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levanterhaze · 13 days ago

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── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠어 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 채 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 널 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should’ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable.

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did?

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.”

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered.

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest.

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain.

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear.

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you.

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk.

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy.

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep.

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale.

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else.

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all.

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

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sorryimananti-romantic · 4 months ago

Text

The Leaders | Chapter II

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of gangs, war/military and weapons, hongjoong is the designated asshole in this chapter

chapter wc: 10.9k

chapter synopsis: you learn more about ateez from your housemate, wendy, and from kihyun of mx pharmaceuticals who is also the crescent’s business partner. you get familiar with your new job at the crescent company’s main office and learn about their deal with secretary park. wanting to stop them from that harmful deal, you finally speak up only for the boss, hongjoong, to remind you that you are just a bookkeeper.

prev chapter recap: an attack on the crescent bar prompts you, the bookkeeper of the crescent bar, to carry out yeosang’s order and flee with the contents of the safe. however, you have discovered a secret package which leads you to a confrontation with the underboss, park seonghwa, who has no choice but to kill you. to save yourself, you reveal that you possess some information about the elites that could be useful to them, and that you are willing to exchange this information for your life. that lands you a job at the crescent company’s main office and you have a rocky first day, getting to know the ins-and-outs of your new workplace and colleagues.

For the beginning of a new chapter of your life, which could take a very sinister turn, it sure was awfully sunny today, the pigeons on your window sill taking great joy in the way you would pause in the middle of getting ready and reconsider all your life choices so far. Their cheerful chirps were starting to annoy you and you couldn’t help but shoot deathly glares in their direction.

It was your first official work day as the bookkeeper in the main office of the Crescent Company, and you were done getting ready– as ready as you could be with your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. It didn’t help that when you exited your room, you immediately had your housemate’s attention who let out a dramatic whistle at the sight of you.

“Woah. That’s quite a formal outfit for the bar,” Wendy said, stopping in the middle of stirring the pot, the fragrant scent of rosemary and chicken broth filling your nostrils. “Also… why are you still home?”

You turned to the full-length mirror in the living room, inspecting your outfit for the day– a pleated navy blue skirt that reached mid-calves paired with a blue tweed jacket, your feet clad in ivory kitten heels. Just the right outfit to make good first impressions, yet it was a struggle to ignore the urge to go back to your closet and restart the lengthy process of choosing another outfit.

“Uh…” you took a deep breath while tucking the stray strands of your hair back in the half-tied hairdo, bracing yourself for her reaction. “I may have gotten a new job at the Crescent Company.”

The room fell awfully silent and you turned to Wendy, finding her deadpan staring at you.

Odd.

“Something wrong?” You frowned in confusion.

“The Crescent Company?” Wendy repeated and you nodded. It was strange, the soberness in her tone, when you were expecting enthusiastic theatrical reactions from her. “When?”

“Literally yesterday,” you turned your full attention to her, wondering if she was cross with you for not letting her know earlier. “I start working officially from today.”

“How did you get this job?” Wendy asked, finally doing something else other than assessing your form. She turned the stove off, setting the pot on the table where you joined her for breakfast.

“Well… one thing led to another. Some gang attacked the bar two nights ago and when I carried out my instructions– which were to get the contents of the safe and run– they decided… that I am good at my job and would do better in some other environment.”

“I heard about the attack, yes,” Wendy said, munching on a piece of bread. “But I thought it was a fight outside the bar, not an attack inside. Is that how you got these tiny scratches all over you?” You pursed your lips in answer and Wendy continued. “Are you sure this is the right job for you? Because let’s be real– we all know who Ateez is. You should be avoiding that gang– didn’t you want to lay low?”

Ateez. Known throughout all the eight sectors of Eden and its capital, the gang formed after the Battle of the Eight Hills and played a vital role in the rebuilding of Eden afterwards. Really, you wondered if they had done so much for Eden, why were they feared and labelled as a criminal organisation?

“I am laying low,” you sipped the broth as you said, “It’s just an office job– paperwork.”

“I don’t know, Luna,” she said, clearly worried. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?” You asked but Wendy kept a straight face which meant there was something. “In fact… refresh my memory a little since I wasn’t here when Ateez was at the peak of their career, but who is Ateez? What do they really do?”

Wendy took a deep breath as if contemplating opening her pandora of secrets for you but then she checked her wristwatch to your utter disappointment. “Next time or else we’ll both be late. Just… stay safe, will you?”

“Oh, I will. I keep the gun in my purse, you know,” you smirked and Wendy finally relaxed, smiling back. “See you tonight if you aren’t snoring by that time– my shift ends at the strike of midnight.”

“Heavens, that’s late,” Wendy winced. “What are you doing up so early then? You should have slept some more.”

You should have, but you had a little stop to make before you clocked in at midday at your workplace– the stop being at the office of MX Pharmaceuticals located in the heart of Sector 1 with all the other businesses and offices. It was only the Crescent Office which was situated right outside that hotspot, and you were starting to think that it was a calculated move on their part. With their status, they could be situated in the slums and still be flourishing– the leaders of Sector 1.

It was a bit strange to walk the streets of your block and not allow your muscle memory to take you in the direction of the Crescent Bar. It felt alleviating, even, to not cross the old lady on the pavement selling crocheted goods to make a living. Somehow, she always made you feel guilty about having the privilege of connections. You could very well have been sitting there at the corner of the road instead of her, selling your paintings or embroideries if Kihyun hadn’t helped you land a job when you came back to Eden from Wonderland just a few years ago.

Because your father always made sure you would never be in the spotlight. There was a reason he basically shipped you to Wonderland– though you often wondered if that was justification enough. He claimed that you could study more if you wished to while you looked after your aunt but really… you knew that he wanted to get rid of you because you found out his dark, dirty secrets– things you were never supposed to find out. It was a shame he couldn’t kill his own daughter and bury those secrets along with her. Maybe his humanity awakened when he thought about his children.

You could spot the MX Office when you took a turn left into the busy, bustling street with corporate slaves ready to sign in for their daily dose of torture. To your demise, you were blending right in. You walked towards the office, which was a brick-coloured building just like the rest of the offices in this street. The guard at the front door recognised you and nodded in greeting, as did the receptionist and a few employees, aware that you had some sort of a relationship with their boss, though no one dared to ask the nature of it.

The boss, Kihyun, was a respectable figure in all of Eden as a powerful businessman and a former gang member. Each connection he made was for a reason, but you were not just a connection. You respected each other far too much to refer to each other as just a ‘connection’.

You were being accompanied to Kihyun’s room when on the stairs, you encountered Hyungwon.

“Miss Jeon– what brings you here?” He asked. It had been a while since you saw the manager of MX Pharmaceuticals. He was usually found at one of the labs or warehouses that MX owned. “Good to see you.”

“Hope you’ve been well,” you smiled. “I’m here to see Kihyun.”

Hyungwon nodded at the assistant who left and you followed Hyungwon upstairs. “Kihyun just arrived. How has it been?”

“I’m doing good. I got a new job so I was going to tell him about that and discuss a few things.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” Hyungwon knocked at Kihyun’s door before opening it for you. “I’ll send some tea. And you know that if you need anything, we’re here, right?”

You nodded, smiling earnestly at his reminder. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

You entered Kihyun’s room, closing the door behind you. His room was as neat as ever with a variety of indoor plants lining the huge windows that provided a view of Maddox Street. You walked past that window, drawing the cerulean curtains away and Kihyun tsk-ed at you.

“You’re back at it, eh?”

“You need someone who will pull the curtains open every day. I can’t keep doing that for you,” you grinned, joining him at his desk. He was clad in a navy button-down shirt, his hair combed back. “How have you been?”

He spread his arms in answer. “Right in front of you. As good as ever. But I’ve heard you are doing better lately.”

“Heard the news already?” You shook your head. “Once I find your informant, I’m gonna give them an earful.”

“We’re the Crescent’s business partners. I should know the happenings,” Kihyun said, waiting for the assistant to leave the tea for you before continuing. “Tell me… how did it happen?”

“Let’s say I passed a trust test,” you said, adding a sugar in your tea and two in his, just as he liked. “I’m the Crescent’s bookkeeper now.”

“That must not have been easy.”

“Actually, yes,” you took a sip of the black tea. “I almost got killed. I had to win their favour.”

“And how did you do that?” Kihyun frowned.

“I played a few cards,” you admitted and he groaned in disbelief. “It was that or I die.”

“They would not have killed you–”

“They knew we were acquainted, and they were ready to kill me,” you interjected. “I only told them that I’m aware of Assemblyman General Wi’s artefact gallery.”

“Luna,” Kihyun leaned forward, clasping his hands. “You know the game you are playing right now is a dangerous one–”

“I know that I have to keep my identity hidden, and I’m sure they only know what’s on the documents–”

“Let me finish,” Kihyun said in a low voice and you slumped back. “It’s not just about your identity. You know who they are, don’t you? Ateez? They were once a gang, and they always play dirty.”

“So were you, Kihyun,” you reminded him. “Back in your early days, before my father took you under his wing.”

Kihyun clenched his jaw– he did not need to be reminded of his ugly past. “We were not children of war when we were a gang, Luna. The Crescents– Ateez– they are children of war. They served the army when they should have been fooling around with other kids their age or studying. A nineteen year old Kim Hongjoong became a well-known military strategist in the Battle of the Eight Hills. Another nineteen year old Park Seonghwa became a sniper and a medic– a god awful combination, don’t you think? And an eighteen year old Jeong Yunho became an honoured lieutenant colonel, for heaven’s sake. Those are the people you have involved yourself with.”

That was the first time you heard about their achievements during the war and you realised with a creeping dread that Kihyun might be right about this.

“Us? We were just a street gang, Luna. We were kids who rebelled, who got lucky because your father, a politician, saw potential in us and hired us as his informants. Ateez are different, and it would do you better if you stay aware of them.”

You took a deep breath. “Do you think they will dig into my past?”

“I can’t promise they won’t,” Kihyun relaxed, finally smiling and drinking his tea. “But I’ll see if I can do something. Just make sure to stay in the shadows.”

“Until it’s time,” you reminded him.

His expressions didn’t change. “Still conjuring up revenge plans?”

“You know how stubborn I am,” you traced the gold outline on the cup. “I cannot forgive my father for taking my identity and shipping me to Wonderland as if I meant nothing to him.”

“I’m sure you mean something to him. You are his daughter, after all.”

“I’m sure I don’t, and I don’t need him,” you said, looking at the boss of MX. “You are my family if I ever had one, Kihyun. I am in your debt for everything that you have done for me.”

“Nonsense,” he waved his hand and you stifled a smile at the way he always got a little shy when you called him family or brother. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done that for anyone.”

“You risked your business and your life for me. You don’t do that for just anyone,” you concluded and he smiled in answer. It was a truth that he could not deny. “You can call it whatever you want, but let me feel about it however I want too.”

“I can see how you might have talked them out of killing you, you stubborn brat,” Kihyun said, laughing. He stared into the distance, taking a few moments to think. “I heard you will be answering to Park Seonghwa and Jeong Yunho. That worries me.”

“It is just work,” you told him, though you were wholly aware that it was not just work. “You don’t need to worry too much.”

After a busy midday shift at the Crescent Office with Eunha and Jihoon, you decided to pay a visit to the Crescent Bar– you were free for the rest of the afternoon and could squeeze in a lunch with your friends. Plus, you were not sure that you could do the night shift without some liquid courage in your system.

The bar was as lively as it could be during day hours, with people popping in from work to get a drink or a meal. The employees– your old coworkers– warmly welcomed you and you went to sit at the counter with Eunbi and Jeonghan, just like the old times.

“How has it been without me?” You teased Eunbi who wrapped her arms loosely around your waist, snuggling beside you.

“Boring. Jeonghan is always pretending to sleep so I can’t really talk to anyone anymore.”

“I am actually asleep,” Jeonghan raised his hand as a sign that he was alive. He looked like a corpse, actually, if you could put it nicely. Eunbi gave you a pointed look.

“Got a new bookkeeper yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, going back to the cash register when she saw a customer approach. You walked to the staff room, catching up with Yuju who ordered your favourite grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch with Black Shadow– probably the best wine you had tasted in your life, if you were objective. You knew there was a backstory to how Ateez made that wine their staple, but you figured you would hear about it someday later. For now, you had another purpose that led you to Yeosang’s office.

Yeosang opened the door when you knocked, blinking in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the main office?”

“Good evening? How have you been doing? How has work been?” You glared at him. “I’m good, thank you for asking.”

Yeosang snickered, letting you in and you took the seat in front of him. You sighed deeply, folding your arms. “I kind of miss this, I won’t lie. I feel like an outsider there, and it’s only my first day. Shift doesn’t start for another hour, by the way.”

“Would you like a drink?” He offered and you shook your head, telling him you just had lunch. “Well, Miss y/n. How can I help you today?”

You passed him the side-eye. “It’s still Luna for you. And I wanted to ask you a few things that I really should have asked before.”

“Ah… is it time for those questions?” Yeosang relaxed back, resting his hands behind his head, his muscles poking out from under the ivory dress shirt. You watched him for a moment, wondering what his accomplishments during the war were. Could he be holding a scary title as well, or was it something worse?

“Yes. You can’t blame me for being curious after the stunt the underboss pulled that night. True to your name, Ateez.”

It was the first time you ever referred to them with their gang name and he only watched you in silence, waiting for you to continue. It irked you that his expressions gave away nothing. Trained to give away nothing, a distant voice in your mind said.

“Just tell me if there’s anything I need to know for now. I’m reporting directly to Mr. Park and… Mr. Jeong. I really don’t want to make a mistake.”

“You weren’t worried when you started working under me.”

“That’s because… you are you,” you tried to explain, ignoring the faint ache in your heart. “You don’t go around wearing formal suits and looking down on people and being… weird.”

“We don’t look down on people,” Yeosang sighed, though he was smiling at your admission. “Was Yunho weird towards you? What did he do now?”

“How did you– he didn’t do anything,” you told him. It was uncanny how well they knew each other. “I just want you to tell me if there’s something I should be aware of so I don’t make a mistake.”

Yeosang thought it was strange that you were asking such a question. He wished he could ask you what exactly you meant. Just what mistakes were you so afraid to make? Why did you always have to be cautious and walk on eggshells, even around him, even when you claimed that you were comfortable with him?

“I don’t think that you realise that Yunho is the only one of us who will forgive you even if you betray us in the worst possible way– he would still try to understand your reasons.”

Your eyes went a little wide as you let his words sink in. “Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho… is forgiving?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about us,” Yeosang leaned forward, speaking gently. “But I can promise you that it’s not the entire truth. We are more than what you people make us to be, if you care to look past the ranks and titles.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, and you were too scared to ask. You couldn’t stop thinking about his admission about Yunho. You really couldn’t see it– he always looked so strict, in the traditional sense. Even when he had a hint of a smile on his lips last night, you couldn’t envision him to be someone who could sympathise with the ugliness of the people who were driven into the corner. Perhaps, because Yeosang was his friend, he was able to look past everything and see the lieutenant’s true, unmarred nature, but to you…

To you, he was Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho. And you intended to keep it that way, for everyone’s sake.

Later, when you were at work and taking a breather, having just finished recording the day’s transactions, you reminded yourself that your relationship with Yeosang had turned too casual. Sure, it was the way he was with everyone at the bar– almost everyone. It was different with you, whether you liked it or not. Even though you had wanted to keep a distance from Yeosang, you just couldn’t. After all, you went to him right after hearing about their old gang days.

You made a mental note to learn more about Ateez and the Crescent Company, and to learn about the extent of their involvement in Eden’s business world. You needed any information you could get your hands on, every detail whether true or not. If you were going to play this game and use them for your goal, you needed to know that the Crescents were not involved with your father and his business in any way.

You needed to know if what they did was truly moral and right. And if you needed to sneak into places where you weren’t meant to go and possibly risk your life again… you would.

It took you about a week to fully get the hang of things at the office. While Jihoon was still being an arse– at this point, you were starting to consider that it might be a part of his personality– he never refused to guide you or help you when you were stuck. Eunha was just as helpful and you were actually starting to like her a little. She wasn’t very talkative but considering that she was able to make Jihoon laugh… you were tempted to take pointers from her. Jihoon had worked the longest here and you needed to crack him to get him to talk.

In that one week, you got a chance to go into Mr. Jeong’s room twice, when he was not present to take the report from you himself. You made it quick– unlock the room, unlock the cupboard and place the report inside, look around if you had a few seconds and get the hell out. It was too soon to make a mistake so you only dared to make note of what the office looked like. There wasn’t much to it anyway– just the usual workspace, and it frustrated you that his workspace gave away nothing about him.

Mr. Jeong, you noted, usually came to the office during your shift at the late hours of night, presumably after dinner. You learned that Kim Hongjoong was out of station for some business dealing which was why the office was mostly empty, but also that this was where they usually gathered to meet up and discuss things. This office was sort of a base and if not here, they would be at the bar, though they generally avoided it because of obvious reasons. There was no saying when a drunkard fool, or two, would dare to interrupt them.

Yunho usually locked himself inside his office (Eunha was very suspicious that he usually napped there, claiming to have heard light snores sometimes) and Seonghwa came by twice that week, greeting you and asking if you were adjusting well. Neither of them had interacted with you much during the week but…

You recalled two nights ago when Yunho came back to the office just as it was closing time. You handed him the report and he called you inside his office to discuss a few things. When he was going over the report, he asked you if you had any problems with work recently.

“None at all,” you assured him. “It is manageable.”

He flicked through the pages, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his sleeves, baring his veiny arms. You resisted the urge to trace all those veins on his arms– Jeong Yunho was one handsome man. It didn’t help that he had such beautiful hands either. Why were you assigned to submit him the reports every night? What was this new form of torture?

He caught you staring at his hands but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he finished checking the report and shut the folder, running his hands over the cover once before clearing his throat to get your attention. You met his stare, pretending that you had not been ogling at his hands and arms– or at least, fake confidence that you were normal about it.

“You were right about the artefact gallery,” Yunho said and you straightened. “It is indeed a money-laundering business. He is an assemblyman, a potential presidential candidate and, well, that’s a bad look for him with the elections right around the corner. How did you know when even his enemies aren’t aware of this information? And more importantly… do you want us to do something about it?”

“How I know does not matter,” you shook your head, adamant to not tell them your source. “It is just a piece of information that might be useful to you later. I am aware that your leader has been well involved with politicians– for connections, to secure deals. If you ever need leverage over General Wi, here is what you can use.”

Yunho took a deep breath at your response. You watched him scan you slowly, his eyes unreadable. “Is your source Yoo Kihyun of MX Pharmaceuticals?”

You looked down to hide your smile. “I have heard that you are well acquainted with him. He was more of a recipient than a source until a few years ago. The tables have turned now, but we still share information, and I was told that you could be trusted with the information I have. Is that still true?”

He rubbed his chin in thought. “That depends on how useful the information you possess is. And it also depends on how loyal you are.”

“I am loyal to anyone who is loyal to me,” you said with a certainty that surprised him. “I know what it is like to be betrayed by blood and water both. To me, loyalty is the highest virtue.”

“Higher than morality?” He asked with a certain nonchalance, perhaps expecting to pin you in a corner, but…

“And what is morality, in this era?” You mused. “I’m sure you ask that question yourself often… Lieutenant Jeong.”

You seemed to have hit the nail because his gaze darkened. Perhaps, you should not have reminded him of his military rank, but to be Eden’s honoured lieutenant colonel and possess some fair morals? It didn’t add up even after Yeosang had said all the good things about him.

“I know what my morals are, Miss Jeon,” Yunho leaned forwards, locking his eyes with you and you wish some of his dark tendrils hid a bit of his eyes because that gaze was damning. “Do you? Or do you like to make yourself believe that you are the only virtuous one in the room?”

Maybe it was a dangerous game you were playing but you mirrored his position, your clasped hands almost brushing his as you said, “Oh, I have the lowest moral standards. In order to survive in Eden, especially when you’re on your own… you can’t go around possessing such foolish things as virtue, isn’t that so?”

Yunho looked down at your clasped hands, spotting the fading scar that ran along your thumb down to your wrist– one that you had gotten the night you lost everything.

And then he ran a finger across it, ever so slowly, sending a trail of fire in its wake before getting up and wearing his coat, indicating that the meeting was over.

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid, beautiful hands–

“Goodnight, Luna,” he said in a low voice and you got up as well, gathering your wits before exiting the room.

“Goodnight… Mr. Jeong.”

And that had been the last time you saw him. It was Mr. Park who took the reports from you the day after, and last night you locked the office yourself about half an hour after midnight– you did not know why you stayed waiting for somebody to show up, but you felt a bit stupid afterwards. You should have clocked out on time.

You did not know why you waited.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost did not hear the sound of footsteps skittering in the direction of the office rooms. You looked up, gaping at what had to be a fifteen year old considering his scrawny appearance, moving not towards Yunho’s office but Kim Hongjoong’s. You frowned– how did he get past the guard?

“Oi,” you called but when he proceeded to knock at the boss’ door, you decided you had enough and slammed a hand on the desk to get his attention. “Oi, kid!”

“Is the Captain not inside?” he turned to look at you, looking as surprised to see you as you were. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” you beckoned him to come nearer and he obeyed this time. “How did you get in?”

“I have something the Captain might like,” he grinned. “Still not back from his little trip to Edenary?”

So that’s where he was. The Capital of Eden, the land of the elites. “Uh… nope. Why you calling him ‘the Captain’?”

“Because that’s who he is?” He shook his head in disapproval. “New here?”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Kid, if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to have to escort you out.”

“No need, I’ll see myself out,” he winked at you and you laughed this time. You had to admit he was kind of cute for a kid even though you wanted to smack him on his head. You didn’t recall seeing him on the streets– his loose flannel shirt and newsboy cap was a look you thought you would have remembered. “I’m Jaemin, the informant. I answer directly to the Captain, so don’t even think about asking me what this was about.”

“You could still tell me, it could be our little secret,” you smirked but he shook his head. You stuck your tongue out at him. “Alright then. He’s supposed to come back tomorrow, I think. Should I let him know some kid was looking for him?”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“No,” you said. “Why?”

Jaemin only smiled condescendingly in answer. “You’ll find out. No need to tell him, I’ll be back soon.”

With that, the kid disappeared downstairs, leaving you wondering why he called the boss ‘the Captain’. It didn’t refer to his military rank because you knew that he was an honoured military strategist and colonel. You recently heard from Wendy that he had played a vital role towards the end of the war before the treaty between Eden and Halaland was signed. At such a young age, it was impressive. He was only a year older than you so he must have been about twenty when he earned that honour.

You distantly wondered if you ever came across him during the war. You had volunteered as a medical assistant– almost a nurse– in the latter half of the war. You had spent two whole years training medically and assisting the doctors and nurses. There weren’t many people in Eden so you might have encountered one of the Ateez men there, though you weren’t sure if you would recognise each other now.

Moments later, you heard another pair of footsteps coming, this time familiar. Mr. Park, dressed in his usual black three-piece suit, met your gaze and sent a warm smile in your direction before he approached you.

“How are we doing tonight, Luna?”

“Good, Mr. Park. How about you?” You asked, taking tonight’s report and following him to Yunho’s office. “Did you perhaps see a kid leaving the building?”

Seonghwa chuckled at that. “You might find it hard to believe but that kid has saved lives with the information he shares.”

So the kid had not lied. “Impressive.”

Seonghwa waited until you took the seat in front of him. “He is like a stray cat who has marked us as his owners. We cannot take him in– he is too young, and he does not need to share the same fate the rest of us did, yeah? But he is a kid that nobody notices, and he uses that to his advantage. Next time you see him, ask him how he struck a deal with his ‘captain’.”

You laughed softly at that. “I will.”

Seonghwa nodded and started skimming through the reports. You told him that the new batch of liquor– specifically Black Shadow– had successfully been shipped to Mist Island. The shipment of their latest copper bullets was on the way too. You were surprised when you first found out that Mist Island was willing to trade weapons for liquor. Mist Island had a strict liquor import ban so the smuggling was being done secretly from both sides. It was impressive what money could buy.

Silence, Jihoon had told you one day when he was in a good mood. Silence of the police force.

You still hadn’t figured out what exactly they were doing with the weapons– you were aware that a lot of their money was being used in their business partnership with Pledis Manufacturers who were producers of machine parts. Your best guess was that they were involved in the weapons business and doing something undercover. You couldn’t question anyone about that yet. It was too soon.

“Good job, tonight,” Seonghwa said his usual words but this time, he did not dismiss you. Instead, he rested his back on the chair to look at you. “There are a few questions about your background that I must ask you before our boss arrives tomorrow, Luna. I’m hoping you will cooperate.”

There it was. They must have been done with the background check now. You wondered how much they found. “As best as I can while protecting myself, I will.”

Seonghwa smiled at that. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Neither is it that I trust you already– Yeosang did, but that was different. You are now involved in the heart of the business that the Crescent Company does, so I have to make sure you’re suitable for this job, right?”

You were glad it was Mr. Park who was asking you these questions right now. Something about his presence was utterly calming and you could relax a little while talking to him. If you were objective, you could say that perhaps, it was his strategy to get you to lower your guard. But still… he was always soft spoken and kind. That did not change.

“I understand, Mr. Park,” you assured him.

“I could not find the records of your family… Miss Jeon,” he emphasised at your surname and you nodded. “You’re not a Jeon, are you?”

“It is a surname I borrowed around the time of the war, but I can assure you that I am from Eden. I was born here and have lived here all my life, at the Sector 1 border… save for a few years that I was not here.” Almost the truth. You had lived in Edenary, at the outskirts that met with Sector 1.

“And where were you? Where did you go in 1963?”

You exhaled. “Wonderland, to look after my sick aunt and get some further education.”

“Where, in Wonderland? Can I confirm that?” Seonghwa asked.

“The capital, Wonder City” you told him. “I’m not related to that aunt. She’s just an acquaintance who was willing to take me in. I looked after her and she gave me the financial help I needed.”

“Financial help,” Seonghwa repeated, glancing at your pearl ring that you always wore. He had an eye for things, and he knew that the pearl could not be in the hands of someone who was struggling financially. You could not have worn it so proudly if you had stolen it, so was it a family ring? A normal middle-class family could not afford such a pearl.

Just who were you?

“Yes,” you confirmed, willing him to trust you. “I might be wearing a pearl from Maddox & Co., Mr. Park, but that does not mean that I was showered in luxuries all my life. You must have found out that I was desperate for a job when I came back in 1966.”

Seonghwa nodded, swiping his hair back and exhaling. “Alright, I’ll let it be for now. You only need to tell us if you are related in any way to our rival gangs or the Sirens Rebel Party.”

“I am not your enemy,” you confirmed. “I cannot be acquainted with Yoo KIhyun and be in cahoots with any of your enemies. You have the same rivals.”

“Today’s friend is tomorrow’s rival,” Seonghwa mused. “Today’s enemy might be tomorrow’s lifesaver.”

“Then it is up to you, whatever you want me to be,” you smirked. “Rival or friend.”

Seonghwa nodded in thought, a bit amused, proceeding to pour you both some wine. While he downed it in one gulp, you sipped on it slowly, anticipating his next move.

“Do you perhaps have another tip for us?” Seonghwa raised a brow, amused.

“I might have, regarding your latest dealings with General Wi, but I will wait until both sides are clear.”

“Good,” Seonghwa shut the folder in conclusion. “I will take the leap of trust in you, Luna. Maybe you can do the same for us?”

“For you… yes, I can,” you told him. “I have one favour to ask, though.”

“Another one, already?” Seonghwa teased.

“You have a meeting scheduled with Secretary Park Byung Eun on the 14th, right?” You asked, the name leaving the most bitter taste in your mouth.

“President Lee’s secretary, yes,” Seonghwa nodded. “Do you know him?”

“Everyone knows him,” you said. While he was the President's current secretary, his name was well-known before that as one of the most successful businessmen in Eden. “You must be meeting because of a potential pharma-collaboration?”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa frowned, anticipating what was next.

You took a deep breath. “Do not reveal all your cards to that man. Do not let them know what you are up to.”

“Is that your way of telling us to be careful?” Seonghwa snorted. “We never show all our cards in the first meeting, Luna.”

“Neither do they,” you warned him and his smile fell. “Secretary Park’s team has a penchant for tricking you into deals. I’m just asking you to think this deal through. Whatever they are offering you won’t be very beneficial in the long run.”

“And how do you know that?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him. “If you need sources, or funds, you don’t need to rely on the Secretary Park.”

“You don’t know what business we conduct here, Luna–”

“I don’t need to know to warn you,” you insisted, feeling that tight knot of frustration build up in the back of your throat now. “I’m only asking you to think this through and take my words into consideration.”

“Your words, Miss Jeon, lack credibility right now,” he stated in a finalising tone, a pang of hurt shooting through your chest for a moment. He was right, though. They had no reason to trust you and to them, you must be seeming like someone who was looking to jeopardise their deal. “If you really want us to take you seriously, you would have to start giving us more.”

“I cannot give you more if I don’t know what you will do with the information,” you told him, sighing deeply. “Forget it, just… can you please let me know what you will be gaining and what you will be losing after your meeting with Secretary Park?”

“You’re assuming we will lose something,” Seonghwa noted. You didn’t answer and Seonghwa scanned your face, almost detecting fear in your eyes. Just what were you so scared of? “Is there any way you can trust me and tell me what this is about?”

“Not so soon, no, sorry,” you smiled sadly. You wanted to trust that man, you wanted to trust someone, anyone. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for, if I have to be honest. I’m probably asking too much considering that I am a mere bookkeeper.”

“We may have ranks here but we’re all equal, in the end,” Seonghwa said and his words tugged at your heart. There was rarely anyone who didn’t bring rank into everything. “I know you have no reasons to trust us either. Let’s work through our differences first before we make such demands, alright?”

You smiled at him and got up to leave. He followed, locking the doors and you both exited the building together. You shivered when the chilly night wind hit you.

“The weather is getting colder. Bring a jacket or a scarf next time, will you?” Seonghwa said and you nodded. “Goodnight, Luna. I hope we are able to overcome all that is keeping us from mutual trust.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Park. Thank you for taking my words into consideration.”

He nodded, patting your back affectionately before you separated ways. That night, when you went home, you found Wendy getting ready to go to sleep. You didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her the whole week, considering your conflicting schedules, but you needed some answers right now so you sat at her bedside and she groaned in defeat.

“You need to tell me every detail, every rumour you’ve heard or any information you have on Ateez and what they do. Now.”

It was quite the busy day at the Crescent Office today.

During the midday slot, you were packed with the new reports you had to make regarding the recent trade dealings with Mist Island, and you also needed to compile a transaction history before the Crescents were going to finalise their new deal with Utopia– both dealings happening undercover. You realised just how much work this job was– you had to create a pretty seamless legal report that was going to be used officially and make it seem like all their money was being circulated in their manufacturing business or the liquor business.

Seonghwa and San arrived when your shift was about to end. San waved at you, promising to catch up later and Eunha looked at you with a scandalous smile.

“Do you know the Choi San?”

“I literally worked at the Crescent Bar, Eunha,” you laughed. “I had to work with him.”

“He’s never waved at me like that. I’ve been here for a decade,” Eunha pouted.

“Maybe you need to work as a cashier at the Crescent Bar in order to earn that privilege,” you told her, though you felt a bit pleased to hear that San had formal relations with the staff here.

Why were you pleased to hear that? You wondered but not long enough to make sense of it, soon getting caught up in more work.

You went home after your midday shift, hoping to get some rest before your night shift because you knew it was going to be packed. You had no idea when the boss was supposed to come to office but you just hoped you would go unnoticed today– you had far too many thoughts that needed some sorting from everything Wendy told you last night– another reason you wanted to get some rest because her words kept you awake for the most part of the night.

You made sure to dress properly today though, in any case. The weather was starting to get a bit chilly– summers were usually chilly in Eden. You wore a grey plaid suit that you kept for days like these, when you needed to make a good impression. You had fond memories with the two-piece– it was the first gift Wendy got you and it was more than she should have done, but she insisted she earned enough to buy gifts like these for the few friends she had. That made you wonder why she lived in a lousy shared apartment. You knew that her actual residence was in Sector 8 and she sometimes joked about how she lived here because it was ‘convenient’.

You wore white net gloves over your hands before going out, donning a matching grey hat. Eunha noted the new additions to your outfit and whistled as she shut her registers, groaning in satisfaction when she stretched her back.

“You did right with the gloves, but it’s a shame the boss isn’t here to appreciate them.”

“Eunha,” you glared at her and she giggled. She had warmed up to you– a bit too much, if you had to say, because she made jokes and teasing remarks like these often now that she was comfortable with you. You took off the gloves and spread them on your desk, grinning at her.

“I think they look pretty good from here too.”

You both shared a grin at that and Eunha wore her overcoat, saluting mockingly before leaving. Just before she was about to go downstairs, she turned in your direction, her doe eyes gleaming. “Luna!”

“What now?”

“If you see the boss… don’t take his words to heart,” she said. “He may sound like a complete arse but he cares for all of us.”

“It can’t be any worse than Jihoon, can it?” You joked.

Eunha was right, though. At around 10 pm, you finally heard a few sets of footsteps ascend up the stairs and you took a deep breath, fixing your gaze on the stairs. To get to his office, the boss would have to walk past you so you fixed your half tied hair and arranged your desk a bit. Yunho’s head was the first to pop up, followed by an unfamiliar man and Seonghwa. They went inside Yunho’s room first, absorbed in heated discussion and you took a deep breath.

It was clear as day who Kim Hongjoong was. If it was not his appearance that betrayed him– dressed in a luxurious three-piece suit with the chain of a golden pocket watch visible, dark brown curls falling stylishly over his forehead– it was his unmistakable aura, the way he carried himself and his confidence. You felt it even if what you got was only a glimpse.

A few minutes later, the trio popped out of Yunho’s room to go into Hongjoong’s room. You continued scribbling this time. You were going to remain in the shadows and go unnoticed–

“Get me the tax files,” the boss said. “I will personally make sure everything is seamless because I cannot have anyone messing it up– ah. Who is this again?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “Miss Jeon y/n. The bookkeeper– I thought Yunho told you already?”

Yunho looked guiltily at Seonghwa and you stood up in greeting, meeting the boss’s sharp eyes and internally gasping because oh, good heavens. He was inexplicably gorgeous–

“Good evening, Mr. Kim. If you need the tax files, I can get them for you.”

Hongjoong’s eyes betrayed him for just a second as he scanned your form, finding something oddly familiar about you. But his steel expressions returned and he shrugged lightly. “Yeah, well. I’ll have Yunho deal with that. You can get back to work.”

With that, he went towards his office and only waited a moment for the others to follow before he shut the door.

What a snob, you thought. His new bookkeeper and he didn’t even acknowledge you. Had Seonghwa and Yunho really not told him about you, or was he above these meagre details? You were aware that you would have to work with the boss now that he was back, but… how?

Later, you found yourself at the Crescent Bar instead of your room. Perhaps, here you could get something that would make the bitter aftertaste in your mouth after tonight’s shift seem like nothing. Eunbi’s shift was over so you just found an empty spot in the corner and instructed one of your old colleagues to get you some Black Shadow and to make sure no one would bother you. He gave you a thumbs-up and a few minutes later, you were sipping at the rich drink while recalling the events of today.

Kim Hongjoong. Ateez’s boss, the brains behind the entity of the Crescent Company. A force to be reckoned with. A trickster, a manipulator, a true businessman, you had heard a while ago from the mouth of the elites who came here to drink. A man of his principles, Wendy had told you last night. He was rigid with his principles and that was what got him so far. You supposed he had to be all of that in order to survive after coming back from the war.

Wendy said she wasn’t worried that you were working with him– at some point in this small sector, everyone had or would encounter him at least once in his life, directly or indirectly. However, she was worried that you would catch his eye, because according to her, you did not want to be involved with him personally in any way. He was a calculating and ruthless businessman with an ambition, and according to Wendy, that was something you were better off staying away from.

You considered everything you knew about the Crescent Company now that it had been a week working with them. They had partnered with Pledis Manufacturers to produce machine parts but you now knew that it was an undercover business for their weapons assembling. They had recently signed a new deal with Utopia to export these weapons in exchange for the Utopian wine– Black Shadow– which was a trademark of the Crescent Bar.

And it was Mist Island that provided the Crescents with the bullets and some metal for weapons production in exchange for Eden wine. It truly was a well-thought out business.

But that could not be all. You still did not know what the small packet– the powdery thing that got you here– was. Was it just a drug they used for pleasure purposes? You had never seen them in such a state, nor did the Crescent Bar tolerate druggies, though deals happened there, just like at any other bar. Nobody seemed to talk about it, there was no record of such an object being traded or produced– so what was it? Why had they almost killed you when they learned that you saw it?

And if it was a drug, why did they need to make a business deal with Secretary Park Byung Eun and have him fund MX Pharmaceuticals, of which they owned shares of? Kihyun knew that Secretary Park was not a man you should involve yourself with, so was he not aware of this new venture or was he turning a blind eye to it because they needed Secretary Park? Why would they need him of all the people in this world?

“If you glare at your glass any longer, it will shatter,” a familiar voice said and you looked up, mouth parting in surprise.

“San!” You got up, straightening your clothes. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I literally own this bar?” San chuckled, noticing the almost empty bottle.

“I mean, here here,” you pointed at your table. “I was just… drinking, as you can already see.”

“Long day?”

“Kind of,” you nodded.

“Can I join you then? I’ve had a long day too.”

“Sure,” you said and he settled down in front of you, tossing his jacket on the other chair, now in a half sleeve black shirt. You poured the drink for him and he swirled it a few times before downing it in one gulp. You filled his glass again and motioned one of the waiters to get you a new one.

It felt a little strange to have him seated like this in front of you. Sure, you had shared drinks countless times, but that was when you worked here and were serving him. There was also a shift in your interactions ever since that fateful night at the bar– somehow, that had turned your conversations more casual. He caught you staring at him but he didn’t comment on it.

“I’m assuming you met Hongjoong?” San asked and you exhaled, making him snicker. “What?”

“He’s… definitely the boss,” you laughed shortly. “He scanned me once and was like, okay, time to move on.”

“That’s him,” San laughed. “But that little scan he does means that he has memorised who you are and won’t forget. He’s got quite the memory.”

“I would expect nothing less, but San,” you sighed. “I miss being here. Even though I acted all professional here for the sake of formalities, it wasn’t ever suffocating being here.”

San frowned at your admission. “Do you not like where you are now?”

“It’s not that,” you shook your head. “I like the new job. It’s testing my capabilities, and I like challenges. It’s just that… you aren’t there. Yeosang isn’t there. You both are Crescents too. You both are also Ateez, so… how are you two so different from the rest?”

A smile creeped up on San’s lips and your heart did a little somersault– you hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was, but it had certainly been a while since you admired his charms. “Just say you miss us and move on, Luna.”

You laughed at that and San joined, the two of you chuckling for a few moments. “Yeah, I kind of miss being here and reporting all the gossip to you,” you said. “I miss working in silence with Yeosang too– don’t tell him I said that. It’ll get to his head.”

“I won’t,” he grinned. “Shall I tell you the gossip?”

“Oh, please, I’ve been starving,” you said.

About an hour passed over gossip and drinks, switching from wine to plain soda. San told you the latest happenings of the area– they had a little fight with Chan’s gang and had settled the matter about the attack on the Crescent Bar, making them pay for the damages. Yuju had gone to different bars to do a survey of what was trendy and come up with nothing, and you joked about how she was only good at doing what she knew– managing the staff, something she was an expert at. San said he would be sending Jeonghan and Mingyu next– perhaps, they would come up with a better report.

It was the first time you talked to San as a friend, and though you had always found it quite easy to talk to him, you liked that just like Yeosang, he didn’t make it feel like there was a distinction between you two. Perhaps, you wondered, it was because of the nature of your work- after all, you couldn’t be too formal in a place like a bar. Maybe if there was no Crescent Bar, you really would have found San intimidating and unapproachable, just like people claimed he was. You still couldn’t believe them– not when he had the softest gaze when he paid attention to you, not when his eyes curved into moons when he smiled or laughed, and certainly not when he whined like just another adult with problems.

When you checked the time on your wristwatch, you whistled– it was almost 2 in the morning. “Well. Time flies.”

“The night is still young, but we’ve both got to get up early, don’t we?”

“We sure do,” you nodded. “Well, this has been… a pleasure, San.”

“Likewise,” he propped his chin on his hand as he looked at you. “We should do this again.”

“Complaining about work?” You laughed. “Complaining about my bosses slash your friends?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s complaining, but when I do it, it’s whining? Noted,” San shook his head in disappointment and you grinned. “Can I tell you something, Luna?”

“Sure.”

“The hyungs– Yunho, Seonghwa and Hongjoong… they’re just like me and Yeosang. You just don’t know them yet.”

You looked at him for a moment. “I would have believed you if you had not included Seonghwa in that list.”

“Why?”

“You’re nothing like Seonghwa,” you joked. “He’s far too kind and refined.”

San’s loud laughter filled the room and you looked around, making sure no one was being disturbed. You leaned forward to tap his hand and make him stop laughing.

“I’m not lying, Luna,” San wiped his eyes. “Seonghwa… he may look refined but he can be very playful and childish when he wants to be. Yunho… well, once he warms up, you’ll know that he is the best kind of person you can have by your side.”

Somehow, his words wrapped around your heart like a promise. “You care about them a lot, huh?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They’re my friends, a part of my heart. I would do anything for them.”

“And… Hongjoong?”

“Hongjoong, well…” San smiled. “You find that out for yourself.”

“Not helping, San,” you folded your arms but he shook his head.

“All I can tell you is that if you’re lucky enough to break his walls… if he takes you under his wing, he won’t let anything hurt you. That’s the kind of person he is. He is the boss but he acts like a shield for us, and I wish I could do the same for him.”

You took note of his words. Did you trust San? A bit, yes. If he said all those things about Hongjoong, they must be true– at least according to his perception. But could you trust Hongjoong? Could you act as a shield for them so they could protect you in the future?

You made the decision before you slept that night.

During your night shift the next day, you waited for the office to get a bit emptier. When there was only Seonghwa and Hongjoong on the upper level, you took a leap of faith and knocked on the boss’s door. It was now or never, and you had to make your move.

“Come in,” Seonghwa’s voice sounded and you opened the door. Seonghwa was seated at the couch while Hongjoong was at the end of the room in his chair, scribbling on paper, not bothering to look at you.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked Seonghwa.

“Sure, have a seat,” he motioned to the couch in front of him and you did, sliding the report to him and glancing at Hongjoong once. “Is everything alright?”

“It is, but… I must warn you of something. You cannot proceed with the deal you’re making with Secretary Park Byung Eun.”

Seonghwa settled the pen he had been playing with on the table, taking a deep breath. “What is this really about?”

“Secretary Park is aiming to become the Minister of Health, isn’t that right? All of the ex-president’s team has either retired or left their posts, replaced by President Lee’s people,” you said. “Is that why you need Secretary Park? Because you have no other option?”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes– how did you find out that he was aiming to become the next Minister of Health? It wasn’t publicly announced yet– he had yet to sign up as a candidate for that post.

“You must have one hell of a source,” Seonghwa looked amused, glancing at Hongjoong who was smoking a cigar and now looking at you with mild interest. You gathered your nerves before continuing.

“He is not a good candidate for the position, but that is not what matters right now. I would have gone to Kihyun but I decided to confirm with you first because I’m not sure if he’s aware of your plans, but… you must need Secretary Park to approve some drug in the future, right?”

Seonghwa’s brow rose ever so slightly and you jumped a little when Hongjoong slammed the pen that he had been holding on the table. He cocked his head as he glared at you.

“Miss Jeon,” he said in a warning tone. “If you don’t stop talking in circles right now and tell us what this is about, I’ll have to deal with you myself. You don’t want that.”

You gritted your teeth, unafraid for the first time in a while. “Do you want this business deal with Secretary Park to be legal? Just answer my question first, Mr. Kim.”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa answered for him.

“You should know that Secretary Park already has some business deals with Strictland officials going on,” you said in a low tone and the two looked at each other in surprise, clearly unaware. “You know how it will look for you if word comes out– Strictland is already an occupied state on the verge of military dictatorship. You can try to verify it for yourself if you want, but whatever deal Secretary Park has going on with Strictland… it’s not legal in any sense, neither is it moral.”

Seonghwa took a deep breath. “Our meeting with Secretary Park is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“And I thought you should be aware of this before the meeting,” you locked eyes with him, hoping he could see the desperation in them.

“Jeon y/n, was it?” Hongjoong called and you looked at him. He was squashing his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. You nodded and he finally smiled, though it looked almost devilish. “Why would you care to tell us this information?”

“You must have heard from your underboss,” you said. “I am willing to trade information with you in return for protection.”

“And power,” he pointed out the missing part. “You mentioned power.”

“I only desire power in order to survive in Eden,” you said.

“So why protection?” Hongjoong asked. “You can’t be a powerful figure in Eden and not have everyone targeting you.”

“Being a part of the Crescent Company is protection enough, I suppose,” you rested your hands on the soft material of your black pants, subtly wiping the sweat off.

“Protection from whom?” Hongjoong asked, his gaze set on you. You found it overwhelming almost to the point that you considered answering– he had a commanding presence.

“I… can’t say. Not yet,” you said and Seonghwa shook his head, having already known your answer. “I don’t expect you to tell me what the deal is about– after all, I’m only a bookkeeper. But I can give you better options– ex-president Mr. Son, for instance, or Assemblyman Kim Jooheon.”

“Assemblyman Kim is a nobody in the political scene if we are being objective,” Seonghwa said. “I don’t think he will have much to offer to us.”

“He will have something to offer to you if you give him something in return– maybe something that pulls him out of the shadows and into the spotlight of the political scene,” you said, recalling how the politicians in Edenary always thought Assemblyman Kim had the potential but lacked the resources.

“Why would Mr. Son ever associate himself with us?” Hongjoong got up from his seat, slowly walking towards you, hands in the pocket of his striped black suit. “We may be owners of a legal business company now, but everyone knows of our mafia ties and background.”

“You are an honoured military strategist who played a vital role to end the war, isn’t that true?”

Hongjoong chuckled at that, nodding slowly to confirm that and settling down next to Seonghwa. “Not everyone is aware of that, Miss Jeon. I don’t like people talking about it.”

“But Mr. Son was the president at that time, and he honoured you with a badge,” you kept his gaze. “I think he will agree that a person who did everything in their power to end the feud between two nations would not be making a deal that would harm his motherland and its people… don’t you agree?”

Hongjoong stared at you while considering your words. “You have a lot of audacity to come in here and make claims about a business you are not a part of, and people you don’t know enough about. Possessing such audacity is what almost cost you your life that night, and what is tempting me to retract the deal my partners made behind my back.”

And there it was. A stark reminder that you may have struck a deal with the queen, but you were still just a pawn in this game of chess where the king ruled. Weak and expendable– that’s what you were.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa began but Hongjoong raised his hand in the air to stop him from speaking further, his eyes still locked with yours. You didn’t feel shame nor fear in that moment– just regret that maybe you had trusted the wrong people.

“You are a bookkeeper, and you can remain so. Goodnight, Miss Jeon.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in and then you got up, bowing in greeting. “Good night, Mr. Kim, Mr. Park. Thank you for hearing me out.”

With that, you left the room and Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong. “You did not have to put it like that. I know she got you.”

Hongjoong slumped down on the couch in front of Seonghwa, cracking his knuckles while he thought about his next move. “Is there any way we can verify the information about Secretary Park without anyone getting a whiff?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa admitted. “I’m wondering how she knows that– if that was the truth. If Secretary Park really has a business deal with Strictland officials… I don’t think even his wife would know about that. If anyone gets a whiff of that, it could cost him his position and cause President Lee significant harm too, since Park Byung Eun is his secretary. You know how Strictland is still a sensitive topic after the war.”

“Then how does she know?” Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa. “Is she a spy?”

“She can’t be,” Seonghwa shook his head. “Luna worked as the bookkeeper at Crescent Bar for two years–”

“Luna?”

“That’s what everyone calls her,” Seonghwa said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“She could be a mole, then,” Hongjoong sighed. “But no. Even a mole could not possess this information. What do we do?”

“Kihyun was Secretary Park’s former business partner. I’ll ask Yunho to check with Kihyun and confirm if Secretary Park is the right man for this deal, but that means we will have to let Kihyun know that we are intending to make such a deal.”

“We were going to tell him anyway, let’s proceed with that plan. And Seonghwa?”

“Yeah?”

“Contact the RV spies and get any information you can on your little bookkeeper.”

next chapter

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bellaxgiornata · 14 days ago

Text

Life Worth Living |Chapter Three|

Pairing: Matt x mutant!fem!Reader Word count: 5k [Series Masterlist] [Matt Murdock Masterlist]

tags/warnings: 18+; dark themes/content, canon typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, PTSD, smut, plot twists, fluff and angst, torture, mentions of sexual abuse, canon divergence, Reader has a fake name & is Matt's neighbor

a/n: Finally a chapter that gives y'all a little breath from all the suspense. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kmc1989 @let-it-go-and-live-again @paracosmic-murdock @fries11 @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @frenchtoastix @1988-fiend @daisy-the-quake @energerstar @lilianashomaresparza

Unlocking the deadbolt and the door lock on your apartment door, you reluctantly swung it open to find your neighbor, Matt, standing just outside in the hallway. His hand slowly fell back to his side from where it had moments ago been knocking against your door as your gaze immediately began scanning him over. You noticed that his dark hair was mussed and the gray t-shirt and black sweatpants he was wearing were rumpled, as if he’d either just gotten out of bed or pulled his clothing on in a rush. The red glasses that he often wore were currently missing this evening, allowing you to take in the entirety of his face finally.

The soft hazel of his eyes held your attention for far longer than you cared to admit as you studied the different flecks of color visible in them. They were creased in concern as they darted around your general direction, never focusing long in one particular area. That odd sensation you felt whenever he was near you was still there–the sensation that you’d noticed when you’d been back in your bedroom and he’d first begun knocking on your door. You could feel it running over your skin now in something like a light tickle as you studied him in return, noting that worried downward curve of his lips.

You hated to admit it, but he was attractive. There was something about him that just drew you to him–but whatever that something was, you weren’t certain you were ready to explore it. Not after him anyway.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked.

His voice broke you from your thoughts, drawing you back to the present. Clearing your throat, you realized that you’d been standing there in your doorway just quietly staring at him without so much as a greeting. Heat crept over your cheeks in faint embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him. Trying to steady your voice after that horrible dream you’d just had, you added on, “I just have nightmares. On occasion.”

“That was the screaming?” Matt asked, his eyes finally landing somewhere along your cheek.

You didn’t like that he’d caught that–your screaming. The amount of nightmares he must’ve overheard you having when you’d only moved here just over a week ago was certainly abnormal, and you didn’t want him asking questions any deeper than he currently was now. Because you were just a normal woman living next door to him–nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t need to be thinking anything otherwise about you.

“Yeah, I uh, just had a nightmare,” you repeated awkwardly, your hand still gripping the door. “I accidentally knocked my lamp over when I woke up. Still adjusting to the new apartment and I was a little disoriented, you know?” you quickly half-lied. “Besides being incredibly embarrassed that you heard all of that, I’m fine. Really.”

Matt’s head tilted a bit to the side, his eyes noticeably narrowing at your words as they dipped down towards your chest. That strange tickle along your skin increased before you saw a muscle twitch in his cheek.

Something was definitely going on right now, and you had no idea what. It was driving you insane. Was he doing that? Or was it a reaction you were having to him?

Before you could ponder the question too much further, you spotted a cut along his left temple, on the opposite side of his face as that nasty bruise he’d had this morning. But that cut hadn’t been there when you’d run into him at his office, and you couldn’t help but stare at it. Where did he get it from in the hours since?

“You’re bleeding,” you pointed out.

Matt’s lips twisted into a puzzled frown, his eyes raising from your chest to focus on your face. “I am?”

Your hand rose up in the space between you both, your fingers about to gently touch the left side of his face and brush back the hair along his temple to point out the cut for him, but you abruptly froze. The gesture seemed far too intimate–not something you should be naturally trying to do with a neighbor that you’d only briefly interacted with on three separate occasions now. That wouldn’t have been typical, appropriate behavior for someone. Dropping your hand back to your side, you found yourself grateful that he couldn't see what you’d foolishly been about to do.

"There’s a cut on your left side, near your temple,” you told him instead, your eyes fixed on the injury. “It's–it doesn't look too bad, but it probably should be cleaned up and bandaged."

Biting your lip, you watched him gently raise a hand up towards his face. His fingers lightly touched the cut before he winced at the contact.

"I, uh, fell on the pavement earlier," Matt told you sheepishly, his hand lowering back to his side. "Didn't realize there was a crack in the sidewalk and my shoe got stuck. I tripped." He shrugged in an offhand way, one that seemed too practiced to be believable. "I'm pretty clumsy, I get injured often. Kind of comes with being blind." He let out a laugh, gesturing towards his eyes, but you continued to study him closely, feeling as if he sounded way too flippant. "I can take care of it in a bit,” he continued, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright after I’d heard the screaming."

Standing there observing him in the hallway–still very aware of the weird sensation passing over your skin in soft, uneven flickers–you felt your stomach nervously twist at his blatant concern over you. You didn’t exactly know what to feel about it. No one had ever shown you genuine concern before–you’d always just fended for yourself. And you’d long since come to realize that he had no idea what it meant to truly care for another person.

At the thought of him, your dream resurfaced and a shudder raced through you. That all too familiar prickle of fear raised the hair on the back of your neck, your breathing growing a bit uneven.

He’s not here.

Raising a hand, Matt nervously scratched the back of his neck in the growing silence. He glanced towards the ground as he shifted his weight on his feet in front of you. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have bothered you," he apologized. "You don't know me that well and it's late and I'm making you uncomfortable. I'll just–"

"No," you shot out quickly, cutting off his rambling apology.

He paused, eyes darting back up towards your chin as his brows raised at your blurted interruption. Standing there gripping your door tighter, you had absolutely no idea why you’d just responded like that. The word had just flown right out of your lips.

"No, you're not–I mean it's not," you spluttered.

Stopping, you paused to take a breath in order to give your mind a chance to form a coherent thought. Matt stood there watching you patiently, but the strange way his attention on you made your skin tingle wasn’t helping you to think clearly.

"You're not…making me uncomfortable," you finally managed. "I appreciate the gesture. Checking on me, I mean. It's very kind of you to make sure your weird neighbor that woke up screaming from a nightmare is alright."

Matt shifted forward on his feet again, leaning a little towards you with a gentle smile on his handsome face. That odd fluttering in your stomach returned just before the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

Why did he have to be so damn attractive?

"I don't think you're weird, Olivia," he said softly. "We all have our demons."

Unable to resist, you huffed out an amused breath at his words. He didn’t even know the half of it where you were concerned.

Eyes shifting back to the cut along his temple, you chewed your lip in silent indecision. If he couldn’t see the injury, how well could he bandage it himself if you just let him go back to his apartment? He’d already been kind enough to check on you, would it be absurd to invite him in just to give him a quick bandage? Normal people would offer something like that, wouldn’t they?

"If you want to come in, I can clean up that cut," you offered hesitantly, uncertain of the suggestion still. "I might have a bandage in my first aid kit for it." Pausing, your hand tightened on your apartment door while you hoped that you hadn’t come across too forward–or as if you were implying anything else than first aid treatment. "If you want, I mean. You certainly don’t have to," you quickly added.

A warm smile spread across his lips before he nodded. "I would like that, actually," he replied. "Thank you." He held up his hand in the space between you both, one brow quirking up onto his forehead as he tentatively asked, “Would you mind guiding me in? I left my cane back in my apartment when I hurried out of the door.”

Slowly you reached out, gently taking him by the wrist and guiding his hand to your forearm. His fingers gripped gently around the bare skin, his thumb just once lightly sweeping across the delicate skin right over the pulse point along your own wrist. It almost felt like static electricity passed from his thumb to your skin at the touch and you tensed instantly. Eyes flying up towards his face, you caught the way his mouth very faintly twitched in response before his tongue darted out between his lips.

Had he just…felt that, too? Or was this all just you?

Eyes running over his face, you attempted to make sense of why this man always elicited such a strange reaction from you, but then his head tilted to the side a bit, a small smile drawing over his lips. You realized a second later that you’d just been standing there with his hand on your forearm while staring at him again instead of guiding him into your apartment.

Quickly turning your head away from him, you winced at how ridiculous you probably appeared to him. Clearing your throat, you lead him into your apartment, shutting the door behind him after he stepped fully inside.

“Right, so, I’ll just lead you down the entry hall to my couch in the living room,” you told him, guiding him straight towards the piece of furniture. “Then I can grab my first aid kit.”

Once you’d gotten him settled onto your couch, you hurried off to your bathroom for the first aid kit you kept under the vanity. You grabbed a wet washcloth to clean the blood from him before you stepped back out into the hall, making your way down it to find him still seated on your couch where you’d left him.

As you lowered yourself onto the cushion beside him, you tried to shake off the strange sensation still passing over your skin. Setting the first aid kit onto your coffee table, you turned towards him with the wet washcloth in your hand.

“I’ll need to clean the cut off first,” you said, eyeing the injury. “You’ve got blood dried along it.”

Leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees, Matt shifted so his gaze was facing forward, giving you easier access to his cut.

“Do whatever you need to,” he replied.

Very gently, you grabbed his chin in one hand, tilting his head at an angle better suited for you. That brief flicker of something akin to static electricity felt like it momentarily passed over your fingertips before it disappeared, leaving you struggling not to focus too hard on the rough stubble and warm skin beneath your fingertips.

With his face positioned where you needed it, you released his chin before brushing away the soft brown hair from his temple, your fingers holding it back and out of your way. Matt’s eyes fluttered closed beneath your touch as he leaned just marginally into your hand. You registered that subtle movement, swallowing hard before focusing on gingerly wiping the dried blood from his skin instead of trying to make sense of it.

“So you know I’m a lawyer,” Matt said, breaking the growing silence. “What is it you do for work, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a programmer,” you answered him, remaining focused on your task. “I don’t do anything exciting, exactly. I create programs for companies to help with data storage among other boring things.”

“What uh…what made you choose that?” he asked curiously.

Pulling the cloth away from the now cleaned cut, you removed your hand from his hair, watching as it fell forward along his forehead. It wasn’t a deep cut, nothing remotely serious. Something you could have easily helped him with in another way–but you weren’t doing that. Not anymore.

Because you were normal.

“I don’t know exactly,” you admitted, setting the washcloth onto the coffee table. As your fingers searched your first aid kit for some ointment, you continued. “I guess I liked the idea of creating things. And programmers, in the right company, can make a decent living–though New York City is still expensive.”

Matt grinned at your comment, a faint breath of laughter falling out of him. “Yeah, you’re not wrong there,” he agreed. “But you work from your apartment, don’t you? Doesn’t that ever feel…isolating?”

Dabbing the ointment onto his cut, you found yourself so focused on your task and the conversation that you’d forgotten about the strange sensation along your skin. Though it was still rolling over you in gentle waves–almost in a comforting way.

“I don’t mind it,” you told him. “I like the quiet and the familiarity of my own space. The freedom to work from anywhere in the country, allowing me to move whenever I need a change of scenery. Gives me a certain sense of freedom, really.”

Shifting on the couch, you turned and began searching for a bandage that you could use. Your fingers sifting through the items in the bright red bag, you continued to speak, unaware that you were rambling on far past simply answering his initial question.

“I don’t usually like being surrounded by people, anyway,” you confessed. “I’m much more comfortable working in a space without countless co-workers or upper management watching everything you do. Observing you every single day. Monitoring you.”

As you’d brushed away the hair from his forehead with your pinky, your hands holding the bandage just above his cut, you paused. Realization dawned on you about how much you were oversharing, your face slightly heating. He didn’t need to know all of that.

“Sorry,” you abruptly apologized. “I didn’t realize I was babbling incessantly.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Matt quickly countered, a smile drawing itself across his face. “I like listening to your voice. It’s calming.”

Focusing on applying the bandage over his cut, you noticed that sensation across your skin growing a bit warm now. Somehow that made it even more distracting than it usually was.

“Thanks?” you said with an awkward smile. “I’ve uh, never been told that before.”

Smoothing the bandage across his temple, you finished taking care of his small injury. Hands dropping back into your lap, you shifted a little away from him on the couch.

“All done,” you said, voice a bit quieter now.

Matt turned on the couch, positioning himself towards you more fully. The warm smile on his face was now fully visible, his gaze focused just somewhere above your left shoulder.

“Thank you,” he replied, gesturing a finger towards the bandage. “I appreciate the middle of the night medical care.”

Trying to bite back the smile on your face, you shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I appreciate the middle of the night safety check-in.”

An amused chuckle rumbled out of Matt before he reached a hand out in your direction, his palm somehow easily finding your knee. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and something about that simple and unfamiliar gesture had you stiffening on the couch.

“Anytime,” he assured you, his hand releasing your knee. “But I should probably let you get back to sleep. It’s late.”

With a resigned sigh, you nodded in response. “Right,” you muttered half-heartedly.

Matt’s head tilted at your tone, his brows furrowing together as the smile slipped from his face. “Something wrong?” he asked.

Shaking your head, knowing that he couldn’t see the gesture, your thumbnail dug into the fabric of your sweatpants, toying with the cloth nervously. The last thing you felt like doing right now was going back into your bedroom and falling asleep again. Not after that nightmare.

“No, nothing,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “I just doubt I’ll be falling back asleep anytime soon. It’s not a big deal. Stupid, really.”

A moment of silence passed between the pair of you, your fingers still fidgeting with the fabric of your sweatpants. The thought of falling asleep and seeing his face again was far too much for you right now.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable,” Matt began hesitantly, “I can stay for a bit? To keep you company?”

Lips parting in surprise at his unexpected offer, you sat beside him in shock on your couch. He was offering to stay here for a bit? At this hour? Despite the strange Skin Tingle as you’d begun calling it in your mind, you found yourself tempted to accept his offer. His presence felt comforting and safe. But how absurd and childish would it look for a grown woman not wanting to be alone after a nightmare? And how would that not make him begin to wonder what was really going on with you?

“Honestly, I don’t mind,” Matt continued when you didn’t respond. “I can go into the office a bit later tomorrow morning if I need to. That’s the beauty of working for yourself,” he said with a grin. “It might upset Foggy for an hour, but I really don’t mind. It would actually make me feel better to make sure you’re really alright.” He cleared his throat before he sent you a hesitant, friendly smile. “If I’m not intruding, of course. I–I’m actually enjoying your company.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you considered his offer while trying hard not to focus on the last thing he’d said. The thought of being alone wasn’t a pleasant one, and he was offering to keep you company–quite insistently.

“I suppose if it’s not putting you out,” you answered him slowly. “And if it really won’t affect your work tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any problems.”

“Really,” Matt said, settling back onto the couch with a charming smile on his face. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay, well I–I’m just going to grab the broken bits of my lamp from my bedroom and toss them,” you told him, rising from the couch. “There’s like three pieces, it shouldn’t take me more than a moment.”

“I’ll be fine right here, unless you’d like some help?” he offered.

“No, it’s not a big deal,” you replied sheepishly, embarrassed that you’d even broken the damn lamp. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Hurrying down the hall to your bedroom, you stepped inside to see it in the same state you’d left it in earlier. Your sheets were still half thrown onto the floor from where you’d woken in a fit, and the bedside lamp was still broken in three pieces along the floor. Carefully stepping over to that side of the bed, you began collecting the broken pieces, making sure not to cut yourself in the process.

“So you said you don’t particularly enjoy being around a lot of people,” Matt called out as you began to make your way back down the hallway. “Can I ask what drew you to the city then? New York City seems an odd choice for you if that’s the case.”

You headed into the kitchen, tossing the lamp and its broken pieces into the garbage before glancing over at him on the couch. His arm was slung over the back of it, his head turned slightly towards where you stood in the kitchen. Unable to resist, a small smile tugged at your lips at the sight of him sitting there.

“I don’t,” you admitted. “Like being around a lot of people, that is. I lived in Anchorage, Alaska for a few years before I actually came here. I just wanted a change, I guess. Though Anchorage isn’t technically small–it’s actually the most populated city in Alaska. It’s certainly not New York City, though. But everything out there is sort of…secluded. It’s kind of what drew me there initially. The idea of getting lost somewhere.”

Clearing your throat, you realized you were once again spilling far too much information to him. Instead, you stepped over towards an open shelf and pulled two glasses down.

“I haven’t done much grocery shopping yet, so my hostess options are limited, but would you like some water?” you asked, attempting to change the subject a little.

“Yes, thank you,” Matt answered.

Brief silence filled your apartment as you filled up two glasses with water. Carrying them back towards the couch, you slipped one glass into Matt’s outstretched hand before taking a drink from your own. Your mouth felt incredibly dry as you attempted to navigate this personal conversation about yourself.

“The coffee table is about a foot and a half in front of you,” you said, lowering your glass from your lips before sitting back down on the couch. “If you’d like to set your glass down.”

“Thank you,” Matt said, smiling as he leaned forward to do just that. As he once more sat back against the couch, his unseeing gaze landed in your direction again. “What was Alaska like? It seems a very unlikely location for one to just end up in.”

The ghost of a smile swept over your lips as you looked down at the cup in your hands, your fingers running over the cool glass beneath them. In your mind, you could easily recall the place you’d called home for a few years. Part of you missed it already.

“It was…beautiful,” you began, voice quiet, almost reverent. “I’d been traveling briefly right before having moved there,” you told him, fighting hard to keep the memories attached to that period of time buried deep. “But I’d never seen any place like it. The mountains are massive. They tower behind Anchorage, just always in the distance, always standing so tall. I’d never seen anything quite like them before. And the forests…”

Your voice trailed off as your eyes fell closed, remembering the forests. There’d been many times you’d disappeared in them for awhile just to escape from your own thoughts.

“They’re wild,” you continued softly. “Countless different types of spruce trees, cedars, and birches. Moss literally coats every inch of the forest ground like a green blanket. Everything is just so incredibly green and full of life.” That faint ghost of a smile was still drawn over your lips as you pictured Anchorage in your mind. “You could look up and spot bald eagles or magpies in the sky. There were always moose and their young on the side of the roads, or cutting through backyards in the city.”

Opening your eyes, you noticed Matt’s had closed at some point while you’d been speaking. He looked as if he’d been trying to focus on imagining everything you were explaining himself.

“You paint a beautiful picture,” he said quietly, his own eyes slowly reopening and focusing back in your direction. “It sounds like you loved it there.”

Exhaling quietly, you nodded your head. “I did,” you told him. “I loved hiking the trails, being out in nature. Tried a few outdoor activities, but I never got into the fishing or hunting out there–not really into the idea of killing things," you said quietly, an edge to your words.

Beside you, Matt’s expression softened. “So why’d you move out here?” he asked.

You hesitated for a moment at the question, uncertain with how honest you wanted to be with him. But with how you’d gotten to know his friends, Karen and Foggy, you had a feeling that Matt was someone you didn’t need to completely hide yourself from.

“Figured maybe…I’d feel less lonely,” you answered, giving him a weak shrug. “There’s only so much comfort trees and mountains can bring someone.”

“Did it help?” he asked curiously, his brows lightly drawing together. “Do you feel any less lonely since you’ve moved here? Surrounded by buildings and people instead of moose and trees?”

Pausing for a moment, you considered the question. That night you’d spent out with Karen and Foggy while they drank returned to you, a tiny smile curling your lips upwards at the memory. You’d had fun with them. Real, genuine fun. Something you didn’t think you’d felt before.

“I’ve been here one week and made a few friends already,” you responded. “So, yeah, I’d say so.”

“Good,” Matt replied, a warm smile crossing his face as his eyes creased at the corners. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Matt noticed the change in your breathing as soon as it gradually began to slow. You'd been steadily growing closer and closer to falling asleep as you sat beside him on your couch for the past half hour, narrating the late night movie for him that you'd both settled on watching. Despite the way your voice had eventually gotten a bit more slurred from exhaustion, Matt couldn't help but find himself focusing so intently on it.

He'd been honest earlier with what he’d told you–your voice was calming to him. Soothing in a way he hadn't experienced from anyone else before. He couldn’t help but want to continue listening to you speak, unsure why exactly your voice sounded just marginally different from anyone else's. As if there was the faintest pitch hidden in there that he couldn’t quite place. An odd, calming note that he’d never heard in someone’s voice previously.

You were a curiosity to Matt.

At first, he'd started paying attention to you after you’d moved in across the hall because he'd overheard the late night screaming coming from your apartment. He’d caught it that first night you’d been there. But then your late night terrors continued after that. Matt caught the sounds of them when he was heading back into his own apartment, undressing from his night out on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Or the noise of your panic had sometimes managed to even draw him straight from his own sleep, causing him to bolt wide awake at the shrill, scared sound. On occasion, Matt had even noticed the acrid tang of fear barreling across the hallway from your apartment, the pungent scent forcing its way into his own space periodically at different hours of the day. It was such a strong smell that Matt was incapable of ignoring it.

There was something off about you. Something different. And clearly something was troubling you–something he got the sense that you were hiding from. But he wasn’t going to push you to open up about it. Not yet, anyway. But that didn’t mean Matt wasn’t going to try to find some way to unravel your secrets.

But the nightmares and the strange tone in your voice wasn’t all that had Matt curious about you. He’d noticed it the first time he’d met you in the hallway with Foggy, and it had only become more evident to Matt tonight as he’d spent time in your apartment with you. Carefully rising from your couch, Matt turned around and gently grasped your sleeping form by the shoulders, that odd noise still humming in his ears. Even as he lowered you slowly down onto the couch, helping you to rest in a more comfortable position, he could still hear that peculiar sound.

Whenever Matt was close enough to you, he’d grown aware of the faintest humming that appeared to emanate directly from you. It was soft, almost imperceptible to his own sensitive ears, but he always heard it whenever you were near enough–and tonight was no exception. It was as if your body itself was vibrating somehow, creating this oddly unique and relaxing version of white noise in his ears. Or the gentle buzz of a handful of bumblebees. In all his years with his senses, all his time navigating the city, Matt had never come across another human being that actually made a sound. A sound that was something other than the usual noises of one’s body–heartbeats, breathing, grumbling stomachs, blood pumping through someone’s veins.

No. This was something else entirely. Something uniquely and frustratingly you. Something Matt desperately wanted to understand even more after his night here with you in your apartment.

Reaching his hand out above your sleeping form, Matt ran it along the back of your couch in search of the blanket he knew was there, the sound of the movie continuing to play on your television behind him. After a few seconds, Matt’s fingertips brushed over the plush, soft material. He took a moment, gliding his fingers back and forth over the silkiness of the blanket, appreciating the feel of it. The corner of his lips twitched before he removed it from the back of the couch and draped it over your sleeping form that was currently fast asleep on the cushions. He’d let you get some sleep for now, aware of how much your exhausted body clearly needed it.

But as he maneuvered his way around your couch, heading towards your apartment door, Matt couldn't help but wonder about you. You seemed kind and genuine, perhaps a little awkward, but not someone who appeared to carry any ill-intent. So why did you seem so constantly filled with fear? What sort of nightmares plagued you so frequently that it woke you screaming and accidentally breaking lamps? And what the hell was with that faint vibration you emitted, or the weird way you reacted when he'd grabbed your wrist earlier?

Who were you? What secrets were you hiding?

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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brokenmenswhore · 3 months ago

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betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 6 (finale)

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: SPOILERS: smut (MDNI 18+), anal, double penetration, foursome

a/n: if you thought this was ending literally any other way… you came to the wrong blog. it’s like the whole reason i wrote this damn series. also PLEASE keep in mind it’s been MONTHS since i wrote the other 5 parts so i did my BEST with continuity life happens okay also i didn’t proofread sue me

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

“Surely you must be lying.”

Cregan, who was already overwhelmed and upset with you, sighed in defeat. “I cannot explain to you how truly I wish I was.”

“I’m going to kill him,” you said, storming off past your brother with an intensity that only the culprit of your anger could match.

It was much too early in the morn for you to be dealing with such a strife, but it could not wait. He would not ever expect to, anyway.

You pushed open the Great Hall doors so forcefully that they slammed back against the wall, violently alerting the room’s occupant of your presence. You stopped just after the doors, refusing to grant him the kindness of moving any closer.

“I cannot fathom one singular acceptable reason for your being here,” you spat.

Aemond smirked, still nonchalantly hunched over in a grand chair. “Trust me, I did not wish this so.”

“Oh, you mean to tell me the great one-eyed prince had his hand forced? Not likely.”

“I’ve never seen you quite this angry,” Aemond taunted, “I rather enjoy it.”

Aemond tried to stand, but you quickly warned, “move and I’ll kill you.”

“Doubtful,” he said, still nonchalant as he stood and straightened out his back.

“Aemond, I swear to the sep-“

“I’m here for my brother.”

Despite your anger, you were taken aback by Aemond’s words. Aegon had left days ago.

“Sore luck checking here.”

“I know he came here. Give him back and I’ll depart.”

You scoffed. “You make the mistake of assuming your brother is a piece of property, much like how you treated me.”

“Give him back and I’ll depart,” he repeated.

“I already told you, he’s not here.”

“You think I cannot tell when you lie?” Aemond contested, stepping forward.

“Do not take another step,” you warned.

“What reason do you have to guard him, hm? You truly fancy him so much? Clearly you must if you bed him,” Aemond said, stepping even closer.

“I do not enjoy repeating myself,” you said.

Aemond was now even closer to you, his body mere inches from your own. “Give me Aegon.”

You spoke through gritted teeth, pausing between your words for emphasis, “he. Is. Not. Here.”

Aemond stepped closer, and you took a step backward to avoid your bodies touching. He did not stop, however, and continued to encroach upon your personal space until your back hit the wall of the dining hall.

Aemond slammed his hands against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you in the cage of his presence.

“You think I wanted to come here? Do you think I would have truly done so if not necessary?”

You were taken aback by Aemond’s sudden candor. “If you wish to see your brother, you should look no further than your own home. He left Winterfell as quickly as he came.”

“Then explain to me why his bed has remained unoccupied.”

“What makes you think I would know? Perhaps he frequents the very brothel he, like yourself, found me in.”

Aemond’s face was intimately close to your own, but you tried your hardest to focus your gaze toward his eye. You remained in a stalemate for several moments, exchanging a weighted stare.

“Okay,” Aemond said, backing away and holding his arms behind his back in a proper stance, “did he say where he was headed?”

“I suppose he returned home, Aemond, I do not keep track of your king.”

Aemond remained silent.

You both stared expectantly at one another, yet the room filled with silence.

“I am to wed Jacaerys in the morn,” you said, calculated but somewhat blurt out.

“I am aware.”

“Do you not, perhaps, think it nice to attend?”

Aemond stared at you for a moment. “You wish for me to attend your wedding?”

“You are already here.”

Aemond nearly scoffed. “You have not hidden your disdain for me, Stark. Extending the courtesy of an invitation does not mask such things.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, I do not enjoy hating you,” you said.

“I very hesitantly decline.”

You furrowed your brow. “You decline?”

You had extended the invitation, perhaps for selfish reasoning, but outwardly to show Aemond a kindness. After all he had put you through, the very least he could do was attend your wedding. After all, it has been his own actions that were responsible for its delay.

“Accept my gratitude for the invitation-“

“After all you have done-“

“After all I have done?” Aemond’s voice suddenly raised, but you stopped him before he could continue.

“I thought you and I had an understanding, yet you told of my doings in King’s Landing in a heinous letter to my brother. I did not think you so spiteful. You- you-“

“You- you have been the very bane of my existence,” he took over, “You have contradicted my every action, my every word, my every thought, and held yourself in rather high regard in doing so. You spoilt an alliance with the North for my house-“

“You petulant child!” you cut him off, your voice overtaking his, “is all you care about your honor? Your duty? Is kindness for naught? You dare take anger with me and speak that I spoilt an alliance for your house? Do you forget what you’ve done? How you threatened to burn my home? Abducted me from it? Kept me prisoner in hopes I would bend to your will?”

“I did what I had to do!” Aemond screamed, “while you spent the time you could have been comfortable in a castle slumming it as a whore-“

“Are you truly so bothered that you could not bend me to your will? All you want is to feel like you have the power, like you’re a man more so than your brother. You never cared about a marriage, you never thought of even attempting to gain my affections, yet you storm around this room, in my home, like a toddler whose toy has been taken away-“

“I AM BOTHERED BECAUSE I COULD NOT GAIN YOUR AFFECTIONS!”

It was not often you were rendered speechless. It was not in your nature. However, upon hearing Aemond’s rather bellowing confession, all time stood still.

He suddenly became brutally aware of his words, and quieted his voice, fighting to calm down his angered breaths as he looked to you for a retort.

“Excuse me?” you spoke, your voice low.

You looked to Aemond, but he could not speak. He had stunned himself into silence.

You swallowed hard as the air thickened. You initiated a break in eye contact and attempted to collect your thoughts quicker than usual. You had to speak first, and you had to have the last word.

“I will ask the handmaidens to prepare a bed chamber in the Guest House near the Godswood,” you said, your tone forcefully monotonous, “I shall see you in the morn.”

You, without looking up at Aemond, turned on your heel and exited the Great Hall.

────── ☾ ──────

The thrashing of your body against the mattress abruptly pulled you from slumber, your handmaidens frantic as they shook you awake.

No one was more excited for your wedding day, perhaps, than your handmaidens. As women you considered friends, they had all seen the sparks fly between you and Jacaerys, and had all looked forward to this day for as long as you were old enough for men to propose marriage to their son for a trade of goods.

You reminded yourself of all that was at stake; you wanted this marriage, you wanted Jacaerys, but that did not mean there was no turmoil ahead. Jacaerys’s family would, as tradition tells, be in attendance. You had never been granted the privilege of meeting the Queen.

You contemplated that it was a rather crass and impulsive decision to ask Aemond to attend, given that he was perhaps Rhaenyra’s biggest foe. Yes, Aegon had her throne, but Aemond was more of a threat to Rhaenyra and her cause, and all of the realm knew it.

You allowed yourself a moment of calm as you remembered Aemond’s decline of your invitation and your subsequent argument.

The argument.

Had Aemond truly spoken the words you believed to have heard? Had he truly said he was bothered by his inability to gain your affections? Had he wanted to gain your affections?

As you stated into the mirror, your handmaidens tending to your hair, you wondered if you had possibly forsaken the depth of Aemond’s character. Had you been so headstrong as to miss a whole other person behind the eye? You had experienced the same with Aegon.

It was the day you were to wed Jacaerys, and you could not forget the two silver-haired brothers who had plagued your past several weeks.

“It’s time!” your handmaidens exclaimed.

You glanced in the mirror one final time to ensure all the minute details of your appearance were up to your standards before you were whisked away to marry Jacaerys.

You were grateful that he had agreed to host the wedding in Winterfell. Winterfell was, while devoted to the Blacks, a more neutral space than Dragonstone. Had Aemond or Aegon agreed to attend, a wedding elsewhere would not likely ever take place.

The wedding was beautiful.

Your handmaidens has spearheaded a majority of the work, being that the work had begun, then you were kidnapped and the work was halted, and then a while later you returned and agreed to wed Jacaerys rather soon after.

You had made it to your reception, a rather lavish affair considering it was the wedding of the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. You understood that this wedding was special. Jacaerys was to be King someday, and therefore you were to be Queen.

Jacaerys seemed elated the entire time. You were able to grasp a quick moment of solitude in a whisper between chairs.

“Jace?”

“Yes?”

“Is everything alright? I know it’s been a rather tumultuous week and-“

Jacaerys sighed. “My love, I’ve already told you I am not angry about what transpired with Aegon. Even if I had been, this is our wedding. And our wedding day means a rather fun wedding night, wouldn’t you agree?”

He was evidently feeling the effects of the many cups he has drank thus far.

You smiled at your now-husband. “Jacaerys Velaryon, are you flirting with me? But won’t your wife see?”

Jacaerys leaned over to whisper in your ear, “I’ve heard you could probably fuck better anyway.”

You leaned away and caught his gaze to gage whether or not he meant it as spite toward you, but the look on his face immediately explained that he meant it positively. Being experienced acted as a rather unexpected turn on for your husband.

────── ☾ ──────

“Are you still drunk?”

Jacaerys smiled. “I appreciate your concern, but no,” he insisted, “I’m well sobered up for this.”

You sat on your bed, still fully clothed, in anticipation of the bedding ceremony. Jacaerys extended his hand to you, and you placed yours in his, allowing him to guide you to a stand.

“Can I take this dress off of you?” he asked.

You smiled at his sweetness. “Yes.”

Jacaerys undid all the small buttons aligned down your back and slipped top of the dress down your shoulders, allowing you to shimmy out of the remainder of the rather lavish gown.

You were so focused on disrobing that you had not noticed Jacaerys’s momentary absence until he returned in front of you, holding out a black cloak.

You looked up at him with a questioning expression.

“I am in this for every part of you, Stark,” he explained, “a bedding ceremony in this castle just simply will not do. It is not fit for you.”

“Jacaerys-“

He held up a hand to signal that he intended to continue. “We do not have to. However, please understand that I want to know. I want to experience. I want to feel the freedom you feel in those places. Teach me, Y/N. Please.”

You searched Jacaerys’s eyes for any hint of hesitation or untruthfulness, but to no avail. The prospect of brothels excited him, but he was not one to attend. He craved connection, and he craved intimacy with a name, a personality, a partner. The dichotomy had lived within him, and your secret profession was finally an outlet.

“We must be extremely discreet.”

────── ☾ ──────

You took Jacaerys to the brothel you worked at, perhaps no longer. You had advised him to still maintain anonymity via his cloak, for regardless of the higher safety of your concealed identity at this particular brothel, you were still in Winterfell, and you were still a Stark.

At the allowance of the Madam, you began to pull Jacaerys toward an unoccupied room. Once inside, you removed the hood of your cloak. Jacaerys followed suit.

“‘Tis loud in here,” Jacaerys said, in reference to the moaning and bellowing laughter of collective drunken men.

You nodded. Jacaerys wasted no time.

He pulled your waist into his body, crashing his lips against yours as if he had been waiting to reunite with them for ages.

Your hands instinctively found their way through the curly black strands of his hair, keeping him close to you as the kiss remained hungry and needy.

You managed to escape for a breath just long enough to say, “wait.”

Jacaerys pulled away with a pout on his lips.

“Patience, Jace, allow me to get some cups in here.”

“But-“

“I will not be but two minutes.”

Jacaerys pouted as you began to exit the room, flipping your hood upward.

Jacaerys reached out for your arm to pull you back. “Baby, please.”

The pet name almost stopped you, but you persevered. When you still left, he plopped down on the bed like a toddler in want throwing a tantrum.

You kept your head down as you navigated through the brothel. You saw approaching footsteps as a guide to where you could step, and you had managed to memorize the layout of the brothel by heart. You made it to the bar without having to look at any of your immediate surroundings.

It was not until the Madam approached you that you halfway lifted your head and requested two cups of water and two cups of wine.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The voice to your right was all too familiar.

You were taken aback by the sight of him. He would appear drunk to the naked eye, but you knew him. The look in his eyes communicated that he had drank to the point of intolerance, no longer drunk, but drinking nonetheless.

Aemond was right. He had not returned home. He had never even left Winterfell.

“What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same,” he said, taking a large gulp from his cup, “or is it not your wedding night?”

He refused to look you in the eye. In fact, he had not looked toward you at all. He was able to identify your voice, even with the cloaked barrier between the two of you.

“Aegon, you told me you would leave the morn after whence you came.”

“Evidently I did not.”

The Madam placed the drinks in front of you, and you smiled as a thank you, waiting until she left your space to continue speaking to Aegon.

“Why?”

Aegon simply let out a laughable scoff and continued to drink.

“Aegon.”

“Y/N.”

“What are you doing in Winterfell, Aegon.” It was phrased more as an exhausted sentence, rather than a genuine question.

Aegon sighed. “You mustn’t pretend as if you are unaware of my plights.”

You were not unaware. You had thought of him many a time since your intimacy together, and you knew he had done the same. You also knew that you and Aegon were far past the point of disguising vulnerabilities.

“Is Jace around? Or are you a lone wolf on your wedding night? My little nephew can’t handle you?”

“Do not bait me, Aegon, you know it will not work,” you said.

“No, no, where is he? Is he here?” Aegon stood abruptly, swinging wine out of his cup as he began to spin around.

“Aegon-“

“Is he in here?” Aegon approached an occupied room, swinging back the fabric to see a worker and her customer.

“Nope,” Aegon said, moving on to another room, “maybe he’s hiding in here!”

Aegon swung the fabric open to find his own flesh and blood curled into a ball on the mattress, two workers surrounding him as he lay with his head in one of their laps.

He shot upward the moment he spotted Aegon, and his body stilled when he noticed you.

Aegon erupted into cacophonous laughter, a wide grin appearing on his features for perhaps the first time tonight.

Aemond stood and began to tie a robe around his lean, tall frame, pretending as if Aegon’s interruption and subsequent laughter did not bother him.

“Oh, what a sight! We shall never need comfort of our mother if we find solace here! How sweet of you. Tell me, do you even fuck them, or do you-“

Aemond pushed past both of you, but you gripped his wrist before he could make it fully past you.

He looked to where you had caught him, then up to your face.

“What are you doing here?” Aegon squealed.

Aemond stayed silent.

“I cannot stand you two. Come with me,” you said.

You pulled Aemond along, and he only obliged so as not to cause a scene and draw attention to himself or his brother. Aegon followed you out of pure amusement.

When you entered the room with Jacaerys, he was already shirtless, adjusting his posture on the bed to try to look proper for your return. When he spotted his uncles, he reacted the same as Aemond had, shooting upward to a stand.

You dropped Aemond’s hand and stood across from the three Targaryen-blooded men. Dropping your cloak off of your body, you took a large breath.

“Well, get on with it, then,” Aegon prompted.

“You,” you started, pressing a pointer finger into Aegon and Aemond’s chests, “you two have been sulking and stalking around Winterfell without a word. What am I, your mother? A king and a soldier should be able to overcome their own woes.”

“So you admit I am king?” Aegon smiled.

“Never.”

“Why have you lingered in the North so long?” Aemond cut you off, turning to his brother, “I am only here because your incompetent council sent me to retrieve you.”

“I do not need retrieving, thank you, brother,” Aegon responded.

“I opt to disagree, for it appears that you’ve spent the last several days drowning your sorrows in snowy brothels in hopes you’ll find yourself another pet wolf, or am I mistaken?”

“Mind your tongue and remember your place,” Aegon spit.

“This is-“

Jacaerys attempted to interject, but his two uncles were too far invested in their own bickering.

“Just as well for you to remember yours. What King discards their duty for the loss of a woman that was not theirs to lose? You are but a placeholder, you evidently do not deserve-“

“You speak so confidently for a man in my same position when it comes to wolves.”

Jacaerys began to understand. He knew you had shared intimacies with Aegon, and he had yet to question you on the dynamics present during your time with his other uncle. He had fallen for you rather easily, and would never admit it aloud, but could understand how his uncles could do just the same. Though it left a bitter taste in his mouth, he knew you were much too special to win the heart of only one man.

The realization caused Jacaerys to become somewhat competitive and possessive. “You are both aware we wed today,” he said.

Aemond and Aegon turned toward him.

“Despite my best efforts,” Aegon mumbled.

“Oh shut it, Aegon, you have already had her,” Jacaerys snapped back, “what sorrows do you possibly have to drown?”

“You married her.”

“And I have been cast as the villain, yet you two continue to be the ones to bicker,” Aemond spoke, level-headed.

“Perhaps you were cast as the villain because you acted as such,” Jacaerys shrugged.

“Say that again,” Aemond challenged, stepping closer to Jacaerys and towering over him. Had he possessed his sword, he would have drawn it.

“You kidnapped her, and now you stand here and complain that you-“

“I took her with me upon Aegon’s command,” Aemond cut off.

“Do not transfer the blame, brother. I thought I was too incompetent to be king?” Aegon tested.

“You are, that is why I am to be king,” Jacaerys said.

“Oh, but who sits on the throne, little boy?” Aegon spat, “because it certainly is not some-“

“Do not presume to-“

“You could not handle a woman like this if you tried,” Aegon continued.

All three men huffed in a stalemate, angered as they exchanged glances, all unsure of how to retort.

“Are you lot done then?” you questioned, seated on the bed nonchalantly.

“So what?” Aegon threw his hands up, “you dragged us in here so that we can all bicker? Is Jacaerys truly so boring that you cannot be alone with him, even on your wedding night?”

“Aegon, if you do not shut-“

“Innocent little Jacey, do you even know how to bed a woman?” Aegon tested.

Aemond scoffed in laughter, a smirk painting his otherwise stoic features.

“I must know something, if she chose me in the end,” Jacaerys replied.

“She’ll get bored,” Aemond began, speaking calm and collected, “and she will seek a challenge. Neither of you can provide the level of wit or intellect that I have.”

You remained silent, enjoying the entertainment from the men arguing. You hoped you were right about where this would all lead, you just needed to exercise patience.

Aegon, as he usually did, chose to ignore his brother, and continue chastising Jacaerys. “Do you need help, nephew? I can teach you, if you need, as I know you most definitely do not know-“

“And you do? You do not respect women the way one must in order to-“

“One man forever will never be enough for her,” Aemond interjected.

Jacaerys knew Aemond only said it to get it under his skin, however, despite his better judgement and knowledge, it was working. Jacaerys felt the pang of doubt in the back of his mind that this woman, this free, sexual woman who had bed multiple men, would not be fulfilled by just him.

Aemond could see his words sinking in. Aemond, the most calculated and logical of them all, knew there would only be one way to get you. “Allow us to aid you, Jacaerys.”

Aegon looked at his brother. “Excuse me?”

Aemond turned toward you. He had thought many times what he remembered now: you were the only one on his level. With you, he met his match.

He allowed Aegon and Jacaerys to bicker like children while he studied your expressions. He could tell exactly what game you were playing. You were stuck between three Targaryens, and while you wed one, Aemond believed that it did not mean you intended to tether yourself. He felt as if he knew you too well for that.

“She is my wife now, Aemond,” Jacaerys warned.

“And I will ensure she feels as such.”

The energy in the room began to shift. Despite the years of hatred, argument, and war, you wanted them all, and the one thing they had in common is that they all wanted you. They all had to internally admit the violent truth that the only way to have you wholly would be to share you.

You stood and approached your husband. “I promise to save the sanctity of our marriage for you, and you alone.” You assured him that he would be the only one to risk pregnancy tonight.

You maintained eye contact with Jacaerys as you removed your clothing until you were fully naked.

Jacaerys, despite the dread of critique from his uncles, could not wait any longer. He captured your lips in a heated kiss, refusing to worry about the other men in the room and focus on what he wanted.

You stepped backward until you felt the bed behind your legs. You swiftly turned Jacaerys around, pushing his back toward the mattress until he was horizontal.

He shifted his weight backwards so that his legs were no longer dangling off the mattress, but he was horizontal across the midsection of the foam.

You straddled his waist, tangling your fingers through the curly black strands of his hair as you resumed your kiss.

You grinded against his clothed length, eliciting a slight whimper from Jace in the kiss. Your felt yourself wetten at from the noise; you had been waiting what felt like a millennium to finally have him.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” you heard Aegon say as Aemond positioned him behind you.

Aegon gently brushed his fingertips across the skin of your lower back, signaling his presence so as not to startle you.

You leaned back down to kiss Jacaerys again, and his hands found their way to your waist. He instinctively thrust his hips upward, desperate for friction.

You felt Aegon’s fingertips leave your skin, and in their place, two large hands grasped your waist and yanked your body backward so that your waist no longer hovered over Jacaerys’s, and your knees nearly slipped off the mattress.

In this new position, your face was mere inches away from where Jacaerys wanted you most.

“Off,” you said, tugging at the waistband of his breeches. Jacaerys shyly removed them, his cheeks flush when his cock sprung free in front of everyone.

You gazed up at Jace through hooded lids, licking a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, before sinking down onto as much of his length as you could.

Jacaerys threw his head back, a gasp escaping his lips at the sensation of your lips around him. His curls were splayed out on the mattress surrounding his head. He looked so handsome; the way his features contorted as he whined and moaned were reminiscent of a sculpture, an artist chipping away at beautiful marble and stone until the features were defined, each chip shifting the features, however they never lost beauty.

You began to bob your head up and down, and you admired the way Jacaerys’s stomach tightened with each stretch of his back or sharp inhalation.

You could hear when Jacaerys inadvertently let himself get lost in the pleasure, because his heavenly sounds were growing rapidly in volume and length.

One of his hands found the back of your head, and he did not apply pressure, but simple kept his hand there for the comfort that it meant you would not pull away.

You felt a tap on the inside of your left thigh. “Wider,” Aemond commanded.

You lifted off of Jacaerys’s cock with a pop, turning your head around to look at Aemond. “Or what?”

Aemond nearly growled, knowing you were too stubborn to not get your way. He swallowed his pride, and through gritted teeth, said, “please.”

You smirked at your success and widened your legs. It forced your backside higher, leaving you on display for Aemond and Aegon, who resided next to his brother in anticipation.

Your mouth resumed its attention toward Jace, and he let out a rather filthy moan of your name.

Aemond ran a slender finger through your folds, drawing more wetness from you. He knelt to the ground, still almost taller than you on his knees from his extravagant height.

His hands wrapped around your thighs as he delved into your cunt, his tongue dancing through your folds.

You remained attached to Jace, but that did not stop whimpers and moans. The vibrations around Jace’s cock send shivers up his spine.

“Can’t,” was all Jacaerys could say to signal that you had to cease your actions, or else he would come.

You pulled off of him and immediately let out a strangled moan. Aemond moved his tongue faster and faster monitoring your facial expressions the best he could from behind you.

You dropped your head onto Jacaerys’s thigh, one cheek pressed against his skin and the other toward the sky, allowing him to watch your face as Aemond ate you out.

Jacaerys could not help but stroke your hair, pushing the sweat-soaked strands out of your face as he watched your brows furrow and lips part in pleasure.

Your back arched and straightened slightly every few seconds as you moved against Aemond’s tongue. He was as skilled as you had expected. His nose hit against you every few movements he made, adding to your arousal.

His grip on your hips was becoming tighter and tighter. He felt a certain possessiveness take over as his brother, who typically got everything while Aemond got nothing, and Jacaerys, the one who actually got you, watched him pleasure you so good you nearly fell apart.

He licked and sucked at your cunt, his grasp on your legs definitively hard enough to bruise as your whines became higher and higher in pitch.

It was not until you began to grind yourself against his tongue that he stilled, allowing you to use his tongue for your own pleasure.

Your ever so slightly bounced your hips upward and downward against Aemond’s face, and the sight just about killed Aegon.

Jacaerys continued to stroke your hair as a reminder that he was there, and he was your husband.

Aemond pulled away without warning, leaving your core exposed and cold. He circled the bed until he was in front of you, but he was still fully clothed. He was playing a calculated game, and you caught on. Knowing Aemond, he would only take his turn when it was the least convenient for you.

You knee-crawled back to Jacaerys’s hips, looking down at his face as you searched for any signal that he was not ready for you.

You took Jacaerys’s cock in your hand, and after a few short strokes, you lined it up with your entrance, slowly sinking down until he was entirely inside of you.

You placed your hands on either side of his head, your back slightly arched as you searched for his reaction.

“Holy- oh my- fuck,” Jacaerys moaned. You had yet to move.

Aegon stood behind you, simply enjoying the sight of you as his cock throbbed with desire.

“Let me know when I can move, Jace,” you spoke softly.

“Oh my gods please move,” he nearly begged.

You appeased him but lifting your hips a small amount before dropping them back again, and Jacaerys lost all control. His body writhed beneath you, and you had to place a hand onto his cheek to draw him back to earth.

“Relax, Jacey.”

Jacaerys took a deep breath. “No.”

Jace wrapped a strong arm around your waist and pulled you into his body, causing your head to fall into the crook of his neck as your body pressed against his chest.

He began to thrust his hips upward, pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. The arm around your waist held you in place, allowing Jacaerys control as he used you.

“Shit- you feel b- better than I imagined,” he sighed out.

You moaned in response, unable to make much noise since one hand was against the back of your neck, holding you in place against him, and your voice fell straight into the mattress.

Despite his own selfish desires, Aegon allowed Jacaerys quality time to feel and connect with you. He could wait another few minutes if it meant he didn’t have to give you up.

Jacaerys pressed down on your lower back, pushing you back against his thrusts, causing his cock to hit even deeper within you. You arched your back and moaned in his ear at the sensation.

You whisper-whined so only he could hear, “doing so good, Jacey.”

The praise only egged him on more, and he began to thrust inside of you as quickly as he possibly could.

He tired quickly, resetting a steady pace.

Aegon took it as an opportunity to touch you again, this time by tapping his hardened cock against one of your ass cheeks.

“Jace, baby, wait a second,” you said.

“I don’t think I can- shit, can ever stop fucking you,” he moaned.

“One minute, my love, just still for one minute,” you pleaded, and Jacaerys forced himself to stop moving.

He gave Aegon a dirty look, so as to say ‘how dare you interrupt my fun.’

Aegon used his fingers to circle your folds for a moment, causing your core to clench around Jacaerys.

He used your wetness to lubricate his cock as best as he could before he lined it up with your backside.

You inhaled a sharp breath when his tip prodded past your ass. He stopped in fear that he had hurt you, and you noticed. “I’m okay,” you assured him, looking back at him.

“Just take it slow,” Jacaerys said, “if you hurt her, I swear to the sept-“

You leaned down and kissed Jacaerys to quiet him down as Aegon pushed further and further into you, slowly, almost excruciatingly so, until he was bottomed out inside of you.

Jacaerys was careful not to move until you had adjusted to Aegon as well.

When the burning sensation of pain subsided, you caught your breathing and told Aegon to be gentle and move.

Aegon did just that, fighting with every cell of his being to treat you kindly, when all he truly desired was to take you as he had in King’s Landing. He moved only halfway in and out, scared that any more intensity or movement would be too overstimulating.

Aegon set a slow rhythm, and Jacaerys gripped your hips to still them as he himself began to move.

You inhaled a sharp breath at the sudden stimulation. You had been in a room with two men before, but had never taken them at the same time.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys half-whispered through shuddered breath, evidently struggling to speak and keep his composure.

You kissed him to ease his worries. He reciprocated instantly, and became greedy. He cherished that intimate moments like this could be his and his alone, despite what his two uncles may attempt.

You whined and whimpered as the two men fucked you in tandem. The pressure was enough to break you, but you refused to focus on anything apart from the intense pleasure of it all.

Just as it became pure ecstasy, you felt Aemond’s slender fingers stroke your hair. You lifted your gaze to meet his eye, then dropped your head slightly to see his hardened cock patiently waiting for your attention.

You began to shake your head. “No. Not unless the- fuck, shit, Aeg- take it easy- not unless, fuck! Eye patch. Off.”

Aemond stared down at your frame, gazing up at him expectantly, waiting for him to remove his eye patch while your body jolted forward and backward every few seconds or so.

Aegon’s presence was the reason Aemond was hesitant, and you knew it. Aegon had spend his entire life relentlessly teasing his brother for his handicap, but as Aemond looked to Aegon, he realized that Aegon did not even have the capacity to pay attention to his actions. Aegon was blissed out, a way Aemond had never seen when he had interrupted his brother with previous suitors and whores.

Aemond suddenly became violently aware that all three men currently occupying you were in the same boat; Jacaerys and Aegon were no strangers to Aemond’s feelings toward you. Though your relationship to Aemond was different, and his feelings were of different reason, they were present in all of them nonetheless.

Aemond almost felt bad for you, worried that the sheer amount of men surrounding you was much too overstimulating for you, but you hoisted your upper half upward, no longer laying on Jacaerys’s chest, but arms propped up on either side of his head as you looked to Aemond.

You reached up as far as you could, but could not stretch yourself high enough to capture Aemond’s eye patch in your hand. The new angle proved positive for Jacaerys, who threw his head back against the mattress and he rutted his hips even faster within you.

Aegon, ever competitive, felt the change in pace, and met it, fucking you faster and faster.

Jacaerys and Aegon entered a silent battle, each trying to fuck you faster and harder than the other, all the while still consumed in their own pleasure, and never looking at one another.

Your body subsequently collapsed onto Jacaerys. You allowed your body to adjust to the new brutal pacing, and when you looked back up to Aemond, his eye patch was gone.

“Beautiful,” you mouthed to Aemond, and you could have sworn you noticed a faint blush creep up to the apples of his cheeks.

Without breaking your eye contact, you opened your mouth and stick out your tongue, inviting Aemond to take the lead, as you couldn’t hold yourself up without falling straight back down onto your husband.

Aemond took his length in one hand and gripped your jaw in the other. His gaze was harsh as he pressed the head of his cock against your tongue. You closed your mouth around the muscle and he pushed in slowly, bottomed out, and immediately pulled out.

“You will not break me, Aemond, take me how you wish.”

Aemond did not need to be told twice.

He shoved his cock past your lips and began to fuck your mouth in a steady pace, not nearly close to the vigor Jacaerys and Aegon had, but steady nonetheless.

You moaned around Aemond’s cock as you squeezed around Jacaerys’s, and both men groaned in tandem.

“Fuck,” Jacaerys whined.

You could have waged that Jacaerys would be the first to come. He was the least experienced and the most pent up. You guessed that he would have come even earlier had he not pushed himself through a few near-orgasms to save himself from the teasing of his uncles.

Jacaerys grunted as he pistoned his hips against yours. He had no space to pull out of you to come, and he did not want to anyhow. His breathing quickened as the coil snapped in his lower abdomen.

Your head was still as Aemond fucked your mouth, and you squeaked around his cock when you felt Jacaerys’s seed paint your walls.

Jacaerys hit your hips with a few harsh thrusts, using you to milk his cock dry, and the thrusts pushed you further into Aemond’s cock. You fought back a gag as his tip brutally hit the back of your throat.

Clearly it was proper pleasure for Aemond, since he snaked one hand through the hair on the back of your head as he held you in place, and continued to hit the same sweet spot at the back of your throat.

“Aemond, fuck- can you, can you just come already? I’m dying here,” Aegon snapped through labored breaths.

Aemond, completely composed as if he wasn’t currently shoving his cock down your throat, spoke without stopping, “who said you had to wait for me, brother?”

Aegon groaned as his grip on your hips tightened. Jacaerys lay beneath you, still inside of you, simply enjoying the sight of you wrecked.

“I’m not going to finish before you, she finishes with me,” Aegon said.

Jacaerys placed his arms behind his head and watched in amusement as a small bulge appeared where your chin met your throat with every thrust from Aemond.

You forced yourself off of Aemond’s cock with a pop to say, “are you two seriously arguing right now?”

Aemond just shrugged. You turned back to look at Aegon, and his resolve broke. Seeing the look in your eyes as you gazed back to him, his cock in your ass, was enough for him to quickly unsheath his cock and release all over your back.

The moment Aegon pulled out of you, Aemond grabbed your arms and pulled you closer, which pulled you off of Jacaerys’s cock. He wanted you to kneel, but he did not want to hurt you by having you sit.

You remained bent over as you began to suck his cock again, this time bobbing your head and assisting in the work. Aemond threw his head back, and you admired the way his toned stomach flexed when his hips jutted forward.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock, swirling it around his tip as his thrusts continued. You looked up at him, teary-eyed and fucked out, and the sight was prettier than he could imagine.

“Don’t look up at me,” Aemond said, “or else I’m going to come down your throat.”

If your lips weren’t around him, you would have grinned. You didn’t break eye contact as you moved your head faster, and Aemond gripped your hair.

“I said don’t look up at me.”

You released from his cock, only momentarily, to say, “after all this time, you’d think you’d know that I don’t take orders from you.”

You went back to sucking and licking at his cock, staring into his eye as his cock twitched and swelled until he released into your mouth.

You remained in place until you were confident that he was completely finished. You pulled off of him and showed him your clean tongue.

He could not help it- he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. “You’re my only equal, you know.”

“How sentimental,” you teased.

You rolled over and laid down on your back. The sheets felt soothing and comfortable beneath your aching, naked form.

“You alright?” Jacaerys checked in.

You simply smiled, looked to the ceiling, and began to uncontrollably giggle.

“Y/N?”

“Mhm?” you stopped laughing to hum.

“What now?” Aegon asked.

You shrugged and continued to smile as you caught your breath.

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming @callsignwidow @velvetcrowbarcherry @kravitzwhore @darlingisntit @not-neverland06 @albionfay @cluz1babe @flusteredmoonn @sab-falco @ajanauia @lycaonpictusphotography

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon targaryen smut #aemond targaryen smut #jacaerys velaryon smut #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd smut #house of the dragon smut

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 2 months ago

Text

you in my eyes [7] l Javier Peña

Summary: you weren't friends and you certainly weren't planning anything more together

Warnings: angst, some fluff, some kissing, enemies (?) to lovers, misogyny and sexism at work, some bad language, Murphy & Connie show up, guns, blood

A/N: almost a month has passed since the last chapter. i'm sorry. i've noticed that a few new people have been reading this story recently and i'm very happy about that. i'd like to slowly get to the end… keep your fingers crossed.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[previous chapter] [masterlist]

He hated hospitals. They always gave him the shivers, and the unpleasant smell stuck to his body and clothes. At that moment, he hated them even more. He could still see traces of blood on his hands and clothes. Your blood.

When Murphy brought him coffee, he noticed how his hands were shaking and he clenched them nervously on his lap.

"They've been there for about an hour," Steve mumbled, sitting down next to him. "Did they say anything?"

Javier shook his head. "Two hours." He corrected him. "They're there for two hours."

Since the ambulance took you, Javier had the impression that he remembered every minute precisely, because it lasted forever. And now, in this damned corridor, the clock was counting down the moments until he found out something. And he hoped he wouldn't find out the worst.

Finally, the double doors opened and Connie appeared, Steve and Javier stood up abruptly.

"What about her?" Javier asked, not caring that he might sound rude.

"The man will live." she said, looking at Steve, then at his friend. "He lost a lot of blood, but..."

"What about her?!" Javier repeated more insistently.

Connie took a deep breath. "She lost a lot of blood. We had to operate, we removed the spleen. She... She stopped on the table."

"Fuck!" Peña hissed nervously, turning around and feeling as if someone had ripped out his insides. Only when Connie grabbed his arm did he react.

"She's alive, Javier. She came back to us." she said in a nervous but clear voice. "She'll be in intensive care for a while. We have to strengthen her. She'll live."

She saw relief and gratitude in Javier's eyes, something she didn't see often. Even she sighed with relief.

"Can I see her?" he asked immediately, but Connie shook her head.

"Not today. She needs to be under close supervision. Come back tomorrow and I'll figure something out. Steve?" she looked at her husband. "Do you know who it was? Can you find them?"

"It could have been revenge." Murphy spoke up, and Javier nodded. "We had a mole in the office recently. She solved the case."

"Maybe send someone here? Someone could keep an eye on her."

"Yeah, sure." Peña mumbled. "I'll come back tomorrow. If she wakes up..."

Connie squeezed his arm lightly and smiled. "I'll tell her you were here."

"Thank you." he croaked, feeling like his legs were made of cotton wool as he headed down the hallway toward the exit.

The office was in chaos. The assassination of one of the agents and an embassy employee had everyone on their feet, ready to act, all surprised by what had happened. When Javier and Steve arrived at the office, Messina immediately appeared at their desk.

"We're in constant contact with the hospital." she said. "But you have to look through her files. We have to track down this guy. The one Loise was in contact with. I want him to rot in prison."

"He must have ordered this assassination." Steve muttered. "Did Loise have anything to do with this?"

"I don't think so." Messina shook her head. "She landed in the States two days ago. She had no way of contacting anyone here. The idea must have come from here. Take care of this, please."

Javier didn't have to say it twice. With a heavy heart, he sat down at your desk and, feeling like he was violating your privacy, began opening more drawers. Some office equipment, pens, a few notebooks. Files that should have been referred to the archives and marked with your notes.

Something stirred in his chest. At the bottom of the drawer he found a small dried rose. He remembered it perfectly, he gave it to you one morning when he picked you up from home. He didn't think you'd keep it, that it would be important to you, but still...

It was only in the last drawer that Javier found what he was looking for - the folder you showed him in the archives that day. He grabbed it and quickly flipped through it, finding the photo he was looking for.

"Steve!" he called and soon saw his friend's face peeking into the office. "Get going. We have to meet someone."

"Be careful. You shouldn't move too quickly."

The image before your eyes slowly took shape and became clearer. You didn't recognize this place. However, you noticed Connie by your side, it was a relief.

"What happened?" you croaked, barely hearing your own voice.

A small wrinkle appeared between the woman's eyebrows, and after a moment she put a glass of water to your lips. "Drink." she ordered. "You'll feel better."

After a few small sips, you felt that your tongue wasn't her dry sole and you were able to speak more or less normally. "What happened, Connie?" you repeated the question.

"There was a shooting. You were injured." she replied, glancing at the devices standing by your bed. "Steve and Javier brought you in just in time. You lost a lot of blood, love." her concerned gaze returned to your face "We had to operate. It'll take some time before you're back to full strength."

"Shit..." you hissed "Is anyone else hurt?"

"An embassy employee, but we've already sent him home. You decided to cause us more trouble." she smiled and you rolled your eyes.

"Right, trouble really likes me." you replied "Tell me more?"

Connie sat down on your bed and told you everything that had happened since you left the embassy. She supplemented her story with what Steve had told her at home, as well as what was happening in the office now.

You had been unconscious for two days, you were afraid to even think about what was going on in the office. According to the woman, it was chaos.

"Is Javier okay?" you asked.

Connie smiled, squeezing your hand. "Last time I saw him, he seemed quite alive. Although I'm not sure if he did anything more than smoke and swear."

"Right, I've caused everyone a lot of trouble..." you said, trying to smile.

"Trouble?" Connie repeated, surprised. "If I hadn't forced Javier out of your room, he probably would have handcuffed himself to your bed. He's really involved, you know."

"We just..."

Connie raised her hands and stood up. "I don't want to know the details of what's going on between you and Javier." she laughed. "I have to go now, I promised him I'd call when you woke up. There's a button right here if you need anything."

"Connie, thank you."

The woman smiled and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

He shook his right hand trying to get rid of the pain in it and quickly headed to the car. They had ended up at the wrong address again. Martinez had moved to another apartment, and he and Steve were driving around like idiots. But now everything could change.

"Did he say anything?" Murphy asked as Javier got into the car and slammed the door.

"Yeah, he gave me an address. It's on the other side of town." Peña mumbled and glanced at his wounded knuckles. "Now we should get him."

"Maybe next time I'll go with you?" the other suggested, starting the engine. "You shouldn't be hitting half the city, you know."

"Sometimes that's the only thing that helps..." Javier grumbled, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke. "Connie didn't call?"

"Nope. Not yet." Steve tried to sound calm, but just like Javier, he couldn't stop thinking about you. When he saw you the day before when they were transporting you to another ward, his heart froze in his chest for a moment.

"She should wake up by now." Javier mumbled, tearing his friend out of his thoughts. "Fuck, I always told her she should get some sleep, and now I really wish she would wake up." he chuckled.

Steve smiled and glanced at Peña. "You care about her, don't you?" The brunette gave him a look. "What? I saw you kissing and I saw the way you looked at her. You have a soft spot for her, Peña."

"You better focus on the road, not on talking nonsense."

A wide smile appeared on Steve's lips, who knew better. His friend was in a losing position. Maybe he didn't see it himself yet, or maybe he did and denied it because he was afraid. One thing was for sure - you were his equal, and that attracted him like a magnet.

You had to meet somewhere in the middle, learn to compromise, and it was new for each of you. But Steve had seen how Javier looked at you when he thought no one was watching. And you couldn't be too reserved in his presence. All those little gestures, quick glances.

"Over here!" Javier tapped him on the shoulder and Murphy stopped him in front of a shabby building.

They both quickly reached for their weapons.

"I want him alive." he said quickly and looked at his friend. "I'm going in first."

Connie's call made Javier forcefully put the bloody Martinez in the car and then get behind the wheel himself. No one in the office asked what happened to the guy they brought in and no one stopped them when they left immediately. Murphy could barely keep up with Javier, who was practically running after arriving at the hospital. It was already evening and the corridors were much quieter. When he ran into Connie, she almost screamed.

"Jesus, I'm going to have a heart attack because of you!" she scolded him.

"Did she really wake up?" Javier asked, they wanted to make sure it wasn't just a dream.

"Yes. But Messina is there now, you can't..."

She didn't manage to finish because Peña pushed the door open and entered the room without thinking. The relief that washed over him when he saw you sitting on the bed was indescribable. Two large pillows kept you in a half-sitting position, but you were conscious.

You smiled at the sight of him, and he almost smiled back when Messina's voice finally reached him.

"Peña? You can't just barge into the hospital room like that. Did something happen?"

He wanted to say that a lot had happened. His brown eyes moved from her to you and back, his chest heaving violently. You had the impression that he wanted to do something, but he was holding himself back with all his might due to the fact that you weren't alone.

Messina didn't notice this, however, she wrote something in her notebook and looked at you with a smile. "I think I have everything. If I need anything else, I'll contact you or send someone. Now please get well soon. We miss you in the office."

"Thank you." You replied and followed her with your gaze to the door.

As soon as it closed Javier flinched. A smile finally fully appeared on his face.

"Jesus, I thought that..." he started, but the door opened again and this time Steve came in.

"Finally!" he said happily, quickly walking over to your bed and hugging you lightly. Javier stopped mid-step again, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "You kept us waiting for a long time, huh? How are you feeling? Connie said you barely ate dinner."

"I'm fine. I'm still tired, but when I get some strength..."

"You'll be resting at home." Steve interrupted you with a smile. "Umm... I don't know if Javier told you, but we caught that guy who shot. They're going to question him tomorrow."

"That's good, good."

Steve was clearly pleased to see you conscious, but quickly came to his senses. Javier was still tense and clearly struggling. You glanced at him too.

"I think I'll leave you two." Murphy finally grumbled and retreated to the door. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Thank you, Steve." You replied, smiling, and the man left, leaving you alone at last.

There was silence, and you and Javier stared at each other. You felt like you had just parted ways at the embassy, and now you were lying in a hospital bed, and he looked like he hadn't slept since then.

"Hi." You greeted quietly.

"Hi." He replied, a small smile appearing on his lips.

In a few quick steps, he approached you, his warm hands carefully cupping your face, he kissed you tenderly and gently, as if he was afraid to hurt you. He sighed with relief as your fingers stroked his hair.

"I thought I was going crazy." he whispered, kissing your cheek, temple, and forehead. "You scared me, hermosa. Don't do that again."

"I'll try." you replied, stifling a quiet laugh. "Did you really catch that guy?"

"I'd arrest all of Colombia if I had to." he said, sitting down next to you and taking your hands in his. "But, yeah. We've got him. Your files gave us a lot of clues."

"Mhm, that's what happens when you don't put off your paperwork."

Javier shook his head in disbelief, then kissed your hands. That's when you noticed the scratches on his knuckles.

"What's that? Javier..." you sighed.

"It's nothing. I was at work."

"I hope you didn't get into trouble."

"Baby, I'd like to remind you that you're the one lying here, not me. Your middle name is trouble."

You frowned. "Not at all!"

"Convince me otherwise."

He felt great having you by his side and knowing that you were safe now. Peña would feel even better if you came home as soon as possible, but he knew that the doctors were giving you the best care right now.

"Do you already have a new girl to replace me?" you asked, watching him play with your fingers, it was so natural and sweet, it always touched you.

"Of course. Two, to be honest." he replied with a flirty wink. "One wouldn't be able to replace you, hermosa."

"I could have guessed that I was just a temporary distraction for you." you sighed.

It was nice. Javier spent a long time with you until Connie finally had to ask him to leave because visiting hours were over. His pleas were in vain so he promised to come the next day and managed to give you a quick kiss before leaving. Whatever was growing between you was good, or so you thought.

But with his hand on the doorknob, he paused for a moment. He must have wanted to say something else, because he hesitantly opened his mouth.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

Doe’s eyes looked at you, “I…” he began quietly, “I’m really glad you’re in one piece.”

“No spleen.” You reminded him.

“I wasn’t as attached to her as I was to the rest of you.” He winked back, returning your smile. “See you later, hermosa.”

“See you later, Agent Peña.”

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @qpiiee@missladym1981@axshadows@djappleblush@picketniffler@txmel@wowitsafemale@cheekychaos28@underneath-the-sky-again @misstokyo7love @jensensational71 @iamladyp @youkeeno

#pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier peña #narcos #you in my eyes series #javier pena x reader #javier pena

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callsign-mimic · 5 months ago

Text

@charliemwrites went and made a wonderful new OC, who you can read about [here]

So, naturally, I had to write a fic for them :3

Content Warnings: A/B/O (kinda) dynamics, descriptions of violence and drug use, reality adjacent Mimic rather than OC Mimic

A Part of the Pack

Chapter One

It was three in the morning when the shrill ring of the phone woke Mimic from a dead sleep. It wasn’t her cellphone. The ringer on that once never having been on since she got it. No, this was the small flip phone tucked away in the drawer of the nightstand. Never touched, but always charged and on.

Mimic groans, roughly pulling the drawer open, fishing around inside of it, and grabbing the phone.

“I’m retired, Kate.” She practically growls into the receiver.

“Only mostly.” Kate Laswell replies, sounding amused more than anything. Not that she was in any way surprised by Mimic’s less-than-pleased greeting. “The boys have a mission comings up. And they need a thief.”

“I’m not a hobbit, Kate.” Mimic grumbles, sitting up and wiping her sloppily bleached mop of hair out of her face. “Besides, I’m sure you can find someone else to do stealth and retrieval for them.”

“Not on short notice, and definitely not someone who works so well with them. Especially not now that they have an Alpha.” Laswell says. “Price also requested you personally. Besides, you’re definitely small enough to be a hobbit.”

“Remind me to be offended about the hobbit thing later. What do you mean they have an Alpha now?”

“It was high time they got one, and I promise this won’t be like the last time you had to work with an Alpha you didn’t already know.”

“I don’t think I could handle a repeat of having a teammate trying to rip my throat out, no.” Mimic says flatly, pinching the bridge of her nose as the memories flash through her barely awake mind. Monroe had been an asset to the team, but a drug fueled, pre-rut rage had sent her off the deep end. She had tried to force herself on another Omega, and Mimic had been the one to try and stop her. “I suppose I should collar up, despite my scent being pretty much nonexistent, huh?”

“You don’t have to worry about Saint snorting near lethal amounts of cocaine. And yes, wear your collar, please. The muzzle too, my little bite risk.”

“Monroe deserved it. But since you asked so nicely…”

“That’s my girl.” Laswell says, laughing when she hears Mimic’s poor attempt to cover her soft trill at the praise. “Get packed. I’ll have you picked up within the next two hours.”

~*~

All five members of Task Force 141 were waiting on the tarmac when Mimic stepped off the plane. Her pale blue eyes trace over the four familiar men before landing on Saint. The sight of the massive Alpha gives her a moment’s pause, even with them standing at a polite distance from their Omegas. Her nose twitches behind her muzzle as she looks them over quickly, taking in the soft curls in their dark hair, the steely grey eyes over their own muzzle. Christ on a cracker, they’re fuckin huge… Mimic thinks to herself, before Price takes her attention by stepping forward with an outstretched hand.

“Good to see you, Mim.” He says, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a tight hug. “Been too long, actually. Hope your little hidey-hole in the woods has been treating you well.”

Mimic chirps as Price practically crushes her against his broad chest. He turns, leading her to the rest of the team with an arm still wrapped around her shoulders. Soap’s initial grin at her arrival morphs into a snarl as he sees both the muzzle and collar on Mimic.

“Oi! Get that feckin thing off yer face!” He snaps, surging forward. Ghost grabs the collar of his shirt to hold him back and keep him from storming up to her and practically tearing the muzzle off her face.

“It’s just to be proper, Soap. Chill.” Mimic says defensively. The sound of ripping fabric has her climbing Price like a tree to perch precariously on his shoulders and out of reach of the enraged Scotsman. Who seemed more than happy to ruin his own clothes if it meant getting his hands on her. And getting that stupid muzzle off of one of his best friends.

“Fuck proper!” He snarls, his ruined shirt hanging off of him as Ghost wraps a large hand around his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Ain’t right! Not for ye! Yer one o’ us! Ye shouldnae be wearing those!”

Saint catches Soap around his waist, pulling him back and pressing their muzzle into his hair. Mimic can’t hear them speak, though she can just barely register the subharmonic rumble of their voice from their distance. And she notices how Soap immediately relaxes against his Alpha, albeit begrudgingly.

“Come on, pet.” Price says, helping Mimic back to the ground. “Let’s get you settled. It’ll be the usual rotation. You’ll stay in my room tonight.”

Mimic can feel Saint’s eyes on her as she lets Price lead her into the base. Interloper already causing trouble in the pack. Great first impression, dumbass. She thinks bitterly, adjusting her duffel bag on her shoulder as if she was trying the shift the sudden weight of guilt she now carried.

~*~

After Soap had been calmed enough to finally accept the collar and muzzle on Mimic, he waste no time in scenting her. He had her pinned beneath him on the floor of the den, rubbing insistently against the collar covering her scarred scent glands.

“Let the poor girl breathe, Tav.” Gaz says with a chuckle. He was lounging on the couch, watching the two of them with an easy grin. Patiently waiting his turn to do the exact same thing.

“S’been three years.” Soap whines, his stubble rasping against Mimic’s pale cheek as he nuzzles against her face. “She disnnae smell like us anymore. Gotta fix it.”

“Don’t smell like anything anymore…” Mimic says, managing to squirm out from beneath Soap only for Gaz to pounce on her and start scenting her himself.

“Not true, luv.” He purrs, making his own scent mingle with Soap’s on her collar. “It’s still there. Just very faint. Petrichor and oakwood. Perfect for a pretty little woodland cryptid like yourself.”

Saint sits at the far end of the den with Price. Watching as Ghost scoops the small Omega away from Soap and Gaz to add his own scent to her. Providing comfort. Reminding her just how much they cared about her. Showing just how much they missed her.

They cock their head to the side when Mimic mentions not having a scent. A move that Price notices in his periphery as he continues to watch the other four.

“Three years ago, our Mim got into a nasty fight with a pre-rut Alpha named Monroe.” He says, sharp blue eyes watching Mimic’s bright smile behind the cage of her muzzle. “Monroe had tried to force herself on a young private, and Mimic made it a point to get in the way. Monroe tried to rip her throat out for it, but she’s a scrappy wee thing. Put up a hell of a fight, but she was a bloody mess by the time the private had managed to return with help.”

“Where Monroe had tried, Mimic had succeeded.” Price continues, watching Gaz and Soap pile on top of Mimic and Ghost on the couch. He looks up at Saint. “It turned out that Monroe had a nearly lethal amount of cocaine in her system. We’re lucky Mimic didn’t bleed out, because she had ingested enough of Monroe’s blood that the drug was affecting her. She paid for it, though. Her scent glands are damn near nonexistent now. Mostly just scar tissue. And, to my understanding, the trauma done to them had pretty much stopped her heat cycle.” His voice drops, a bitter edge lacing through it. “On top of that, the whole ordeal is why she’s been requested to wear the muzzle. Her price for defending a teammate.”

“She was forced to retire, and labeled a bite risk.” Price’s hands curl into tight fists in his lap. “And what did she do? After all that? She put herself into isolation. Staying cooped up in that tiny cabin in the woods for three years. Completely off the radar. No contact. I’m lucky Laswell had a way to get ahold of her. Mim is a hell of a soldier, and her skill are invaluable. But she’s also an amazing individual. She doesn’t deserve to spend the rest of her life in isolation.”

Saint watches Mimic, just barely able to pick up the sound of her purr as she cuddled with the rest of their pack. She looked content, entirely at peace in the arms of the three larger Omegas. And with the way their pack clearly adored her, Saint wanted to be sure they would be able to protect her during the mission.

When she would be one of Saint’s, if only temporarily.

A part of the pack.

“I need her scent. For the mission.” Saint says, keeping their voice as quiet as possible. Even at this distance, the subharmonic rumble of their vocalization risked upsetting the small Omega. Already skittish around the silent Alpha that dwarfed her. So desperate to show them respect. Show them that she wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t trying to move in on their turf in any way. It was obvious to Saint that the fight with Monroe had damaged more than just Mimic’s scent glands.

“Aye, I suppose you do.” Price says, looking up at his Alpha, dark blue eyes glinting with amusement. “I’ll talk to her about it before bed tonight. She’s a good girl. She’ll work with you, no matter how standoffish she might seem.” He leans into Saint, looking back over at the four individuals piled on the couch. The den filled with the sounds of their contented purrs.

“It’s faint. Barely there, really.” Price murmurs, his heart aching at how small Mimic looks curled up against Ghost’s chest. “But once you know it, you’ll never miss it. She may not think it’s noticeable, but the boys and I could pick her out of a crowd without issue. Even after three years.”

A silent understanding passes between them as Price looks back up at his Alpha, and Saint nods. They had a while before the missions still. Plenty of time to learn Mimic’s scent and make her more comfortable around them.

Unfortunately for Saint, the latter was easier said than done.

#mimic writes #cod ocs #charliemwrites #playing barbies with our ocs #reality adjacent mimic #saint the silent alpha #charlie straight up said her goal was for me to be feral for saint #so here we are lol

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lupinqs · 8 months ago

Text

CHAPTER FOUR ━━ Caged Bird

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.9K

☆ ━ warnings: literally just outright homophobia w a slur (sorry), conversion therapy, religious guilt, dani’s just super fuckin depressed, too damn long to proofread

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: here is where you can learn more about conversion therapy. believe it or not, this is still a fucking problem in the US today, as an estimated 20,000 minors are subjected to it yearly i believe. just because instances of it are included in this does NOT by any means mean that i condone it. one of my friends actually went through something similar for a little while and it’s so fucked up. if anything, this is to bring awareness of the fact that shit like this is still happening!!!!!!

MAY 2019

DANIELLE CALLAN has never felt more content in her life. The soft morning lights spill through the blinds, casting golden stripes across her bedspread. She stretches lazily, her body still buzzing happily from last night. Everything has finally fallen into place. She and Paige finally said it—finally admitted their feelings, after all the years of hiding behind jealous stares, half-hearted jokes, and touches that lingered far too long to be deemed friendly.

Paige left earlier this morning, ready to catch her flight that’ll take her away for the rest of the summer. But even the distance can’t dampen the giddiness Dani feels, all over, almost like she’s caught some sort of illness that has her body and mind repeating Paige, Paige, Paige over and over again. She lays in bed, replaying when Paige she kissed her on the porch, when she kissed her goodnight, when she kissed her good morning, when she kissed her goodbye. Her mind glazes over as she remembers the blonde whispering “I love you” into her ear like it was a secret only they were allowed to share. It all felt so right, so natural, like they’ve always meant to be together in that way.

Dani pulls her phone from the nightstand, grinning at the last text Paige sent her, the one she’s been glancing at all morning.

Paige ❤️‍🔥

Boarding now. I love you

Can i call you when I land

Dani ❤️‍🔥

ofc you can

i love you too have a safe flight ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥!!!!!

Dani holds her phone to her chest, cheeks blooming pink, a smile spreading across her face. It’s real now. All of it. For the first time, she doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to wonder if Paige feels the same way. The uncertainty is gone, replaced by a warmth that makes her feel like she’s floating.

Reluctantly, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, knowing she has to get up. She pads over to the window, trying to pul the curtains open a bit more, eager to let the light flood in. However, it seems as though they’re jammed, and, after a poor fight on her part, Dani sighs, rolling her eyes and letting the curtains stay closed, engulfing the room in darkness.

Nevertheless, she’s still smiling as she heads downstairs, the scent of coffee wafting through her nose, the faint sound of the TV playing in the living room registering. Her dad’s probably watching his usual morning news, she figures. She feels lighter than air as she bounces down the steps, a pure happiness that’s been harder to come by recently.

But as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, something about the atmosphere seems to shift. Dani’s stomach flips anxiously; the air feels heavy all of a sudden—thick. She pauses, her hand resting on the banister as she peers into the living room. Her dad is sitting in his usual spot on the couch, but something seems different—off. He’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, his phone in his hand. The TV’s on, but the volume is low, almost as if it’s been forgotten.

Not to mention that her dad’s expression isn’t what Dani’s used to seeing. There’s no relaxed, Saturday-morning ease in the way he sits. Instead, his face is set in a rigid, tense mask, his jaw clenched so tightly Dani can see the muscles in his neck straining. His eyes are fixed on his phone, unmoving, and there’s a darkness in them that makes her want to go right back up to her room.

“Dad?” Dani’s voice is cautious, her lighthearted mood evaporating as she takes a few tentative steps forward. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at her. It’s odd. Usually, he’d greet her with some offhand remark or ask about her plans for the day. But now, there’s nothing. Just silence.

Dani’s unease grows, her inside twisting with unfamiliar dread. She steps closer, trying to get a better look at him. “Dad?”

Finally, he looks up. His eyes meet hers, and the expression on his face is enough to make her swallow thickly, unsure how to feel. He looks at her angrily, coldly, and it sends a jolt through Dani’s chest.

He says nothing at first. Instead, he simply turns his phone around, showing her the screen. At first, she can’t make out what she’s looking at—just a video, playing on a small square of the screen. But then her heart plummets into her stomach as she recognizes what exactly is being filmed. The porch. Her and Paige. Last night.

Her breath catches in her throat as she watches the footage. There Dani is, fumbling with her keys while Paige kisses her neck, whispering those three words that meant everything. The video captured it all—the giggles shared between them, the way Dani turned around and pulled Paige in for another kiss, savoring it. This moment that was meant to be just theirs, is now playing out in front of Dani’s father’s eyes.

Fuck. Dani should have realized, should have remembered. They have a Ring doorbell—it takes footage of any movement near it. But she was drunk and stupid and in love and she’d forgotten. And now, by the look on her dad’s face, she’s about to pay for that.

Her mouth goes dry, her heart hammering in her chest as she looks up at her father. He’s still holding his phone out, eyes smoldering with an anger that makes her feel like she can’t breathe.

“Dad,” she whispers, voice barely audible. “I can explain—”

“What the hell is this, Danielle?” he interrupts, his tone low, the kind he only uses when he’s really, really angry. It makes her flinch.

She opens her mouth, but words don’t come. What can she say? How can she possibly explain something she’s barely had enough time to process herself?

Her dad stands abruptly, his movements sharp and filled with barely restrained rage. “You think this is acceptable? In my house? Under my rules? I—I don’t know what happened. You’ve always been a good girl. Danielle, you have a relationship with Christ! How could you do this? How could you throw everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done for you, everything God has done for you for… for this?” He shakes the phone in his direction, his voice rising. “For this disgusting, sinful bullshit!”

Dani recoils like she’s been slapped, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The thoughts that she’s pushed to the back burner of her mind echo quietly, agreeing with her father. It’s wrong. A girl loving another girl is wrong. Sinful. But the part of her mind that’s taken over, the one that thinks about the blonde basketball player day and night and can’t help but think about how right it felt to be with Paige in that way, fights back. “I—I can explain, I swear—” she starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Explain what?” he spits, face twisted in disgust and disappointment. “There’s nothing to explain, Danielle. I saw it. I saw you—kissing that girl. Paige.” He says her name like it’s some kind of poison, and it makes Dani’s chest constrict. “I knew something was off about that friendship. You think I haven’t noticed how you two are always together, always too close?”

Tears well up in Dani’s eyes, her whole body tensing in a panic. “It’s not like that—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snaps, eyes flaring. “I saw what I saw. And I won’t tolerate this… this perversion under my roof.”

The tears begin to pull over now, Dani’s chest heaving as she tries to fight the sobs that rip through her. “Dad, please—”

“You’re not seeing her again,” he cuts her off, his voice final, cold. “I don’t care how long you’ve been friends. I don’t care that you’ve known her since you were kids. I don’t care that she’s our next door neighbor. Whatever that is, it’s ended. Now.”

Dani shakes her head frantically, panicking, tears falling faster. “You can’t do that!” she shouts, voice cracking. “Please, Paige is—she’s my best friend—please—we”

“No!” he yells over her, vocals booming around the room. Dani flinches, her body trembling as she wraps her arms around herself. “You will not see her again. You won’t even go near her. Do you understand me?”

“Dad, please, just listen—”

“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats. “This is not up for discussion, Danielle. She’s a bad influence, a—” he hesitates, and then with a sneer that makes Dani’s stomach churn, he hisses, “She’s a filthy fag, and I won’t let her corrupt you any more than she already has.”

His words hang in the air like a death sentence, and Dani’s world tilts on its axis. It feels like the floor has been ripped out from beneath her. She’s never heard her father speak like this, never seen such venom in his voice. Of course she’s known he’s homophobic; he’s made off handed remarks every now and then, says things about how “those people” are disappointments to God. But this? The way he’s looking at her—it’s like she’s a complete stranger to him. Like he doesn’t even recognize his own daughter anymore.

The sobs break free through Dani’s chest and her hands shake as she covers her red-rimmed eyes with them. “Dad, please,” she begs, though she knows it’s probably useless at this point. “Please don’t do this.”

But her father’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it grows harder, colder. “Go to your room,” he says through clenched teeth. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Dani looks up at him, her vision blurred with tears. “Dad—”

“I said, go to your room!” he practically roars, and the sheer force of it makes her stumble backward toward the stairs, body shaking.

Her heart is in her throat and she’s trembling uncontrollably as she turns and runs up the steps, her sobs echoing in the otherwise silent house. She barely makes it to her room before collapsing onto her bed, her face buried in her pillow as she lets her tears free fall.

Everything’s ruined. Her dad hates her. He’s seen everything—and now he hates her.

And Paige…

Dani can’t even let herself think about that. How, just hours ago, she had everything, and—within minutes—it all slipped between her fingers.

And now all Dani can feel is shame.

JUNE 2019

The camp—if that’s what you could call it—isn’t the kind of summer camp Dani expected when her father first mentioned it to her. No, this place isn’t about hikes or bonfires or s’mores. It’s something else entirely.

They call it a “church camp,” but it didn’t take long for Dani to realize what it really is. Conversion therapy, as simple as that. A way to “fix” her, to cleanse her of her sins.

The camp is deep in the woods, secluded and quiet, the kind of place where no one would hear you scream, where no one would notice if you disappeared for a few months and come back changed. The other girls and boy here are like Dani—at least, that’s what she’s been told. They’ve been sent here to be “cured,” to be saved from the deviance inside of them, the sickness that led them astray from God’s light.

At first, Dani tries to resist. She fights it, mentally at least. The idea that something so integral to her—love—could be a disease was unthinkable. She thinks of Paige, her best friend, her first love, and tries to remind herself of the warmth, the joy, the rightness of it all. Paige always made her feel seen. Safe. Loved. How can any of that be a sin?

But as the weeks drag on, the messages seep in, and, slowly but surely, Dani’s defenses erode. The camp counselors—rigid, strict men and women with eyes that seem to stare straight into your soul—speak of salvation and sin in the same breath. They quote scripture, twisting it into something Dani never heard before, making her feel like her very existence is a rebellion against God.

They say the attraction she feels for Paige is a temptation, a test from the devil himself. That her love isn’t love at all, but lust, base, and immoral. Every day, they hammer this message into her through sermons, through private “sessions,” through exercises designed to break down her spirit, to rebuild her into someone who can conform, who can be pure again. They say they’re just trying to help her.

The forest surrounding the camp becomes a symbol of her isolation. The trees loom tall, casting long shadows over the compound, as if the very earth is trying to swallow her whole. There’s no escape, no outlet. Dani’s never felt more alone in her life. She wants to cry, to scream, to run, but there’s nowhere to go. No one to turn to.

Her days become a blur of routine and control. They take everything from her. Her phone, her freedom, her identity. She isn’t allowed to speak of Paige—hell, she isn’t even allowed to think of Paige without facing repercussions. They watch her closely, scrutinizing every move, every glance, every word, looking for any sign of weakness, any sign that she hasn’t fully accepted the “truth.”

Some days are easier than others. On the good days, Dani finds herself almost numb, going through the motions, letting the words of the counselors wash over her without sinking in. But on the bad days… the bad days are hell. On the bad days, the guilt is so overwhelming that she can hardly breathe. She’ll lay in her cot at night, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts she can’t quiet. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am sick. Maybe I’m not supposed to feel this way. Maybe… maybe Paige will be better off without me. Maybe I’ll be better off without Paige.

The worst part is that she can feel herself changing. Slowly, bit by bit, the person she’s always been—Dani, the girl who loves photography, the girl who loves to write, the girl who love Paige—slips away. In her place, there’s… someone else. Someone who’s afraid. Afraid of herself. Afraid of the world. Afraid of God.

There are moments, brief as they are, when Dani finds herself alone, sitting on the edge of the lake that borders the camp. The counselors allow “reflection time” out there, a chance to sit in nature and contemplate God’s will for their lives. Dani doesn’t feel God’s presence out there, though. Instead, she feels only emptiness. The lake, still and dark, mirrors the hollow ache in her chest, the ache that started the day her father found that video and had only grown since then.

She thinks of Paige during those moments. She can’t help it. Paige’s laugh, her smile, the way her fingers would brush against Dani’s hand when they were alone together. She thought of the way Paige’s voice had cracked, just slightly, when she’d said, “I love you,” as if it had been too heavy, too important, to carry without breaking.

And then the guilt would come rushing back in like a tidal wave, drowning out the memory of Paige’s touch. This isn’t right. I’m not supposed to feel this way. The counselors make sure of that. They drill it into her head day after day until she begins to doubt every thought, every feeling, every memory she has of Paige.

The uncertainty is the worst part. At night, lying in her narrow cot, Dani closes her eyes and tries to remember how it had felt to be with Paige. How, just a few short weeks ago, her heart had been so full of love that it felt like it might burst. But now, those memories feel like they belong to someone else, like they’re fading away, replaced by a gnawing doubt that maybe—just maybe—what she felt isn’t love at all.

The isolation gnaws at her. Dani’s faith—which, despite everything, was pure before—has become tainted, almost like she’s trying to crawl away from it—or at least, trying to crawl away from the twisted version of faith that the camp preaches. They tell her that God loves her but only if she can repent, only if she can reject the “unnatural desires” that have led her down this dark path. They tell her that true salvation means giving up everything she’s ever known, including Paige.

They don’t just want her to stop loving Paige. They want her to stop being herself.

But the hardest part is, after so many weeks, Dani doesn’t really know who exactly she is anymore. She feels like a shell of herself, hollowed out and empty, filled with nothing but fear and shame. And she begins to wonder if it’s working. If they’re right. If this is how it’s supposed to be.

But still, sometimes, Dani wakes up in the middle of the night, her heart pounding, her body drenched in sweat, a sense of panic so intense that she can hardly breathe. In these moments, she presses her face into the scratchy pillow, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Because in the darkness, in the quiet, when no one else is watching, she still wants Paige. She still loves her. No matter what they say, no matter how much they try to break her down, that small, fragile piece of her heart still beats for Paige.

And that scares her more than anything.

She doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to hold on to that part of herself. It’s slipping away, little by little, with every sermon, every “counseling” session, every prayer that she shoves down her throat. She’s being worn down, and she’s afraid that one day, she’ll wake up and not feel anything at all.

And maybe… maybe that’s what they want. Maybe that’s what God wants. Maybe that’s what she deserves.

Dani doesn’t even know how long she has left at the camp, nor how long she’s been there. After the first couple weeks, time begins to lose its meaning. She’s stopped counting the days (since they don’t tell her the date), stopped waiting for it to end.

JULY 2019

Dani sits in the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes downcast as she stares at the scuffed linoleum floor. The room is cold, sterile, and devoid of any warmth or comfort. It’s the same room she’s been sitting in for the past two months, every time she’s called in for her one-on-one “therapy” sessions. The wooden cross on the wall looms large above her, a constant reminder of the weight she’s supposed to carry, the sin she’s meant to repent for.

Across from her sits Mrs. Keating, one of the camp’s lead counselors. She’s a stern woman, always impeccably dressed, with sharp features and cold, piercing blue eyes that seem to cut through whatever walls Dani tries to put up. She’s been Dani’s assigned counselor from the start, the one tasked with guiding her back to the “right” path, the one who’s delivered the harshest sermons about the dangers of temptation and sin.

Today is supposed to be their final session—or, at least, that’s what Dani has been told. She knows the routine by now. Mrs. Keating will ask her a series of questions, probing deeper into her thoughts, her feelings, her beliefs. Dani’s learned to say what’s expected of her, to give the answers the woman wants. At first, she resisted, clinging to the hope that she could hold onto who she really is, but that hope has withered away in the weeks she’s been here.

She isn’t even really sure who she is anymore.

Mrs. Keating sits behind her desk, her fingers laced together as she regards Dani with that unreadable expression she always wears. It’s a look that makes Dani feel small, insignificant, like a child being scolded.

“So, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating begins, her voice cool and steady, “you’ve been with us for quite some time now. How are you feeling?”

Dani swallows, her throat dry. She hates these questions. They always feel like traps, no matter how carefully she answers. But she knows better now than to hesitate. She’s learned what they want to hear, and she’s learned that it’s easier to comply than to fight.

“I feel… better,” Dani answers, her voice quiet, almost mechanical. “I feel like I’ve been able to reflect on… everything.”

“Good, that’s very good,” Mrs. Keating replies, nodding approvingly. “And what have you learned in your time here?”

Dani’s fingers twitch in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. She hates herself for what she’s about to say, but she can’t stop the words from slipping out. They feel foreign, like they were coming from someone else’s mouth. But she thinks they’re right. After all this time, everything she’s gone through here, how can they not be?

“I’ve learned that… what I was feeling before… it was wrong,” Dani murmurs, her heart heavy. “That it wasn’t love. It was temptation. Sin.”

Mrs. Keating’s smile is small, satisfied. “And you understand why that is, don’t you?”

Dani nods, her gaze still fixed on the floor. “Yes. Because God doesn’t want us to… live that way. It’s against His plan.”

“And your feelings for the girl… ?”

They don’t say her name. They never say her name. And Dani’s glad. They don’t deserve to say Paige’s name. She’s too good, too full of light, for all of this. Dani’s stomach twists as the image of Paige’s face flashes through her mind—her bright eyes, her playful smile, the way her touch always feels so soft and warm. Dani’s chest aches with the memory, but she pushes it down. She can’t think about that now. She can’t think about her. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.

It’s wrong.

“I don’t… feel that way anymore,” Dani says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know it was wrong. I know it wasn’t real love.”

Mrs. Keating’s eyes gleam with approval, as if she’s won some silent battle. “That’s right, Danielle. You’re starting to understand. Love, true love, is a gift from God, and it’s meant to be between a man and a woman. Anything else is a distortion, a lie from the devil.”

Dani bites the inside of her cheek, the taste of blood sharp on her tongue. She’s heard this speech so many times that she can recite it in her sleep, and each time, it chips away at her a little more, hollowing her out from the inside. She wants to believe that maybe it’s a lie—that what she felt (feels?) with Paige is real—but after weeks of being told otherwise, it’s getting harder and harder to hold on to that belief.

“And how do you feel about your future now, Danielle?” Mrs. Keating asks, her tone almost gentle, as if she’s speaking to a child in need of guidance. “Do you feel ready to live a life that honors God?”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap. She feels the weight of the cross around her neck, its presence suffocating. She’s worn it every day since she received it from her father years ago. But ever since she’s gotten here, it’s become a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon her, of the person she’s supposed to be.

“I want to do what’s right,” Dani replies, her voice steady even as her heart stutters. “I want to live the way God wants me to live.”

Mrs. Keating leans forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as if she can sense the apprehension buried beneath Dani’s words. “And you’re willing to renounce those past feelings? Those sinful urges?”

Dani’s throat tightens, but, nevertheless, she nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” Mrs. Keating’s smile widens. “You’ve made remarkable progress, Danielle. You’ve come a long way from the confused girl who arrived here, and I’m proud of you for embracing the truth.”

Dani doesn’t feel proud. She just feels empty.

The silence in the room grows heavy, oppressive, as Mrs. Keating studies her, as if trying to gauge the depth of Dani’s conviction. After a moment, she rises from her chair and walks around the desk, coming to stand in front of Dani. She reached down, her cold fingers brushing against Dani’s skin as she presses her hand to the small silver cross hanging from Dani’s neck.

The touch makes Dani flinch, but she doesn’t move. She can’t.

Mrs. Keating’s fingers linger there for a moment, her grip firm, almost possessive. “God will forgive you for your sins,” she says softly, her voice filled with the kind of certainty that Dani can never muster. “He is a merciful God, and He wants nothing more than for you to be redeemed in His eyes.”

Dani’s pulse races beneath the surface of her skin. She wants to believe that. She wants to believe that all of this—everything she’s gone through—will lead to forgiveness, to peace. But deep down, something in her resists. Something in her whispers that maybe God won’t forgive her. Maybe she isn’t worthy of it. Maybe there’s no redemption for someone like her.

She swallows hard, her eyes stinging with the tears she refuses to shed.

Mrs. Keating releases her hold on the necklace, her hand falling back to her side. She smiles, the gesture cold and calculating, as if she’s just won a battle Dani hadn’t realized she was fighting.

“You’re almost there, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating tells her, voice smooth and placating. “You’re so close to being saved.”

Dani doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t think she trusts herself to speak.

Because in that moment, all she can think about is Paige. Paige’s face, Paige’s laugh, Paige’s love. She can feel it slipping away, the memory of it growing dimmer with every passing day. And the worst part is, she isn’t sure if she wants to hold onto it anymore. Bitterly, she doesn’t know what the point would be. What would be the point at all, if this is who she’s supposed to be now?

“Remember, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says firmly, brows scrunched slightly, “God’s love is stronger than anything. Stronger than sin. Stronger than temptation.”

Dani nods mechanically, her mind a haze of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She’s heard this so many times, and every time, it feels like another piece of her soul is being chipped away.

But maybe that’s for the best.

AUGUST 2019

Dani’s home.

That simple fact should bring her comfort, but as she stands in the middle of her bedroom, staring at the familiar walls and the neatly made bed, nothing feels the same. The space seems smaller, suffocating almost, and everything inside her feels hollow. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore.

She doesn’t know what feels like home.

She doesn’t think she has one.

It’s strange—coming back from camp was supposed to be a relief, a return to normalcy, but nothing about this feels normal. Dani expected some kind of closure, maybe even a sense of peace after everything she’s been through, but all she can do is feel a dull, heavy weight pressing down on her chest, right under her necklace. She feels like she doesn’t even belong here anymore. And it’s not just her house; it’s her whole life.

Dani doesn’t hang out with Thaliah or Jalen anymore either. They try to reach out when she gets back—text messages, phone calls, even a couple visits—but she pushes them away. It’s not like she really wants to—it’s just easier. Easier to stay locked inside herself, easier to avoid the questions she knows they’ll ask. Easier to pretend that things can just… move on.

Because they can’t. Not after everything. Not after her.

It’s easier not to think about Paige this way. Paige is still gone, away on basketball things for the summer, and with her absence, Dani’s managed to build up walls—tall, thick ones that keep the memories at bay. She has to. Thinking about Paige, about what they shared, about how it all fell apart without the blonde even knowing, is too much. So, she doesn’t think about it. She can’t.

Her dad doesn’t bring it up either. Not directly, at least. They’ve never spoken about what happened—about the reason Dani was sent away in the first place. Instead, he acts like it never occurred, like she was just at a normal summer camp, learning life lessons, finding her footing. That suits Dani fine. The last thing she wants is to talk about her “past mistakes.”

Instead, they focus on what her father considers the right things, like Beau Hudson.

Beau is someone Dani’s known since elementary school, a boy she’s always thought is a typical jockey douchebag—the kind of guy who’ll peak in high school and will probably spend the rest of his life chasing after some sense of former glory. He’s loud, obnoxious, and has a habit of talking like he owns every room he walks into. Dani’s never liked him, never thought twice about him, except to occasionally roll her eyes when his name comes up.

But now, Beau seems to be the answer to her father’s prayers.

Apparently, Beau mentioned to his parents that he thought Dani was pretty. And apparently, her father—who happens to work with Beau’s father—thinks that’s just great. It’s perfect, actually. Perfect in the way that Dani knows her father has always envisioned for her—a respectable boy, from a respectable family, with respectable values. There’s no need to talk about her past anymore, no need to dwell on those mistakes. If she can just date Beau, everything will fall into place. She can be the daughter her father wants her to be.

So, she does it.

She begins dating Beau, and it happens so fast that she hardly has time to question it. One minute, she’s saying yes to dinner with his family, and the next, they’re officially together. It isn’t something Dani really wants, but it’s something she can tolerate. It’s easy. Beau’s world is uncomplicated, shallow in a way that’s almost comforting because it doesn’t require much from her.

She starts hanging out with his friends—people she’s never given the time of day before. Guys from the football team, girls from the cheer squad. Serena Corren, one of the cheerleaders who’s always been a bit of a bitch, turns out to be not that bad. Dani finds herself spending time with her, more than she expects. Serena’s loud and a little crass, but she isn’t mean, at least not to Dani. In fact, they get along well enough that Dani finds herself relaxing a bit around her. Serena talks about meaningless things, gossips about people at school, complains about cheer practice, and it’s a nice distraction.

Everything is a distraction at this point.

A distraction from Paige.

Paige, who’s back now.

The minute Dani opens the door and sees her standing there, everything crashes down on her. It’s like a punch to the gut. Paige looks the same and different all at once—still beautiful, still Paige, but something about her feels… distant. Or maybe it’s just Dani who’s distant. She can feel her defenses rising the moment she meets those familiar blue eyes.

“Paige,” Dani acknowledges, throat tightening.

Paige’s voice is soft, tentative. “Hey, Dan. Can we talk?”

Dani swallows hard. She shouldn’t let her in. She should shut the door, turn Paige away before it gets any harder. But she doesn’t. Instead, she steps aside, letting Paige walk into her home, into her life once again. “Sure. Come in.”

The living room is quiet, and Dani can feel the tension simmering in the air as she sits on the couch, body rigid. Paige stands a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, looking at Dani like she’s searching for something—an explanation, an apology, maybe a sign that Dani still cares.

But Dani can’t give her any of that. She can’t let herself break.

It starts with Paige asking, “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were back? Why didn’t you—”

And then the floodgates open between them. Dani tries to keep her face neutral during it, shutting down any emotion that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to feel—if she lets herself feel anything, even for a moment, it’ll all come crashing down, everything wrong and bad spilling out. Her eyes stay cold, her voice flat, and every word that comes out of her mouth feels like poison she has to swallow herself. She tells herself she’s doing the right thing, that pushing Paige away is for her own good. That it’s for both of them. But God, it hurts.

Watching Paige’s face fall with every sharp word she throws at her is like watching someone chip away at a sculpture, little by little, until it’s unrecognizable. Dani sees the flickers of confusion, hurt, and then anger that spread across Paige’s features. She sees the way Paige’s shoulders tense, the way her eyes burn with disbelief. Paige has always been so expressive, her emotions right there on the surface, easy to read. And it kills Dani to know that she’s the cause of every negative expression that paints the blonde’s face.

The worst part is seeing the way Paige’s eyes gloss over, like she’s on the verge of tears but is too stubborn to let them fall. Paige isn’t the type to cry easily, but Dani knows her too well. She can feel Paige’s hurt even without seeing the tears. It’s palpable in the air between them, suffocating.

But Dani can’t break. She has to be strong, even though it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done. So, she says the words that’ll sever whatever hope Paige had left. She tells her that their kiss, that their confessions, were both mistakes. That she doesn’t want her, that it’s all just over. The words are like knives in her own chest, but she forces them out because she has no choice. If Paige knew the truth—about the camp, about her father’s threats, about everything—Paige would fight for her. She’d try to save Dani from it all. And Dani can’t let that happen. Everything would just get worse. It wouldn’t help anything.

Besides, whatever Paige and Dani have is wrong. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. Dani repeats it in her head. She fiddles with her necklace, her eyes flit to the crucifix on the wall, she thinks about how God doesn’t appreciate girls loving other girls. It’s wrong.

Nevertheless, when Paige finally leaves, when she turns her back and walks out the door, it’s like Dani’s entire world collapses in on itself. She’s built a wall around herself for weeks, convincing herself that this is what she’s needed to do. But the second the door closes behind Paige, it all comes tumbling to the ground. The numbness she’s been clinging to melts away, leaving behind raw, unbearable pain.

It’s wrong anyways, she tries to remind herself. It would’ve never worked out. God doesn’t permit it.

But that doesn’t seem to matter. Because no matter how wrong it is, it fucking hurts.

Dani presses her forehead against the door, her whole body trembling as the sobs begin to escape. She didn’t cry in front of Paige. She held it together, made sure to be strong, made sure that Paige wasn’t aware of what’s truly going on. But now, with no one watching, Dani just breaks. Her shoulders shake as the tears come hard and fast, her chest heaving as she lets it all out. The sobs are uncontrollable, wracking her body as she finally allows herself to feel everything she’s been holding back since the day she was dropped off at camp back at the beginning of June.

She cries for the years of friendship she’s just destroyed. For the love she has for Paige that she has to—and will continue to—deny. For the fact that she has to pretend not to care when every fiber of her being screams that she still does. She cries because she knows she’s just shattered Paige’s heart, and in doing so, she’s shattered her own.

Her father’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, a cruel reminder of why she’s done this. She can’t be with Paige, can’t even be her friend. Not if she wants to keep Paige safe from the consequences, not if she wants to keep them both pure in God’s eyes. Besides, if Dani even tried to slightly interact with the blonde, her father would never allow it, and Dani knows the lengths he’ll go to if he thinks Dani’s stepping out of line. The threats he made over the summer, the way he sent her to that camp to “fix” her—it isn’t something she can let Paige be part of. And it’s certainly not something she’ll let herself be subject to again.

(Besides, she has Beau. She likes Beau.) (Enough.)

But the knowledge doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make it easier to breathe through the sobs that wrack her chest. Dani feels like she’s drowning, suffocating under the weight of everything she’s just lost. Paige has been her best friend for over a decade. She’s been the one constant in Dani’s life, the person who has understood her better than anyone else. And now, Dani’s pushed her away, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to get her back.

Eventually, the sobs slow, leaving Dani feeling hollow and empty. Her tears soak through the fabric of her tank top, and her throat is raw from crying. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, leaning against the door, but it feels like an eternity. All she can think about is Paige’s face as she left, the way her eyes had looked so broken, so betrayed.

Dani did this. She has to live with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to the empty room, though the words are meant for Paige.

OCTOBER 2019 (PRESENT DAY)

Paige was right. Dani is a coward.

She knows she is. She thinks about it constantly. She thinks about that night, at the party, where she and Paige fought. She thinks about what Beau called her. She thinks about how she didn’t step in, how she didn’t defend Paige. She thinks about how she’s settled into a routine that feels like she’s merely a spectator in her own life. She thinks about how she hasn’t done anything to try and change it. She thinks, she thinks, she thinks.

She thinks a lot.

About certain things.

Certain people.

(Paige.)

She tries and tries to fight it, but her mind is rogue, a resistance that always has a mantra of Paige, Paige, Paige whether it’s in the front, the corner, or the back of her cerebrum.

She dates Beau. That doesn’t change. She knows who he is—not a good person. He’s arrogant, dismissive, and often cruel, but Dani finds herself in his company night after night. It’s not that she doesn’t recognize his red flags; she does. But there’s a twisted sense of comfort in being with someone who embodies the superficial, the expected. Beau is a mask she can wear, something to hide what’s beneath. What she doesn’t want people to see.

So, she dates Beau. She kisses him. They do other stuff a lot, too. He always initiates it, but she never stops it. It’s okay—not great, not terrible. It’s not exactly who she’d prefer to do that kind of thing with—but, who she would exhibits every single little thing that’s wrong with her. Every single little thing that she’s been trying to shake out of her, off of her, since she arrived at that camp. God doesn’t appreciate it. And so neither does Dani.

School has become her other distraction. A good one, too.

She retakes the ACT. When she gets her score back, she’s happy with it, a rare moment of relief and pride.

College applications weigh on her as well, and she’s certainly had the time to do them. She only applies to two school. Minnesota—her dad wants her to stay in-state, somewhere close. And, trust her, she knows how deluded it sounds, but—she applies to Connecticut, too. Don’t ask her. She doesn’t even really know why.

She focuses heavily on her Calc class, her AP Bio class, her AP Lit work. She focuses, she gets good grades, she makes her teachers and maybe even her father proud. She’s just doing her best, distracting herself. (Though it doesn’t help that, without fail, every single day Paige’s stare bores holes into Dani’s back in Lit. All she wants is to continue her distractions, to continue her streak of nearly perfect scores, but those baby blues burn into her skin from behind and it makes Dani’s heart race.)

She continues on with photography, too. She goes to the football games and some of the other sports—soccer, field hockey, etc.—and takes her photos for yearbook. It’s a good distraction until she spots Paige in the student section (this happens every Friday night), and Dani’s mood seems to simmer out.

Paige is everywhere. Fucking everywhere. School, games, Dani’s head. It doesn’t matter. She never leaves.

Dani wishes she would go and wishes she would stay all at once.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #hopkins p fic #take me to church #wlw

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naughtyneganjdm · 7 days ago

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Christmas in Jackson - Chapter 15

Summary: Returning home to New York City is hard for Y/N when she has to come to terms with the idea of losing Joel from her life. Attempting to find the positives in returning home, she goes for a walk and hopes to fall in love with the city again, but it's missing one thing. Joel Miller.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61159651/chapters/166959784

Warnings: Swearing, Depression, Angst, Fluff, etc.

Notes: So this is the last chapter! I thought it was a good time to post this after how rough Sunday was. At least in our stories we can keep Joel alive. I hope to anyone who reads this story that they like the ending. Thanks for putting up with me for so long. If you'd like to read previous chapters, check them out here.

One of the quickest ways to heal a severe fear of flying and heights? A broken heart. Flying out to Jackson was nerve wrecking for Y/N. The whole flight she was terrified thinking about the what ifs of flying. Now? The flight back home to the Newark airport had her considering all of the what ifs in her relationship with Joel. Instead of being worried about her life and it being in the hands of the pilot flying the airplane she was instead focused all the negative emotions that were building up inside of her. Considering the things she may have done wrong. What she could have done better. The things she could have said to have Joel change his mind. But something told her that he would have never changed his mind. No matter how hard she tried.

A lot of what Joel said to her repeated in her mind like a broken record. Being with Joel over those last few days were the best moments of her life, as pathetic as that sounded. So for him to insinuate that he wished that he never met her really broke her heart. Joel meant everything to her and she would have done anything for him, but according to him? She brought back a pain that he never wanted to experience again. And that really ate away at her.

Flying home today didn’t exactly feel real. Part of her wished that maybe she had fallen asleep at Tommy’s home and this was a worst-case scenario dream that she had conjured up inside of her head. Originally, she thought the worst possible outcome was Joel hurting himself. Which is what she was scared of throughout the whole night. Never did she think that when she saw Joel again that he would be breaking up with her and wanting to rid her from his life completely.

After all of the conversations she had with Joel about their future? For once, she was actually looking forward to the idea of more. Sure, it was crazy how fast they were moving, but the idea of moving in with Joel was something that she really had been looking forward to. And then when he started talking to her about having children, it was never really something that she had considered before, but something about that man made her want a family with him. So there was an excitement that had never been there before in her life that so quickly got ripped out of her hands.

The flight home was long, but with how she was feeling? It seemed to drag on forever. It was an endless cycle of waiting to return home. Every minute felt like hours and she hated it. Being trapped on a plane with people she didn’t know while she desperately was trying to hold in her emotions was hard enough as it was. During the flight, it was hard to determine what was worse. The exhaustion that was eating away at her since she hadn’t slept much in the last two days. Or? The ache at the center of her chest that had been lingering ever since she left Joel’s place.

Realistically, she knew the answer. It was the heartbreak she was experiencing. Sure, in the past she felt like she had been heart broken by other boyfriends, but nothing had ever felt like this before. With Joel? She felt everything so deeply and her body was feeling the ache of it all. The lack of sleep only enhanced that pain.

After landing, she found herself letting everyone else get off the plane first. Even though the trip back was miserable and felt like it took forever, she was nervous to get off the plane. Because that meant she was officially gone from Jackson completely. That excitement and happiness that had come from being in Jackson would be gone. Once she was off the plane? That meant she was home, returning to the life that she so desperately wanted to run away from originally. Naturally, there was a yearning to want to hold onto the memories from Jackson and cling to them for as long as possible. Getting off the plane? It felt like she was officially saying goodbye to Jackson and all the memories there for good.

Sadly, she could only stretch out being the last person off the plane for so long. When she had to leave? It crushed her. Having to return to her life now that her heart was broken and knowing that there was nothing home to return to left her with an emptiness.

Walking through the airport had a lot of feelings flooding through her. No one was at that airport waiting for her. No one was at home waiting to welcome her back. Realization struck her hard and in that moment? She never felt more alone.

There was a reason she left New York City. Even though she tried to praise it every chance she could. Telling everyone who asked how much she loved it. Now she was doubting all of her feelings about the place she called home. One minute, she was in Jackson, happy and enjoying her life for the first time in a very long time. And then suddenly? She’s back in New York City leaving everything behind that made her happy. Back in Jackson? She felt like she belonged. Back home? She never felt more like an outsider.

Rushing home was not something that was important to her. So she took her time walking through the airport. There were a lot of people there, likely returning home from the holidays. They were all rushing around her, but she didn’t care. This was not a life she was eager to return to. Getting a car from the airport to take her home took a very long time. Which meant she had a lot of time to herself to watch other people. It seemed like everyone had someone they were with. Although, she realized that was very unlikely, it was just her emotions were heightened. So many couples and families were together going about their every day lives and then there was her. Someone no one noticed.

On the ride home once she was picked up, she started considering her life that she spent in the city. For years, it was her mantra to say how much she loved the city. How it meant everything to her. Realistically, she knew she only connected with it because she was still so latched onto the memories of her past with her parents. Losing them had broken her. It had broken her in a way that she never thought was healable. That was until she met Joel Miller. Clinging onto those memories of her family definitely made her opinion biased in way she never thought about before in terms of the city. Experiencing Jackson no question made her doubt her love for New York City. And really, the biggest thought was that she was making a mistake staying here in the city.

By the time she left the Newark airport, it was night so it was already dark out. That meant on the ride back, the city was lit up in the way she used to admire. Everything was so beautiful at night. Especially during Christmas time. However, trying to experience the awe and love she had for this city on the ride home just wasn’t effecting her like it normally did. For so long she told herself that New York City was magical. That it was a place where people could live out their dreams and be happy. Now? She was having trouble understanding why she felt that way for so long. When she was young, the city made her feel alive. Like anything was possible. Something changed inside of her when she returned because now it left her with an even stronger sense of being isolated and alone. Then again, there was nothing for her to look forward to.

Joel was right about the city when he complained about it to her in the past. This was a place where you could just disappear into a crowd. A place where no one would notice you. Standing out here was pretty much impossible. Yeah, she had an important job. She was a doctor, she saved lives, but no one really cared about that here. She was a no one. Someone completely insignificant. Even the driver made her realize how cold the city was. In Jackson, although she hated it at first, her driver was very friendly. Spoke to her and wanted to learn about her. Here? The whole ride was silent all the way home. Maybe she did like that part of Jackson after all. The people were welcoming. Even if they made her feel awkward at times, they always tried to interact with her and get to know her. There was a friendliness to them where things felt like a community. Here, it didn’t seem like anyone cared. Maybe that was the depression talking, but that’s how it felt.

Pulling up to her brownstone left her with a sense of dread. Nothing about returning felt special. Getting out of the car, the driver was quick to leave. That left her standing in front of her home just staring up at it. When she was little? She dreamt of having a place like this of her own. And now she did. But at what cost? She was one person, alone in this very big brownstone. The thing that made this place specifically special was it was the last place she was with her parents before they died. Clinging to the memory of them felt like it was something she needed to do. But with a different opinion now, she realized how stupid that actually was. Sure, the home was beautiful, but being in an empty house all alone would only intensify the feeling of loneliness for her.

Forcing herself up the stairs, she opened the door and was met by darkness. Flicking on the light, everything felt cold. It was silent to the point she could hear the echoing of her footsteps. It was crazy how one single trip could make her fall out of love with the things she thought she adored all along.

Releasing a long exhale, she took a look around the first floor of the brownstone. During her trip, she had someone bring in her mail and take care of the small things around the house. But nothing really stood out coming home. All the mail she had? It was junk or bills. Maybe something for work, but nothing was personal. It wasn’t anyone sending her Christmas cards or gifts. Hell, there weren’t even any messages on the answering machine. How many people could say that during the holidays?

Dropping her bags in the foyer of her home, she headed into the living room and stood at the center of it. In the back corner her Christmas tree was set up. All of the lights were off and everything just felt wrong. Nothing felt like this was where she was meant to be. Moving across the living room, she stepped before the large piano that she had inherited from her grandmother and dragged her fingers across the keys. Strange how playing a few notes could bring back the sadness of Joel. Music was now going to remind her of Joel and that wasn’t good. Because it would be hard to avoid music all together.

Lazily dragging her feet across the floor, she headed over toward one of the chairs in the living room and dropped down in it. Looking around, she realized that this home she thought she loved felt more like a box to hide her away in. Living in that suite at The Copper Peak Inn felt more personal and like home than this did. Right now, her emotions were just intensifying. This home, instead of being special, was a reminder of all the things in her life that she lost and didn’t have. Like people to share memories with. When she was first brought here, it wasn’t all that bad. Even though her uncle constantly reminded her that he blamed her for her parents death, her grandmother was good to her and raised her right. But when her grandmother passed away? She was left with a man that hated her. A man that abused her and punished her for something that really wasn’t her fault. She saw that now. Her parents died in an unfortunate accident, but it wasn’t her fault that it happened. A few good memories didn’t outshine the negative ones of the life she had in this home. She had to be crazy to want to stay here. Especially with all the anguish she went through being raised by her uncle. Hell, she knew that her uncle would be rolling in his grave knowing that everything that was his, along with this home went to her. Just because he had been too lazy to write a will. So why did she want to be in a place where she knew she would not be welcomed?

Shifting in the seat, she knew that she should have been looking for the positives. Things that made her happy to be home. So she forced herself to focus on something else. Lifting her hips up, she dug her phone out of her pocket. Getting comfortable again, she placed her phone in her lap and swallowed down hard. When she got on the airplane she had turned the phone off. There was no need to have it on. But then again? Hope was eating away at her that Joel had either written her or called her. Why was she so desperate for Joel to admit he was wrong? He had hours to change his mind and show up at the airport, but he never did. So why did she still believe there was a chance? But she was also afraid to look because if she did turn her phone on, there was that chance that he didn’t contact her. That he didn’t write her. That meant things were officially over, for good.

Turning on her phone, she let the curiosity that was eating away at her win. Waiting, she felt her body tense. There was a chill running down her spine when she swiped her finger across the screen to unlock it once it was powered on. Swallowing down hard, she waited. Hoping that the alerts would come flooding in. Biting down on her bottom lip, her heart started to sink. There was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach when the only alerts she saw were a few e-mails. Joel hadn’t called her or texted her. Why did she think there would be something from him? Now she was only reminded all over again of the heartbreak.

A lump grew in her throat. One that was hard to swallow down. Fuck, there were the tears burning at her eyes again. She thought those tears were over. But something told her that she had only just scratched the surface of the tears that would be there for God knows how long. Never had she experienced heartbreak like this before. Dropping her phone in her lap, she exhaled loudly and wished things didn’t turn out the way they did. Sadly, she also thought that Tommy may have found out about things by now and either him or Maria would have contacted her. When she was in Jackson, Tommy assured her that the two of them still wanted a life where they still stayed in contact with her if she left. Then again, he was Joel’s brother and Joel meant a lot to him. If Joel wanted her out of his life for good? It only made sense that Tommy wouldn’t bother with her either. Realizing that there was nothing waiting for her on the phone, she knew that every part of Jackson was being written out of her life. Almost like it was a dream. This was becoming all so official that Joel Miller was no longer a part of her life. And that made the pain she was experiencing so much stronger.

“Fuck,” she scoffed, reaching up to wipe at her tears with the back of her hands. Crying was inevitable, but she wished that she would have been stronger than this. Usually, she was. Love, real love just made her emotional. Having it end as fast as it did? It only stung more. Getting over this wasn’t going to happen. What she had with Joel in that short time was something she was certain she was never going to experience again. So tears? They were likely going to be frequent.

Honestly? If she would have told anyone about what happened on her trip, they would tell her that she was nuts for how she felt. No one would understand the bond and the relationship she was able to develop with Joel in such a short amount of time. No one had ever made such an impact on her life. So, she knew there was no one she could go to. They wouldn’t be able to empathize with her. Anyone would just label it off as a fling and tell her to grow up. Then again? There really wasn’t anyone to go to. All she knew is that her heart hurt more than it had ever done before from a love lost.

Shakily reaching for her phone again, she tried to stop herself from trembling, but she couldn’t. Joel was so heavy on her mind that she found herself opening up the gallery on her phone. Scrolling through, she felt a breath catch in her throat gazing upon all the photos and videos she had taken with Joel. Reaching the very first photo she had ever taken with Joel, she opened it up and felt her heart skip a beat. It was the photo of the two of them together on their ‘first date’. At least that’s what Joel called it. Going out with him and his family snowmobiling was not something she would have expected to do, but it was one of her favorite memories. Sneaking away with Joel to get a look at the frozen waterfall. Taking this picture together. That day? He was still referring to her as a guest at the inn, but that didn’t stop him from kissing her. It was crazy how fast their relationship progressed after this moment. Back when she took this photo with Joel, she felt like the moment was so romantic. In her life, she never had a moment like that with someone. It was unique and she cherished it.

Even though Joel hated getting his photo taken, it surprised her how many she had actually had of them in just those few days. Each photo started to show just how much they started to cling to one another and grow fond of the time they were spending together. During her trip to the resort with Joel where they took the gondola ride together, there were many photos of them. By these photos? You would have thought they were a couple for a very long time. That’s how comfortable they were with each other. Joel was the one who took a majority of them, always cuddling in close to her. Trying to comfort her with her fear of heights. Back then, it was sweet.

Continuing to sweep through the gallery, she reached the photos of them on their sleigh ride through town that Joel had set up for her. Every moment Joel set up felt more and more romantic. There was an ache at the center of her chest with how affectionate Joel appeared to be with her in these. Cuddling her close and constantly kissing her. Eager to document it. And when she reached the photos she took of him the next morning with him sleeping on her? A tremoring exhale escaped her lips. Joel was so beautiful. And the way he slept on her like he did showed that he trusted her. That he wanted to be close to her and not leave her side. There was something so charming about the memory of him waking up to see her taking photos of him. How his dimples had become so much more prominent when he was slightly embarrassed. Everything about Joel Miller charmed her and made her fall in love with him harder.

For someone who hated photos of himself so much, Joel was the one that was often taking all of these photos of them together on her phone. On Christmas, there were a lot of photos that were taken of the two of them together. Tommy had asked for her phone to do it that day. Stopping on one of the videos, she couldn’t help but smile seeing that it was one of her and Joel just talking with Maria. Joel was laughing and smiling with his arm hooked around her almost in a protective way. Tommy told her he took this video of them at the time because he couldn’t believe how happy his brother actually was. It wasn’t normal for Joel to be so…happy.

How had something so perfect, gone so wrong? How did their love become such a disaster that Joel had considered a mistake?

Stopping on one of another videos in the gallery made her bite down on her bottom lip. After Joel had given her the guitar they had stayed up for a while with him teaching her how to play. Hours had felt like minutes. And afterwards? They had fallen into one another again. This video was the aftermath of that. Joel insisted he wanted a photo of the two of them together in bed while they were cuddling. The video started with Joel giving a big smile, one that made her smirk. That was something that often happened. The sight of that beautiful smile along with this dimples? It took her breath away. A moment later he was turning in closer to her to press a loving kiss over her temple that lingered.

“I love you so much,” Joel whispered in the video, his southern drawl deep with him nuzzling his nose in against hers.

“I love you too,” she replied back in the video, leaning in just enough to meet his lips in a faint, sweet moment. It made Joel smile against her lips. Starting to pepper kisses at her lips showed that he was being playful in the moment. Their laughs followed and the video came to a shaking end when Joel dropped the phone to crawl in over her.

They were so hooked on each other. Yet now, she was alone in her apartment in New York and he was across the country in Jackson.

Setting her phone aside, she realized that she was just torturing herself. Nothing was going to stop her from loving Joel Miller. The only reason she left was because he made it clear he didn’t want her there. If she was given the chance to try to talk things out with him, she would have. Even if he did break her heart trying to return the Christmas gifts she had given him. Part of her thought she should have just gotten a different hotel in Jackson and let Joel calm down. Given him time to think about things, but the whole Jesse part made that complicated since he escorted her to the airport like Joel had asked him to do.

So desperately she was fighting the urge to call Joel. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to fix things, but she knew that if Joel wasn’t contacting her it was unlikely that he would answer. Considering how emotional she already was? She wasn’t sure her heart could handle that.

Standing up from the chair, she carefully placed her phone on the coffee table. Having that phone with her would only have her looking at those photos and videos searching for some kind of positive sensation from them. Which would only be short lived because she would remember all over again that those memories were something she would never have again.

Heading toward the stairs, she knew that she should have unpacked, made herself a meal or taken a shower. But she didn’t want to. Taking care of herself when she felt like this was not a priority for her. Nothing was going to make her feel better and she knew that. No one would call her on that phone. She was pretty much dead to the world.

It felt like she was moving in slow motion up those stairs. That was likely the depression. Everything felt like it dragged. Reaching her room, she lazily pushed open the door. Instead of turning on the light, she just dragged her feet along and fell into the bed. Crawling up toward the center of it she reached for one of her pillows and pulled it into her arms. Squeezing it tightly in her grasps, she could tell that she was on the verge of crying again. What she was used to was sleeping in Joel’s arms every night. That was her comfort. That was the thing that helped her relax. Now she was without that. Instead she had a cold, empty bed for her to lay in.

Burying her head into her pillows, she tried to force her eyes closed. More than anything she probably needed sleep right now. But sleep wouldn’t come. It was no use. Her mind was too busy with the negative thoughts and her chest hurt too much from overwhelming emotions. She missed the warmth of Joel’s body beside her, wrapped around her. Every emotion was enhanced with her trying to relax. That made it miserable for her to sleep. What she had grown accustomed to was something she was going to start living without. Which meant she was going to go back to the lack of sleep she had before going out to Jackson. Sighing loudly, she adjusted again in the bed dramatically. She was foolish to think she’d be able to sleep today.

For most of the night and day she just laid at the center of the bed awake. Thinking about everything and where she went wrong. Multiple times when she was with Joel she had stressed to him that he didn’t have to tell her about his past. And she meant it. It wasn’t truly her fault that it came out because she tried avoiding it at all costs. He even knew that. When Maria had tried to bring up Joel’s past, she denied Maria the chance. What she had done was make a promise to Joel and she intended to keep it. So it was really hard for her to understand why Joel blamed her for his past coming back to haunt him. How was that her fault? That was a question that kept circling in her mind and she probably shouldn’t have thought about it. Answering it herself, she came up with all the reasons of what she could have done to make Joel miserable. A lot of things didn’t make sense to her, but maybe she was blind to what she was actually causing Joel to go through. So really, she just started blaming herself for everything again.

Truthfully, she should have just called into work and told them she was back. Working may have been the thing to get her mind off things, but that probably wasn’t a good idea either. Considering she hadn’t slept in days. The last thing she needed to do was work an emergency and end up hurting someone because she wasn’t rested nor focused. Also, she was emotional and emotional never made for a safe work environment with her job.

What could have been a good rest was nothing but her tossing and turning. For hours, that’s all she did. In the past, she would have gotten up if she couldn’t sleep and made use of her time, but she didn’t. All day she managed to lay in that bed. That was it. And it only made the fatigue and the pain of everything worse.

Eventually, she forced herself to get up in the evening. The first thing she did was take a shower. One that lasted longer than it probably should have. It gave her time to think things out. Although, there was no positive outcome to it. Because she didn’t know what to do. Afterwards she probably should have eaten or unpacked, but her mind and body was full of negative energy. So she just got dressed and went for a walk. That was something she would often do in the past when she was in a rut. At the start of her walk, the sun had just started to set. That meant that the Christmas lights would still be lit and hopefully would help settle her. Walking through the city was rough. No one noticed her. No one saw her pain and they probably didn’t care to. That was the thing about New York City. Most people were so focused on themselves that they could never really see beyond the moment.

Walking usually got her mind off things, so that’s what she was hoping to do. Walk until she could numb the pain and quiet the voice that had been screaming so many negative things throughout the day. Wandering aimlessly through the city, she wondered if she was looking for something. Some kind of hint that maybe this was actually where she was meant to be. Not Jackson. Because this was the city that she had loved her whole life. Something had to be special in order for her to want to stay there. When she talked about the city, she fought so hard for it. The city was missing something though. Something she knew could never be replaced. And that was Joel Miller.

No matter how long she walked, it didn’t stifle the pain. Nothing pulled her out of her negative thoughts and feelings about herself. Christmas time in New York City had always been her favorite. It was awe inspiring. Beautiful. Magical. But nothing felt magical anymore. It just felt fake.

Eventually her walk led her to the one place that she had always found comfort in growing up. The Rockefeller Christmas Tree. Thankfully, it was still close enough to Christmas for the tree to still be up. Soon that tree would be gone and life would rinse and repeat like it always did. Clearly, her walk was a long one because by the time she got there it wasn’t very busy. Hours must have passed before she actually ended up in front of the tree. Seeing the tree one final time had her hopeful that it would help. Growing up, this was the place she came to ease her mind. To think of the good times and the happy memories she shared with her parents.

People were still lingering. It was New York City, they often would. Just not the normal busy that the city was filled with around this time of the year. Focusing on the tree was hard because she kept looking at the people that were still out and about. Every person had someone they were with. And there she was all alone. Clenching her fists at her sides, she closed her eyes. She wasn’t the only person in the world alone, but in that moment, it felt like she was. Coming to this tree wasn’t going to stop her pain. It was cemented inside of her. Why did she think this would be something that would help her?

Why had this place been so special to her in the past anyways? Really, the only answer she could come up with is that it was one of the only memories she still had of her parents when she was younger. The tragedies happened so long ago in her life, that if it wasn’t for the photos, she wouldn’t even know what her parents looked like. In her memories? Their faces were a blur. Hell, she didn’t even remember their voices. Yet she had been so stuck on them her whole life.

Even though the decorations were beautiful here and the tree itself was stunning, the magic just didn’t seem to be there anymore. That hopefulness that the tree created for her in moments of doubt was gone. What she loved about this city had dulled. Clinging onto things like this was unhealthy. It had been so long since she had lost her parents and she knew that she would eventually have to let go. But that was always her problem, letting go of things was hard.

Taking her time, she headed over toward one of the benches and lowered down onto it. She’d have to walk back home eventually, but she just wanted to give this some time. Let it linger before she headed back. The only thing peaceful about this whole trip was that she had left her phone at home. Not being attached to that thing felt nice in the thought that she couldn’t obsess over the what ifs with it. That was probably stupid considering she was alone in the middle of the city, but she didn’t care about the outcome. No, that didn’t bother her. What did it matter if something happened to her? No one was there to care. So why should she care? Was it smart? Not really, but there was no future for her anyways. The only thing her phone would have been useful for was to get a final photo of the tree for the year. Especially since she started to realize that this may be her last time coming here. Coming back every year seemed silly when she thought about it.

Closing her eyes, she dropped her head down and felt the ache in her chest growing. There was a reason she left New York City in search of something more. Her thoughts had always been weighing heavy on her mind. Her heart sank. What was the point anymore? Really. Sure, a lot of people didn’t long to share their life with someone, but they usually had friends. They had a job they loved. Y/N? She had no one. And her job? While she liked what she did, losing people hurt her. And it hit her hard when she couldn’t save someone. Tomorrow, she’d just call work and let them know she was back. Bury herself in her work and hope that it would help. That she wouldn’t focus on the fact that she was lonely. That she had nothing to look forward to. Nothing to live for. Life would be a repeat of what it was before she left. She’d shut her mind off, become a mindless drone just repeating the same thing every day hopeful that things would change. But they wouldn’t. The process would remain the same and her feelings would only grow stronger. She knew that.

Fighting just seemed silly now. Nothing great was destined for her. So she might as well just give up. No one would care if she did. People would forget who she was eventually. At work they would replace her and it would be like she was never there to begin with.

Clearing her throat, she heard the soft strumming of what she believed to be the sound of someone playing the guitar in the distance. Closing her eyes, she cussed to herself hating that it was causing her mind to focus on Joel. This was New York City, it wasn’t rare to find someone playing an instrument in the middle of the city hoping to be noticed or discovered by someone with meaning. It just sucked that everything that related to music was reminding her of Joel.

Curling her fingers around the bench, she lifted her head when the sound of the guitar grew louder. Suddenly, the chords of the song that the person was playing became familiar to her. Narrowing her eyes, she wondered if this was her brain fucking with her. Especially with the lack of sleep and the stress that she had been under.

A breath caught in her throat, with her sliding forward on the bench when an unsteady rumble of a raspy voice started to sing behind her, “Every time our eyes meet, this feelin’ inside me, is almost more than I can take.”

Her heart sank, her body tensing up. When her thoughts were at the worst possible point they could get, here was someone singing behind her pulling her from that. Her breathing was broken and loud. With each word spoken from the song, the voice seemed to grow more confident and louder. Again, she thought this was her mind playing tricks on her, but she noticed the way the people that were still in the general area had their attention pulled as well.

“Baby when you touch me, I can feel how much you love me and it just blows me away,” the voice continued to sing.

Chills were flooding through her veins, a warmth centering in over her chest. This was Amazed by Lonestar. The first song that she had ever danced to with Joel at the bar. Closing her eyes, she swallowed down hard. This had to be something she was imagining. Something her mind came up with in order to make her hope that there was more to life instead of giving up. She hadn’t slept in days, it would only make sense that this was another game her mind was playing on her.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone or anything. I can hear your thoughts, I can see your dreams,” the words were beautiful and it touched her in ways that had her an emotional mess. The sound of footsteps behind her were heard with the person singing moving in behind her. Slowly, her eyes fluttered to an open, her lips parting when she felt the warmth of her tears burning at her eyes. By the expression on the faces of the people in front of her, she knew that this wasn’t fake. This was genuinely happening. “I don’t know how you do what you do. I’m so in love with you. It just keeps gettin’ better.”

Unhurriedly looking over her shoulder caused her to release a shuddering breath when her eyes connected with the saddened expression of the big brown eyes behind her, “Joel?”

Standing behind her was Joel Miller. His hair was a mess. He looked exhausted. But he had an acoustic guitar in his hands that he was continuing to strum. This was everything she had wanted for the last day, but how was this happening? Joel being there didn’t make any sense.

A broken sound escaped Joel’s lips when her eyes had connected with his. His plump bottom lip trembled, but he was doing his best to keep it together so he could continue the song for her. Seeing her emotional like that had his feelings only intensifying, “I wanna spend the rest of my life, with you by my side. Forever and ever…”

Turning her body fully on the bench, she gave Joel her full attention. Awe flooded her veins. Singing in general was one of Joel’s biggest fears. And playing in front of people? That was something he had never wanted to do. Yet, here he was doing that very thing. Singing the song she had insisted was extremely romantic the first night they had started to connect and bond with one another.

By his body language she could tell that he was anxious, but she let him continue. Repeatedly in Jackson she had begged for Joel to sing to her and he always denied her. Even when their relationship was perfect. So for her? This was something she didn’t want to miss.

“Every little thing that you do, baby I’m amazed by you…”

It was then in that moment she noticed that the guitar was the one she had given to the older man to return to Joel at the airport. It was the acoustic that he had given her for Christmas and it made a shuddering exhale fall from her lips, “You’re gonna make me sing the whole thing…aren’t you?”

Instead of answering him, she just gave him a nod fighting the urge to smirk with her tears sliding down her face. Grumbling something under his breath, Joel tipped his head to the side and kept playing trying to focus on her and her alone, “The smell of your skin, the taste of your kiss. The way you whisper in the dark. Your hair all around me, baby you surround me. You touch every place in my heart. Oh it feels like the first time, every time. I wanna spend the whole night in your arms…”

By now he drew the attention of the small crowd that was there, making him a little nervous, but he tried to focus solely on her. Knowing that strangers were filming him made him uncomfortable, but she was more important. The way she looked at him, the way he captured her completely while he played the song for her had his heart hammering inside of his chest. Consistently she begged him to sing for her and he denied her every single time. But now? He had nothing to hide from her. He wanted to give her every piece of him and this was his way of showing that.

“I don’t know how you do what you do. I’m so in love with you. It just keeps gettin’ better,” Joel continued, but she could barely contain herself in the moment. Pushing up from the bench that she was on, she stumbled forward. Leaping up, she hooked her arms around Joel’s neck, surprising him in the moment. Adjusting the guitar, Joel held it in one hand and wrapped his other arm around her to pull her closer to him. Burying his nose against the side of her neck, Joel released a whimper having her in his arms. Originally, he thought she wouldn’t want to see him or be near him. Yet, here she was lovingly clinging onto him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, closing her eyes at the contrast of the warmth of his breath lingering over the side of her neck compared to the cool air surrounding them. The world around them felt like it was spinning after everything. “How are you here?”

Leaning back, she pressed her hand in over the side of Joel’s face. It was cold to the touch with her palming down in over the side of his cheek. Sweeping her thumb in over his face, she felt it damp. Joel was emotional in the moment too and it took her breath away.

“I know for a fact you weren’t on that plane,” she reasoned out loud with Joel leaning in further to her touch. Shaking her head had Joel’s chocolate-colored eyes locking with hers. “And I know there weren’t any one-way flights for at least a few days.”

“It’s complicated,” he stammered, his breathing labored as he outstretched his hand to carefully set down the acoustic guitar. Resting it against the bench, Joel instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close to him. How firmly he pulled her to him had him lifting her up from the ground for a moment as he placed a loving kiss in against the side of her face. “No, I wasn’t on that plane, but I tried to be. I got distracted.”

“Distracted?” she repeated with a huff as he lowered her back down to the ground. Bracing her hand in over the center of his chest, she kept that small amount of distance between them. “That still doesn’t explain how you are here.”

“Well, like you said there are no direct flights from Jackson to anywhere in New York. There is Newark, but the plane had already left. So I had to get a connecting flight,” Joel explained to her, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat with him staring down at her. I wanted to be on your plane. Hell, I wanted to get there before your plane took off. But I had to do something important first. And by the time I got to the airport? I was too late. I had to work with someone at the airport to find me a way here and after sixteen plus hours, well…”

Pulling her in closer to him, Joel’s lips captured hers kissing her with all the passion he could muster up inside of his body. Over and over again he kissed her, hearing the cat calls from the people that were there with them and he laughed against her lips, “Here I am.”

It was a little strange that random strangers were drawn to the two of them and their special moment, but he didn’t question it. He knew the people in Jackson were strange too, so really it wasn’t all that unexpected.

“Why didn’t you write me? Or call me?” she breathed against his lips, closing her eyes tightly as he nuzzled his nose in against hers. This all felt like before. Joel’s eagerness to hold her and be near her was just like it was before everything fell apart.

“I was on a plane too. Well, two planes…one after the other,” he responded, stroking his fingers at the back of her neck. An array of emotions were flooding through him with her holding onto him instead of having her angry with him. There was the fear that he fucked up for good. Especially with all the awful things that he had said to her in order to make her leave. “I reckon it’s not a good excuse, but I told you I was focused on something else before heading to the airport. Something kinda important. It just took longer than I expected it to.”

There were so many questions, so many things she wanted to say, but having Joel here in her arms? That’s the only thing she longed for and she knew that, “When I got to the airport, I ended up also getting a very long lecture from a taxi driver. He gave me the guitar and laid into me about being late.”

“I don’t know how I made friends with that man, but I did…” she sighed, a small smile cracking over her lips at the idea of the old man lecturing Joel about everything. “I don’t even know his name, but he’s the one that drove me from the airport to Jackson the first night I was in town. I asked him to return the guitar to you because I didn’t think I deserved it after everything.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have done what I did. You deserved that guitar. You deserve the whole world,” Joel’s southern drawl grew deeper. He could have released her. Hell, he probably should have, but he just didn’t want to. His arms remained wrapped around her, keeping her close to him while he spoke. “You were a hundred percent right about me. I push people away because I’m scared. I think I’m protecting myself, but…losing you? That ain’t protecting myself. Just after you got hit…I got so scared that you would end up like everyone else. That I would end up…”

Pretty quickly his words were silence by the sensation of her curling her fingers around the back of his neck to bring him in to a passionate sweep of her lips over his. Taking the time to cherish the moment, Joel’s hand settled at the small of her back while the other cupped her face tenderly. Breathlessly, he pulled away from the kiss and nuzzled his nose in against hers.

“I called you when I landed, but you didn’t answer,” Joel alerted her causing her heart to skip a beat. Putting that phone on the coffee table and not looking at it apparently wasn’t a good idea after all. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me. I thought I fucked up for good. I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you followed me here?” she tried to fill in the details, but Joel shook his head and huffed loudly. “How did you know I was here then?”

“I took a hopeful guess,” he answered, brushing his fingers through her hair. Sweeping his thumb along her jawline, he swallowed down hard and shrugged his shoulders. “I listened to you when you talked. I remembered you telling us that you came here when your thoughts were weighing heavy on you. I was hoping that you still loved me and that you would come here to try to think things out.”

“You’ve been here?” she confirmed drawing out a long exhale from Joel as he nodded. “How long have you been here?”

“Longer than I care to admit,” he winced knowing that he had been lounging around hoping that she would come. It was a long shot, but he was just hoping that she was feeling what he was. “I got a ride here from the airport and I’ve been here ever since. Walking around. The only time I left was to get a coffee, but I rushed. I didn’t want to miss you. I was praying you would come.”

A silence filled the air between them. Swallowing down hard, Y/N now noticed in that moment that people were watching them together. Trying her best to block out the world, she shook her head and felt a lump growing in her throat when Joel started to speak up again, “My heart was shattered at the idea of losin’ you Y/N. When you dropped that box, the mug shattered and it broke something in me. I had a meltdown. For hours. I thought I was doin’ right by you, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly because of all the emotions of everything.”

A weak smile tugged at her features with her brushing her fingers through the small curls of Joel’s graying hair. Closing his eyes, Joel leaned into her touch and it had a warmth flooding throughout her veins, “But why come here Joel? Why not just come to my house? I didn’t have my phone on me…”

“Uh…” he began, color flooding into his face when he shifted before her nervously. “I didn’t know where you lived.”

“Joel,” she shouldn’t have laughed, but she did. Tipping her head down, she rested her forehead against the center of his chest hearing the nervous sound he made. “You could have just called Tommy. You guys had all of my information at the inn. I had to give you my ID.”

“Oh…” realization suddenly struck Joel, with his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. Releasing an overwhelmed sound made her smile when she lifted her head again. Brushing her fingers in against the side of his face had him leaning into her touch but she could tell that he was embarrassed. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

“It’s okay,” she hushed him, amused that he came here instead of finding out where she lived. “This is so much more romantic really.”

“Good, I’m glad you see it that way,” his eyebrows bounced up with him nodding repeatedly. “Cus’ it was a little rough. I’m cold. Which I didn’t think I’d get cold since I’m used to Jackson. And earlier I think a few people thought I was homeless because they put some money into my empty coffee cup. I was trying to warm up, so I sat for a few and maybe it was the guitar…?”

“Is that all you have with you?” she looked beyond Joel toward the guitar and he slowly nodded. “Honey…”

“I rushed to the airport, I told you…” Joel tipped his head from side to side, his jaw flexing as he spoke. “I wanted to get there to meet you. I was just late. And I acted out emotionally. So I had the guitar and whatever I had on me at the time. I’m just lucky you showed up here.”

Smirking, she tipped up on her toes and peppered a few more loving kisses at his bottom lip. Stroking her fingers through the thick tresses of Joel’s hair, she felt him breaking away from the kiss and he seemed anxious, “You still love me, right? After everything I did, after everything I said…”

“You sang for me,” she interrupted him, stealing a quick look back at the guitar that he had set aside. Giving her a single nod, Joel released a tremoring sound not knowing if that was her answer or not.

“I did,” his southern drawl rumbled, his lips hovering in over hers when she smiled. “As much as it scared the shit outta me. I did it because I love you. I love you so fucking much. And I was a fool to insinuate otherwise. I just got so caught up in my fears that I did the worst thing that I could imagine doin’. And that was hurt you.”

Leaning back for a moment, Joel pushed open the thick winter jacket that he was wearing to reveal the plaid shirt she had gotten him for Christmas. Pushing at the top slightly showed that he had the t-shirt on underneath and he motioned her to wait when he dug into his pocket to pull out the pocket watch. It had her reaching for the watch with her thumb dragging over the top of it, “I need you in my life Y/N. I know I’m hard to put up with. I know I’m broken. But I also know that I love you. I love you so much and my heart was like that mug that shattered at the thought of losin’ you. I can’t picture not having you in my life.”

“I can get you another mug Joel,” she stated with a shake of her head having Joel’s bottom lip tremoring at the thought. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is,” he refused to accept that answer, carefully putting the pocket watch away so it was safe. “You mean everything to me. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you in pain. I love you so much and I hope…I pray you feel the same way about me.”

“I…” she paused knowing that she one hundred percent loved Joel with everything that she was, but she was curious. Hearing him saying all of this had her swooning at the idea of him chasing her down, especially like this. “Before I say anything more, what was it that had you late to the airport? You had hours to get there.”

“It took a while for me to get my head out of my ass,” he announced to her, slowly releasing her which surprised her. Especially since it seemed like he didn’t want to let go of her previously.

“Joel?” she muttered his name noticing that he went pale. It looked like he was playing something out in his head before her and she was confused.

Reaching for her hand, Joel gave it a tight squeeze. A moment later he was lowering down to his knee before her. Shock flooded her veins with a tiny gasp escaping her throat with Joel trying to get comfortable.

“You see, both Tommy and Ellie came to talk to me about things afterwards. Tried to convince me to go after you. They both knew I was head over heels in love with you. That you made me the man I wanted to be. The man I didn’t think I was capable of being. Happy. Good. Loved,” Joel listed things off, his eyes finally lifting to hers with his fingers curling tighter around hers. “I wanted to keep you safe, but the safest place you are is in my arms, with me. I know I’ve had bad luck and I‘ve done a lot of rotten things, but one thing I know for certain? You’re the best thing to happen to me in a very long time. I don’t want to force you out of my life. I want to protect you. And I want you to protect me. Cus’ apparently you’re a whole lot stronger than I thought you were. Breakin’ people’s noses and ribs.”

A nervous laugh escaped her throat knowing that he was referring to Seth, “Which I guess leads me to all of this…”

Joel’s thumb caressed at the back of her hand with him swallowing down hard. Digging his hand into his jacket pocket, Joel pulled out a small velvet box that had her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. Licking his lips, Joel took a moment before sliding in closer to her on his knee, “I can’t live without you Y/N. I can’t imagine living a life without you now that I’ve had you in it. And I want to spend my life fighting for you…”

Pausing, Joel used his thumb to push open the top of the box and it made her release a trembling sound, “Like the song says, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you by my side. Forever and ever…”

Lifting up the box allowed her to finally see the ring that was inside and it immediately made the tears return. God, he was getting emotional in the moment too, “I’ve never been good with words. I’m no romantic. But you make me feel things that I’ve never felt before. I wanna make you happy. I love you. So much. You are my missing puzzle piece and I’m willing to do anything to make you happy. Even if it’s moving out here to New York City to be with you. If that’s what you really want, I’ll do it. Because I want you happy. You mean everything to me. And I reckon it’d make me a very lucky man if you were willing to be my wife.”

Biting down on his bottom lip, Joel noticed just how emotional she was getting and it had his heart racing, “So…what d’ya say? Will you marry me?”

At first there was no answer, just tears. It took a minute of silence, but when she nodded her head, Joel shot up from the ground and wrapped her up in his arms, “Yes, yes I’ll marry you.”

Spinning her had her clinging to him tightly with her head burying against the side of his neck. Her laughter filled the air with him peppering kisses against her face. Soon he reached her lips and he kissed her repeatedly until breaking away breathlessly to shakily reach for the ring.

“This is what had you caught up?” she confirmed with him as he gave her a nod and struggled to keep his hands steady. Finally he was able to line up the ring and place it up over her finger where it was meant to be.

“I was late because I wanted to find you the perfect ring. I know it’s not the most expensive ring and you probably deserve something more shiny, but I wanted to connect to a ring the way I connected with you. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been special. This one? It hit me. The same way fallin’ for you did,” Joel explained, his thumb tracing in over the diamond that was in the ring. “I wanted you to have something beautiful. Nothing felt right until this one.”

Obviously, he was anxious about the whole thing because it meant a lot to him. But the sight of him brought a joy to her heart.

“You promise you won’t push me away again?” she confirmed with him getting an immediate nod from Joel. “Swear to me.”

“I swear,” Joel repeated, his jaw flexing and a rush of emotions flooding into his dark eyes. “I know I will be a pain in the ass, but my love for you is worth facing the fears of life. I’ll spend my life fighting for you because I want to be with you for the rest of my life Y/N. Giving you everything I promised you and more. I’ll never push you away again. I promise. I know I’m hard to love, but being with you? That’s the only place that feels like home to me.”

“I love you Joel,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through his hair urging him to step in closer to her again.

“And I love you,” he repeated, nuzzling his nose in against hers. Once again, everything felt like a dream. The perfect moment that was enhanced by being with Joel. Even though he didn’t give himself enough credit, Joel was incredibly romantic. While they had been through what they had, she knew that her heart belonged to Joel Miller. There was no changing that. And what he did today? It was beautiful. It was romantic. It was perfect. It was everything she could have dreamt of and more. “Being with you is where I belong. Wherever in the world you are, is where I wanna be.”

“I love you,” she expressed, peppering kisses over his lips again and again causing him to hum out with the sensation. Cupping his face lovingly in her hands, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “Now what?”

“I have no idea,” Joel chuckled, hooking his arms firmly around her waist just happy to be enjoying the moment they were sharing. “I’d just like to hold you in my arms here a little while longer. I just want to make this moment special for you. Because you deserve everything.”

“It is special Joel,” she assured him with a happy smile, knowing that for the first time in her life since she was a child, she felt what it was really like to be happy. To feel special and not alone. “Nothing makes me happier than you. Nothing.”

“And I hope I’m able to make each day happier for you because that’s all I wanna spend my time doing,” he promised her, pressing a tender kiss over her lips. Drawing her to look up at him, he gave her a firm nod and a weak smile. Lowering his head against the side of her neck, he buried it there and loved the way that she stroked her fingers at the back of his head.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she breathed out causing him to smile knowing that it was one of the first things he said to her when they first met.

“Kind of, yeah,” he repeated what he remembered her saying, placing a delicate kiss over the side of her neck. “I don’t care though. Because I’m the luckiest man in the world right now and the only thing that matters to me…the only thing I care about…is you.”

----

Tags: @pedrospascaled @carolineesnell @ayumi-wolf @dilfsandmartinis @christinamadsen

@brittmb115 @thegirlwiththemostcake3 @ashleyfilm

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller fanfiction #The Last of Us #Pedro Pascal #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller Imagine #Pedro Pascal Character Fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #Christmas in Jackson

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shegatsby · 2 months ago

Text

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N: Long time no see my little doves. I am back. I had some mental issues, my man did me dirty (it was a situationship) and it broke me down but I am fine now. I am the type of ex that you can't reach me once you did me dirty and he keeps trying to reach me but I am not responding. Know your worth besties. This one is short because I wanted to post it immediately. Enjoy!

Warnings: Being kidnapped.

Words: 934

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Chapter Eleven

The travel was smooth, she sat on the empty room, did her meditations, calculated the outcomes etc. After what seemed like a day the ship arrived on the planet of Arrakis, how she longed to see Feyd… however the ship as coming closer to the palace was hijacked by what she assumed Fremen soldiers. With a heavy thud it landed on the desert. She bolted to her feet, getting ready to fight, she could hear conversations in different language outside the ship, two men and women were speaking, they sounded content, another mission done. Soon the hatch was opened by them and Y/N was seen in the empty space, the Fremen were alerted and raised their weapons, Y/N charged one of them and took him down, however the woman of the group got a hold of her by her scarf and dragged her down, her face was revealed. ‘’Let go of-‘’ she was about to use the voice but the woman covered her mouth quickly, her blue eyes due to spice consumption grew larger when she realized that Y/N could use the voice. ‘’Sayyadina.’’ she called her, and then turned to her comrades, they repeated the same thing, ‘’Sayyadina..’’

Y/N didn’t understand the word and its meaning but she calculated that she might survive this, ‘’You are coming with us.’’ The woman said looking into her eyes and hit Y/N’s head, she blacked out.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen woke up in his empty bed, the temperature inside the palace was to his liking, his window covers were opened and let the Arrakis’s morning sun in. He slowly sat on his bed, his bare feet touching the cool surface, he sighed, he had a lot of duties to do today, per usual. As he got to his feet his door was knocked, he immediately deduced that something was off by the person’s knock but he pressed the button on his night table to let the person in. It was his most trusted advisor, ‘’Morning Na-Baron.’’ He greeted and bowed but there was haste in his voice, ‘’What is it now?’’ Feyd said annoyed as he walked to the table near the large window to get a glass of water, the man waited for him to drink his water first to deliver the news.

‘’Lady Na-Baroness,’’ he began and immediately caught his attention, ‘’What happened to my wife?!’’ his voice was stern, the hand he was holding the glass got tighter, ‘’We have news from Giedi Prime, our Na-Baroness.. has escaped the planet… by a cargo ship.’’

Feyd stood there, he knew the purpose of the cargo ships, she was coming here… ‘’Search every cargo ship that has landed on Arrakis.’’ He found himself getting hopeful, she did something he couldn’t do, she brought herself here.

‘’Na-Baron, we have searched…’’ he began, the advisor tried to keep his calm, ‘’And?’’ Feyd asked, feeling something that was out of place.

‘’She wasn’t in the ships, we believe she was kidnapped. One of the ships didn’t return, we cannot reach the pilot and workers inside.’’

Feyd, with primal rage threw the glass to the near windows, it shattered to the ground, their cargo ships usually get stolen or destroyed by the Fremen. She must have been taken by them or… he didn’t want to think further.

‘’How could you let this happen?!’’ he yelled at the advisor, ‘’Our men are searching the entire desert to find the ship.’’ The advisor began, ‘’Gather the council. Immediately.’’ He said and watched the advisor basically run out of the room.

Feyd, in hurry, got ready and marched to the briefing chambers of the palace. On his way no one dared to look at his direction for they heard the news and he was a ticking bomb. The wooden doors were opened for him and he walked in. He had his advisors, commanders in the room, all stood up from the circler table that had the map and coordinates, they bowed their bald heads to greet him.

‘’Where is my wife?!’’ he roared, his voice echoed in the room, one of the braves spoke, ‘’We have located the empty cargo ship, there was a sign of struggle,’’ the man projected the pictures that were taken, ‘’the Captain of the ship and crew were found dead.’’ Everyone could see the dead, Feyd could feel his blood boiling with anger and there was something he couldn’t place, his heart ached with a heavy feeling, he didn’t bring himself to ask if she was dead or not, he didn’t even want to think of that possibility.

‘’Any traces of my wife?’’ he asked with a raspy baritone, the man who explained the situation was much older than him, clearly he was trying to control things but Feyd was like a double edged sword. ‘’We have found a headscarf,’’ he moved his head to one of his team members to bring the material, it was given to Feyd and he smelled the headscarf, when Y/N’s pheromones it his nostrils he closed his eyes with relief, ‘’It’s hers.’’ He replied shortly. The old man was relieved, ‘’Na-Baroness must have left it there on purpose.’’ The old man added, Feyd could see that his men were somewhat hopeful, was it because they were afraid of their Na-Baron or their Na-Baroness gained their affection due to her kindness. He didn’t dwell on it, ‘’I will lead the search team.’’ Feyd said, ‘’And I will join you. Postpone all of the duties until my wife has been found.’’ And he left the room, the headscarf in his palm, his knuckles turning pale.

Thank you for reading. :)

Tag list: @superchatnoir07 @mamawiggers1980 @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk @crystalskiesandcherrywine @palomavz @beebeechaos @jeong-uwu @tian-monique @avidreader73 @aleemendoza2425-blog @taleah @oneandonlybbygrl @flower-frog @or-was-it-just-a-dream @howibecameabadassbitch @monstresshorn @keanuispunk @lunerose0 @purplepeach333 @torossosebs @austinbutlerslovers @athanasialove @darlingisntit @aoi-targaryen @alexa4040 @wo-ming-bai @rosegardenpatsu @affabletimelady @mydearbabydoll @lothiriel9 @sabrinaselina55

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #feyd smut #feyd rauth harkonnen #feyd #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #dune fanfiction #dune part 2 #dune part two #dune movie #austin butler x reader #austin butler fandom #austin butler #slow burn #romance fanfic

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jimilter · 4 months ago

Text

on the borderline — 05 | pjm. (m)

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | drama | friends to lovers!au

word count: 7.6 k

— warnings: swearing + repeated mention & description of sex (some gets detailed and explicit, hence the rating!) + mention of a past toxic relationship + perhaps a present toxic relationship? + the worst kind of emotional constipation + misunderstandings + lies and pretense +one-sided feelings + reader is a bigger mess + jimin is a mess too :/

— note: HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025, PEOPLE! <3 it was excruciating getting back into this one but it was also kinda therapeutic bec real life has been whooping my ass :( i have begun writing the sixth part too bec i truly forreal wish to complete this series without taking another year helP!

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

main masterlist | taglist | feedback?

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𝐕 ⇢ 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 ♪ between heaven and disaster

07:03 AM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 hey sorry i missed all your calls and texts :( i figured u would ask abt seokjin and the date and i kinda didn’t wanna talk abt it not necessarily in a bad way just a “let me figure it out first” way which still doesn’t excuse ghosting u so i AM rly sorry :( how was your flight? and the dinner meeting?

07:16 AM ↳ SHE LIVES!!!!!! ↳ Good morning Grumpkincess <3 ↳ All that you said about your date has just made 1000x curious now yk ↳ Oh, and I had a horrible flight ↳ My partner drooled on my $70 shirt 😭 ↳ Barely had time to change it before our meeting at 4 UGH

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 good morning WHAT now ? that better not be a new pet name park jimin

↳ Yes it is, Grumpkincess ↳ A grumpy pumpkin princess ↳ Adorable right?

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ykw your cringe ass deserved getting your shirt ruined karma 🖕

↳ Ihy 🖕 ↳ Ok enough of this can we pls talk???

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ??? are we not talking?

Jimin rears back from his phone almost violently. Did you, of all people, really just imply that texting is equivalent to talking? He is pretty sure that of the entire time that the two of you have lived in separate towns, you have spent more than half of it on video calls with each other.

That is talking for the two of you.

Or at least it used to be, before he got onto this flight which has apparently landed him in some parallel universe.

He immediately sits up in bed and calls you.

And you immediately disconnect the call.

What?

His jaw is still dropped when his phone vibrates in his palm again, indicating an incoming voice call from you. Scowling, Jimin nearly whines a what the fuck into the phone.

“I look like dogshit, dude, please,” you groan from your end.

“Seriously? You’re telling me you won’t show me your face because you look bad?” Rolling his eyes, Jimin reclines on his bed, a little assured at hearing your voice but also a little confused by your words. “Dude. I’ve seen you with puke all over your clothes, I’ve seen you with cum on your face, I’ve seen you with a black eye, I’ve seen you with—”

“Okay, I get it!” you interrupt with another groan. “I feel like dogshit, then. Is that better?”

Now he is concerned. “No. Obviously. How can that be better? Babe, what’s going on? You’re being…”

“Weird? Bitchy? Whiny? Annoying?”

“No, just…” He bites his bottom lip. “A little unlike yourself.”

“Wow, that's worse.” You give a small sigh. “I’ll be fine, I just need to recalibrate my head. Don't worry.”

How can he not worry when you sound this tired and timid? Jimin almost wants to ask if Seokjin has something to do with it. But then his brain starts to conjure up images featuring exactly how that man could have tired you out and that leaves a bad taste in his mouth, followed by a series of negative emotions that make his heart race and his head hurt.

He went through this same series of emotions last evening, too, when you didn’t respond to his messages. He doesn’t want to give himself enough time to analyze any part of it, though, because he isn’t ready to face what he might uncover.

“How can I help?” he ends up asking, because putting his mind to literally anything else would be better than self-introspection right now.

You don’t respond immediately and everything is so quiet that Jimin can hear your breathing on the other side. Then you hum. “Honestly? Just give me a little time, Min. I’ll be fine.”

“Time? As in…time away from this conversation?”

“Yes, dork. Some time by myself, with my thoughts.” You chuckle as you say the words but Jimin doesn’t find them funny.

He swallows the tight discomfort in the back of his throat and scoffs in response, though. “Well, okay then. Your funeral. And here I was thinking I will tell you about this weirdly snobbish butler-assistant guy the clients brought with them to the meeting last night.”

“Wait, butler-assistant?” You exclaim with a curious scoff, and Jimin smiles at the spark of the familiar humour that tinges your voice. “What the fuck is that?”

“Escapes me! They had this Alfred lookalike guy driving their limo, who joined in when they sat at the table with us, and—get this—dude kept interrupting me to tell his boss the time every fifteen minutes! What fucking clownery!” Jimin pauses to inhale, slightly disappointed when he hears you give a distant chuckle. You’re not invested. Your head’s somewhere else. He doesn’t want to share his story anymore. “I might sock him in the face if pulls that shit again, today.”

You give a hum in response, which sounds decidedly half-hearted. “I’m sure your intimidating scowls would’ve scared him away already, Min. He probably won’t join your meeting today.”

Jimin’s mouth slowly parts at the unfamiliarity of your remark. You never miss any opportunity to roast him about being a pacifist. How did you allow his claim of throwing a punch to go by so easily?

And intimidating scowls? What happened to calling them ‘little bitch stare-downs’?

First you refuse to show him your face, sticking to this annoying voice call that’s overheating his phone because he doesn't have his airpods with him right now, and then you’re talking in a language that is so unlike you.

The discomfort in the back of his throat swells into a strange feeling that reaches the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, I hope so… Sure.” His words come out low, hoarse and confused. So he clears his throat and puts a grin on his face. “Anyways! You sound like you need a fat nap to function like yourself again – I'll allow you to have that.”

“Mm-hm, I agree.” It could be his imagination, but you sound almost relieved. “I’ll call you soon, okay? Say hi to Tara for me.”

Jimin grunts and disconnects the call, immediately tossing his phone away as if it has personally offended him. Well maybe not the device, but the caller certainly has.

Just then, the door to the suite’s balcony opens and shuts, footsteps making their way to the other twin bed opposite the one he's lying on. He's almost counting down the seconds before a comment is made, and he doesn't have to wait long, when:

“Trouble in paradise?” comes Min Yoongi's taunting lilt.

Exhaling in ire, Jimin rolls his eyes. “For the last time: there’s no paradise to trouble, Yoongi.”

“You know what I mean, dude. You look worried. And frustrated. It's got to be about…her.”

Jimin winces at the emphasis on the pronoun. “She's not Voldemort, dude, you can say her name. What the fuck?”

“Ah, is that so? Then how about… the love of your life?”

“Yoongi! Stop with that already, man. It's not like that between us, we’re just friends who lean on each other for support,” Jimin speaks on autopilot, having perfected the words he has been repeating ever since his colleagues got to know about your existence in his life. “It’s a strange dynamic but it works out well for—”

“Oh, shut up, King of Delusions. About time you stop fooling yourself and me with that bullcrap.” Now it's Yoongi's turn to scoff at Jimin. “Your feelings for her are becoming more and more obvious with time. And if I can see them with such clarity, I bet that you can as well. Which only means that you’re knowingly turning a blind eye. And it is pissing me off.”

So, yeah, this isn't the first time Jimin's hearing this lecture from his friend.

It’s always the same story whenever any mention of you happens in Min Yoongi’s vicinity. Jimin should, ideally, be immune to the non-stop badgering, but the older guy somehow always manages to bring in fresh points to the table, so Jimin is forced to react with even louder groans, each time.

“When the hell are you going to admit you’re in love with her?”

“I’m literally not,” Jimin’s complaint comes out as a whine, and he mentally counts down the seconds till Yoongi will bring up the fact that he was stopped from pursuing you by Jimin. He wonders if the actual reason why Yoongi does this is because the guy still has a crush on you and feels resentful towards Jimin for not letting him ask you out. “Please stop.”

“You’re not in love? Sure, buddy. You forbade me from pursuing her like some alpha male protective of his mate… doesn't get more soulmate-y than that!” Yoongi rolls his eyes with a grimace. “When the fuck are you going to face yourself?”

“This again? Seriously? I've told you countless times that I did that because she was uncomfortable with your affections,” he reminds Yoongi for what feels like the hundredth time. “I was being a good friend.”

“Right, and she still doesn't know anything about it, does she? She still thinks I stopped pursuing her because I lost interest. Why haven't you told her you had a talk with me?”

Jimin closes his eyes and drags both his palms down his face because Yoongi is absolutely correct. “I… Because it doesn't concern her.”

Yoongi is silent for a while. When Jimin peeks past his fingers to see if the guy may have fallen asleep, he finds Yoongi gaping at him. “Are you even listening to yourself? You stopped me from pursuing her because she's uncomfortable, but telling her about it doesn't concern her? Make it make sense, Park!” He scoffs. “Does she even know we're friends? Does she know you're on this trip with me?”

Jimin remains silent, slowly turning his head to the other direction. “Not really. Told her I'm accompanied by Tara,” he mumbles, only for Yoongi to give a dramatic gasp.

“What? She doesn't know we're friends? Why the fuck would you lie to her about me? Are you ashamed of me, you asshole? And Tara, of all people? What the fuck is wrong with your head?”

Jimin almost laughs at Yoongi’s horrified expressions, but then stops himself because he half suspects the guy might toss him off the balcony if irritated enough, and they’re on the twentieth floor. “It's just… It never came up, I guess? I… don't really talk to her about work much…” His excuse is so weak it makes him physically cringe.

“You were literally just crying to her about our client's butler…”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jimin sits up, sliding back to rest his head against the headboard, and looks up at the ceiling. “I don't know why I couldn't tell her. But it's not because I'm in love with her, okay? That doesn't even make sense because I still tease her about you for fun. And I also didn't stop you from pursuing her because I wanna be with her, or anything. I don't have those kinds of feelings for her. Promise.”

“Okay. What kind of feelings do you have for her then?”

Jimin opens his mouth to reiterate that you're just friends, briefly shutting his eyes in exasperation—and then freezes.

An entire cinematic reel of images sets in motion behind his closed eyelids, all featuring your eyes, your skin, your warmth — and his intimacy with them. The darkened haze of your gaze when he pulled away from kissing you. The softness of the skin of your shoulder when he dug his teeth into it; the taste of your skin. Of you. He can nearly smell the scent of your hair in his lungs and can hear the short, hitched breaths you puffed out next to his ears.

His heart rate kicks up and sweat dots his forehead within the seconds it takes for him to open his eyes again.

It is as if he got dunked into scalding hot water, stifling him and overwhelming all his senses all at once. He feels warm all over. His chest feels heavier than before.

Shit.

This isn't the kind of behavior someone’s ‘just friend’ would exhibit. These aren’t the kind of thoughts he has ever had about you, before.

Shit.

“Well?” Yoongi is looking at him expectantly with zero judgement in his gaze. “What kind of feelings, Jimin?”

He and Yoongi share a sort of bond where they serve as each other’s sounding boards about decisions that they take at work, with their team. That is not to say that they aren’t good friends and only talk about work. But it’s just that these conversations have never really included much honesty from Jimin’s end whenever the topic hovered over you.

Jimin can feel that he is about to change that now, though.

He breathes in and honestly confesses to Yoongi what he hasn't even said to himself out loud, yet: “They’re… confusing.”

Yoongi nearly jumps off his bed and lands on one corner of Jimin's, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. “Confusing? Not strictly platonic the way they used to be? Dude…” He shakes his head in awe. “This is new. What's changed?”

Jimin fiddles with his thumbs, lips pursed together as he finds himself caught in a very uncharacteristic fit of nervousness. “So there's this… this thing that happened before I left for this trip… And it changed some things, I guess?”

Yoongi blinks at him, expressions dropped to a deadpan. “You slept with her, didn't you?”

“Wha—how the hell—”

“I’m older than you, I've seen more in this world than you have, so hush with the theatrics. Tell me what happened after that.”

Well. Where does he begin? “She… went on a date with a guy, so—”

“A date? Right after the day you had sex with her?”

Jimin clicks his tongue and shoves Yoongi's shoulder. “Yes and it's not a big deal, okay? We decided that we are going to move ahead and remain the kind of best friends we've always been. And she'd made plans for that date before we slept together, so it's all completely fine.”

Yoongi is squinting at him by the time Jimin stops speaking. “Hm. Is it, really? All completely fine?”

“Yes, it is! I just said it was!”

“O—kay? So what's the problem, then? You decided you both would move ahead and you did – what's the catch? You don't like that she's being normal?”

“No, that's not it. She… wasn't exactly normal, either. She sounded…” Jimin gulps the nerves that block his throat as the prospect of losing your friendship swims up in his vision. “She sounded off. Different. Distant.”

“Oh, boy… Are you scared that she hit it off really well with her date and moved away from you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “That's impossible.”

Yoongi gives a smirk which unnerves Jimin in all the bad ways. “Is it? Because if it isn't the possibility of her growing distant from you and closer to someone else that's been troubling you, your issues are way deeper and definitely scarier. Good luck, pal.”

Throughout the entire day full of meetings that Jimin goes through, Yoongi's words keep circling in his head. Did it really bother him that you went on a date? He swore up and down that you guys will remain normal and that night will remain just a memory. So obviously it was correct of you to go on that date you’d planned in advance!

Why the hell is he acting up when you're doing exactly what you both planned you'd do?

Jimin chooses to have lunch by himself, in one corner of the cafeteria, leaving Yoongi to mingle with the clients, and mulls over his situation and state of mind.

Maybe he is bothered by your date. And maybe he is so bothered because it was too soon.

Because he can't get the images of that night out of his head the way he thought he'd easily be able to.

When he tried to nap on the flight, he saw you riding his dick. When he got into the shower, he saw your teary face after he'd eaten you out good. He had to touch himself to take the edge off, praying that Yoongi wouldn't hear him, and that literally helped with nothing.

Does he actually… want you?

The last time this happened was around six years ago.

Jimin sips at his almond milk as memories of a time he’d thought was distant and forgotten cascade through his brain.

The two of you were juniors in college. He'd recently gotten out of this toxic relationship that had sucked all the joy out of his life and was spending his days sleeping in and skipping classes, and his nights drinking with friends. It was 2 am when he saw an Instagram post of you posing sweetly for the camera and all he could think of was how badly he missed you. How he hated the fact that you went to different colleges because he wanted to see you so bad.

He'd left a series of drunk texts in your DMs, of all places, telling you that you were the best girl he'd ever met and that you were perfect in every way and how happy you would make someone by being theirs. You'd replied the next morning, thanking him for being a sweetheart and then told him that you’d found the lucky one – because axolotl had finally asked you out on a date.

Jimin would never admit it to anyone, but he’d been really upset and extremely jealous of that stupid asshole. It had gotten to the point where he over-inserted himself into your relationship to let fucking axolotl know that he’d come first in your life. That is not to say that the dude wasn’t toxic enough by himself. But when Jimin saw the way his actions were causing you hurt too, he decided to retreat.

That was when he swore he would step back and be the best bff to you at every step in life.

And he’s been on that road pretty religiously!

All the flirting he gets up to with you is totally harmless and only for fun because he enjoys making you blush. Which is probably why he tried to categorize that night under this ‘harmless fun’, too. But it’s clearly not working.

He’s restless. He needs to return home and see you in person.

He needs to ensure that he can still be your friend despite all these thoughts plaguing his brain.

What the hell is going to do if he doesn’t arrive upon the desired answer, however? He hasn’t the slightest clue.

Jimin spends the rest of the day waiting for your call – which never comes.

He texts you when he’s done packing his bags after his last meeting, but you don't respond.

The heavy feeling in his stomach grows heavier and heavier – until it becomes so suffocating that he has to come out to the balcony and breathe in some fresh air.

Except – smoke fills his lungs upon the first inhale, and he wrinkles his nose at Yoongi’s cigarette.

“What? Can't a guy enjoy a smoke in peace? We have to be at the airport in an hour.”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me. Please relish every bit of your death stick, by all means.”

Yoongi snorts at his words, and snuffs the remainder of the cigarette out with a roll of his eyes. “Your panties are in a twist again. What's happened now?”

“I'm fine.”

“Sure. And everything's okay between you and she who shall not be named?”

For a moment, Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, watching the way the remnant smoke swirls away from the balcony and disappears into the late afternoon sky. Then he sighs. “I don’t know. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts and she didn’t call me. She’d said she would. I feel too fucking tense, it’s like my neurons are collapsing in on themselves.”

“Oh, man… If only you were a smoker, I would have procured you some of the best weed in the market. Would have taken the edge off with a handful of puffs.”

Jimin scowls at the guy. “Thank you for your consideration. Think I’ll just hit myself over the head with a saucepan and call it a day.”

“Stop stressing out so much, you moron. We’ll be back there in four hours. Take a cab straight to her place and talk everything out. Distance is a bitch that creates miscommunication. It’s just a matter of hours.”

Jimin nods to himself.

Just a matter of hours.

He can’t do it.

Jimin parted ways with Yoongi the moment he grabbed his luggage at the airport, and made a beeline for the cab he booked to take him to your place. He booked the ride in advance, even before he shot you a text informing his arrival back in town.

But just as his butt touches the leather seats – he realises that he can’t ambush you at your place.

So he regretfully gives the driver his own address and agrees to pay the extra amount that this re-routing would cost.

He shuts his eyes and lets out a deep, guttural exhale of frustration. Just a few hours ago, he couldn't wait to get to you fast enough.

And now, when he is at such a short distance away from actually being able to approach you and have a face to face conversation, his nerves have shackled him down and he cannot get himself to do it.

Some part of him believes that he needs to have a proper talk with himself about what the hell has happened with the dynamics the two of you share before he can prepare himself to have one with you. But some part of him believes that to be just a cop out. Which isn’t a complete lie, because at the end of the day, he is deathly afraid of losing you.

He needs to destress his mind.

But you’re the person he turns to when he needs to destress his mind.

Maybe… he can call you? That won’t be as risky and potentially devastating as paying you a visit, right?

Right. It can’t be. And he’s gotta talk to you because he misses you like crazy.

When his cab finally slows down before his apartment, his anxiety has reached a high that is making his forehead sweat despite the car's AC. Hopping out of the vehicle, he pays the driver and quickly gets into his apartment.

“It’s all gonna be fine, Park,” he mumbles to himself in a lame attempt at a pep talk while he changes out of his clothes and hops into the bathroom for a quick but hot shower. “She's your best friend in the world. You won't lose her. To anything.” He thickly swallows. “Or anyone.”

Donning some sweatpants and a t-shirt, he walks into his living room with his hair still wet and opens up a window to let some fresh air in. The sun has just sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind some remnant daylight and a beautiful orange hue. Inhaling the crisp evening October air, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

07:42 PM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 woohooo! welcome back to the town, dork <3

He smiles at the text and calls your number.

You pick up the call within seconds of its ringing, filling his phone screen with your entire form that is seated in your bedroom’s bay window.

Jimin’s words sort of get stuck in his throat at the sight of your gorgeous self dressed down in grey lounge pants and a pastel yellow hoodie.

Wait, gorgeous? You look exactly the way you have always looked.

And… you have always looked gorgeous, haven’t you?

Jimin can feel his palms beginning to sweat. No, Yoongi was wrong. He wasn’t ready to face you. He isn’t ready to confront all that has changed in his perception of you, when you are exactly the same person that you have always been.

Your hair is wet, as if you just exited the shower too. And the way your hoodie drowns your entire body seems like the most adorable thing in the world to him. Your cheeks have a darker tint to them, too – caused by warm water, excitement about talking to him, or something else entirely? He hasn’t a clue. It just makes you look prettier and his heart beat louder.

Jimin is suddenly overcome with the urge to run all the way to your place and envelop you in a hug.

And you both never hug—both certifiably allergic to physical affection.

Fuck, he wishes he was there so that he could cup your pretty face in his palms and cover your kissable lips with his own. His fingers twitch with the urge.

Fuck.

“Welcome back, dork!” you announce, spreading your lips in a joyous grin. “Are you sleeping with your eyes open wide?”

Broken out of his crisis-inducing trance, Jimin forces a chuckle out of his throat, “I—I was gonna sing-song ‘honey, I'm home’ to you, but you picked up the call t—too fast.”

Fuck, did he just fucking stutter? You don’t seem to have noticed, thankfully, because you simply laugh some more. Your eyes are big and bright and brimming with affection, even if you've pursed your lips in a faux display of anger.

He feels like he missed looking into their depths. Has it really been just two days since he last saw you?

Wait, not even fully that – he left your place yesterday morning.

And now he’s on a freaking video call with you, clutching onto his phone like it’s his lifeline, nearly panting for your attention and affection as if he’s been starved for it.

Shit, shit, shit, he is supremely screwed.

“Honey’s glad you’re home, too, I guess?”

Your response is ten-on-ten on-brand with the sort of banter the two of you engage in. It makes him believe that everything is actually good. That it’s all gonna be alright.

Jimin smiles and hopes to God he doesn’t look as stupidly lovesick as he feels in the moment. A lost puppy finally returning home to its owner.

Cursing under his breath at his train of thoughts, he reclines sideways on one of his sofa chairs and fluffs his wet hair away from his forehead.

“So, how was your trip? How’s Tara?”

“Trip was good. Productive. We sealed the deal – despite the stupid Alfred-ass guy. And Tara’s fine, too.” He tries his best to disguise his wince as a smile. “Rushed home the moment we touched down.”

“Oh, her husband must’ve picked her up, right? Forgot she's married.” You nod to yourself, scratching your head and furrowing your brows in thought. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine. Had to sit next to a guy who fell asleep the moment we took off, and constantly kept leaning his head on my shoulder. It’s just a three hour flight! He couldn’t stay up that long?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes because the guy he’s talking about is actually Min freaking Yoongi. “I think I have a cramp in my right side because of him.”

You chuckle at that, popping some salted almonds into your mouth. “So what’s the plan for the week? You got office tomorrow?”

“Yep! Although we both are allowed to go in a bit late.”

“That’s considerate of your company.”

There’s a dull pause in the conversation which Jimin uses to wordlessly admire your face on his phone screen, again. He remembers the way other guys used to compliment your eyes, or the length of your nose, the plumpness of your lips, and how he used to just roll his eyes at their words because he didn’t see what they saw.

Well, now he does. He sees all of that and so much more. He sees it and he craves it.

If not kiss you then at least see you. Be in your proximity. Admire your smile without a camera distorting it into pixels.

He wishes to visit you. He feels ready enough. Composed enough. He will keep himself safely off of risky topics.

Like, come on. He is twenty-seven. Mature enough to handle himself enough to not make a fool of himself or accidentally ruin a friendship that he holds dearer than his life. Of course he is.

“So, what about you? Any plans for the night? Should I come crash?”

It’s out before he can overthink—or even fully think—of a proper, saner, more sophisticated way to pose the question.

And given the way your eyes widen slightly, regret singes his tongue that articulated the words. “Uh…”

Catching himself in time, Jimin sits up and makes a show of narrowing his eyes at the screen. “What? What is it? What are you hiding, little wench?”

A laughter bubbles out of you, but he can sense your awkwardness through the expressions you wear. It guts him. Swallowing thickly, he raises his eyebrows and beckons you to speak.

Finally, you exhale and purse your lips. “Well, um. I, uh, kinda have Seokjin coming over later?”

The way Jimin’s jaw drops to the floor hasn’t a smidgeon of acting to it. “Say what?”

You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. “Yeah…”

“I… Didn’t you say you didn’t wanna talk about the date?” His voice comes out hollow and plain, absolutely unlike what it usually is.

“I did, yeah, but I also said I needed to figure it out. And we’re, um, just figuring things out. I’ll tell you when—”

You cut off with a jump as your doorbell goes off in the background.

Seokjin is there. Seokjin is at your place. To be with you. To hold you, kiss you, touch you — and probably more.

Jimin feels the floor disappear from beneath his feet. His stomach is lurching and he is free falling.

“I'll, uh, I'll be right there!” you call in the general direction of the door, casting a hesitant glance towards your phone.

Jimin's free-fall increases in velocity.

“Is that… him?” he asks in a scratchy whisper, face nothing short of horror-struck.

And when you give an almost shy nod, Jimin's brain short-circuits and he can't see a thing.

“Well, okay then! Have a great time! See ya later!”

He disconnects the call and allows his phone to drop down into the carpet beneath the chair he’s seated on.

Despite trying his hardest, Jimin can’t stop his mind from making up images of you and Seokjin entwined in bed, with you making all the sounds that Jimin elicited out of you not forty-eight hours ago.

Fuck.

He feels shaken up.

Getting up, he walks into his kitchen and grabs a bottle of water.

“It’s fine,” he tells himself. “It’s just weird because it’s too soon. Otherwise it’s good. It’ll be great. She needs this. I told her to go for it.”

He clears his throat and sips some more water.

“They’re just sleeping together, anyway. She isn’t going to fall in love with him overnight. And if she does, she’ll tell me… And I’ll support her because she’s my be–best friend in the world.”

Even as the words leave him, they scorch his insides on their way out. His brain feels fuzzy with all the misplaced anger, regret and loss he feels.

It’s half past two in the morning and Jimin is scrolling brainrot content on social media to put his mind off of the activities you might be getting up to. If you'd be in your bedroom or if you'd be in the living room, in front of the TV.

If Seokjin would be eating you out in the same spot where Jimin—

Okay, here's a video of fifteen rubber duckies! They're being squashed at the same time! They're making such a horrendous but hilarious sound!

Needless to say – he isn’t doing a great job keeping himself distracted.

Groaning at himself, he refreshes his feed and gets ready to scroll again. And then he comes to a halt.

A post from you has popped up.

It's a selfie featuring you and Kim Seokjin, seated in your car, heads tipped together in the middle of the seats, grins on your faces and cones of vanilla ice-cream in your hands. A passably normal and arguably cute picture.

Until Jimin’s eyes travel to the content below the picture.

He sits up in his bed upon spying the ‘💝’ emoji you’ve captioned the post with.

A heart emoji? You abhor those! Last time you willingly put one on your social media was way back when you were still with axolotl!

Oh…

Oh no…

Does this mean that you and Seokjin…?

And when the fuck were you planning to tell him?

Jimin needs to talk to you. Soon.

Foregoing any texts announcing his arrival, Jimin decides to steer his car towards your place, right after work on Monday. He gets off an hour later than you, so there’s no chance he won’t catch you.

But as he locks the vehicle and makes his way up your apartment, it hits him that there is a very real possibility that he might find Seokjin in there with you. And Jimin is completely unprepared to confront the man without having a conversation with you first.

So he presses the bell with his fingers crossed – and gives a sigh of relief when you open the door by yourself.

You’ve changed out of your work clothes and are dressed up in the same set of hoodie and lounge pants he saw you in during the video call, yesterday. And his urge to capture you in a hug and then smother you in kisses is back.

Stifling it all, however, Jimin focuses on the social media post he saw and allows the feeling of irritation and betrayal he felt upon spotting the heart emoji to wash over him, again.

Then he grins at you. “Surprise?”

Your gaping mouth closes on a chuckle and, rolling your eyes, you let him in. “Unannounced but not unpleasant, hey.”

Jimin resolutely looks away from the couch in your living room, unwilling to let his resolve to confront you weaken by any means, and heads straight to your kitchen table to occupy one of the bar stools.

“So. How’s work?” He asks, leaning over the counter a little, and squints at your form as you busy yourself pouring a glass of orange juice for him.

“Uh, what? Work’s work. Did you come here to ask me that?” Your head tilts to the side in a question and Jimin exhales in defeat.

“No. Obviously. I'm here to ask you about Seokjin.” You tense at that and Jimin gives a scoff. “Okay, don't you dare try to whip up a story! You didn't tell me on Saturday – fine. You barely told me anything yesterday, harsh but acceptable. But now I'm here and now I wanna know what's going on. And if you dare try to look for a way out this time, I will drive a knife through your gut.”

He didn't mean to go that dark, but your behaviour has gotten on his nerves so awfully, that he couldn't help it.

“Wha–Jimin! I told you I'm still figuring it out…” You avoid his eyes as you speak, playing with the drawstrings on your hoodie. “I'll tell you first thing when I have clarity.”

“Well, I think you do have clarity but you’re just refusing to share it with me. And you need to hurry the fuck up with that because I'm losing patience here.”

Your forehead furrows. “Hey… You can't rush me to make up my mind about someone! It's bad enough that you pushed me to go on a date with him.”

“But I'm literally not rushing you? I saw that social media post you made, and you captioned it with a…heart emoji. You never make public gestures of affection with someone so quickly, so I just wondered if you had developed actual feelings for the guy, beyond the admiration you claimed to have for him. I was concerned about you. What choices you'd made.” He looks away from your face and down at his manicured nails. “As your best friend.”

Your sharp inhale draws his attention back to your face, and he is met with a somewhat cautious expression. “Oh? So you're being a concerned friend? That's – that's the only reason why you'd like to know about me and Seokjin?”

Jimin's breath gets caught in his throat. What did you just ask him? What did you imply?

He frantically searches your face to look for cues that would guide him towards the right way to respond to your question, but all he can find is impatience and thinly veiled disappointment.

The amount of confusion he feels makes his head spin.

He can either be honest – or he can play this safe. And given the amount of risks he has taken with you recently, he would very much rather stay in the comfort zone for once, even if it means that he has to lie.

“Sure. I mean…what other reason could there be? Right?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat and your eyes lose a bit of their sparkle. Before Jimin can even begin to analyse what the hell any of it could be about, you're straightening up again with a determined set to your shoulders.

“Yeah. That's right. No other reason. None at all. You're a concerned friend, that's good. That's great.” You lick your lips and then walk around the counter to sit on the other stool, next to him. Your eyes are hesitant when they meet his own. “Because Jimin, I've been wanting to tell you something. I've thought about this throughout the weekend, and… I really, truly regret that night. What we did was stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic. We shouldn't have slept together.”

Jimin feels a part of his soul crumble and wither at those words.

His brain slows down, gaze grows heavy, and his lungs have to put in extra effort to keep his breathing steady.

Stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic.

His fingers tremble when he tries to reach for the glass of juice, so he pulls them towards his palm and forms a fist to hide them from you.

“You… why?” He hates himself for sounding as small and lost as he does. Clicking his tongue, he runs both his palms down his face and looks up to meet your saddened eyes again. “I mean it's great that you moved on the way we'd planned, but you don't have to regret the night we shared. It's okay. You can have it both ways.”

You shake your head, eyes even more sadder than before. “But I don't want to. We are supposed to be friends forever, Jimin. You and I… We can’t - I… I can’t lose you. To anything. So I can't do what you’re doing. Cherish that night's memory and behave normally. I need to forget and I need you to know that I wish it never happened. And that I'm… I'm sorry that I’m not strong enough.”

Jimin tries to swallow past his dry throat, only to cough when he can't.

It kinda sounds like you're afraid you might want him still, so you are nipping the possibility in the bud by denying that the two of you ever crossed the line. It kinda sounds like you can’t move ahead because of that night, so you wish to act as if it didn’t happen.

But you are lighter on words and heavier on nibbling your lip, so maybe you've somehow figured out how precious that memory is to Jimin and you’re just trying to spare his feelings, which – ouch.

He knew he was becoming pathetic but he didn't realise it was this pathetic.

Scoffing, Jimin gets up and shakes his head. “Don't worry, I wasn't getting any ideas about us doing a repeat of what happened, if that's what you were concerned about. I only want the two of us to resume being the best of buds and share everything the way we used to.”

“No, Jimin, that's not—I mean, you wanted me to give Seokjin a real shot and I did. And so I don’t want there to be anything that holds me back from being honest about it.”

The set of words hurt him more than they should, but he moves past them to address his main concern that you still seem to have missed. “Hey, listen to me. I didn't come here to hound you about Seokjin because I have a problem with what's going on. I came here because I have a problem with you not telling me what's going on. I have a problem with you believing you need to keep it from me for some stupid, untrue reason that you might’ve made up in your head.”

You don't say anything for a while, don't even look up to meet his gaze. Your lower lip stays between your teeth and your eyes don't look away from the kitchen counter where both your hands rest next to the untouched glass of orange juice.

And then you suddenly look up and into his eyes, determination all over your face. “You need to get a girlfriend.”

Uh.

What?

Gaping at the offputting, crooked smile that overtakes your face, Jimin slowly shakes his head as he wonders if he might've heard you wrong.

“Yeah,” you continue, nodding to yourself, “I feel guilty, Min. I’ve broken our no-dating pact, so it's only fair if you get to leave, too.”

Woah. Two dates with a guy and you've already declared your pact broken? And yet you wouldn't say a word about Seokjin beyond the fact that you’re pursuing it because Jimin asked you to.

He is quite literally too stunned to speak.

You laugh a little, looking almost nervous. “What? Don't tell me you fell in love with me or something, Min. That night was purely physical, right? We're mature enough to remember that.”

The words hit him in a bad way, because you very clearly said them in a way that was meant to hurt him. Of course it was purely physical! But nothing between the two of you can ever be without at least some semblance of emotion because you both go way back! Even the playful insults you toss at each other and the jokes you share carry affection, intimacy and meaning.

He doesn't have the slightest clue what you've been trying to do all this time, but if you truly want to rile him up and upset him tonight, he's going to forfeit and give you the satisfaction of having succeeded. He hasn't got enough mental strength to decipher the meaning of everything you're doing and then try to diffuse the grenade you've built.

So Jimin steps away from the counter and gives a loud scoff. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course not, there's no way in hell. How could I ever be in love with someone like you? Look at your emotional range and look at mine. I know, better than anyone else in the world, that you’re incapable of love. I know not to love a rock. I'm not stupid.”

Your face falls and eyes turn glossy, but Jimin can bet you aren't hurting like he is. You can't. That's one of your superpowers – compartmentalising so well, you sometimes don't even see the hurt that devastates others.

“R–right. Didn't have to insult me, but you're right.”

“Why?” Jimin scoffs. “Isn't that what our relationship is about? Being friends? Laughing together? Insulting each other?”

You frown at him. “Why're you talking like that? Why are you getting angry at me?”

Jimin blinks at your words, watching the way your eyes look truly clueless, and sheer sadness envelopes him.

Because it hits him now. Maybe you didn’t say those words to hurt him. Maybe he underestimated your inability to feel. Maybe you really don't get why it was special. Because you really didn't feel why it could be special.

Maybe nothing between the two of you has ever carried any emotion to it, for you.

You have no idea about the emotional turmoil he's been in the past two days when he couldn't get you out of your mind, because you were on a completely different page. This is why it was easy for you to go on that date and then call that guy home the next day.

The night you shared with Jimin doesn't matter to you. Jimin doesn't matter to you.

Not the way he thought. Not the way you do to him.

And his evolving feelings for you, whatever they end up becoming, would only serve to be an inconvenience in your life that you would just ask him to sort out instead of helping him wade through them because…

This is who you are.

This is who you've always been.

This is the girl he met in eighth standard, had a crush on, became lifelong friends with, had sex with, and developed more than platonic feelings for.

This is you.

He doesn’t know how to deal with this realization. He can’t deal with this sitting in your kitchen. And he can’t deal with this without a drink.

So he collects his coat and walks out of your house, ignoring your calls of his name and choosing his own sanity over you for once

#bts imagine #bts angst #jimin #park jimin #park jimin angst #bts smut #jimin x reader #bts x reader #park jimin x you #bts fluff #jimin angst #jimin smut #park jimin smut #jimin x you #bts x you #bts scenarios #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine

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simonrileysfavteacup · 1 month ago

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My Knight In Shining Armour Chapter 2

Pairing: Knight!ghost x Princess!reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: None! (yet...)

Summary: You never thought you needed a bodyguard. Especially not one of your father’s men. But it just so happens to be that this particular man is one who’s a sight for sore eyes. But you also could never fall for your Knight, right? Not a commoner, no…

Author's Note: TOOK A MINUTE BUT ITS HERE!

The first place you led him was the library. A room so large, filled with every single book you could ever think of.

You glance around the room, looking for the book you wanted. You spot it on a shelf up above, heading to the ladder to climb up. The second your foot even landed on the first step, you heard someone behind you clear their throat.

You look over your shoulder, “Yes?”

“Your highness,” he steps forward, gently pushing you back, climbing up and grabbing the book you wanted.

He comes back down and hands it to you before returning to the door, guarding it.

You shrug, sitting down in one of the comfiest chairs in the room, beginning to read.

Well, pretending to read.

You’re actually looking at him over the top of your book, examining him. He’s quiet. Shy. Introvert. Bashful. He stays to himself. He’s not as invading as you thought he would be.

You wonder.

Until he clears his throat again, “Your highness?”

“Yes?” you raise an eyebrow.

“The book is upside down,” you can almost hear him chuckling under his balaclava.

Your cheeks flush red, as you turn the book over, covering your face with it. “That’s just how I like to read! Don’t judge me! I’ll fire you.”

“I don’t believe that decision is up to you,” he shrugs, staying at the door, not glancing at you.

Nevermind. He’s infuriating. Why is he giving you attitude? You’re just curious!

“Why do you wear a balaclava but not your helmet?”

“Personal choice. The King approves.”

“But why?”

“I don’t believe it’s your business, your highness.”

That attitude again! Why is he ‘not believing’ things? That’s your job to tell him what to believe and what not to. Ugh, this is not going to be fun.

You narrow your eyes at him before going back to your book. “No name either?”

“For your information, my name is Ghost. You can address me as such.”

“But why no real name? Your parents obviously didn’t name you Ghost.”

He stiffens at the mention of parents.

“Sorry…” you curl in on yourself. Now the conversations awkward.

“When I became a knight, I couldn’t let anyone know who I really was. I have a history.”

“That prevents you from becoming a knight?”

“No. It puts a target on my back and on your back. And on everyone in the kingdom.”

“Oh…it’s that bad…”

You look up from your book at it. He’s staring straight ahead, not at you.

“I’m…I’m sorry I asked…”

“It’s alright, your highness. You may read,” he nods, his voice gruff.

As if you were asking for his permission.

***

You arrive at the dining room, curtsying to your father, who sits at the head of the table. You take your seat, and notice Ghost stands directly behind your chair. Your mother sits across from you, her head bowed low.

Supper is served, in silence, you dine.

Your father clears his throat, “How has the day been?”

“Fine,” you shrug.

“And Ghost?”

“He is a wonderful knight,” who already reminds you of your father.

“He is excellent,” your father smiles at him, to which you don’t turn around to see his reaction.

“Father, I wish to visit the market tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I need a new dress.”

“The modiste can come straight to your bedroom.”

“Yes, but she always does. For once, I’d like to visit her instead.”

“It is unsafe.”

“I will have Sir Ghost with me.”

“The market is not a place for a princess.”

“I just wish to shop.”

“What do you desire? A dress? Your mother shall have the modiste here tomorrow.”

“But father, I do not want her here. I want to visit her shop-“

“You do not leave this castle. Am I clear?”

Silence. You look down at your lap.

“I said am I clear?” he repeats.

“Yes, your majesty…” you whisper.

“Good. Ghost?” your father calls to him. “Make sure she does not step foot out of this castle for the next 4 weeks.”

You look up. 4 weeks? That’s cruel. Even for him.

Ghost, just stands there, and nods. You glance at your mother. Her head is still bowed low, her eyes not daring to meet yours.

You pick at your food, having lost your appetite.

Going out of the castle has always been an issue with your father. As the only heir, and a female, your only job has been to marry a Prince and have him rule this kingdom. And give him many heirs. So protect your face and your ovaries. That’s it.

Many in this kingdom would like to end your life. Ending the only heir to the throne would end the King’s rule. And a new king would be forced to take over.

Many do not like your father. You don’t blame them either.

“I’m going to bed, goodnight…” you push your plate aside, getting up.

You walk out of the dining hall with no protests from your parents, hearing Ghost’s footsteps behind you. You walk down the silent halls to your quarters, entering the large luscious bedroom. Before you can close the doors, Ghost slides his foot between the doors.

“I am heading to bed?”

“I’ve been given strict orders to stay with you at all times.”

“Even in my bedroom?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Isn’t that a little creepy?”

“It is my orders. I shall face away if that is what you desire.”

“Yeah, I do desire you to face away. And to close your ears.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

Oh. He’s mocking you. The way Princess rolls off his tongue as he steps into your bedroom, facing the wall. You scoff, walking towards your closet. You get changed into a nightgown and silk robe, freeing your hair of it’s style.

You walk back into your bedroom from your bathroom, after doing your nightly routine, sighing as you stand in front of your bed. He’s still standing facing the window, his back to you.

“Where will you sleep?” you ask.

“I will not,” he responds, not even looking at you.

“How? You can not survive without sleep,” you cross your arms over your chest, nipples peeking through your nightgown. Why did you choose to sleep without a bra? You don’t know.

“I can, Princess,” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Fine then. If you do require rest, there is an extra blanket in the closet,” you get into your comfy blankets, sighing.

It was going to be a long night of tossing and turning.

And hearing his breathing through that stupid, stupid balaclava.

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holyadoptionpapersbatman · 7 months ago

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Wendolyn "Wendy" Jane

Here's a fic idea that I'll never be able to flesh out because I'm super burned out, but here's my take on a TimKon Clonebaby AU!!

***

So, when Tim was kicked out of the window, he didn't bother to call Kon because he thought the whole encounter he had with him was a hallucination. But, he's calm. And an extra thought he had as he fell was that his and Kon's clone-baby is secured with Martha Kent.

"I can't wait to meet you, Wendy," he says as he falls.

No one catches Tim.

Dick was too late.

Another family member he wasn't fast enough to catch.

***

Kon, Bart, Cassie and the rest of YJ had been devastated when they heard the news. Tim's body was going to be cremated, so chances of him being brought back to life by enemies would be nonexistent.

To comfort himself, Kon walks into the room Wendy had been lightly snoring in.

When Kon came back with Bart, he was surprised to see this baby in Ma's arms, wondering if he actually landed himself in an alternate dimension. But when Ma explained the circumstances of her birth, that Tim tried creating clones of him and Bart to bring them back into his life, Kon gently took the baby into his arms and wept. Then, he went to find Tim.

He didn't think Tim was crazy, but the whole time he was with him, Tim was definitely not in his right mind.

Now, Wendy won't know who her other dad was. Because Tim's gone.

But not completely gone.

Unlike Kon and Bart who left only memories of themselves, Tim left this child. She's not Tim, but she's made with all of his desperation and love.

Kon, after a few hours of mourning, vows to take care of her the best he could.

***

"Pa, why I haf two fiwst names?" Wendy asks one night as she's tucked into bed, after her first day of school. "An' why's my nickname Wendy?"

Kon chuckled. "Your nickname is Wendy because it's the name of my favorite character from my and your daddy's favorite show," he explained, also tucking in her favorite stuffed animal since she was a baby - a chubby, red duck called Mr. Duck. She immediately hugs it close to her and snuggles into its head. Mr. Duck gave out a hearty 'QUACK!' that sounds a lot like Tim's voice.

Kon's heart doesn't ache anymore. Just bursts with love.

Then, picking up the book, 'How to be a Pirate', Kon opens it and flips it to the bookmarked page, a new chapter of when Hiccup and the rest of the Hooligan boys discovers a coffin. This is the 19th time they're reading this book. And it will take 20 more times until they move on to the next book of the How to Train Your Dragon series.

"Your name 'Jane' is from your daddy's mom's name. Her name was 'Janet', and your dad was downright a mama's boy," he continued, causing Wendy to giggle.

"An' Daddy's name's Tim, wight?" she asked.

"Timothy, actually," said Kon. "Timothy Jackson Drake. He has a long name like you. But he likes being called Tim. Just Tim. Not Timmy. Not TJ. And definitely not Timberlina."

Wendy cackles loudly, kicking her legs up and repeating with her lisps Tim's funny 'Timberlina' nickname over and over.

Then, once she's done laughing, Kon starts reading.

The chapter isn't even over and his little girl, his and Tim's little girl, is already asleep.

***

There was a skateboard in the attic. It was right beside this box full of envelopes and journals handwritten by her late Dad, and it had some kind of engine at its base. It also had a whole bunch of scratches on its underside.

It's also one of the most beautiful things 12 years old Wendy had ever seen.

"Pa!" she shouts, running down the stairs to the kitchen, finding Aunt Pru and Aunt Cassie burning down her Pa's stove, like usual. She turns to her Pa who had his head in his hands, most likely trying to calculate how much he needs to buy himself a new stove. "Pa, can we buy me a skateboard?"

Aunt Pru smirks. "Tryin' ta' get cool with the boys, are we?"

Wendy rolls her eyes. Her? Getting cool with the boys? Not a chance. She couldn't fit in with anyone if she tried.

She's heard stories of her dad being able to become friends with anyone, from jocks to nerds. He wasn't popular, but people of all kinds just seem to be able to hang out with him with no trouble.

Not to mention, both of her dads looked unfairly handsome in their teens. It really wasn't fair when the beauty gene doesn't get passed down or genetically inputted into her. Ugh.

But, scratch that!

"Pa! Can we?? Buy a skateboard?"

Pa glanced to his stove. Then to Wendy.

It really wasn't a choice to begin with.

"Sure, I also know someone who could teach you," he said.

***

"YOU ACCIDENTALLY SENT MY DAUGHTER BACK TO THE PAST?!"

Bart rolled his eyes. "It wasn't an accident. She was meant to go for a little time-travel adventure!"

"Of course you'd know that," muttered Kon.

Away from them, Lizzie laughed. "I remember my time-travel adventure!" she said, ignoring Jon's deadpan stare towards her and Damian's completely subtle wince. "I got an A+ on my essay!!"

Kon ignored Lizzie and started pacing the floor. "Our timeline could be changing and we wouldn't even know it!"

"Thank you!" Jon said, throwing his hands up finally feeling validated.

Damian rolled his eyes. "We're fine, aren't we? The universe isn't getting destroyed or fading from existence. Additionally, Allan did mention she was meant to travel back in time."

Bart wiped a fake tear away from his eye. "Thanks, Dames."

Damian scoffed.

On Wendy's side, she was standing right in front of an abandoned warehouse in Paris. Or, to be more specific, an abandoned Lex Corp Cloning Facility.

She clutched the letter in her hand and stepped inside.

'I guess I'm illegally a Parisian,' thought Wendy as she walked through the creepy halls, further down into where the cloning tech could be.

Then, finally, she reached it, the big, green 'ATTEMPT 100 SUCCESS' glaring back at her.

Looking before the railings, she finds a familiar figure. One she's only seen in pictures. But, instead of the strong, smart and confident hero, she sees the most broken and saddest teenager in existence.

"Dad..." she calls, heartbroken.

Her dad's head snap's up, but he slowly stands protectively, clutching the bundle in his arms closer to his chest.

He takes one look at Wendy, and--

He...

He relaxes. He relaxes his hold. His stance. His everything.

He goes up to Wendy, a hand reaching out to gently caress her face.

"You have my mom's eyes," he said.

Wendy smiled back at him. "Yeah," she says, her voice almost a whisper.

"You have Kon's stupid smile, too."

Wendy rolls her eyes. "Pa keeps telling me it's your stupid smile, Dad."

Her Dad laughs. He's almost in disbelief. But.

"How are you here?" he asked.

Wendy opened her mouth, then carefully chose her words. "You left a letter for me. For my sixteenth birthday. I'm not going to get into detail what you wrote in it but, you said it was okay to tell you that you encouraged me to head to the past and--- here I am."

Her dad's brows scrunched together, the same way she saw in stolen pics how her own brows does.

"And you're okay to be in the same... vicinity as... your past self?" he asked.

Wendy nodded her head. "Uncle Damian told me so!"

Her dad laughed, bewildered. "Uncle Damian!?"

Wendy nodded. "He's an ass, but his heart is made of gold." She reached a hand out for her Dad to take. "I have so much family growing up, Dad. I... I have so much to tell you."

Nobody told Wendy how her Dad died. Or when he died. Just that he did.

So, lets her Dad take her to this apartment he rented. It was barely touched, there wasn't even the mess he was known for making. She guesses the mess was down at the clone labs.

But, once the both of them settled down, her dad changed into more comfortable clothing. And. It was almost like looking at a mirror.

Wendy's heart burst with emotion.

From there, they both exchanged stories of their lives until it turned morning.

She watched as how tenderly her Dad held her baby-self with the same love her Pa gave her. She longed for it. But. She couldn't stay any longer. She felt the timer Uncle Bart gave her vibrate in her pocket.

"I have to go back," she said.

Her dad nodded, gently laying her baby self in the middle of the bed. Then, he turned to her with his arms open wide.

Wendy took it. She hugged him back just as tightly.

Then, after a heartfelt goodbye, she left the apartment.

And then, she disappeared home.

#plot what plot?#I only have vibes!!#scribbles #timkon clone baby au #timkon clonebaby au scribbles #kon el #conner kent #tim drake #wendolyn 'wendy' jane au #wendolyn 'wendy' jane scribbles #wendolyn 'wendy' jane #these last three tags are there so that i could find this post easily if i ever feel nostalgic enough to revisit it

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anotheroceanid · 3 months ago

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Peek on Chapter 8 of WTHB YAAAAyyy + map update (I hope I picked the right one because I saved many wip versions, if that’s the case shame on me, I’m sleepy)

Chris Rodriguez, son of Hermes, reporting from the Great City of Perses.

‘Here in the Great City, coastal fogs have offered limited relief from rising temperatures, yet brackish water contamination remains a pressing issue. Desalination efforts, led by Lady Rhode and Lord Triton, are underway. Pray for them and pay your sacrifices. By midweek, dust storms are expected to intensify—residents are advised to seal shelters and stay indoors. For undetermined time, the gates of Perses will remain closed. Water and food distribution points are operational in the gates of the Great City. Stricter border controls are now in effect, with increased penalties for smuggling. Queen Annabeth of Perses and Queen Clarisse of Perses remind the civilians that the ruins of pre-collapse cities are unstable and dangerous. Scavenging is strictly prohibited for civilians. Report suspicious activity immediately.’

Butch Walker, son of Iris, reporting from the City of Loukas.

‘People of Loukas, the wildfire risk remains critical due to prolonged drought. Avoid the western forests—fire containment efforts are ongoing. Dew collection and mountain streams are essential water sources. Temples in the City of Loukas will distribute water this week. Travel in groups and stick to marked roads. Herbal remedies are available at the Temple of Apollo, and quarantine facilities remain operational. Irrigation repairs in the foothills are underway, and workers are needed and extra supplies will be offered to volunteers—report to the Temple of Hephaestus. A caravan was ambushed near the Loukas border. Bandits are active in the area. Dangerous groups are active in rural areas, with kidnappings reported. Avoid unregulated trade and remote locations. Civilians are advised to avoid the region unless absolutely necessary.’

Valentina Díaz, daughter of Aphrodite, reporting from the City of Apollonia.

‘Extreme heat and humidity will continue, especially near the coastal areas of Apollonia. Saltwater intrusion has rendered many freshwater sources unusable. Residents are urged to prioritize hydration and avoid prolonged exposure during peak daylight hours. A new strain of blight is affecting crops. Infected fields must be burned—report outbreaks to local enforcers. Food shipments have been delayed due to cult interference. Ration carefully until the next distribution of food. In regard to prior conflicts in the countryside, Queen Katie of Apollonia has banned unlicensed religious gatherings and announced a rural curfew to combat cult activity. Violators will be detained. Apollonia’s military is recruiting for border patrols against illegal groups and monster suppression units. Enlistment offers steady rations, shelter, and protection for families.’

Alice Miyazawa, daughter of Hermes, reporting from the City of Hephaestia.

‘Severe dust storms are expected to continue in West Hephaestia for the entire week. Sandstorms have damaged critical infrastructure—repairs are delayed. In East Hephaestia, military rations are prioritized due to food shortages. Civilian trade is permitted at regulated markets. Water theft is punishable by law. The eastern border with the Lost Lands is off-limits—toxic flora and monster activity make it a no-go zone. The Niobrara River remains a hazardous water source due to increased activity of animals affected by Dionysus’ Delight. Infected deer have been sighted near the Niobrara River—do not approach or consume them. People who disappeared near the Lost Lands will not be searched for. Repeating: Do not eat infected animals and do not cross the borders with the Lost Lands, or you’ll be as good as dead. Queen Miranda of Hephaestia has announced a draft for border patrols. Conscription notices will be issued this week by Connor Stoll.’

‘Sherman Yang, son of Ares, reporting from the City of Silenus.’

‘Rolling dust storms dominate the region, exacerbating water scarcity. The Red River is unstable, with monster activity reported along its banks. A fungal infection has been reported—symptoms include skin lesions and respiratory distress. Isolate and report cases immediately. The borders of the City of Silenus will remain closed for newcomers until further notice. Queen Piper of Silenus has declared martial law in the eastern territories due to increased monster activity; it's expected to last until the Summer Solstice. A reminder that the Wild Territory must be respected, and crimes committed against the Nature Spirits are beyond our jurisdiction.’

General Updates, reported by Chris Rodriguez of Perses.

‘Markets in larger settlements remain operational in the Eastern Territory. Food, ammunition, and essential supplies are available. Celestial bronze and Imperial gold distribution is strictly controlled by the government. Unauthorized possession or sale is punishable by law. Do not engage with any black-market activity. Report them to local enforcers immediately, especially if they’re using humans as currency.’

‘Travel in groups at all times. Women and children are vulnerable and must not travel alone. Night travel is discouraged, you never know how long it could last. All individuals must carry weapons for self-defense. Once again, Celestial bronze and Imperial gold weapons must be registered in one of the Five Cities. Failure to comply will result in confiscation and penalties. Activities of the Greek Railroads will be postponed due to the weather. Those affected can present their tickets in the nearer station and your travel will be rescheduled or reimbursed.’

‘Water is your most critical resource. Boil all water twice before consumption to eliminate contaminants. Avoid stagnant sources at all costs, specially from pre-collapse urban areas. You can collect dew using cloth—wring it into a container for drinking. If no other options are available, dig shallow pits in dry riverbeds to access groundwater. Line these pits with stones to filter out sediment.’

‘Your shelter must be secure. Seal all entry points with packed earth and cloth to keep out dust and debris, but also unwanted visitors, human or not. Stay indoors during storms. If you find yourself without permanent shelter, construct temporary structures in shaded areas using branches and leaves. Around settlements, clear dry vegetation to create firebreaks and reduce the risk of wildfires. As a last resource, caves can offer shelter in emergencies, but be mindful of wildlife, air quality, and dampness. Ensure it’s safe, check for water, and stay warm. Do not go too deep within a cave.’

‘Health is fragile in the conditions we’re living through. Use damp cloths to cool down during peak heat, and seek shade whenever possible. Avoid foraging in lowlands—toxic plants are widespread and deadly. If you must test unfamiliar flora, apply it to your skin first. Store all food in sealed containers to protect it from rodents and insects. If someone falls ill, isolate them immediately and report their symptoms to quarantine authorities.’

‘Security is non-negotiable. Ruins are structural hazards and infested with criminals—avoid them entirely. Always carry weapons and establish watch rotations in your settlements. Cults and human trafficking are a growing threat. At all costs, do not travel alone, especially after dark. Refuse food, water, or gifts from strangers—these are often used to gain trust. Avoid remote areas and unmarked roads, as criminals frequently set ambushes in these locations. Keep your children under your watch at all times.’

‘Spread the news in the countryside. Protect your families. Stay safe. I hope to talk to you next week.’

PRESENT TIME

OLD CHICAGO, WEST HEPHAESTIA TERRITORY

Before the TV went black, the symbol of the Talaria showed up, before they went back to the torturing screeching sound before it was turned off. About one thing, Medea was absolutely right: the news channel was depressing. Good thing it only aired once every sunday—those were horrid fifteen minutes.

‘What a waste of the little electricity we still have…’ Percy heard her hostess mutter.

#WTHB fic #the post apocalypse is apocalypsing #like 90 percent of this world just works because Leo is very inventive #my boy is carrying the Greeks in his back and yall have no idea how much #he’ll give atlas a run for his money #I might be leo’s number 1 fan #I probably love Leo more than Rick does #you will see

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phyx-m · 5 months ago

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Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 27: The Great Collapse

Content warning: Light cannibalism (Sukuna has a quick lil snack), violence, murder, blood, gore, dismemberment, angst.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Brother’s In Arms - Junkie XL (honestly, anything that gets your blood going)

Chapter 26 | Chapter 28

Weeks before the union... “You will wed Sukuna Ryomen.”

Your father’s words ring in your ears. You hear them and understand them, but still, they don’t seem to make sense.

Wed the King of Curses?

Why?

It’s clear the head of the Kasai clan holds a particular animosity toward you. The signs are all there. In the way he treats you. In the way, he looks at you. In the way, he leaves his abuse across your body.

But this?

No.

Fuck no.

You’ve heard the rumours, the tales, the whispers. The physical abnormalities, the bloodlust, the piling of eaten bodies. The way the monster has been ravaging the northern lands and its people for years. And now your father wants to tie you to the devil himself?

Why? Is this punishment for what you did?

Eyes pulling away from your lap, they latch onto the figure before you. Your father—if that title even fits a man like him, kneels pridefully across from you in his private chambers at the back of the Kasai compound. This particular summer day is warm, and the door to the garden stands open, but it offers little comfort.

“Forgive me,” you murmur, striving to be as respectful as possible while feeling anything but. “But I don’t quite understand.”

He takes a moment, scraping his eyes over the length of your body from head to toe, before sniffing dismissively.

“There’s been an agreement.”

That’s all he offers, no further elaboration.

Your eyebrows lift softly as a breeze wanders into the room.

“An agreement?” You repeat the statement, mentally tossing it around in your head while your jaw clenches and the bruise sitting there stings.

Yesterday, you’d been too slow to get away, and now it serves as a pulsing reminder—his fist driving you into the ground, your head cracking into stone. A faint trilling still throbs in your left ear from the impact, from the screaming and the yelling.

If you were to wed Sukuna, you would leave one monster here only to be delivered into the arms of a new one. A real one.

“And you think I’m best suited for becoming the King of Curses’ wife?”

Your father gives an unhelpful shrug.

You already know who would be the far better choice between you and your sister in becoming anyone’s wife. Not that you would ever want to send her into his maw. But if he’s looking to keep whatever agreement there is, she could charm him.

She did always have a way with words, after all.

You, however…

Your eyes drop to your silk gloves resting neatly on your thighs. You run your thumb over the swell of your knuckles, tracing the faint divots, the fabric straining against what they hide.

Seven years of fighting the abomination, and all it brought was death and ruin. No one has been able to get close to it. And that’s all they needed.

To get close.

But if you could…

Realization slips in—slow, cold, heavy.

You pull your gaze to your father.

“That’s not why you’re asking me… is it?”

It takes a moment, but an ugly smile crowds into his features.

Your face feels numb.

“No, daughter, it isn’t,” he says, dipping his chin toward your hands. “Seven years ago, you proved yourself useless to me. Now, you’ll prove otherwise.” His voice curdles with accusation, and you subtly roll your fingers into fists to avoid recoiling. “Your inability to control what resides inside you has denied me an heir to carry this clan’s name. Now, you will make amends.”

“And… how do you expect me to do that?”

He runs a hand across his chin while extending his neck.

“You’ll do what you must to get close to him. And when you’re close enough…” He leans forward slightly, his voice curling into something that crawls under your skin. “You’ll let him touch you. Make him trust you, make him believe he owns you. And when the moment comes, you’ll do what you did to your mother.”

What I did.

You shrink back, shame twisting and hooking in deep, deep until your stomach turns sick, sick with regret.

Yet the thought of allowing a fiend like the King of Curses—four hands and all—to touch you? He’d not be gentle. He’d probably kill you during the act itself. He’d probably enjoy it, too. Watching you bleed out before him while being impaled on his cock.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you raise your head, eyes finding your father’s.

“What if I say I refuse?”

Because you will, he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming for all you care.

A notch grabs his brow as if caught between confusion and delight before crow-like laughter bursts from his mouth—body hunching, the sound uncontained.

“Oh, you sweet, stupid girl.” He shakes his head while a smile honeys his voice.

His unending use of that barb makes your mouth twitch, but you remain polite.

You hate that you remain polite.

“No,” he breathes softly as he recovers, exhaling a long, guttural hum up his throat while his eyes crash into yours. His grin swells, spreading wider and wider until it looks painful, until every wrinkle and crack folds inward, until his teeth seem to consume his entire face.

“I don’t think you will.”

* * * * *

They come for you. So many of them. From everywhere. From across the room and all at once.

You can’t quite explain the way the room slows to a crawl or the horrible realization that you can’t seem to move, your body locking itself in place, paralyzed in its own fear.

You tell yourself to run, to flee, to go—but you can’t. And fuck, you need to.

You need to move now.

A Kasai breaks away from the surging group, throwing himself over tables and toward you. His stride lengthens, gait wild as he pumps his legs, sprinting like some crazed animal. His grip tightens on the hilt of a katana in one hand, the other flexing around its sheath.

For one terrible heartbeat, you think that this is it. This is how you die. Because of a screamed command. Because the one thing you were sent to kill is being used against your own clan.

Traitor.

But inside your gloves, something stirs. That familiar feeling at your fingertips—it wants out. It needs to be let out. It’s been too long.

You cling to things too tightly.

Then I won’t.

Not anymore.

Focus!

The distance between you and the man narrows. He’s only steps away when your mind reasserts itself.

Frantically, you swing up your right hand, your left gripping the leather encasing it.

The attacker arrives.

Your glove slips to your knuckles.

The katana pulls back.

You’re too slow.

The sharp end of the blade comes down, swinging for your hea—

Splurch!

A wall of flesh and muscle crashes between you and death. Four rage-soaked eyes glare down at you.

Sukuna.

He takes the full force of the weapon into his body, the blade cleaving through his upper left shoulder, splitting deep enough you see white flashes of bone. Hot blood mists across your face, metallic against your lips.

“Fool!” he snarls. “If you don’t want to die, stop fucking daydreaming and MOVE!”

The command snaps you into action.

You whirl around, tugging your glove into place as panic drives you forward. With no other thoughts, you run. It’s your only option.

Bare feet slam against the wooden floor as you sprint for the main doors, putting distance between you and the swelling melee—giving the King of Curses space to tear this place apart without killing you in the process.

A wet, gurgling scream hits your back. You glance over your shoulder, eyes widening.

The katana remains lodged in Sukuna’s shoulder as his forearm punches through the man’s throat, from knuckle to elbow. The wound pushes blood out from around the impalement, coating both in thick red globs.

You gag, your stomach fighting to expel.

Sukuna cackles, lost in his mania, before lurching his bulk forward, then back, using the momentum to slip the man’s body along his gore-slicked arm and then yanking it free.

The body crumples to the floor, lifeless, the weapon clattering aside. Sukuna steps away, rolling his four shoulders as the oozing wound on his upper body begins to blister and bubble to mend itself.

To his left, someone weaves through the chaos, hurling themselves at you while two others rush forward to divert his attention.

Sukuna’s head snaps to the movement, a wild animal catching the balm of something dying. His upper right arm swings up, his middle and index fingers casually extending like he’s playing.

Flick!

A rapid pulse of air.

The man to his left is bisected, torso splitting, organs slopping lazily from his insides. The body takes a pathetic step forward and then collapses into a formless heap of gore.

The two that rushed him meet similar fates, though they simply have their heads severed from the base of their necks.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the carnage until the sound of more rushing feet jolts you.

Move, idiot. Move, move, move!

Ripping your attention back to the door, the threshold narrows closer and closer as you dash toward it.

I’ll take the exit, then run to the stables, then—

Your right leg swings forward. You skid to a halt, feet gripping the floor.

Several figures pour into the doorway.

Three—

No, six.

More. Eight. Ten. Fifteen.

Their numbers swell, blocking the exit as they press into the main hall.

Panic snakes in, moving and falling down your throat to strangle you. You spin on your heel, veering toward the closed garden doors.

You take a step.

Bang!

One door bursts open. The cool autumn night rushes in as the breeze extinguishes some of the lantern flames, plunging parts of the room into darkness.

You change your course, careening to your left.

But another garden door crashes open. Then another. Then another, until all of them are flung wide.

Men, perhaps the ones from the stables—armed and ready—pour inside, flanking that side of the room.

You step back and freeze.

Panic surges up each bump in your spine. Your muscles lock, your pulse quickens, breaths turning shallow.

Now your right, behind you, and your left are crawling with bodies. You and the King of Curses are trapped in the center, separated and surrounded.

This feels intentional. Something feels wrong.

Your gaze darts to the back of the room where your father stands, watching as if enjoying the view on a warm summer’s day.

You feel old at this moment.

After so many years, so many seasons of torment, his face is carved into your mind. Burned into your soul. Most memories of him you wish you could forget, and some, you wish you remembered more clearly.

But this—this one you will always remember.

That look.

That smug, bemused look etched into his hard, angular features. A look that says you’re going nowhere, you stupid girl.

It only makes you hate him more.

Your fists clench tight. Rage roils hot inside your belly. It burns until you feel sick. You’ve never wanted to take a life before, but now, the ill temptation it has on you…

You want to drown this man in all your anger and in all your hurt, in all the times he’s—

“Brat.”

Your stinging eyes flicker away as Sukuna’s deep, calm voice cuts through the spell of your darkening mind.

It barely reaches you, crushed in the buzzing of voices encircling the room, tables being shoved aside, and dishware shattering onto the floor. There are too many now. Most of them are Kasai, but another clan lingers at the edges. They prowl like bloodthirsty wolves, pacing but keeping their distance, waiting for something.

“Oy, brat!” Sukuna hisses again.

You jerk your head toward him.

At a distance, his red eyes lock onto yours, his bottom left hand wiggling two fingers, motioning for you.

“Come here,” he coos, signalling a change in his tactic to keep you close. “Now.”

The fingers stop their taunting, and his arm stretches outward, beckoning you, inviting you to close the gap.

The room falls eerily still.

Nothing stirs.

Only the sound of panting breaths and the low murmurs of men whispering their strategies break the suspended quiet.

You stare at Sukuna. He stares back.

It’s tempting—the thought of rushing to him, surrendering into the safety of his power, and hiding from all of this. And he looks brutal, waiting there, that one arm outstretched, smeared in blood.

“Come to me,” he orders again, his voice velvet-soft before his eyes fall dark, mouth spreading into something demonic. “Don’t you trust me?”

Trust him?

Why would I ever trust you?

Old words spoken in the most intimate of moments.

Before you can make a move, someone makes it before you. A small wave breaks off.

“Wife!”

Trust him!

You move. Fast.

Crushing your feet into the floor, you go to him. But sections are already oily with blood, making it difficult to gain traction.

You slow.

A sharp hum cuts through the air behind you, followed by the crash of something slamming into the floor.

Whatever it was, it missed its mark.

But a breeze stirs your hair. A projectile rushes past your head.

An arrow.

It kisses your neck, pulling apart skin, and the tip comes away coated in red before clattering to the floor.

Sweat stings into the fresh wound. You suck in a tight breath.

Too close.

Wincing, you keep going.

A growl erupts, a sound that speaks of violence, and you realize it belongs to Sukuna, who is bounding toward you.

Months ago, you would have run the other way. Months ago, you should have killed him. Months ago, you would have done things differently.

But now, legs burning, you put everything in you and go to him.

Sukuna sees you coming and closes the distance in seconds.

One gloved hand reaches out desperately, and one powerful hand hooks around your wrist, two more crowding at your waist. He yanks you to him, your bodies fusing together.

The force of his actions slams the breath from your lungs, and for three terrifying heartbeats, you’re weightless, suspended in nothing, feet hovering off the ground.

It doesn’t stop there.

You’re pulled forward—hoisted, spun.

Everything blurs.

Shapes dissolve into splotches of lights and colours. Sounds turn jarring and muffled.

Someone shouts a command. Then, there’s the pounding of feet.

All you can grasp as he maneuvers you is everyone converging at once. A tidal wave about to crash down in full force.

Mid-motion, world spinning, you catch something slender hurtling towards you. One of Sukuna’s lower arms drags you back, trapping you so tightly against his side as he pivots that you can feel his heartbeat.

The rhythm of it grounds you, but only for a second.

A polearm grazes you, narrowly missing your head. You want to fold inward, but before you can react, Sukuna twists you, shoving you low to the ground as another dark object rushes into your path. Then he yanks you upright, tucking you firmly behind him.

His upper right arm swings up.

A wail of agony cracks the air as someone is cleaved in two. The walls inside the room groan as if unable to sustain the force of his energy.

Then he’s moving you again—pulling, shoving, guiding. Back and forth. Over. Under. Backward. Sideways. Front to back. His grip shifts you from one hand to another.

Stomach lurching, your vision tilts as he suddenly weaves through the fray, slipping you both between attackers while his upper arms abandon their hold to carve through flesh and split everything apart.

He’s ruthless. Mercurial.

The King of Curses fights as if it’s what he was born to do, as innate and effortless as breathing.

It’s fucking devastating.

And when one man falls, and another takes his place, Sukuna simply responds.

Metal meets skin. Screams tangle with gleeful laughter.

And you forget to breathe when your husband’s teeth close around a man’s throat, tearing his windpipe in a single brutal motion. Blood sprays. The man collapses. Sukuna swallows, eating the skin he tore, while his eyes roll back, tranquil by the carnage as the room fills with the reeking stench of death.

So much blood.

Everywhere.

But all you can focus on are his hands and how he uses his body to shield yours.

Cool air hits you as he peels you away. He moves you like you’re nothing, his lower right arm lifting you off the ground while his upper left clears the wreckage of a broken table. Without ceremony, he deposits you behind him, a barrier between you and the fight.

“Wait!” Bracing yourself, you clutch at one glove. “I can—”

“Shut up!” he snaps, his palm pressing heavily into your shoulder and slamming you down against the sticky, bloodied floor. Sukuna shifts his legs, planting them firmly on either side of you in a protective stance. The sheath tucked inside your obi digs uncomfortably into your abdomen, making you cringe at the sharp pressure.

From this vantage point, huddled against the ground, you see every broken thing—the bodies, their wounds a flush of pink, the blood soaking into every crevice, the lifeless eyes of men rising up from the floor.

And then it begins to move—the blood.

Not drip. Not pool. It crawls.

It slithers across the room and weaves around the dead like something alive, merging into a dark mass. It gathers itself, oozing toward the back of the room where that other clan has been patiently waiting.

You blink, watching through the shuffling of feet and legs as it rolls up, violating the pull of the earth, toward a man with dark hair. His hands rise, palms outstretched, and the blood flows into his grasp.

Blood manipulation.

Shit.

The air shifts. Pressure builds.

Goosebumps prick your skin, and your blood hums as though it’s answering a call.

You try to make sense of whatever is happening but can’t. All you know is that the energy licking off the dark-haired man is strong.

Similar to—

“My Lord…” you murmur, your voice shuddering with warning.

But Sukuna is focused elsewhere, fighting the immediate threat and dismissing what lies on the edges of his periphery.

This was deliberate.

Kill enough people, let Sukuna carve through them, and use their remains as fodder for whatever this is.

A fresh clutch of screams slices the air. Bodies keep dropping, limbs and heads and gore. A descent into fucking madness.

The last of the blood is siphoned to the back of the room.

The pressure continues to rise.

Your ears pop. A high-pitched ringing follows.

“Lord Sukuna!” you yell, snapping his attention back. His lower eyes shoot to you, then upward toward the approaching danger.

For a heartbeat, he freezes.

His top lip curls back.

Fingers twitch.

Then, he slices a nearby man in two, before snatching your kimono and hauling you up from the floor. He moves quickly toward the alcove where you two sat earlier, shoves the table aside, and throws you in.

Your hands fly up to brace against the wall, and you twist, turning to him just as he plants all four arms against the alcove's edges, caging you in. One hand quickly lifts to brush against your neck, healing the wound from earlier.

“Stay here.” His voice clipped, feral. “Don’t even think of—”

He stops. His head snaps to the side, listening. Straining.

You hate that look. You know something’s coming, something’s about to happen.

And then it does.

And you wish it hadn’t.

A low, wet resonance tears through the space before slicing into Sukuna’s body.

His jaw clenches as a shaft, shaped like an arrow of blood, punctures his chest.

The world goes silent save for the ear splitting ring of a following onslaught.

Sukuna hunches but pivots sharply to block the next strike from piercing into you. It splits through his abdomen, right next to his stomach maw.

Scarlet paints the space between you.

Every muscle tenses.

Another shrill sound.

Then the final arrow comes, tearing through his throat, flaying it wide open.

Sukuna stills. His muscles contract.

Your pulse pounds everywhere, drowning out everything but the sight of the King of Curses suddenly dropping.

No.

It’s impossible. He doesn’t get injured. He cannot be injured.

Blood spurts from his open mouth.

He falls.

Your heart stutters.

As his knees fold into the floor, his four eyes roll back, flashing white.

“NO!”

The scream wrenches out of you, raw and painfully exposed, tearing from somewhere inside your chest that you’ve not dared to open.

You stumble forward, a hand outstretched toward the intrusions jutting from his body, desperate to tear them free. But before your fingers can reach, they dissolve. The dark red arrows liquefy, sliding down his frame, peeling away from his skin, and slithering back toward the room’s edges.

The same pressure as before starts to rise again.

Another volley is coming.

It feels stronger this time, heavier.

Sukuna needs to move. Now. Otherwise…

Otherwise, you don’t know what will happen.

“Get up,” you whisper quietly, looking into his face, then to the three gaping wounds.

The one open on his neck…

So much blood, too much.

You ache to touch him, to heal him, to do something—but you don’t. You don’t know how. And you’re certain your wretched bare hands will only make things worse.

His pink hair is splayed out, matted with gore, his massive body horribly still as he kneels before you.

The atmosphere swells.

It’s coming.

“Get up.” Your hands hover near his face, afraid to touch him even with your gloves on.

He cannot be injured. It’s impossible.

Still, he doesn’t move.

"Get up, you arrogant fucking asshole! Get. Up." Your voice grows increasingly unsteady, thick enough to choke you.

"Please…"

A small crack. It forms in that dark, guarded place where you keep your emotions tucked away.

You step closer.

"Sukuna, get up!” you shout, voice trembling. "I need you."

Sukuna blinks.

Your heart stumbles to a limp. Breath pushing hard from your lips, and ribs loosening.

Red irises come into focus, fixing on you. His pupils dilate, drowning in the concentric rings surrounding them.

Another blink. Then, a long, calculating stare that trails across your face. The way he’s looking at you… measuring you, gauging something you don’t understand.

One corner of his mouth twitches—almost a smile, but not quite. Something about it feels mocking, like he’s uncovered a secret through the vulnerability of your voice.

Your face flushes hot.

You don’t like it.

Too much of you was laid bare in those desperate words.

A smirk hooks faintly at the edge of his mouth, and then, in one smooth motion, he stands. Blood rolls off him as he runs a hand through his messy hair, pushing it away from his face.

You retreat a step, your back brushing against the wall as your eyes trace his movements.

It’s as though nothing happened.

Unfazed, Sukuna rolls his neck, the skin around his wounds writhing and bubbling before sealing shut.

You freeze as you realize something.

He was never truly in danger.

This was—

A performance.

Deceptive.

To see—

“How very… human,” he muses quietly, watching you with an unreadable sidelong glance, before turning to the mouth of the alcove where he stands, arms spread wide, ready to take the next assault.

You watch him, want to scream at him, lash out at him and at yourself for the vulnerability you’d shown. But it’s pointless. The throbbing in your ears swells harder and harder.

Peeking around Sukuna’s lower left arm, you take in the room. Attackers cluster at the edges. Their numbers have dwindled—nearly halved—and they appear to pause, as if waiting for the King of Curses to tire, relying on the man manipulating the blood, standing at the center of it all.

The air is thick with it now, heavy and damp, like a blanket soaked in blood.

And that strange buzzing keeps growing. Louder and louder and louder.

Sukuna tenses.

Any second.

You keep your eyes steady, waiting for it to strike.

But movement, the shape of a man, has your eyes slamming to your left.

Your father slinks out of the room like the bastard he is, running and disappearing into the corridor.

“No…” you breathe.

He cannot escape. He will not escape. He will die here tonight.

This, you know.

Kill my clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Your sister’s words coil around inside your head.

Your eyes lock onto Sukuna’s back as he readies to shield you once more.

Leave him.

The whisper of persuasion slithers in, going around and around.

Your feet feel rooted in place.

I don’t want to—

Leave him.

You’ll need to time this perfectly.

Taking one final look at him, you carve every detail into your memory—the expanse of his naked torso, the protective wall between you and everything else. There’s a selfish desire to touch him. It burns through you like fire, but you know that if you gave in—or saw his face—it would make leaving unbearable.

You won’t make the mistake of looking.

Sister. Protector. Your needs come last.

Leave him.

Forcing your gaze away from the King of Curses, you tear yourself from the wall. Turning sharply, you tuck into the narrow space between his left side and the lip of the alcove. And then, you wait.

The attack will serve as cover, a distraction to slip away unnoticed. Without you, Sukuna won’t have to shield you anymore, and he can do what’s meant to be done.

The seconds trickle by.

It doesn’t take long for the breath to leave the room.

Silence deepens, then shatters all at once.

One shrill, wet sound tears through the air.

You move. Timing it perfectly, you slip under Sukuna’s arm and run.

Behind you, you hear the first impact, a hemorrhage rupturing. Blood sprays like rain, the sound of it collides with flesh and bone ringing out.

You know Sukuna will be fine—and in just three heartbeats, it’s confirmed.

His voice follows you, strained and angry, shouting your name. Not wife, not brat, nothing else. You’ve never heard him say it before, and the rawness in his tone ignites a terrifying urge to turn back, but you don’t.

If you look back, you’ll want to stay. And you can’t.

The second volley comes, but you’re already running.

Stepping over bodies, you push forward, all the destruction a blur. The tattered edges of your kimono flutter wildly at your legs as you spill out of the main hall.

Darting down the corridor, you go, your footsteps tapping so loudly, louder than your heartbeat.

Then you turn, slipping into a quiet passage reserved for immediate family, and thread through the compound.

Another turn. Then pause. Glance over your shoulder. Listen. Then run. Another turn, and finally, you reach a secluded hallway.

Your father will likely head to the stables—likely to flee.

That’s where you’ll go.

One more glance over your shoulder.

Alone.

You keep running.

Suddenly, the entire compound shudders and groans. Sukuna. Tearing this place apart.

Good.

You wish you could see it, see him. Watch him dismantle a place filled with so many vile memories.

But you keep going. Keep moving.

As you reach the end of the corridor and turn a corner, a figure appears at the far end of the passage. A Kasai, hand resting on the hilt of a katana at his waist.

Your eyes lock. Heart pounding, you freeze in place.

He stands motionless, but his mouth gives you a slow, awful smile, fingers curving around his weapon.

Shit.

The moment he reaches you, you know he'll try to kill you.

Doing what you always should have done to Sukuna, you step forward, and calmly, behind your back, you slowly begin to peel away your gloves.

🔗 Chapter 28

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #beneath the silk #heian sukuna #dark content #true form sukuna #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #sukuna fanfic #jujustu kaisen fanfic #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

When The World Is Free: Chapter 13 - С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated… non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations. ANGST!!!

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Beware, this has been coming; things have come to a head with the reader's family and Eloise. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

It's a dreary Friday afternoon the following week when the phone rings in the hallway.

After a brief exchange, it appears the call is for you, much to your confusion - no one knows you are here. As you tentatively pick up the receiver from the family butler, the familiar tones of Solène ring out down a crackling line.

“Mon Cherie! Have you quite lost your mind!” her opening is quite abrupt.

“And hello to you too, Solène; I have missed you,” you chuckle.

“Yes, yes…” you can almost hear her dismissive hand wave. “Why did you not yet contact your famille?”

Your stomach plunges.

“I- I forgot?” you squeak the truth.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Benedict; it has honestly felt detached from reality. A parallel universe. And this is you landing back on earth with a resounding bump.

“Well, please call them. I have had too many telegrams and now two phone calls,” she explains. “They are quite worried about you! I had guessed you may be chez les Bridgertons but did not want to say. I’m sure you have beaucoup news to tell them that they need to hear from you pas moi.”

“I will call them,” you promise, even as you feel a pit of dread low in your stomach.

“Please do… now, how is married life?” she teases, and after deflecting with a joke, you spend time catching up. The knot inside you loosens as you exchange pleasantries, handing the phone over to Eloise when she appears at your side, eager to reconnect with her Parisian friend.

—

“I have to call my parents,” you profess a few hours later, watching water streak in rivulets down the French doors, the lake beyond a blur, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above you.

His lips pause on your clavicle, and his hands - warm through your cool silk slip - flex around your waist, but he says nothing.

“Just to let them know I am safe. Solène called earlier; they have been trying to get hold of me,” you explain, burrowing your fingers into his hair, delicately scratching your nails over his scalp.

“What will you tell them?” his question hushed and tentative.

“That part I haven’t decided,” you confess with a sigh. “There is so much to say; I don’t know where to begin…”

“I will be there with you,” he replies emphatically, pushing up to gaze down upon you. “Whatever you decide, I will be there, in support, silent or otherwise.”

His generous sincerity makes your chest bloom, devotion evident in his words.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into his hazy eyes, again your confession of love on the tip of your tongue.

He cups your jaw, and you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring, which he has never once taken off in the four weeks since your marriage. “No need to thank me. You are my wife; it is what I must do.” His use of that word makes your heart leap.

“I hope it isn't only out of duty…” you can't help your insecurity from crossing your lips.

“Of course not,” he assures, eyes soft.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper back, and something flares on his face, a change rippling over his handsome features. His fingers sink between yours, caging your hands onto the towel underneath you.

“Call me that again,” his voice taking on an odd, gravelly quality.

“H-husband?” you falter, a knit of confusion over your brow.

He growls and surges his hips roughly between your legs, igniting that fire you always feel inside for him.

Oh.

“Husband,” you repeat bolder this time, treating it like a jewel dripping on your tongue.

His lips are hot and insistent on yours, his tongue almost punishing, ravaging your mouth. Before you know it, your clothing is ripped from your body, and you are crying his name, fingers digging into flesh. His hold is possessive, almost feral in the way he takes you, swearing that you hear him grunt the word mine into your neck as you both reach completion.

—

You wait until Eloise visits a local friend the next day to make the dreaded call. It’s a Saturday lunchtime, early morning on the American East Coast, when you pluck up the courage, knowing your parents should be home then.

The handset feels heavy in your palm as you raise it and dial the operator, giving your parents' number. Benedict hovers beside you, a reassuring presence you want to lean into as each ring echoes heavily in your ear.

“Hello?”

Just the sound of your mother’s voice causes a flood of emotion through you; you slump onto the hallway bench, Benedict bobbing down to crouch before you, his expression concerned but silent, touching your knee delicately.

“Hello Mom…” it's probably barely audible.

“My love!!!!!” she exclaims, and you can hear the wash of relief in her voice, the knowledge that her child is safe after weeks of uncertainty. It makes guilt burn even harder behind your ribs. “I'm so happy to hear from you! To hear your voice! Are you safe? Please tell me you are safe!” Parental concern colouring her every word.

“Yes, Mom, I'm safe,” you begin, a tremulant quality to your voice that you are unsuccessfully trying to wish away. “It's… it's a long story, but I ended up in England with Eloise. I'm sure Uncle Robert told you all about her.”

“Indeed he did. Well, I'm so happy you escaped France! I hear an invasion could well be imminent. I was so worried! Let me call your father...” Before you can protest, she is holding the receiver away from her mouth and calling out your Dad’s name. “Oh, and Stanley will be so pleased to hear the good news!!! We must tell him right away! He has been concerned too…”

The mention of your ex-fiance's name raises bile in your throat, and you instinctively reach for Benedict. Lace your hand with his upon your knee—an anchor you need. You don't know what to say about your ex, so you don't respond, hoping your mother will move on quickly in her relief, which, thankfully, she does.

You hear your dad’s familiar voice in the background and bite your lip, nervous that both will be listening.

“So when are you coming home, darling?” She continues after giving your dad an economic explanation.

“I… I don't know that I can,” you stumble, knowing your lip is darkening under the worry of your incisor tooth.

“Whyever not? Just move up your ticket!” Your dad chimes in.

“I tried that while still in France; unfortunately, the company scammed me. I could not get a ticket to any sailings to America, so, for safety, I came to England with Eloise.”

“You got scammed!” your dad’s huff is indignant.

“Let's focus on what is important, Ron. She is safe,” your mother lectures, placating his ire as you mumble an apology.

Your downcast eyes lift to meet Benedict’s as they seem to remonstrate between themselves on the other end of the line. His mien is benevolent, his finger swiping rhythmically across the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You know he can hear the voices leaking out of the receiver jammed to your ear, if not the words, then the general tone.

“Well, I'm glad you were able to enter England with a visitor visa. I thought they had been suspended since the war was declared. Your Uncle thought he was among the last to be let in with one…” your dad comments, immediately honing in on what you have been dreading the most.

“I am not here on a tourist visa. Thanks to a wonderful member of Eloise’s family, I have been able to secure residency.” Your fingers grip Benedict hard now.

“What do you mean?” your Dad queries, sounding suspicious.

“In order to escape - which I know, Dad, is the most important thing - I had to make a rather drastic choice…” you try to emphasise the jeopardy before your confession.

“What kind of drastic choice?” he echoes your words slowly, and you can feel their suspicion down the crackling line.

“I had to get married…” your voice is so tiny you almost hope they do not hear. Benedict's other hand lands on top of yours, enveloping yours in his warmth, which makes you look at him so grateful, a glassiness to your eyes.

There is a moment of shocked silence and then an explosion of indignant words and noises, to the point that you have to pull the handset away from your ear.

It's alright, it will be alright, Benedict mouths silently, and you can't help but pitch forward and rest your forehead on his. One of his hands touches your cheek gently as you close your eyes, a tear swelling on your lashes.

“I did not plan for this, Mom, Dad,” you cut in, sitting back upright. “But it has happened, and now… I… I need time.”

“Need time for what? You get that marriage annulled right away, young lady, and get yourself back here to marry the man you are promised to!” your mother’s voice shrill and didactic. “You had better hope Stanley understands and forgives this transgression….”

Something about her choice of words lights a fire of outrage inside you. As if your life choices are not your own.

“Transgression?!” you spit back. “I was caught up in a country where war was imminent. I did what I had to to escape to safety. What would you want me to do!? Remain in a possible war zone?”

“How about not flit off to Europe on some ridiculous jaunt in the first place!” she yells back. And in that very moment, you realise how little they ever supported your trip, a plunging sense of familial support being ripped from under you. “We only agreed to this reluctantly as you were so insistent. And now look what you have done?! Possibly ruined your future by marrying god knows who instead of the man you have been due to marry since you were a child, y/n….”

“I married a wonderful man,” you defend instinctively. “He is twenty times the man Stanley could ever be!!” You practically roar, “and I do not regret a single thing. I wish to remain here. With him.” You huff, drawing ragged breaths as finally you look at Benedict again and see the desire writ large on his face. It makes you want to kiss him so much your lips tingle.

Down the phone, your parents are stunned into silence. You knew this news would upset them and how awkward this could be, your family being so intertwined with Stanley’s family, being the son of your father’s business partner. But also, you know you cannot lie and return to life there, even if things with Benedict do not work out.

“I only knew one way my life could go,” you press on, a frenzy of bubbling emotions bursting from within like hot lava. “Well, I have seen something of the world beyond Long Island, and it has things to offer me that Stanely and Long Island could never. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not that girl, and even if I were to annul this marriage, I would not wish to marry Stanley. Ever.”

By the end of your somewhat dramatic speech, you are heaving breaths and clinging to Benedict like a liferaft in a tsunami, your whole life as you knew it crumbling around you. But that fire in your belly that you are finally recognising and standing up for what you want, pursuing what you want, not what is expected of you, gives you the strength of your convictions, painful as this moment may be. That and the man kneeling before you—he is a choice you know you would make over and over again.

“Well, if that is your decision, then I am not sure what else there is to say,” your father intones icily. “Perhaps call us back when you have come to your senses….”

And with that, the line goes dead, and you collapse into Benedict’s arms, weeping bitterly.

—

Something changes after that phone call. Benedict doesn't leave your side, always seeking you out. Perhaps to check on you, somewhat deflated after the emotions had been wrung out of you, but apparently also to spend time together without intimacy. Just to be in your company. You only realise it when you are curled up reading on the sofa, and wordlessly, he takes a seat next to you, pulling your feet into his lap, opening his book with a soft smile. His hands swirl idle patterns over your ankle bone through your stockings as you both sit in quiet relaxation.

At one point, you brush his shoulder gently, almost unable to stop your need to touch him. Then he curls into you, resting on your chest. He chuckles as you rest your book on the back of his head and keep reading. There is no denying it has all the hallmarks of a couple in love, and yet you don’t comment; just accept it with a lightness inside that feels bubbling.

However, his warmth and weight soon make you drowsy; you are not sure when, but you fall asleep. You suspect he does, too, based on the rude awakening you receive shortly after.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

You startle awake, your book sliding off with a thump to the floor as Benedict seems to do the same, his head rising in shock.

Eloise is standing before you. Mouth hanging open, an utterly stricken and horrified look on her face.

You want to curl up and die. There is no way to deny what has transpired. Your arms are wrapped around his, his head on your breasts. There is no way this pose is anything but intimate - not one either of you might have accidentally slumped into.

“I can explain…” you being, your voice a rough croak from sleep.

But Eloise does not stay around to hear it. She storms out of the room, the door slamming so loud behind her that a row of framed photos rattles against the picture rail. You curse ruefully, kicking yourself for being so cavalier today after weeks of being so careful. The call earlier really throwing you for a loop. Benedict twists to sit up, head slumping into his hands, wiping his palms down his face with a harried expression.

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” he monotones after a pause, but his knee bounces with nervous energy. “She’s going to tell Mother…” he adds, sounding defeated, almost scared.

And you know you can wait no longer to divulge it.

“Your mother already knows,” you admit quietly, pulling yourself upright to sit beside him.

He swivels with almost comedic speed, his face a picture.

“She approached me a few weeks ago,” you shrug. “I could hardly lie; I’m a terrible liar,” you remind him delicately.

“Mum knows….” his tone disbelieving, mouth agape.

“She said you, her children, are all terrible at hiding things from her,” you elucidate. “And….” You tremble as the words form on your tongue but feel powerless to stop them from spilling out, “… she said she knows when you are in love.”

Again, his head whips to you, and he looks panicked. “She said that?!?”

“Yes…” you look down at your hands wringing nervously in your lap, the ring on your left hand feeling like a weight.

“I… I…” he stumbles, seeming at odds.

And before you know it, he is on his feet, too and has swept out of the room in an apparent hurry.

As the door clicks shut behind him, a dread fills every nook and cranny of your being, suddenly terrified that everything you have come to treasure in the last few weeks has just been ripped violently from under you.

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