease him over it— let alone make it worse. It was dangerous to be this soft. And yet he’s never felt so safe. For the first time in a long time he feels like he can relax. There’s nothing else to do than lay here with you.

Four

But the harsh winter chill didn’t invade the fire-warmed forge. Hot fire burned in the furnace, settling a cozy orange haze across the metal surfaces of anvils, swords and well-used work tables. The light scattered, making abstract patterns on the walls and catching on fine strands of gold as a ringed hand tucks the hair behind his pointed ear.

Four was well accustomed to making things — whether it be for commissions or as gifts.

Yet, he never had so much trouble as he did this time. Something about the self-imposed stress of perfection or the fact that it was for you, someone he treasured so deeply, made the task of making your gift so difficult. It seemed no matter what he drew up, no matter at what angle he approached, no matter what style he emulated, nothing felt quite right.

“Too little” A brash voice would complain, “Something so simple- it’s as if we don’t even love them.”

And so he’d tear the page and start again.

“Too much” A colder voice critiqued, “It’s hardly practical for them”

And so he’d pick up his pencils and start another sketch.

“It’s just-“ A softer voice tried several times to rephrase before landing on his words, “Not them. It’s not a bad gift, not at all. Just not one right for them.”

And after a moment of hesitation, he nods and begins once more.

“It’s not your fault” The surest voice of the four finally speaks up in the middle of his newest sketch. Four sighs and allows himself to separate himself from his work for a moment. Papers are strewn about, odd markings in coloured pencil are scribbled across each design. The distinct handwritings overlap and splay out from one another where each and every one of his opinions dieviated.

Anger doesn’t find him, too burnt out for the fire to find its fuel.

His hand knots itself in his hair, tiredness gripping him finally. He’s about to shake it off and return to his work, to draw until his hand is cramped and his mind exhausted, but he’s stopped by a shuffling just outside the door.

“Link?” Your familiar voice calls quietly, not wishing to intrude on whatever breakdown you intruded on.

Almost shamefully he turns to face you, hunched over and afraid of what you’ll say.

“Why are you still up? Why are you still working- it’s been the whole day!” Your tone holds no real bite, though he can sense disappointment.

“I was just finishing up orders for-“ Your voice cuts him off before he can finish the lie.

“Oh shush. The only thing you’ll be doing is getting into bed and not waking up till noon” It’d be so easy to release himself from your soft grip on his upper arm.

Mentally, it feels impossible.

There’s quiet insistence— hope, even, that he’ll follow along. And he lets himself be dragged out.

“Besides,” The calm voice of his inner self rings out, “You’ll find good inspiration eventually” He smiled, suppressing a laugh. Lest you turn around and ask him what’s so funny. It’s nothing, truly —he’d say— just that he figured out his newest project. A ring.

Time

The coziness of winter didn’t seem to trickle through the whole chain, though. For, the Hero of Time himself was far too busy fulfilling the role of being elderly. Time travel paradoxes aside, Time had spent the first two weeks of the early winter season in bed.

His own stubborn ethic would normally call him to work until he dropped dead, so long as the jobs were done by the end of the day. But between his heavy limbs, dizzy mind and weak muscles, it seemed as if he had no choice. He huffed after finally sitting up, legs swung over the side of the bed.

The room felt excruciatingly cold, every uncovered piece of skin attacked by the frosty hands of winter herself. As he finally managed to stand, fatigue settled over him in a heavy blanket.

It was odd, he thought. Several times he’s lost so much blood he could’ve sworn he died. He was so familiar with the feeling. With pushing past it. But now? Now he couldn’t move? He’d laugh if his lungs could spare the air.

He was forced to lean on anything nearby in order to keep himself shuffling forward. Dressers, doors, tables, chairs… It didn’t matter so long as they helped him reach his goal. Admittedly, though, he did linger by the fire, given it was the only moment he didn’t feel like the chill of the dead season had settled in his bones.

After what felt like ages of fridged shuffles, he made it to the other side of his small cottage. The island provided him a place to sit, and the kitchen provided warmth as stew bubbles away on the stove.

“Link! What are you-“ You move quickly to scold him for leaving bed, a crime he committed quite frequently, but paused upon seeing him squint

“Sorry” Your sweet apology is better than any medicine to him. He can already feel the warmth returning to his chest.

…Maybe that isn’t a good thing considering his fever.

“Go lie down,” He opens his mouth to argue with your concerns “I know you’re hungry and your fever is coming back up,” Oh, is that why your hands were on his cheeks? “But you’ll get more medicine after you eat, ok? I’ll be done soon” He feels himself deflate and lean forward into you, resting his heavy head into the crook of your neck. It feels perfectly carved to his face.

“Miss you” He rasps, his own voice unfamiliar. It’s gravelly and almost hard to make out with how slow and slurred he seems to talk

“I know, I know” You sigh, finally resting back into him, leaning him upright. Your hand massages his back, where his tunic is just slightly stuck to his skin.

He takes a deep breath. It feels like his lungs don’t absorb any of it.

You lean back on your heels to tend to the stew and he feels your hands tugging him with you. As eagerly as he can, he stands, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin atop your head.

“No- C’mon, back to bed” You huff in amusement at his loopy affection, to which he takes great offense

“But I don’t want to” He sighs heavily in response, leaving himself to be dead weight if you don’t start agreeing soon.

“I want to stay out here, with you” He offers finally, after a stretch of silence. His torso rises and falls with the deep breath you take.

“Fine. But you’ll lay down and take a nap when you’re done eating.” He grins, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

Sure, some part of him would always nag to be productive, even at his own detriment. But having you to care for him after so long of being neglected by the world was too much a luxury for him to pass up. He could suffer another nap or two.

[bloatedandalone04]

Bets & Bargains - Part 9

Series Masterlist

➪in which you and bradley are happy and content with each other, but the girl he’s trying to keep in his past keeps trying to insert herself back in his life.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Now that the topic of sex had been discussed, you felt totally and completely comfortable with Bradley. 

He didn’t want to rush into things if you didn’t, and that turned you on, strangely enough. 

When Bradley left your place after that not-as-embarrassing as you thought it would be talk with him, you were left wanting him more than ever. How did you land yourself such a great boyfriend? And why did it take you so long to realize that the way Luke treated you was not at all the way a boyfriend should?

With Bradley, it felt right, it felt easy. He made you feel wanted and desired and like he actually wanted to be with you. When you were with Luke, it felt that way in the beginning, but slowly things started to fade, and it started pretty much right when he began asking for blowjobs and stating that you would get nothing in return. 

Yeah, you should’ve seen the signs way earlier. 

Unsurprisingly, the next day while you were in Eric Clarke’s class, you were thinking about Bradley. This was actually the class he walked you to the day after your first date at the gardens, funnily enough, so it was kind of obvious why you had a hard time focusing during the three hour lesson. 

When the class ended, you were putting your journal and notebooks in your bag when Clarke - who very stoically asked to be called that on the first day of class - came up to your table that was in the middle row. “Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted, his eyes showing his older age as they wrinkled when he smiled down at you. He wasn’t too old, maybe in his early forties, if the gray hairs scattered around were anything to go by. 

You looked up at him, your hand pausing halfway into your bag. “Oh, hi,” you say back, dropping your pencil into your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. 

“I was hoping to speak to you privately about your recent assignment,” he started, leaning against the table and looking around at the others as they walked out of the room. 

Fuck. The last assignment you turned in was one you were not confident about in the slightest. It was due yesterday, and you had to quickly write something up as soon as you got back home from Bradley’s place Monday night, right after he went down on you like a starved man. 

To say you weren’t focused would be the biggest understatement. And Bradley was one hundred percent to blame for it. 

“Oh,” you trail off, your brows dropping a bit as you look up at him. “It’s bad, right? I didn’t do very well?”

Clarke waited until it was just you and him left in the room before turning back to you and shaking his head. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he said and your brows lifted again. 

“Wait, seriously?” You asked in disbelief, almost certain that the assignment was the worst one you had ever submitted in your entire life. “I thought I bombed it.”

“No,” he laughed, his eyes flickering down your body before settling back on yours. “It was good. Really good; well written, thought out, and not to mention the grammar was pretty much flawless.” 

Now you were beginning to think he was just messing with you. The writing piece you turned in was bland, a bit boring and rushed, that much you knew. But maybe not? Why would your instructor lie to you? “Oh…really?” You ask again, feeling your phone vibrate from its place in your bag. “I wasn’t confident about it at all.”

Clarke nodded, crossing his arms and showing off his muscles against his tight fitting button up. You didn’t spend too long looking at them, out of respect for your teacher. If you were a few years older and attracted to guys twice your age, you’d be all over that, but thankfully you weren’t. “Of course there were a few errors here and there, but overall it was great,” 

You smiled up at him. “Thank you,” then you looked around and noticed just how close he was to you now that you were alone. You look back at him with a smaller smile, “Is that all? I have another class right after this one.”

You didn’t, but you weren’t feeling all that comfortable right now. “Yes, that’s all,” he replied and thankfully stood back up to his full height, moving away from you. “Good work, Y/n.”

You give him another smile and quickly stand up, reaching for your phone as you exit the room. Just as your fingers brushed against it inside your bag, you bumped into someone in the hall and you instantly forgot about your quest of finding it. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, but you immediately recognize the deep laugh of Bradley. You look up and meet his brown eyes, your gaze softening as you grin up at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back, resting his hands on your hips as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. You kiss him back, your previous feeling of uneasiness washing away as you practically melt against him. “Did you get my text?” He asked when he pulled away. 

You place your hands on his chest, shaking your head. “No, I haven’t checked my phone yet,” you answer, looking up at him. “Clarke kept me back for a few minutes after class.” 

“Clarke, huh?” He teased, squeezing your hips playfully. “Should I be worried?”

You roll your eyes and gently push him away from you but then take his hand when he holds it out to you with a laugh. The two of you begin to walk down the hall towards the exit, your free hand pulling out your phone to check his text. You blush when you read it, looking over at him and leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I missed you too,” you beam, lacing your fingers with his. “And yes, you can walk me home after class.”

“Oh, good,” he laughed, holding up your joined hands. “Because this would’ve been really fucking awkward if you said no.”

You shake your head as you walk through the campus, and when you get to your building, you turn to look up at him. “Come in with me? Please?”

Bradley grinned down at you, squeezing your hand. “I was really hoping you’d ask me that,” 

You were blushing as you guided him inside and right past Sam, who was sitting on the couch and looking up at the two of you with a scowl on her face. Bradley lifted his hand in a cocky wave as you passed her, and you held back a laugh as you pulled him down the hall and into your room. He turned to you with a smirk as you closed the door behind him, then he let his gaze drift around your room, and you realized he had never been in here before. 

Now you were a bit nervous as you looked around your room as well, taking in the clutter. “Sorry, it’s kind of messy,” you trail off, dropping your bag onto the floor next to your dresser. 

“Kind of messy?” He repeated with a laugh, letting you take his bag off his shoulder and drop it next to yours. “If this is ‘kind of messy’, what would you call my room?” He asked as he did one more scan before turning to you. 

“Unorganized, untidy, cluttered, chaotic, maybe,” you listed and he raised his brow at you as he stepped forward and placed his hands on your hips. 

“It’s not that bad and you know it,” he mumbled, pulling you close to him. His gaze softened as you smiled up at him, bracing your hands on his chest. “Is that Sam out there?”

Your smile faltered a bit as you looked down at his plain gray shirt. “Yeah,” you answer quietly, smoothing out the fabric with your fingers. “We haven’t been talking much. It kinda sucks. I miss her even though she’s right across the hall from me.” 

Bradley hums, lifting his hand and tugging at your bottom lip with his thumb as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe I should go formally introduce myself to the person who can’t seem to stop upsetting my girl,” he mumbled against your skin and made a move to open the door, but you just laughed and pulled him further away from it. 

“No,” you shook your head with a smile and tugged him towards your bed. “She’ll probably end up yelling at you and I’ll feel even more embarrassed.”

Bradley sat back against your headboard as he kept his fingers laced with yours. “Maybe I’ll hold off then,” he said, gently pulling on your hand until you were sitting next to him. “But I got you to laugh, though.”

You smile, moving to snuggle against his side as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah,” you whispered, laying your head on his chest. “You did.” 

He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “I want to take you out on a date,” he stated, making your smile grow as you propped your chin on his shoulder and looked up at him. 

“Another one?” You teased, referring to the many dates you’ve already had with him. “What did you have in mind?” 

Bradley looked in thought for a second before he said, “The beach,”

You raised a brow, “The beach?” You echoed, lifting yourself a bit higher so you could look him in the eye. “You mean the one that’s like a three hour drive away?”

He shrugged, “I can make it in two,” then grinned as he added, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“You want to drive there?” You asked for clarification, playing with his fingers as you looked up at him. 

“Yeah. You, me and the Jeep. My two girls,” he laughed and you blushed. “Plus, the drive will be like a test to see if we can put up with each other for that long.”

A laugh leaves your lips as you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw. “That’s a good point,” you agree. “What day?”

“Saturday?” He suggests, pulling you closer to him. “It’s supposed to be really hot and since summer is almost over, it shouldn’t be too crowded.”

You smile, leaning up higher to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “That actually sounds perfect,” 

Bradley smiles back and kisses you again. “I’ll pick you up Saturday morning,” he mumbled against your lips and you nodded before kissing him for quite a while after. 

The next day you were sitting on Bradley’s bed, your back propped against his knees as he leaned against his headboard. Your notebook was open on your thighs as you skimmed through the few notes you were able to write down during your lecture with Mal Scott, an instructor you actually really liked but had a hard time keeping up with. 

Bradley was flipping through an old jet manual he said he found in his dad’s things, and the way he said it showed just how much he was used to not having a father figure, or a mother figure, around anymore. It made you sad, but that was a topic for further down the road. 

You were trying to figure out if the letter on the paper was an e or a c when Bradley leaned in and placed his hands on your hips after setting the manual aside. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the side of your mouth before he gently pushed you forward enough until he was able to slip out from under you. 

You watched as he walked towards the small bathroom he had attached to his room, the one you were secretly jealous of since he has a fucking bathroom attached to his room, before looking back down at your notes. 

Only a few seconds had passed before his phone went off from its place on the bed next to you. You glanced over at it, unsure if you were at the point in your relationship in which it was okay for you to check your boyfriend’s phone or not. After a few more seconds, you decide to leave it be and return your gaze to your book. 

But then it went off again. And again. And then one more time and you grabbed it after the fourth ding. Maybe it was an emergency and someone really needed to reach him? That was what you thought, anyway, when you clicked on his messages. 

Briana: I miss you, Brad.

Briana: I know you miss me, too. 

Under those texts was a picture she sent, her blonde hair covering her left breast while her right one was on full display. 

Briana: I know you miss fucking me.

You felt a bit sick and it only got worse when she sent a second picture, this one making your skin heat up. The photo was of the side of Bradley’s face, his lips pressed to her collar bone with his eyes closed. A faint smirk was on Briana’s face as she looked at the camera, her fingers tangled in his messy hair. 

Briana: I bet that new girl hasn’t let you fuck her like this yet.

You quickly put down his phone and close your book, a feeling of nausea creeping up the back of your throat. You knew Bradley was with his ex for a while, and there was no doubt that they both have countless photos together on their phones, but the last thing you wanted to see was one of them unexpectedly like that.  

Sitting up, you look around his bed for your own phone, wanting nothing more than to leave quietly and tell him you felt sick through text later, but then Bradley walked back into his room and made eye contact with you. 

-

Bradley felt content for the first time in a long time. He has a great girlfriend, he’s doing well in his classes, and he’s spending less and less time holed up in his room. 

Having you enter his life at this time was shaping out to be one of the best things to ever happen to him. When he was in your room yesterday, he saw your ticket from the gardens propped up against your mirror on your dresser, and the memory of it made him feel warm inside since you kept yours, just like how he kept his. 

Bradley fixed his hair in the mirror from when you made it messy earlier during your pre-study makeout, and he was quickly figuring out that he definitely wanted to makeout with you before every study session from now on. 

After smoothing out his hair, he left the bathroom and made eye contact with you, but instead of you looking happy like how you did a few minutes ago, you now looked like you were getting ready to bolt out of his room. 

His brows furrowed and his smile faded as he quickly walked over to you. “Hey,” he said softly, sitting down next to you. Your expression was one of embarrassment as you reached for your bag and shoved your book into it. “What’s wrong?”

“Your phone went off and I left it, but then it went off again and again so I checked it,” you answer, not meeting his eyes as you zip up your bag. “I’m sorry.”

Bradley furrowed his brows. You were upset because you checked his phone? “Babes, it’s fine. I don’t care if you check my phone,” he said, but you gave him a look that told him you weren’t upset because of that. 

He grabbed his phone and saw that Briana had texted him, and his face paled as he read the messages. “I shouldn’t have checked it without your permission,” you whispered as he quickly scrolled past the photos she attached. He’d never seen them before, he could tell that from the quick glimpse he got of both of them, and he had no idea when she took the one of him kissing her neck. It was obviously during one of the times they fucked during those eleven months, but he didn’t want to look at it again to further figure it out. “I think I should go.”

Then he realized that you saw the pictures and the texts and he quickly looked up at you. “Babes,” he started but you just shook your head and stood up from his bed. “Baby, wait, please.”

You made it all the way to his door before he caught up with you and gently grabbed your wrist. “You’re not upset that we haven’t had sex yet, right?” You asked before he could say anything. 

“What? Of course not,” he assured you, sliding his hand down until it was holding yours. “We just talked about that and I told you I’m not in any rush with you. I’m sorry you saw those pictures, I don’t even know when she took the one of her and I.”

“I just…you were probably used to fucking her whenever you wanted and we haven’t done that yet and-”

“Hey,” he cut you off, using his other hand to firmly grip your chin. He waited until you met his eyes before he continued, “Yeah, Bri and I spent more time in bed together than out of it, but that was only because we didn’t connect very well any other time. I told you, fucking me was the best part of the relationship for her, and that’s all she saw me as. It’s still all she sees me as.”

You reached up and wrapped your fingers around his wrist. “She’s so pretty, Bradley…and the picture of you and her…I hate it,”

Bradley shook his head, his grip on your chin loosening. “Yeah, she’s pretty, but you’re fucking gorgeous. The most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out,” he promised, pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb. “And I’d never seen that picture until a few seconds ago. I didn’t even know she took it, okay? I can’t do anything about the photos she has of us on her phone, but I can delete all the ones I have on my own. Just stay, please?”

You bit down on your lip and looked up at him with a conflicted expression. “I don’t want to be one of those controlling girlfriends, Bradley,”

“You’re not,” he said, and you thankfully let him pull you back towards his bed. He picked up his phone and handed it to you after opening up his photo gallery. “There’s not much, but delete anything you want. I promise you, Briana and I are done. We’re over.”

You took his phone from him, slowly sitting back down as you scrolled through the gallery. You’d probably stumble across some really fucking embarrassing photos of him in high school, but he honestly couldn’t care less. 

“Bradley,” you said quietly as you clicked on the first photo he took with Briana. “Are you sure? I can get over it, I just-” But he just clicked on the delete button without saying a word, and you looked up at him with hooded eyes. “Okay.”

He gently pushed you onto your back as you held his phone up and scrolled until you found another one, and he hovered his body over yours as he waited for you to repeat what he did. “Delete it, baby,” he encouraged, running his hand down your body until his fingers grazed the zipper on your shorts. You tap the red button quickly and he grinned, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “Good job.”

Then he moved further down until his shoulders were pressed against your thighs and he was kneeling on the floor. He unzipped your shorts and slowly slid them down your legs, his lips pressing multiple kisses to the sides of your knees and inner thighs. “Bradley,” you moaned quietly and he could see your fingers shake a bit as you gripped his phone. 

“Keep going, babes,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your lower stomach, his hands teasing your hips through the thin material of your panties. Your teeth sunk into your lip as you took a deep breath and continued scrolling through his photos, and he pressed a final kiss to your core before pulling the flimsy fabric down your legs and leaving your lower half bare.

A quiet moan left your lips when he leaned in and licked a stripe up your folds, his tongue gently spreading around your wetness. “Fuck,” you whispered, clicking on the delete button again as you found another photo of his ex. 

Bradley grinned before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking softly. Your body jolted a bit and he felt a sense of pride fill him as he remembered that he is almost already surpassing the amount of times Luke went down on you in the three years you were with him. You hadn’t even been his girlfriend for a full week yet and already Bradley had tasted you as much as your ex did in three fucking years. What a fucking loser Luke was.

Your body was writhing against his mouth as you held his phone with a death grip, your forehead forming a cute crease as you tried to focus on the task he had given you. “You taste so good, baby,” Bradley praised, releasing your puffy clit so he could slide his tongue through your wetness again. 

“Oh, my God,” you moaned, your fingers moving faster on the screen as he spreads you out again before dipping his tongue inside you.  He groaned as your arousal coated his taste buds, and he wrapped his arms under your thighs and pulled you closer. “Feels so good, Bradley.”

He fucking loved the way you moaned his name. His real name, not a shortened version or his last name. His real first name, and the only one you’ve ever called him. 

Bradley grunted, bumping your clit with the tip of his nose as he kissed, licked and tasted every part of you. “How’s my gallery looking, babes?” He teased and you whimpered. 

“Good..it’s good,” you respond, subtly grinding against his tongue. 

“What’s good?” He smirked, taking your clit in his mouth again and tugging on it with his teeth. “Tell me.”

“Fuck,” you cry out, nearly dropping his phone. “You. You’re good. You’re so good.” 

Bradley grinned, running his tongue along your bundle of nerves before slipping it back inside you. Your back was arching now and your legs were trying to close around his head, but his shoulders prevented them from getting very far. 

“Holy fuck,” you cursed, quickly tapping on his screen one last time before dropping his phone next to you and reaching down to pull on his hair. “There. It’s done.”

Bradley hummed as he felt your fingers thread through his hair and make it messy again for the second time today. “Good,” he praised, flattening out his tongue as he licked your dripping core. “Now I want you to come for me.”

Your eyes rolled back and you pulled harder on his hair as you did just that. A high pitched cry left your lips as you came on his tongue, your hips slowly grinding against his face as you tip your head back on his bed. “Oh, my fucking God, Bradley,” you whined as he lapped up your release. “You’re too good at that.”

He grinned as he pulled away and crawled back up your body, his mouth and chin glistening with the remnants of your high. “It’s light work,” he teased, grabbing his phone and holding it up. “Come here.” He softly demanded and you moved your head to kiss him, your eyes closing as you tasted yourself on his lips. 

Bradley parted his mouth and your tongue brushed against his just as he took a picture of the obscene kiss and officially added you to his camera roll, the intense photo surely going to fuel his need for you in the future.

[callsign-mayhem]

heartbreak feels so good (part 2)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader Word count: 3861 CW: Shitty ex-boyfriends, slow burn, angst, fluff

Part One Part Three

Your boyfriend's callsign is Viper, which is fitting. Bradley doesn't know how much longer he can watch this man destroy you, but luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait too long.

Use of Y/N, but no description of reader. THIS IS A MULTI-PART FIC.

The eerie silence of your apartment woke you that morning. Either it was never usually this quiet, or you just hadn’t noticed it when Elijah stayed over. There had been a few occasions over the weekend where you’d noticed differences like this, and you wondered when and if it got any easier to deal with. 

You had awoken with your childhood teddy bear tucked beneath your chin. Somewhat disoriented, you sat up and glanced around the room. Your phone was charging on your nightstand with a glass of water and a Post-It next to it. That’s when it hit you that Bradley had been here the night before. You must have fallen asleep on the sofa during your wallowing sesh, which meant he’d carried you to bed. Ted was staring at you accusingly as though he’d noticed how your heartbeat stuttered once, twice, and then righted itself. 

Burning with curiosity, you reached over and grabbed the orange Post-It, reading what you could only assume were Bradley’s words hungrily. His handwriting was atrocious, as wonky as his voice was raspy.

Getting Starbs. Be back soon x

Well, that explained that one. For the second morning in a row, you’d woken up feeling rough, although you didn’t feel as bad as yesterday. Yesterday, crawling out of bed had felt more like crawling out of the pits of hell. Today, you knew that Bradley was coming back with coffee—after having slept over—and while this was confusing, it gave you something to think about aside from Elijah. 

You took a cold shower to reset your central nervous system, using all your fancy products in an attempt to make yourself feel better. It only partially worked, so you decided to put on one of your favourite outfits, which had the tendency to make you appear more confident than you actually felt. Now seemed as good a time as any to buy into the fake it till you make it movement. 

When you ventured into the living room, you noticed that the nest you had built on the sofa was still intact, although it had been moved around slightly to serve as a makeshift bed. This must have been where Bradley spent the night after he’d tucked you in. Something about this was hard to accept, and as you stood there staring at the pillows and duvet, you tried to come up with an explanation as to why he’d stayed. As you cycled through the possibilities, the same part of your brain that believed you weren’t worthy of anyone better than Elijah started trying to convince you that Bradley was going to do the same thing he had. Or worse, he was just pitying you. 

These were the kinds of tricks your brain liked to play on you, and usually, it was successful, but this time you were interrupted. Someone was knocking on your front door, presumably Bradley, who didn’t have a key. It dawned on you too late that you’d given Bradley your spare yesterday evening when he’d told you he might go out and grab coffee in the morning, and you were turning the handle before you could really register what this meant. 

It had only been a few days, but you’d forgotten just how disarming Elijah was. He was standing in the hallway with a bunch of beautiful red roses, dressed in your favourite outfit of his: black cargos, one of his band tees and his beat-up Docs. You could smell his aftershave from where you stood, and he’d obviously had a haircut and beard trim before coming to see you. 

Both relief and dread flooded you simultaneously, and you were torn between slamming the door in his face or collapsing into his arms, flowers be damned. 

‘El,’ you croaked. ‘What’re you doing here?’

He smiled sheepishly, holding out the flowers so you could take them. They smelled like second chances and summer romance. ‘Went to that market we used to go to this morning and saw these. They made me think of you, so I thought you should have them.’

‘T-thanks?’

‘I know it’s out of the blue, but I thought we should talk.’ He said all of this so calmly— cool as a cucumber—as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if you were going to discuss the weather and not his narcissistic tendencies. ‘I might have overreacted.’

You scoffed. ‘What was your first clue?’

Elijah rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t come here to fight. I came to apologise, Y/N. Maybe there’s something here worth salvaging.’

And didn’t this happen every single time? He fucked up on a monumental scale, only realised because of your reaction, and apologised because he knew that’s what he was supposed to do, not because he saw any issues with his behaviour. He’d promise to work on it, you’d believe him, and then the cycle would start all over again. After dealing with it for a year, you were only just becoming aware of the ways he manipulated you, ways that would probably still work if you gave him enough time.

The scary part is that you were considering letting him despite the newly reawakened, sane part of your brain screaming at you not to.

‘Y/N?’ 

Oh God. No, no, no, no.

Bradley Bradshaw had materialised behind Elijah in all his golden glory, two coffees in hand, aviators perched on the tip of his perfect nose. He was wearing shorts and a black tank top, so clearly, he’d popped home to change clothes. To top it off, he was doused in a light sheen of sweat that glistened underneath the lights in the hallway. 

The sane part of your brain was relieved to see him, but the part that Elijah controlled was about to implode. Your hands felt clammy, and your throat was thick with nerves, making it incredibly difficult to talk. 

Elijah spun around. Even though he now had his back to you, you had a pretty good idea of what his face looked like. His shoulders tensed up and you watched him squeeze both of his hands into fists. 

‘What the fuck?’

‘El, it’s not what it looks like, he-’

Elijah spun around. His anger was an almost tangible thing. He’d always struggled with it, what with having undiagnosed and unmedicated ADHD, and it could be terrifying. He also liked using it as an excuse when he acted out, claiming he couldn’t help it. 

Bradley seemed relatively calm. You knew it was a front, that he wanted to rip Elijah’s head off, but that would end up hurting you, so he was reigning it in for your benefit. 

Elijah was glancing between you and Bradley, nostrils flaring and jaw set with anger. Briefly, you locked eyes with Bradley but couldn’t determine what emotions were hidden there.

‘Not that it’s any of your business, Viper,’ Bradley started. ‘But I’m here helping Y/N through a tough time. We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.’ 

‘Not sure why she’s having a tough time.’ Elijah spat. ‘I’m the one getting sent pictures of his girlfriend walking down the beach with another guy. Do you have any idea how that made me look?’ 

‘Maybe it should’ve been you, then. Oh, wait,’ Bradley smiled sarcastically. ‘You were too busy ghosting her because she went out with her friends.’

‘I don’t need to stand here and listen to this. Who the fuck do you think you are, man? This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Elijah.’ You warned.

‘And you’re defending this guy now, Y/N? What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘That’s enough.’

‘No, I’m not done. Because I wanna know what you think gives you the right-’

Bradley sidestepped Elijah and handed you the two iced coffees. You stood there dumbly, unable to do anything.

‘I’m her friend, that’s what gives me the right. I’m the one who’s gonna pick up all the fucking pieces.’

Elijah was trying to square up to Bradley, but he was a fair bit shorter, so it just looked pathetic. 

‘Pick up all the pieces of what? Her broken heart?’ Elijah laughed bitterly. ‘Boo fucking hoo. If she weren’t such a slut, we’d still be together. It’s her own fault.’

Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t a violent person. It was a last resort for him, so when he slammed Elijah into the wall, you knew it was because he’d been pushed way beyond his limit by that last comment. 

Elijah shoved Bradley off him and swung, clipping the side of his face and causing him to stagger back. Bradley took a second to right himself and, with a great heaving breath, swung back hard. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the sound of Bradley’s fist meeting Elijah’s nose was loud enough that you could still picture it vividly. It reminded you of the sound of gravel getting crushed underneath the tyres of the Bronco or the eggshells you’d spent the last year walking over to spare Elijah’s feelings. 

The sound seemed to snap you out of your helpless daze.

‘That’s enough!’ You yelled. 

The bin bag containing Elijah’s belongings was next to the front door so you’d remember to take it to work the next day. You grabbed it and threw it at Elijah, who just about managed to catch it before it hit him in the face. 

‘I don’t wanna see your face around here again.’ You said bitterly. ‘And I don’t want any rumours going around base about Bradley and me because this breakup is all your fault. You’re the one who couldn’t get his act together.’

‘And if you ever call her a slut—or anything else—again, I’ll make sure you never fly for the navy again.’

You meant every word of it, but it was still difficult to look Elijah in the eye one last time before he walked out of your life for good. It was hard because you’d still loved a version of this man, laughed, cried, and talked for hours with him. And if he’d managed to admit to a few of his shortcomings, work on them and maybe go to therapy for his unhealed trauma, you’d probably still be laughing, crying and talking with him. 

You would have probably married him. 

But he would never admit to having shortcomings, never take the time to work on things, and therapy was out of the question. Love is only a small part of what makes a relationship work, and when it came to your relationship with Elijah, your love for him was the only thing keeping it going. Most days, this wasn’t even enough. 

You half expected him to say something else, but he seemed to know better. Clutching the bin bag full of his belongings, Elijah skulked off down the hallway, and you watched uneasily until he disappeared around the corner, finally leaving you and Bradley alone.

You released a shaky breath, and Bradley pulled you into a hug so comforting that you just about melted. He smelled of sunshine, clean cotton, and Bleu De Chanel, and you had to refrain from inhaling. 

‘I leave you for half hour, and that dick shows up.’ Bradley murmured. 

You could hear the smile in his voice, which was also a comfort. After a scene like that, the last thing on Elijah’s mind would have been comforting you. Even though Bradley was the one physically hurt, his priority was still taking care of you and keeping the mood light so you didn’t start spiralling. 

Reluctantly you pulled away from Bradley, not because you wanted to, but because you thought he deserved some breakfast after his morning heroics. 

‘Did he get your eye?’ You asked, concerned. 

‘No,’ Bradley smiled reassuringly. ‘Almost, but no.’

Once back inside, you set about making breakfast. Bradley was glancing around, somewhat disorientated, and you briefly worried if he had a concussion.

‘You good, Roo?’

‘Yeah, what happened to the coffees?’

‘Oh, they’re on the side where I keep my car keys. By the door.’

Bradley fetched the coffee and sat in his usual spot at the kitchen island. He was unharmed, but it was evident in the way he wouldn’t meet your eye that something was on his mind. While you cooked the bacon—having deja vu from yesterday—you thought about the best way to approach the situation. Bradley was entitled to feel some type of way about what had just happened, and he was under no obligation to share said feelings with you if he didn’t want to. After all he’d done for you, he was entitled to a few private thoughts. But something about the brooding look on his face made it hard to leave well enough alone, and all of a sudden, you found yourself wanting to know every thought—good and bad—going on inside his pretty little head. 

You lowered the heat on the stove and turned around to grab your coffee, making a point of trying to meet Bradley’s eye. The contact lasted about three seconds before he refocused his attention on his coffee cup, which had suddenly become very interesting. This man had tells, and you were going to learn them all. 

‘What’s wrong, Bradley? You can talk to me, you know?’

He shook his head slightly. ‘Nothing.’

‘Bullcrap. You can tell when I’m not being honest about how I feel, and guess what? It’s a two-way street. And just like you encourage me to talk about what’s bothering me, I’m encouraging you to do the same.’ 

‘I’ve created a monster.’ Bradley grinned.

‘You have. It’s your own fault, Bradshaw.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ he said, sipping his iced latte. ‘I’ve just been trying to imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t come at that exact moment.’

Your stomach twisted. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were holding roses. That look on your face, Y/N… I think if I didn’t come back when I did, you would’ve let him in.’ 

‘That’s…’

He was gazing at you expectantly. 

‘...Ridiculous.’ You finished. 

‘See, I really wanna believe that,’ he smiled sadly. ‘But I know you well enough to know that you’re lying.’ 

You turned back around to face the stove, partly because you needed to flip the bacon and get started on the eggs and partly because you couldn’t keep the agony off your face. Because Bradley was right as usual—as much as it pained you to admit it, you would have eventually let Elijah in. 

‘It’s not as black and white as that.’

Bradley’s eyes were burning holes in the back of your head. It was extremely off-putting.

‘I know, Y/N. Nothing is.’

This caught your attention. You spun around and pointed the spatula at him accusingly. 

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ You asked.

Bradley held his hands up. ‘Nothing, doll. I’m just agreeing with you.’

‘Nothing in life is simple,’ you murmured, opening the cupboard above you and taking the packet of bagels out. ‘No matter how much you wish it was.’

‘Just to be clear, I don’t blame you for wanting to let him in. He’s a manipulator, and he’s good at what he does. And you love with everything you have.’

‘Even when I shouldn’t.’

You heard Bradley sigh. ‘Y/N, I’m gonna tell you something, and I want you to really take it in, okay?’

‘Okay?’

‘Loving hard is never a bad thing, and you should never shrink your love to make it easier for people to digest. If you find yourself doing that, then the person you’re doing it for isn’t meant for you. The right people will always take your love as it comes, and you won’t have to change anything.’

 You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. ‘Like you. And Nat.’

‘Yes,’ he breathed, seemingly relieved that you were beginning to understand. ‘Just like me and Nat.’

Bradley Bradshaw was not in the business of denying you of anything, which is how he found himself curled up on your sofa for the second afternoon in a row, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls. The two of you had watched so many episodes that he knew the theme song by heart, and as catchy as it was, he only liked it because you sang it each time without fail. This was the happiest and calmest he’d seen you all weekend, which was surprising after Elijah’s surprise visit earlier that day. After quite the internal debate, he’d come to the conclusion that you needed to see him after the breakup, no matter how briefly, in order to start the process of moving on. 

Bradley was starting to fancy himself a love and relationship expert despite not having experienced it many times himself. Something about you and your particular situation made him feel he needed to monitor it, as though it were his job to make sure you emerged relatively unscathed. 

He glanced at you sideways, wrapped up in a pumpkin-covered throw with a mug of tea keeping your hands warm, and felt this innate need to protect you from the world and everyone in it. Especially Elijah. He couldn’t explain it, but it went further than friendship, possibly even further than love. 

Bradley was just about to suggest going for a walk to stretch your legs and get some air, but then the intercom started buzzing, causing the both of you to jump out of your skins. 

He reached and took your tea from you so you could get up without ending up wearing it. Whoever was waiting to be let in was pretty persistent, constantly buzzing until you managed to get to the front door and click the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ You asked, panting from the exertion. 

‘Natasha Trace, you know, the best friend you’ve been blanking all weekend.’ 

You cursed under your breath, pressing the release for the door. ‘Sorry, Nat. Come on up.’

It suddenly dawned on Bradley that he hadn’t updated Nat since sometime yesterday and that she was probably worried sick. She knew nothing about Elijah showing up at your apartment or the fact that Bradley had stayed over. The fact that he’d slept on the sofa wouldn’t matter to her when she found out. He’d never hear the end of it. 

You were hovering nervously by the door, clearly anticipating the same telling-off as Bradley. ‘I was supposed to call her last night,’ you told him. ‘And then I passed out on the couch.’

‘We’re both done for, Y/CS,’ he grinned. ‘It’s been super nice knowing you.’

Somehow—in the time it took her to get up the three flights of stairs to your front door—he managed to convince himself that she wouldn’t be that mad at the two of you. But when you opened the door, he could almost feel her anger, like heat rolling off her in waves. Before you could get a word out, she was pulling you in for a rough but well-meaning hug.

‘I was worried sick, Y/N.’

You relaxed into the hug and put your arms around her middle, squeezing reassuringly. ‘I’m sorry, Nat. I should have called.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You should’ve. Last time I saw you, you were half-cut and running away from us at The Hard Deck.’ You stepped aside so she could come in. ‘You’ve got some explaining to-’

When Natasha noticed Bradley reclining comfortably on your couch, she stopped speaking. Bradley had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly. 

‘Hey, Nix.’ 

Briefly, she glanced at you and then back at Bradley. Then back at you, then back to Bradley.

‘Don’t ‘hey, Nix’ me, mister. You’ve been here all weekend?’

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Pretty much.’

‘No text? No call?’

‘Sorry. We were kinda preoccupied with wallowing and fighting Viper off.’

‘What do you mean fighting him off?’

With a great sigh, you traipsed over to the couch and collapsed back into your spot. ‘He showed up this morning with roses and the usual fake apology.’

Natasha was incredulous. She didn’t sit down, she just started pacing in front of the couch, Gilmore Girls still playing on the flat screen behind her. 

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yup, and it’s lucky I came back when I did,’ Bradley chimed in. ‘Y/N was gonna let him in.’

Natasha stopped pacing to glare at you. ‘You were gonna do what?’

You launched a throw pillow at Bradley’s head, which, fortunately for you, he didn’t manage to dodge. 

‘Hey!’ He huffed. ‘I’m not blaming you! We talked about this earlier.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment, okay? I’ve been drinking his Kool-Aid for so long it’s gonna be a while before it’s all out of my system. So I guess Bradley really did come back at the right time.’

This didn’t seem to satisfy Nat, so you launched into a more detailed account of the past weekend, filling her in on everything except a few details about Bradley. Those you would save for when it was just the two of you. Halfway through, she perched herself on the edge of the coffee table, facing you and listening intently to what you had to say. By the end of it, she was literally seething with rage. This time, directed at your now ex-boyfriend. 

‘He ought to watch his back,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Cause if I see him on base, he’s gonna wish he’d never been born.’

The three of you ended up ordering pizza. At one point, you got up to go to the bathroom, and Natasha took the opportunity to grill Bradley some more. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Only surprised that it had taken her this long. 

She started the interrogation by smacking the back of his head.

‘What was that for?’ He hissed.

‘That’s for going after your best friend when she’s just had her heart broken.’

‘What makes you think I’m going after her?’

Nat pretended to think about this. ‘Hmmm, let me see… Maybe because you’ve slept here two nights in a row, and I walked into you cuddled up on her couch drinking fucking cocoa!’

‘It was tea, actually. And I slept out here both nights. Just didn’t want her to be alone.’

She relented, but only slightly. ‘Still, you need to cool it. She’s probably feeling all kinds of confused right now, and she doesn’t need you and your big puppy dog eyes making things even more complicated.’

He smiled despite himself. ‘You think I have big puppy dog eyes?’

She glared at him witheringly. ‘Is missing the point a personality trait of yours?’

‘Nix, will you calm down? I’m not going after her, I’m not confusing her, and I’m not making things difficult with my big eyes. I’ve been giving her advice, helping her through the worst of it. That’s all.’

Natasha softened, satisfied that Bradley was telling the truth. The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door opened, so they’d have to finish this conversation some other time. But before you came back, Natasha whispered one last thing…

‘I know you love her, Bradley. I know you always have. But you have to give her some time.’

End of part 2. Final part coming soon!

Taglist: primroseluna eloquentdreamer sgt-barnesveins daybleedsintonightfa11

[thischarmingmandalorian]

Like A Man Without Skin

Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Summary: Your new apartment is haunted by the ghost of the sexiest man you've ever seen. My entry for @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes Monster Smash!

Pairing: Ghost!Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit!

Warnings: Just… so much dirty talk. Pet names (Sugar, baby, sweet girl, good girl), groping, fingering, oral (f receiving but super briefly), pussy pronouns, is it vouyerism if you're watching each other?, obviously monster fucking, reader very briefly pulls her own hair? Not very heavily edited, I tried my best but if I read it one more time I'm gonna get embarrassed. Also very much a believer I ghosts (ask me about my own haunted apartments!) but I don't know how that shit works suspend your disbelief, babes!

Word Count: 3.1k

The first night, you blamed the house settling.

You had just moved to a new apartment and always had a hard time sleeping in a new place. You weren't used to the shadows that danced across your walls, that just repainted "landlord special" smell, or whatever that sound was.

That incessant crack that echoed through your living room, right outside your bedroom door, for hours. Literally fucking hours. You wanted to believe it was the floorboards creaking. This apartment was old, part of a three-story row house in a big city, and if the sleaziness of your landlord was anything to go by, it definitely wasn't up to code. You'd actually be more worried if it was silent in your apartment.

But still, the crack that… cracked… just outside your bedroom door was unnerving to say the least. It didn't sound like any "settling house" noise you were used to, but any alternative scared you too much.

That night you slept with the light on and a desk chair propped against your doorknob.

You got used to the crack in the living room after a few nights. You'd resigned yourself to the fact that it wasn't the house settling, but what it was eluded you. It never stopped, but it became a normal part of your nightly routine. Every night around 10 pm, when you'd leave your hall bathroom and shut the bedroom door behind you, it would begin.

Crack

And then a pause. You'd count to 30, and

Crack

This went on until you fell asleep. You soon started to count the noises behind your door until you dozed off - your record was 20 cracks.

On day five you got curious. Why was the noise only at night? Why was it always in the same spot? Most importantly, what the hell was making that noise?

You weren't someone who found the idea of ghosts ridiculous. In fact, the thought of being haunted seemed like a fun story to tell your friends over drinks on your usual Friday night bar crawl. If it was a ghost making that noise in the living room, that would be fine. You just didn't love not knowing.

That fifth night you performed your nightly routine like normal. Skincare, brushed teeth, pajamas. You shut the bathroom light off and walked down the hall to your bedroom. Only tonight, you left your bedroom door open. It was 9:55, so you sat upright on your bed and waited for the crack.

10 pm came and went. 10:30, 11. The crack never came. Dejected and confused, you finally shut the lights off and laid down to sleep.

You fell into a restless slumber, tossing and turning. The lack of… crack… bothered you. Why did it stop? What the hell was it?!

In your fitful sleep, you were acutely aware of the fact that your hair had found its way in front of your face, tickling your nose. You woke very briefly to push it away, but stopped any movement the second you were conscious.

Because you felt the slightest touch sweeping your hair from your face. Which was troubling because you were, of course, alone.

You shot up in bed, slamming the light switch and illuminating the room in a soft glow. You were still alone. But then… who, or what, had touched you?

"What the fuck is happening?" you mused out loud, expecting to be met with silence. Except a new sound emerged from the empty room -

Shhhhh.

"Don't tell me to 'shhh!' You 'shhh!'"

You felt crazy shouting at no one. Even crazier when you heard the noise again.

Shhhhh.

You realized this wasn't just a sound; it was… a voice. So it was a ghost!

Internally high-fiving yourself for solving this mystery, you remembered it was the middle of the night, and you had work in the morning.

"We're not done here," you said to your invisible guest, "we'll talk about this tomorrow."

Somehow you willed yourself to shut the light back off and lay back down. Still uncomfortable with the silence, you set your phone on the nightstand and let it cycle through a playlist of ambient noise. You're back to dozing off when you hear it again.

Shhhhh.

This time the sound is joined by the feeling of someone stroking your hair. A gentle, feather-light touch against your head, sometimes letting a finger trail down your cheek. You didn't want to admit it was soothing, and you already felt crazy. Thinking your apartment was haunted was one thing, but talking to the ghost seemed like a bad way to handle it. But you were oddly comforted by the presence you felt.

"You can stay until I fall asleep, then you gotta go for tonight," you whisper. The phantom hand stills on the side of your face as you speak, resuming it's soothing strokes through your hair once you finish addressing it.

The touch continues until you fall asleep, and so does the new noise.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

Right before you fell into a deep sleep, you swear the noise changed a little bit.

Shhhhh.

Shhhhh.

"Sugar."

The next morning you want to chalk up the weirdness of the night before to a dream, but you know that's not the case. You wake up well-rested and ready to start the day, and notice your bedroom door had somehow shut during the night.

"Thanks for shutting the door," you speak into the empty bedroom, opening your closet to pick out an outfit for the day. You weren't expecting a response to your gratitude, but you smile when a familiar crack sounded from the living room.

You rush to open the bedroom door, knowing the living room will be empty, but knowing your ghost was there. "Hey, crack once for yes, twice for no, ok?" You feel ridiculous until one crack echoes through the room.

While you get ready for work, you play 20 questions.

"Are you a ghost?"

Crack.

"Are you… a woman?"

Crack. Crack.

Interesting… a dude ghost.

"Did you leave after I fell asleep like I asked?"

One incredibly quick crack. You appreciate him respecting you.

By now you're ready to change into your work clothes, so you decide to up the ante. "Do you watch when I get dressed?"

The two cracks couldn't have come quicker. You grin, loving that you have a gentlemanly ghost. But you want to have some fun. It's been a while since you've met a nice, living guy, and having a ghost seems like the perfect opportunity for some built-in male attention.

"Do you… want to watch me get dressed?"

Your smirk falls when no noise is made in response. You kick yourself for scaring him away. You start to stumble over an apology when you hear the same noise from last night.

"Sugar…"

"You talk?! What the hell, dude? I've been having you crack that… whatever it is, when you could've been talking to me this whole time?"

"Sorry, Sugar."

You soften. "Why wouldn't you talk to me before?"

"Too weak."

An interesting response. "What gives you energy?"

"Your attention."

Well. That felt nice to hear. "Lucky for you, dude, I have no one else to talk to around here. If it's attention you need, attention is what you'll get! Now, back to the task at hand… do you want to watch me get dressed?"

This time, a noise you haven't heard yet. A whimper.

"Please, Sugar."

You smirk, moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom. Slowly, you bunch your oversized t shirt up over your ass, draw it above your hips, and fist the material up under your breasts, pausing to admire your own figure in the mirror. You turn to the side, watching as your reflection shakes its ass gently.

It's weird flirting with someone you can't see and barely hear. You're feeling both emboldened and shy, sexy and self-conscious. "How's this?"

"Teasin' me?"

You grin. "You said you need my attention to get strong! The longer this takes, the more attention I'm giving you! I'll ask again: this good?"

Crack. Yes.

"What the hell is that noise, anyway?" you ask, mercifully removing your shirt entirely, standing in front of your mirror in nothing but your underwear.

"Uh… a…" another whimper interrupted your ghost's train of thought. "Whip."

"A whip?!"

Crack. Yes.

"Why does a ghost have a whip?" you ask idly, thumbing the hemline of your underwear before sliding them down your legs with a shimmy.

"Long story. How long d'ya have, Sugar?"

You grab for your phone on the nightstand, realizing that if you tease this ghost anymore you'll be late for work. "No time! Last looks, dude! Gotta get dressed!" You pose for a second with your hands on your knees, bent at the waist with your ass wiggling before pulling on your work clothes.

"Really, Sugar? You're gonna leave?"

"I gotta work if I want to be able to afford this place! You don't want me to have to move out so soon, do you? There's so much more attention I want to give you," you pout into the mirror, bottom half clothed, briefly pausing to give your ghost one last look of your bare chest.

"Before you leave, Sugar, let me touch you."

You let your hands fall to your sides, remembering the featherlight touches against your cheek the night before, shivering at the thought of feeling it again. "Go ahead," you whisper into the empty room.

The touch is similar to the one last night, only now it seems stronger. This ghost wasn't kidding about attention making him stronger. Even though you couldn't see him, you can feel his presence behind you. You can feel fingers skating up your arms, stopping at the elbows and trailing back down. The touch disappears only to return on your hips, sliding from the small of your back to wrap around your front. You lift your arms slightly to accommodate him as his hands trail further up your torso, stopping just below the swell of your chest. You feel the ghost hesitate. Normally, if this were happening with someone you could see, you'd lace your fingers through his and coax his hand up to where you need to feel him, but this was all so new still. The ghost can touch you, but can you touch him? Would it look stupid to grope around for his hand? You decide your voice is your greatest asset at this moment.

"I said go ahead."

A groan erupted from behind you, right against your ear, making you shudder. You could almost feel breath against your neck, could almost feel the weight of a head against your shoulder as the ghostly hands dragged themselves up to grope at your chest. Your head falls back and you let out a sigh, your eyes falling closed. The hands tweak at your nipples before soothing the sting with a swipe of a thumb.

You're brought out of your trance when your phone rings. You feel the phantom hands retreat from your chest, a sigh heaving from behind you. Reaching to the bed to grab your phone, you see it's your boss calling. "I've gotta take this, I'm so sorry - hello? Yeah I'm just about to - oh? That sucks, what's the - yeah, no I can do that. OK, see ya!" You hang up and throw your phone back on the bed. The clothes you had yet to put on stay neglected, and what you have put on gets shucked off your body with haste. "You still here?" you call into the seemingly empty room.

Crack.

"Dude, now that I know you can talk, I'm not accepting whip cracks for an answer."

"Still here, Sugar. What was that about?"

"Good news! A pipe burst at my office - I get to 'work from home' today," you explain, making air quotes around "work from home." You know you're not getting shit done today. "So get back over here, we're not done."

You're still standing in front of your full length mirror, admiring your naked form when something starts to… happen… behind you. At first it's a thin mist, then it slowly turns into a more solid, human form. You stare in the reflection dumbfounded as your ghost materializes - he's still somewhat transparent, very obviously not human or living, but shit.

He's hot.

He's dressed in a cowboy hat and two-piece suit. And he wasn't kidding about the whip. It was curled neatly with the handle stuck in his back pocket.

"Oh my god. My house is haunted by the sexiest man alive," you muse, forgetting for a second that he can hear you. The ghost meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection, lips curling into a smirk as he tips his hat.

"Well I'm not alive, but that's mighty kind of you to say, Sugar," the ghost replies, moving closer to you again, "can I finish what I started, now that you don't have to leave? Please? It'd make me a very happy man."

You nod, watching in the mirror as the ghost reaches for you again. He skips the pretense this time, hands going straight to your chest, resuming his kneading and pinching.

"Wha- shit - what's your name? Seems backwards to let you touch me like this when I don't know anything about you," you tease.

"Whiskey. Agent Whiskey, Sugar."

You giggle. "Agent Whiskey isn't a name. What's your real name, and what are you an agent of?"

"Jack Daniels. And I'm stuck haunting this apartment, we have time to learn everything about each other. Stop distractin' me," the ghost punctuates his request with a nibble to your earlobe.

His hands, his mouth, while mostly solid, feel tingly, cold in a way that's akin to walking through fog. His breath is warm as it huffs against your neck, a delicious push and pull of sensation. He kisses down your neck and lands a bite to your shoulder, growling quietly as you moan in front of him.

"Ain't we a sight to see, Sugar? Keep your eyes forward."

Your eyes blink back open as you meet Jack's eyes in the mirror. You watch as his hands skate down your torso, hesitating close to where you want his touch the most. "Can you… will I be able to see you…?" You're not sure how being a ghost wearing clothes works, and you don't know how to ask; you hope he gets the hint.

"The suit stays on; sorry, baby. Gonna have to use your imagination. But, if it's any consolation, I used to look real nice under all this."

"I believe you. Now quit stalling and touch me," you make an experimental grab for his ghostly hand, delighted to be able to curl your fingers around his wrist and tugging it down, down to where he dips into your folds, fingers gathering the slick from your entrance and dragging it up against your clit.

"Let's move to the bed, Sugar. Need to see her."

You waste no time pulling Jack by the wrist to your bed. You prop yourself up against your pillow, legs spread wide and face flush with arousal and anticipation. You watch Jack as he stands at the foot of your bed, gazing intently at your body laid out for him.

"Jesus, Sugar. She's drippin' - it all for me?"

You give Jack a curt nod, beckoning him closer with your outstretched hand. "Come here and touch me, please." You see Jack's face change; where there was once a pained look of arousal, there's now a feral darkness that excites you.

"Since you asked so nicely, baby."

Jack puts his knees onto the edge of your bed and you feel the faintest dip on the mattress. Your breath hitches as you watch him crawl on hands and knees to situate himself between your legs. One hand holds tight to your hip while the other dips once again into your wetness, pulling away and chuckling when you try to buck up into his touch.

"Gotta be patient, beautiful. Your attention made me stronger, but I'll never be back at a hundred percent. 'm tryin'a hold you down, play along."

You agree to Jack's game and push your hips down into the mattress, curling your hand around his at your side. "I'll be good, I promise."

Jack smirks and bends his head down to whisper praise close to your ear, "that's my good fucking girl."

Jack punctuates his words with two ghostly fingers plunging into you. You moan loudly while your free hand grapples for purchase, twisting into your hair and gently pulling. "How long…"

"More than long enough, Sugar."

You swat at Jack's arm; he grins and moves his hand from your hip to slowly circle your clit. "That's not - oh fuck - what I meant. How long have you - uh huh, just like that - been stuck here?"

"Tryin'a focus, woman. Ask me in five minutes."

"Won't have to wait that long, Jack. Not gonna last."

Jack's thumb on your clit speeds up. He adds a third finger to the two working you open, the stretch delicious. Cold and warm, solid and ethereal. You could get used to this.

Suddenly Jack shifts and takes his thumb off your clit. You begin to protest, but find yourself gazing down at him, his face now level with your dripping pussy.

"Just wanna see if I still got it, Sugar."

You feel a sudden emptiness as Jack pulls his fingers free from you and you're about to protest, but before any words can leave your mouth he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, pointing his tongue at the last second and flicking it against you once, twice…

"Fuck, I'm… shit. Jack, I'm…" Your orgasm hits so hard that what you are is incoherent. So fucked out you can't think straight. If someone asked you your name at this very moment, you wouldn't remember.

"Oh, I know you're comin', sweet girl, ain't gotta tell me. I've got a front row seat to the show. Let go, Sugar. I've got ya."

You ride the wave of pleasure for what feels like forever, hips rolling and panting, soft moans escaping from deep in your throat as you come down. When your eyes open, you find Jack staring intently at your pussy, watching it leak and pulse around nothing.

"So fucking gorgeous, Sugar. Could get used to this."

You instinctually grab at Jack's hair, gently tugging to get him to your eye level. You feel his touch against your face, gentle and cool. "You better get used to it," you smirk, "you're kinda stuck here. Don't know how hauntings work, but trust that I'm not gonna try and get rid of you. Like, ever. Not after that."