#like seriously thank you for the kind words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ikkyfics · 3 days ago

Text

Between Us

Dave Lizewski x reader x Todd Haynes

Summary: “I… I can’t choose.” “But… what does that mean?” he asked, leaning forward a little without even realizing it. “I mean…” You stopped, searching for the right words, even though your mind seemed unable to process anything beyond their proximity. “I mean I like both of you. In different ways, maybe, but… I can’t imagine choosing just one.”

Warnings: explicit language, mention of jealousy, mention of possession, multiple kisses, unconventional relationship dynamics, provocative language, light smut, sexual tension

A/N: I would be mentally, physically and emotionally incapable of choosing just one

my beloved @gingerteafairy, thank you for our conversations - seriously, girl, I love you <333

Masterlist

The evening was supposed to be relaxed, but Marty’s absence changed the tone of everything. You, Dave, and Todd were inseparable, and Marty, with his easygoing and carefree manner, always served as a kind of natural mediator for the other two. But now, as you walked towards Todd’s house, it was impossible to ignore the nervousness that was growing in your chest. Without Marty there to cushion the interactions, it would be just you in the middle of Dave and Todd—the two so different, yet equally irresistible. The thought already made the butterflies in your stomach dance.

The couch seemed even smaller than usual. You were squeezed between them, feeling the heat of their bodies so close. To your left, Dave, with his dark curls and blue eyes shining behind his glasses, held the bowl of popcorn with both hands, his fingers brushing against your arm with every movement. To the right, Todd, all relaxed with his messy brown hair and dimples marking his smile as he leaned casually on the couch, his knee almost touching your leg. There seemed to be not enough space for everyone, and the proximity created a palpable tension.

"Okay, let's settle this once and for all: better mentor—Batman or Superman?" Todd asked, with that challenging tone and a smile that seemed to carry a hint of provocation.

"Batman, for sure," Dave answered without hesitation, adjusting his glasses. He turned slightly towards you, as if seeking support in your answer. "He's a strategist, he has resources, he trains people. He doesn't rely on powers. It's about discipline, sacrifice."

Todd laughed, leaning forward and bringing his face even closer to yours. "Oh, right, because being a traumatized millionaire is super inspiring," he said mockingly, and the glint in his dark eyes was almost hypnotizing. "Superman, without a doubt. He's genuine, he really cares about people, and he doesn't need all that paraphernalia to be amazing."

You tried to focus on the discussion, but it was hard when the two seemed to be fighting for your attention with every sentence. Dave's gaze was steady and almost intense, while Todd's had that easygoing charm that made your heart race.

"I… I think they both have valid points," you said, trying to sound neutral, but the hesitation in your voice betrayed your nervousness.

"Oh, there's no point in avoiding the issue," Todd teased, smiling as he lightly patted your leg, his hand staying there a second longer than necessary. "C'mon, you know you're Superman."

"Don't let that get to you," Dave intervened, his voice calm but filled with a seriousness that made you stare at him for a moment. "Think about what really makes sense. It's not just about sympathy."

You tried to laugh to lighten the mood, but your mind was elsewhere. The proximity of the two of them, the looks, the small touches… It was as if each gesture was loaded with a tension that you didn't know how to deal with. For a moment, you let yourself be carried away by your daydreams — Dave holding your hand sweetly, his eyes shining behind his glasses as he whispered something that only you could hear. Or Todd, with that carefree smile, leaning his forehead against yours and making you laugh at something silly before losing yourself in his warm gaze.

The sound of the movie brought you back to reality, and your face heated up as you realized the direction your thoughts had taken. You quickly looked away to the TV, but not before noticing that Dave was watching you attentively, as if trying to decipher what you were thinking.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice low and full of concern as he leaned in slightly.

"Yeah, sure," you answered hastily, but you felt Todd chuckle softly beside you.

"Yeah, but now you're blushing," Todd commented, his dimples showing off his smile. "Or did Batman make you like that?"

"It's nothing," you repeated, trying to sound more convincing, but it was useless. The tension in the air felt palpable, and Dave and Todd's close proximity made your mind race in all the wrong directions—or maybe right, depending on how you looked at it. Dave's arm behind you was a constant warm presence, and his fingers always seemed on the verge of brushing the back of your neck, sending subtle shivers that you pretended to ignore. On the other side, Todd maintained his relaxed posture, but his knee pressed lightly against your leg said something else, a small gesture that seemed much bigger in this context.

“Relax, we’re just teasing you,” Todd said, an easy smile on his lips as he reached out to grab a handful of popcorn. The movement brought your shoulder up against his, and the warmth of the contact made you hold your breath for a moment. He seemed to notice, and he glanced at you sideways, somewhere between amused and… attentive.

“It’s no big deal, you know,” Dave added, his voice a little softer. “You might like Superman better. But then… you’d be wrong.” He laughed lightly, and the sound made something in your chest tighten. He had that shy, awkward way about him, but when he spoke with confidence, it was impossible not to notice. He adjusted his glasses quickly, his eyes fixed on the screen for a few seconds before shifting to you.

You tried to focus on the movie, but his every move seemed amplified. The way Dave shifted his weight from side to side, his knee pressing into the couch and leaning slightly toward your side, or the way Todd casually rested his arm on the side of your leg, his fingers almost touching your bare thigh. It was all more intense than it should have been.

When you shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, you ended up relaxing a little and leaning back, letting your shoulders lightly brush against theirs. The closeness was inevitable, but now you could no longer ignore the way their bodies felt so close, so warm. You tried to rationalize it—they were your friends, it was just the tight couch, nothing major. But your heart had another opinion, beating faster with each small movement they made.

Todd leaned forward to reach for the remote on the coffee table, and the movement caused his arm to brush against yours with a gentleness too deliberate to be accidental. "I think the next movie has a really clichéd kissing scene," he commented casually, but there was a hint of teasing in his tone that made your skin crawl.

Dave looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously? What movie doesn't have a kissing scene?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a subtle stiffness in his posture that didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, I don't know," Todd replied, shrugging with that annoyingly charming smile. "Some people like that kind of thing. I can tell who." His gaze met yours for a moment, and you felt your face heat up, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to divert attention from yourself. "Oh, please, that's like… mandatory in any movie," you muttered, feeling the weight of both their gazes on you.

When the fateful scene finally arrived, you held your breath. On the screen, the characters exchanged intense glances before kissing, and the mood in the room seemed to change instantly. The silence that followed was so heavy that you could swear you could hear the sound of hearts beating—including your own. Todd and Dave’s gazes were fixed on the screen, but you knew they were aware of the tension, too. How could they not be? The room felt smaller, the couch tighter, and the air heavier.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure of the moment, but ended up pushing your knee against Todd’s, who glanced at you quickly, a smile on the corner of his lips. “Enjoyed the scene, huh?” he teased, but his voice was huskier than usual.

“It’s just… well done,” you replied, swallowing hard.

Dave shifted beside you, adjusting his glasses again, his dark curls falling over his forehead as he looked down at you. “Clichés can be good sometimes,” he said, his voice low but filled with something that seemed deeper. “It depends on how they’re done.”

The silence between you felt alive, almost pulsing, as the movie scene played out, but no one was really paying attention. Your heart was pounding, and you knew it wasn’t because of the dramatic soundtrack on the screen. Every movement they made around you seemed choreographed to move you. The light brush of Todd’s arm against yours, the almost casual adjustment of Dave’s body to your side—it all felt calculated, even though you knew it probably wasn’t. Or was it?

“So…” Todd broke the silence, his tone playful but with something more underlying. He looked at you, his dark eyes shining with that carefree charm that seemed so natural to him. “If that were you on screen, who would you kiss?”

You nearly choked on the popcorn you weren’t even eating. “What?” Your nervous laugh came out more like a sob, and you tried to look away, but his face was so close, and Dave’s expression on the other side was just as intriguing.

“Between the two of us,” Todd continued, shifting slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the closeness creating a tension that was impossible to ignore. “Who would you kiss?”

Dave shifted beside you, clearing his throat. “Seriously, man? What kind of question is that?” He tried to sound casual, but there was something in his voice, something that gave him away. He looked at you with those clear blue eyes, like he wanted you to say something—or maybe say nothing at all.

“Oh, come on,” Todd insisted, his smile growing, but his eyes fixed on you with intensity. “It’s just a question. Friendly. We’re friends, right?”

You laughed again nervously, your hand automatically going to your hair as you tried to stall for time. “I… don’t know. That’s… weird.” But your mind was far from neutral. The idea of kissing either of them—both of them, if you were being honest with yourself—was something you had definitely considered, even if it was just a passing thought. Or not so passing.

Todd chuckled softly, but this time it sounded softer, almost like he was challenging you. “Okay, let’s make this easier. Have you ever kissed anyone?”

The question took you by surprise, and it took you a second to answer. “I have… I mean, yes. Once or twice.” Your voice came out lower than you intended, and you felt heat rise up your neck.

“Me too,” Todd replied casually, leaning back and resting his head on the couch again. “Nothing too serious, you know? Just… experimenting.”

Dave was silent for a moment, and you could tell he was nervous. His curls looked messier than usual, and he fidgeted with his glasses before speaking. "I… never, actually. Not really, anyway."

The room grew even quieter, if that was possible. Without realizing it, your eyes drifted to his lips, pink and soft, achingly inviting. He tried to hide it with an awkward shrug, his cheeks flushing as he caught your gaze. "It's never happened. Not with anyone who… mattered."

"Wait," you began before you could stop yourself, your voice sounding louder than you intended. "Never? Really?"

He nodded, and there was something so honest, so vulnerable in his expression, that it made your heart clench. You felt the words slip out before you could process them. "I could… you know. I could be your first kiss."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Dave looked at you as if he wasn't sure he'd heard you right, his lips parted in surprise, and Todd, on the other side, sat up straighter, his smile fading for a moment.

"Would you do that?" Dave asked, his voice lower, almost hesitant.

“Sure,” you replied, trying to sound casual but feeling the words tremble on your lips. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

The silence after Dave’s confession felt almost tangible, so thick you could feel it in the air around you. Todd broke the tension with a soft laugh, but unlike any previous teasing, there was no cynicism there. It was almost… curious, as if he was genuinely interested in what was coming next.

“So you’re really going to kiss him?” he asked, his eyes fixed on you, filled with something that made your breath catch. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was intensity, desire. He was watching your every move, as if he wished he were in Dave’s place.

Your face burned, and you looked away, only to be met with the restless blue of Dave’s eyes. He looked just as nervous as you, but there was something else there too: anticipation. And maybe a little newfound courage.

“If he wants to…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, biting your lip in anticipation.

“I want to,” Dave replied immediately, surprising even himself. He took off his glasses, tossing them on the coffee table, a gesture that should have seemed awkward but only made your heart race even more. “I mean, if you want to too.”

You nodded, almost mechanically, and then came the moment of truth. The two of you began to shift, trying to adjust yourselves on the tiny couch. Todd’s arm brushed against yours as he leaned in slightly, clearly not wanting to miss anything. Knowing he would watch this made your heart skip a beat.

“Let me give you some space,” Todd said, his voice low but still filled with that intense curiosity. He leaned back, his eyes never leaving you. You felt every inch of the couch, every brush of fabric, every ragged breath.

Dave turned his body toward you, and you did the same, your knees almost touching. Your hands were shaking a little, so you rested them on the couch to hide it. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop.

You were the one who moved first, your fingers gently cupping his cheek as you moved even closer, until there was no space between you.

The first touch of his lips was shy, hesitant. You felt his softness and caution, and your heart skipped a beat. You pressed your lips more firmly against his, your tongue asking for entry to venture into his mouth. Dave seemed to relax, leaning in more, returning the kiss with a confidence you never imagined he had.

You sighed against his lips, the world around you disappearing as he held your waist firmly, pulling you closer. Your hands found his shoulders, and suddenly you were on his lap, without even realizing how it had happened. The kiss was no longer shy. It was intense, almost desperate, as if you had both been waiting for this moment without knowing it.

You moaned against his mouth as you felt his hands grip your ass, pressing you tighter against him. Shit, how could he say he’d never kissed anyone? Your fingers quickly found his curls, tugging at them until you heard a scratchy noise in his throat.

You could barely think, barely breathe, but none of that mattered. You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, in the way he seemed to hold you like he’d never let you go.

A soft sound made you open your eyes suddenly, and there was Todd, clearing his throat slightly. You pulled away from Dave, both of you still breathing heavily, and looked at Todd. He was leaning forward again, his dark eyes fixed on you, shining with something that seemed like a mix of teasing and pent-up desire. You felt overly aware of your own body, your face hot as you realized Dave’s hands were still on your ass, but you did nothing to push them away.

“So,” Todd began, his tone light but with a hint of something that made your stomach churn, he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "If you had to choose, I think Dave would be your choice, don't you?"

You remained in Dave’s lap, the feel of his hands around you almost comforting. But Todd’s words made your heart beat faster in a different way. You looked up at him, your lips still tingling from the kiss, and spoke before you could stop yourself.

“I’d kiss you too,” you said, your voice low but clear. “If you just asked.”

Todd’s eyes darkened immediately, and you saw a slow smile form on his lips, revealing those adorable dimples that always got to you. Dave was silent, but you could feel the tension in his body, as if he was processing what he had just heard.

Todd kept his gaze fixed on you, his expression filled with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to comprehend what you had just said. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice deep and lower than usual, filled with a tension that you could feel in the air.

Your heart felt like it wanted to escape your chest, but you held his gaze, even as your cheeks burned with embarrassment and anticipation. You nodded, almost imperceptibly, before blurting out, in a whisper that seemed too loud in the silence, “Ask.”

The word hung between you like a challenge, like something you couldn’t take back. Todd chuckled softly, a deep sound that reverberated through the cramped couch. “Okay,” he said, leaning forward a little. “Then kiss me.”

Your stomach knotted with anxiety and excitement as you slid off Dave’s lap, feeling slight tremors in your legs. Todd’s eyes were fixed on you, following every movement as if he were under a spell. Dave, on the other side, remained silent, but the weight of his gaze was almost tangible.

When you were finally in front of Todd, kneeling on the couch, he gripped your waist firmly, pulling you onto his lap with an ease that made your heart race. Unlike Dave, Todd didn’t hesitate. He held you as if he already knew exactly what he wanted to do, and the first touch of his lips was intense.

You sighed, still tasting Dave in your mouth as Todd kissed you. His hands quickly moved down to your hips, adjusting you on his lap until you were straddling him.

You could hardly believe what was happening. Todd’s grip was different—firmer, more possessive. His hands slid around your waist, holding you with a confidence that made your entire body respond, as if you were made to be there.

The kiss was deep, almost desperate, and the world around you disappeared in a blur. You felt the heat of his body, the way he tilted his head to intensify the contact, the way he made you writhe on his lap.

His hand slid around your waist, without hesitation before squeezing your breast. Your thin bra offered no resistance against the heat of his fingers. “Todd,” you whimpered, feeling something flare inside you when he grunted his approval.

Your mind was spinning, torn between the intensity of the moment and the disbelief that this was actually happening.

When you opened your eyes for a moment, trying to catch your breath, you saw Dave watching you. He was fascinated, his lips slightly parted. His expression was a mix of surprise and… something else.

You didn’t have much time to process. Todd took advantage of the moment to slide his other hand to your hip, pulling you even closer. You didn’t protest, returning to the kiss with redoubled intensity, your hips moving against his every now and then unconsciously. The kiss didn’t have the same softness as Dave’s. It was intense, almost rough, but in a way that made you lose yourself completely.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, the silence seemed even more deafening. Todd’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his dark eyes fixed on hers, as if trying to read every thought that passed through her mind.

And then came Dave’s voice, breaking the spell. “So… him too, huh?”

You blinked, your lips still tingling from the kiss, and turned to face Dave. He didn’t look angry or hurt, but the intensity in his gaze was hard to ignore. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come out. Todd chuckled again, sliding his hands to rest on your waist.

“Let her breathe, Dave,” he said, his tone casual but still filled with something that made your skin crawl.

The silence in the room was so thick it felt like a physical presence. You could feel the heat of Todd’s hands still resting on your waist, and at the same time, Dave’s gaze burning into you. You didn’t dare look directly at him; you knew your mind was already a mess and that staring into those vibrant blue eyes would only make things worse.

Todd, on the other hand, seemed more relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders gave away that he was just as affected as you were. The way he held you, as if he was trying to memorize the moment, made your heart beat even faster.

Dave was the first to break the silence. “So… you really don’t have a favorite?” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as if he were treading unfamiliar territory.

You felt your face heat up even more. It was almost impossible to believe you were having this conversation, but after what had just happened, pretending nothing had changed seemed ridiculous.

“I… I can’t choose.” The confession came out in a whisper, and you almost wished you could swallow the words back. But it was the truth. “It’s impossible.”

Todd arched an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on his lips. “Impossible, huh?” He seemed to be enjoying seeing you so nervous, but his eyes didn’t give a lie. There was something else there, something deeper that he wasn’t willing to hide.

Dave, on the other hand, looked conflicted. He shifted on the couch, as if trying to find a comfortable position—and failing miserably. “But… what does that mean?” he asked, leaning forward a little without even realizing it.

His approach didn’t go unnoticed. You felt the space between the three of you shrink even further, the heat from your bodies almost suffocating. Todd seemed to notice it too, but he didn’t say anything, just kept his hands firmly on you, as if he was marking his territory.

“I mean…” You stopped, searching for the right words, even though your mind seemed unable to process anything beyond their proximity. “I mean I like both of you. In different ways, maybe, but… I can’t imagine choosing just one.”

The admission hung in the air like a bomb about to explode. Dave opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your throat dry.

Todd, however, laughed softly, the sound making your skin crawl. “So you’re saying we both have a chance?” He tilted his head to the side, as if challenging you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I just know I like you. Both of you. And it confuses me, because… because I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Dave finally spoke, his voice firmer this time. “What if you didn’t have to choose?”

Your heart almost stopped. What did he mean by that? The look in his eyes left no doubt: he was serious. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your chest hurt, but also something that seemed determined, like he had already accepted the idea before you had.

Todd let out a short laugh, but it didn’t seem like he was mocking. He looked at Dave, then back at you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “That sounds like an interesting idea.”

You felt the air leave your lungs in a shaky breath. The couch felt even smaller, their bodies pressed against yours, each movement sending shocks through your body.

Dave, without realizing it, had moved even closer, until he was right next to Todd. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before landing softly on your leg, tracing lazy half circles on your thigh that made your skin crawl.

“Are you serious?” you asked, your voice thick with nervousness and disbelief.

Dave nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. Maybe… maybe we don’t have to do this the traditional way.”

The intensity of the moment seemed to overwhelm every one of your senses. The heat of Todd’s body pressed against yours, his hands firm on your waist, and Dave’s gaze burning into your face were almost too much to bear. And yet, there was something incredibly addictive about the charged atmosphere, as if you had fallen into a fever dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

Dave seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of nervousness and determination. But you couldn’t wait any longer. Before you could regret it, you leaned toward him, one of your hands landing on his shoulder as you pulled him into a kiss, never leaving Todd’s lap.

His lips were soft, hesitant at first, as if he was still trying to figure out what was happening. But that only lasted for a moment. As soon as Dave felt the firmness of your mouth against his, he seemed to gain confidence. The kiss deepened, becoming more intense. His hand moved up to your face, his fingers tracing your jaw in a touch that sent waves of heat through your body.

And even as you lost yourself in the kiss with Dave, Todd’s presence could not be ignored. His hands on you seemed almost possessive, his thumbs making lazy circles on your skin, as if he wanted to remind you that he was there too. The contrast between the two of them was mind-blowing: Dave’s gentle touch, the almost desperate kiss, and Todd’s steady strength, keeping you anchored in the moment.

And it was somewhat impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants, pressed deliciously against your pussy.

When you finally pulled away from Dave, your breath was caught in your throat, your lips tingling with the intensity of the kiss. Your eyes met his, so blue and intense that you almost lost yourself again.

But there was no time to process anything. Before you could even catch your breath, Todd was in motion. He leaned forward, his hand rising to the base of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss of his own.

The initial shock gave way to a wave of electricity that coursed through your body. Todd’s kiss was completely different: firm, almost fierce, as if he were trying to claim something he thought was his. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t leave room for doubt. The hand on the back of your neck held you in place, while the other squeezed your breast, his thumb teasing the hardened nipple.

You couldn’t help it. A gasp escaped your throat, and you leaned even further against him, your fingers gripping Todd’s shirt as you tried to find some kind of balance. Your body felt incandescent, as if every cell was vibrating with the intensity of the moment.

And at the same time, you still felt Dave. His gaze was palpable, burning into your skin, and when you opened your eyes for a brief second, you found him watching you with something between fascination and desire. It was impossible to ignore the tension he carried too, the way his hands were clenched into fists on the couch, as if he was fighting the urge to pull you back.

Todd finally pulled away, but not completely. He rested his forehead against yours, his heavy breathing mingling with yours. “What now?” he murmured, his voice husky, filled with something that made your heart race even faster.

You had no answer. Or maybe you did, but you were lost in the heat of them, in the whirlwind of emotions that seemed too much to bear.

It was Dave who broke the silence, his voice low and filled with something that seemed to be a mix of nervousness and determination. “This isn’t just a game to me.”

You stared at him, his words piercing through the fog in your mind. He sounded so vulnerable, so sincere, that it made something inside you clench. But before he could say anything, Todd spoke, his voice filled with quiet confidence.

“Not even for me.”

The weight of their words fell on you, almost overwhelming. It was impossible to deny how attracted you were to both of them, how being between them felt… right. Even if it was insane. Even if it was something you had never imagined.

“I…” You began, but your voice faltered. You looked from one to the other, feeling the intensity of their gazes, feeling as if you were in the middle of something much bigger than you could comprehend. “I…” you began again, feeling your throat dry, the words stuck somewhere between your mind and your lips. You looked at Todd, whose hand was still firmly on yours, as if he feared you would disappear. Then at Dave, who looked so vulnerable and, at the same time, filled with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

“How… how would this work?” you finally asked, your voice low, almost a whisper, as if you didn’t want to break the moment. But the question was there, hanging in the air between you, filled with tension, anticipation and something you barely dared to name.

Todd arched an eyebrow, a slow, almost challenging smile curving his lips. "Do you really want to know?" he asked, his tone low and heavy, as his fingers traced lazy circles on your waist.

Dave swallowed hard, but nodded. "Yeah… I think we need to talk about it. If… if everyone is really thinking the same thing."

You laughed softly, almost in disbelief, tasting the kisses still fresh in your mouth. "I can't stop thinking about it. How you guys taste… how it feels… right." The words slipped out before you could stop them, and a blush quickly rose to your face.

Todd let out a low laugh, somewhere between amused and pleased. "Then we're on the same page."

Dave looked less sure, but his hand moved toward yours, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch was hesitant, but full of meaning, as if he was trying to find the courage to move forward. "I just… I want to make sure this is something you want too. That we all want."

You looked from one to the other, your heart racing. "I do. But… what about you?"

Todd leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "I think my actions have made that pretty clear."

Dave shook his head, a small, almost shy smile curving his lips. "Yeah. I do. But I haven't… I've never done anything like this before."

"Me either," you admitted, a blush heating your face.

Todd let out an amused sigh. "Well, it seems I'm the only one here who's ever thought outside the box. But it doesn't have to be complicated."

As he spoke, you noticed the three of them were leaning toward each other without realizing it, as if the growing tension was pulling them closer. The heat of their bodies around you was almost suffocating, but in a good way, in a way that made your skin crawl, as if the blood in your veins had been replaced by liquid fire.

“So… what happens now?” you asked, your voice low, almost trembling with anticipation.

Todd opened his mouth to answer, but Dave was quicker. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that quickly gained intensity. You felt his hands cup your face, his touch firm but incredibly tender.

But before you could completely lose yourself in the kiss, you felt Todd move. His hands on your waist gently pushed you back onto the couch. The newly imposed distance made a complaint arise in your mind, but it was quickly replaced by a sigh as you felt him position himself behind you. In ecstasy, you realized that you were trapped between them. The couch creaked in response, but no one showed concern.

You wrapped your arms around Dave’s neck, feeling his chest crush your breasts. You were still kissing him when Todd pressed his lips against the curve of your neck. Your back pressed firmly against his chest.

The world seemed to spin. You couldn’t separate one sensation from the other—the heat of Dave’s kiss, the firmness of Todd’s touch, the two merging into a whirlwind that made your head spin. When Dave finally pulled away, panting, it was Todd who took his place, pulling you into a kiss that was completely different: firm, full of control, but equally devastating.

The moment Dave’s lips brushed Todd’s was like time had stopped. Neither of you moved, your eyes wide as surprise hung in the air. You held your breath, feeling the weight of tension triple around you. There were no words, just the muffled sound of rapid breathing and the heat of your bodies so close together.

“That… was…” Todd began, but the sentence trailed off, replaced by a low sigh. He looked disconcerted, his eyes fixed on Dave, but there was no hostility there. Only confusion and something that felt like… curiosity.

Dave, for his part, looked equally stunned, the blush rising quickly to his face. “I… didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, full of embarrassment.

But Todd, instead of responding with words, let out a short, husky laugh, more of a whisper than an actual sound. “Relax, man. It was just an accident,” he said, but there was something about the way he looked at Dave—a mix of teasing and consideration that made him seem far more intrigued than he should have been.

You watched them, feeling trapped between them, both physically and emotionally. Their closeness was almost suffocating, but in a way that made your skin tingle. “Are you guys okay?” you asked, trying to diffuse the rising tension, but your own voice came out low and shaky, betraying what you really felt.

Todd looked at you, then back at Dave, before letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah. We’re fine.” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you now. “What about you?”

“I… don’t know,” you admitted, laughing nervously, leaning against Todd’s chest as you tried to catch your breath. “This is all very… intense.”

Dave ran a hand through his hair, clearly still processing what had just happened. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours. “But… well, it doesn’t feel wrong. Does it?”

You shook your head slowly, feeling your heart hammer in your chest. “No. It doesn’t.”

And, as if your words had broken some invisible barrier, Dave leaned in again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt more urgent this time. His hands slid down your body, leaving a trail that seemed to burn your skin, before settling back on your ass, squeezing hard enough to make a moan bubble past your lips.

Before you could pull away, you felt Todd’s hands on your waist again, firm and warm, deliberately moving up until they cupped your soft breasts, kneading them gently through your thin blouse. The couch felt too small to hold all of you, your bodies moving together in an awkward but harmonious rhythm.

When Dave finally pulled away, panting, it was Todd who took his place, turning your face back for a kiss that was completely different—firmer, more demanding, almost as if he were trying to prove something. His hands teased your aching nipples, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

And then, before you could completely lose yourself in him, Dave was there again. The initial shock seemed to have faded, replaced by a strange, silent acceptance. They didn’t talk about what it meant, just went with the flow of the moment, the touches and kisses becoming a language of their own.

When you were too breathless, lost in the feeling of an insistent poke in your belly and another in your ass, your eyes closed for a moment. Just registering the moment, the way the heat had enveloped your body, the way you were deliciously pressed against each other.

“This is… insane,” you murmured between kisses, your voice broken by sighs as you tried to keep up with their movements.

“Maybe,” Todd replied, his voice low and husky against your ear. “But it feels right.”

Dave nodded, his fingers still firmly on your ass, adjusting it against his own growing bulge in his pants. "I never imagined… but, yes. It feels right." The three of you moved as if they were one, a tangle of hands and mouths, each touch, each kiss charged with an intensity that bordered on delirious.

You felt as if you were floating, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions and sensations that you couldn't and didn't want to control. Their tastes mixed together, their touches were a perfect blend of firmness and care, and the world around you disappeared completely. There was no room for doubt or regret—only the growing heat between you and the certainty that, somehow, it all made sense.

The insistent sound of a cell phone vibrating cut through the heavy air of kisses and panting breaths, but no one really seemed to care. Todd’s lips were on the curve of your neck, leaving kisses that sent shivers down your spine, while Dave held your face in a firm hand, his fingers brushing the line of your jaw as his lips took yours again.

You tried to focus, but the constant vibration seemed to grow louder and louder, almost like a reminder that was impossible to ignore. “My… my phone,” you managed to mumble, but your voice came out low, almost breathless, lost between the ringing and the heat radiating from both of them.

Dave let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a protest, his lips leaving yours just enough to murmur against your skin, “Ignore it.”

Still, you reached out with difficulty, trying to find the phone, while their caresses made it difficult to even breathe.

“Let it ring,” Todd suggested, his voice husky and low against your skin, as he left a soft bite on the side of your neck.

Dave let out a small laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It shouldn’t be that important,” he added, but the intensity of his lips returning to meet yours told you he clearly didn’t care.

You finally managed to pull out your phone, and the name on the screen made your stomach sink for a moment: Dad. Taking a deep breath—or at least trying to, because Todd hadn’t yet taken his lips off of you—you answered. “H-hey,” you managed to say, but the word came out in a shaky whisper, your voice cracking with the heat in your body.

“Daughter? Is everything okay? You seem out of breath,” your father said on the other end of the line, concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice slurred and shaky as Todd took the moment to place another kiss on your neck, this time with a teasing bite that made you let out a small muffled sound before you could stop yourself. Dave arched an eyebrow, a lazy smile on his lips. “I’m… I’m at Todd’s,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual, but your heavy breathing gave you away.

“Are his parents there?” your father asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

You hesitated for a moment, but felt Todd smile against your skin before whispering, "Say yes."

"Yes," you lied, the word coming out too quickly. "They're… t-they're in the... living room," you finished, stuttering slightly as Dave ran his hand down your side, his fingers tracing a warm line on your skin.

Your father seemed to consider the answer for a moment before continuing. "I just wanted to let you know that your uncle is here. He came as a surprise and really wants to see you. Come home when you can."

"My uncle?" you asked, your mind in a haze. Todd's soft bite on your neck and Dave's lips brushing your collarbone made it impossible to fully focus. "Oh… sure. I'll… I'll come back," you said, but the words came out broken, almost like a sigh, which only seemed to heighten the interest in Todd and Dave's eyes.

"Is everything really okay, honey? You're sounding… weird," your father observed, his tone more serious now.

"Yes, I'm… tired," you replied, trying to sound convincing, but another sigh escaped when Dave pressed a firmer kiss to your shoulder, and you had to bite your lip to hold back any sound.

"Okay, then come back soon. Don't be long," he said before hanging up.

You dropped your phone on the couch with a shaky hand, trying to compose yourself as Todd tilted his face up, his eyes shining with mischief. “You lied so well,” he teased, his voice low and full of amusement.

“I could barely speak,” you admitted breathlessly, your lips still tingling from the kisses.

“Maybe because we didn’t let you,” Dave said, smiling as he tilted his head for another kiss, his fingers already firmly on your waist.

“I have to go,” you murmured, though you weren’t sure if you believed it.

“Do you really?” Todd asked, his fingers stroking the back of your neck slowly and deliberately.

You didn’t answer. Or maybe you couldn’t, because Dave pulled you closer, and soon you were lost in them again, every touch, every kiss, making it seem like the world outside that couch didn’t exist.

The knowledge that you had to go was coming back like a slow but inevitable tide. You were there, between them, each kiss and touch so captivating that the world seemed to have stopped. Still, the weight of the cell phone in your hand and your father's voice echoed in your mind, reminding you that you had to get out of that feverish paradise.

With an effort that seemed almost superhuman, you began to move away, your body hesitating with every inch lost between the three of them. Dave, who had his fingers intertwined in the curve of your waist, tried to keep them there for a moment longer, while Todd, with his lips still so close to your skin, let out a hoarse sigh of dissatisfaction. "Are you sure you have to go?" he asked, his tone low and loaded with something that made your legs threaten to give out.

You nodded, although your hands still instinctively sought their touch, almost as if they were acting on their own. "I… I do," you answered, but your voice came out shaky, as if the very act of speaking convinced you otherwise.

Before you could stand up completely, you leaned in, leaving a soft kiss on Todd's lips, enough to feel the slight roughness he had, so familiar now. He smiled against your lips, almost challenging, as if he was sure you would change your mind.

When your eyes met Dave's, something sparked between you. You moved closer, hesitant but determined, and his fingers soon rose to your face, firm and gentle, guiding you for another kiss. Unlike Todd's, his was a mix of intensity and tenderness, something that made your chest tight with conflicting emotions.

As you pulled away, panting, you saw the two exchange a brief, almost complicit look, before turning their focus back to you. The marks they left began to burn lightly on your skin as you adjusted yourself to get up, and it was only when you absently ran your hand over your neck that you realized the damage they had done.

Your face blushed violently. “You… left marks,” you murmured, your voice tinged with embarrassment and something else they probably noticed too.

Todd tilted his head, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “And you left yours too,” he replied teasingly, indicating the place where your own fingers had previously grazed his neck.

Dave laughed, a low, comfortable laugh. “Good luck explaining that,” he said, his tone laced with amusement but also something you couldn’t quite decipher.

Still dazed, you gathered your things, feeling their eyes follow your every move. When you finally reached the door, Todd was the first to stand, walking towards you with that familiar relaxed confidence. He leaned in for one last kiss, quicker this time but no less intense, as if he wanted to prolong the moment for just a second longer.

Dave approached soon after, his gaze warm and amused. “See you later,” he said, his fingers brushing your hand before he leaned in for another kiss. "See you," you replied, the word almost swallowed by the confusion of emotions dancing inside you. When you finally left, you could still feel their lips on yours and the marks, now not only on your skin, but also on your heart.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving Dave and Todd alone in the room. For a moment, silence reigned, interrupted only by the sound of their still uneven breathing. They threw themselves on the couch, their clothes slightly wrinkled and the marks of what had happened written on their faces — swollen lips, messy hair, and an unsettling glint in their eyes.

Todd was the first to break the silence, letting out a low, almost incredulous laugh. “Dude… what the fuck just happened?” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more as he looked at Dave, his eyes still filled with a mix of amusement and surprise.

Dave was still processing everything, his gaze fixed on the door as if he expected you to return at any moment. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice coming out hoarse, almost choked. He brought a hand to his face, as if he needed to make sure he was still there. “That was… completely insane.”

Todd tilted his head back, letting out a long sigh, before looking at Dave with a smile that was half teasing, half pure fascination. “You do realize we just kissed the same girl, right? Like… fuck, while she was between us. That’s better than any porn I’ve ever seen.”

Dave blushed immediately, but didn’t try to deny it. “Yeah, I noticed, Todd,” he replied, his voice louder than he intended. He ran his hands over his face, desperately trying to make sense of it. “That was… different. And you didn’t even flinch,” he added, looking at Todd with a mix of accusation and something else.

“Neither did you,” Todd replied, a smirk appearing on his face. He shrugged, as if he was more comfortable with the situation than he should have been. “But seriously… did you feel it? Like, how she seemed to be… there with us? Not between us, but… part of it?”

Dave couldn’t help but remember the way their bodies seemed to mold together, as if everything made some strange, unexpected sense. “I felt it,” he admitted, reluctantly but honestly. “And that’s what makes me so confused.”

Todd turned to face Dave directly, his smile fading as he spoke more seriously. “So… what do we do about this? Because, man, I can’t just… pretend it didn’t happen.”

Dave shook his head slowly, his eyes returning to the couch, where minutes ago everything had happened. “Me neither,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He licked his lips, as if he could still taste her. “I think we need to… talk to her about it. See what she thinks.”

Todd laughed lightly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, because this isn’t going to be weird,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. But the smile that followed was genuine. “If there’s one thing that’s clear, it’s that she’s just as lost in this as we are.”

Dave nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against his leg. “Do you think she… feels the same way? Like, that this is something that could work?”

Todd shrugged, but there was a strange confidence in the gleam in his eyes. “Only one way to find out, right? But man, if I know her well enough… I’d say she was as comfortable with us as she seemed.”

Dave stared at Todd for a long moment before finally letting out a shy smile. "This is crazy, Todd. You know that, right?"

Todd laughed, louder this time, throwing his head back. "Of course it is, man. But if we're going to do something crazy, at least it's with her."

They were silent after that, both lost in their own thoughts. But deep down, one thing was clear: whatever had started in that room, it wasn't something they were willing to abandon any time soon.

123 notes · View notes

ryemackerel · 22 hours ago

Text

Edd: Matt, is it recording?

Matt: Mhm. You’re good to go, hun.

Edd: Okay. Hope the auto-captioning works. Uh, so let’s start this off by saying HI EVERYONE! Uh, end of the year message here. Something-something, merry Christmas! (Tom: LAME!!)

Matt: A VERY HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND CHEERS TO THE NEW YEAR!! EXCITED FOR 2017!!!!

Edd: Haha! Okay! But seriously this time, thank you all so much for being an important part of our lives, whoever this may be directed to.

2016 was one hell of a ride, and I’m really happy to have met all the people who made it better. It had its ups and downs, but— haha— I’m genuinely really thankful to have my loved ones stick around and help me out whenever I needed it most. To my family, friends, and 3 hubbies, thank you all so much! Merry Christmas, and happy 2017.

[All 3 clapping! The others go to Edd for a group hug, and yes, that includes them pulling in Tom.]

Matt and Tord: LOVE YOU TOO, EDD!!! (Tom: …Lame.)

Edd: Was that good? I kind of made something up on the spot!

Tord: HAH! Better than what I could’ve done.

Matt: Okay! Anyone else want to say some last words? Actually. I’ll go first.

Um! I’m so so very happy of the people in my life and the experiences and the love from this year! You all mean so much to me, and I could NEVER trade in anything else to replace the joy that you have all given me. I love you all so so much, thank you, a million times THANK YOU, for everything! Take care of yourselves, and as always, LOVE YOU!!!

[All 3 clapping, Edd and Tord yelling]

Edd: I LOVE YOU MORE THAN WORDS CAN IMAGINE MATT!!!

Any of you two want to go?

Tord: Uh… Hehehe.

[Tord and Tom look at each other with a very mischievous smile]

Tom: Eat my jolly jingle balls.

[Tom and Tord CACKLE SO LOUDLY AND HIGH FIVE in front of an incredibly confused Edd.]

Edd: Okay then.

Tom: Hah. Okay fine, fine. Uh. I don’t like Christmas, but have a nice occasion of whatever you celebrate, and have a safe one. And yeah. Take care, peace.

Okay, you, Tord. Go.

Tord: What the hell do I say?

Matt: ANYTHING! Let it out to your heart’s content!

Tord: …Ok. Thank you all. And… love you.

Edd: One last group hug before we end the recording?

119 notes · View notes

gwydionae · 11 hours ago

Text

Thank you so much for all the prayers! <3 The surgery went well, and she is recovering in the hospital overnight with plans to come home around noon Christmas Day.

While removing some of her lymph nodes, however, they found micro cancer cells in one of them. This means that there is a potential that she may need radiation as well, depending on what the tests show, so if you think of her, continued prayers would be welcome.

Seriously, though, it has given me a sense of peace just seeing the reblogs, likes, and kind words from even people I've never met before. I really am grateful. <3

My sister's surgery to remove her cancer is tomorrow morning at 7:30 (Christmas Eve). Prayers for her, the doctors, and her two boys would be appreciated! <3

#sister update

229 notes · View notes

parkitrighthere · 19 hours ago

Text

The Black Orchid Project

Pairing: billionaire CEO!Jeon Jungkook x Secretory!Reader Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, Thriller Word Count: 19k Trigger warning: This chapter contains morally grey characters, toxic characters, dark romance, trauma, violence, mentions of murder, death, and conspiracy. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face. a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support. a/n: So, I finally posted. Yeah, I know, shock of the century, right? You were probably out here cursing my name like, 'Where the heck have you been?' Well, I guess I just decided not to post this time. Don’t ask me why, I don’t even know. But hey, I’m sorry for that. I know, I say sorry a lot, it’s like my default setting at this point. But I swear, I’m really going to try and post more. I promise. Maybe. Also, a super huge shoutout and a massive thank you to my absolute favorite person @closer-to-jungkook. She beta-read this mess for me, and gave me so many amazing insights, but guess what? I didn’t do a single thing with them because, you know, I’m a failure like that. So, yeah, basically I let her down as my beta reader. Sorry, girl. But next time, I swear, I’ll actually listen and make you proud... unless I forget, again, in which case... whoops. Anyway, love you guys, and I’ll try not to disappear again... maybe.

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, your hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles white as you tried to appear composed. But your patience was wearing thin. He was overreacting, making a mountain out of nothing. Sure, you’d made a mistake—who hadn’t?—but this? This was ridiculous. What was his deal with the room’s capacity? Why on earth was he so bothered about having more than four people in a room? Seriously, what kind of control freak rule was that? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Was he scared of crowds or something? Honestly, with his attitude, he should be. If he kept ticking people off like this, one day, someone might snap—and if there were enough people, they’d form a mob. The thought almost made you snort, but you swallowed it down, biting your cheek. It was a silly theory, but it was better than trying to untangle the nonsense of his rules.

The meeting dragged on. Time seemed to crawl as if the clock itself was protesting against the sheer monotony of the discussion. It hadn’t been long since it started, but to you, it already felt like you’d been trapped in this room for days. You lost count of the times his gaze—no, his glare—scorched into you. Each glance filled with condescension that felt like a slap across the face.

He glared at you again. His soft, doe-like eyes narrowed, dark and piercing, with a keenness that made you shrink back slightly. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping under his skin as he ground his teeth. You flinched instinctively, your body betraying you with a subtle jerk, as if bracing for impact, suddenly aware of how small you felt under his scrutiny. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingers feeling like they might snap, as you tried to focus anywhere else.

You quickly averted your gaze, your eyes darting around the room, desperate for an escape. Your eyes landed on Taehyung. He leaned back casually in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his long fingers drumming against the table in a slow, lazy rhythm. As soon as he felt your gaze, his lips curled into a subtle smirk. He raised his brows and blinked at you—once, deliberately.

You felt your face heat, and not from embarrassment, but frustration. God, all these men are insane. You clenched your fists tighter, nails digging into your palms to calm yourself. You swore they all had some kind of mental dysfunction. Jungkook with his silent rage, Taehyung with his infuriating charm—maybe Jimin was the only sane one in this room besides you.

You sighed, shifting in your seat again, your foot tapping nervously against the floor. Mental health courses exist for a reason, you thought bitterly, your gaze flickering between Jungkook’s scowl and Taehyung’s irritating grin. Maybe they should sign up for all of them.

As your thoughts spiralled, you dared a glance at him… again. Only to catch the faintest twitch of his brow—precise, calculated. It wasn’t just anger in his expression; it was something darker, something… personal? And it scared you, even if you’d never admit it.

The moment you had been dreading finally came. The meeting was over.

Chairs screeched against the floor as everyone pushed back from the table. The sound grated on your nerves, but you rose from your seat anyway, hands trembling, legs wobbling as though they might give out beneath you.

Your breath hitched, shallow and fast, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a viscous thud that made your chest ache. Was this fear? Anxiety? You couldn’t tell anymore, but it clawed at you, gnawing at your insides like a predator circling its prey. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to calm yourself, but the uneasy tremor in your chest refused to fade.

You risked another glance at him, keeping your gaze low, peeking through your lashes, a fleeting, nervous look that you immediately regretted. His gaze locked onto you, soft yet paradoxically so sharp and firm, as if he could see right through you. The weight of his stare felt like a physical force pressing against your temple. You quickly looked away but it was too late.

Your throat tightening as your heart slammed against your ribs. But it didn’t matter—his eyes stayed on you, burning holes into the side of your head like he could feel every breath you took.

There was something in the way he looked at you—a mix of curiosity and disdain that made your skin crawl, like you were an unsolved puzzle he hated having to deal with. It was as though he were studying you, dissecting you piece by piece. He looked at you like he couldn’t stand the thought of breathing the same air as you, as if being in the same room as you was a personal insult he couldn’t forgive. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not in kindness. A cold, predatory smirk curled his lips, one that made your blood run cold.

His soft brown boba eyes never left you.

And then he smiled. Cold, shrill, and entirely without warmth. A smile that dripped with obnoxiousness and delight, as though he was basking in your unease, feeding off it like it gave him some twisted satisfaction.

You weren’t sure what scared you more—the venom in his gaze or the fact that you couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to.

"Jungkook," Seokjin’s voice cut through the fragile silence like a gentle breeze, calm and soothing.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward Seokjin, and in an instant, everything about him changed.

His shoulders, tense and rigid moments ago, relaxed, and his piercing glare melted away, replaced by something soft—gentle, even. His lips curved into a smile, one so sweet and genuine it left you completely dumfounded. You blinked, your mouth falling open in shock.

What the hell?

Your eyes widened, as you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face. How... how is this possible? This was the same man who had spent the entire meeting glaring daggers at you, exuding nothing but cold enmity. How could someone so rude, heartless, and obnoxiously infuriating smile like that? It didn’t make sense. It felt like a trick, some cruel joke the universe was playing on you. But there it was—his smile, warm and dazzling, as if he hadn’t spent the past hour glaring at you like you were dirt beneath his shoe. And now? Now he looked like a painting come to life—a vision of warmth and beauty that shouldn’t belong to someone so cruel.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his smile softened his entire face. For a brief, fleeting moment, you found yourself mesmerized. A small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of your mind, He’s stunning. Beautiful. Perfect. And he was. That smile made him look like something out of a dream, his dark orbs soft and almost shy under the fluorescent light. He was cute too, you realized, in that infuriating way that made you want to scream. And hot? God, no one could dare bring up the concept of hotness without mentioning him.

How can someone so horrible look this… beautiful? The whisper in the back of your mind grew louder. This man is the definition of beauty.

Your cheeks flushed at the thought, and you shook your head quickly, breaking free from whatever spell he’d cast. No. Absolutely not. Don’t go there. You shook your head slightly, muttering a quiet mantra in your head. No, no, no. He’s an idiot. A rude, wicked bastard. Stop it. This is the same guy who’s made your day a living hell. Remember that. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart raced, or the strange flutter in your chest.

Jungkook didn’t respond to Jin right away. Instead, he moved. His long strides carried him around the table, each step smooth and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He stopped beside Jin, his posture instantly relaxed as Seokjin patted his shoulder in a way that felt natural, familiar.

Jin began to speak again, his lips parting as if to offer some kind of reassurance, but Jungkook cut him off before he could finish.

“Hyung! Let’s go to my office,” Jungkook said, his voice low and soft, almost tender. “We’ll talk there?” His voice was softer than you’d heard it, polite and calm. It was so different from the cold, harsh tone he had threw your way.

You blinked, staring at the two of them as your jaw threatened to hit the floor again. This can’t be real. Him? Soft? It was like watching a lion purr—a sight so contradictory it didn’t feel real. His tone was polite, his demeanour respectful—words you would never have associated with the man five minutes ago

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Jungkook, the same man who had made your day a living hell, now stood before Seokjin like an obedient younger brother. It was unsettling, to say the least.

He wasn’t just polite—he was soft. Gentle, even.

You couldn’t stop staring. The way he tilted his head slightly when he spoke to Jin, the way his hands relaxed at his sides, no longer tense or clenched. It was so different from the version of him you knew, it almost felt like you were looking at a completely different person.

Your fingers twitched at your side, itching to pinch yourself. Maybe you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. Because the Jungkook you knew? He didn’t do soft. And yet, here he was, proving you wrong with every breath. The man who had made it his mission to make you feel two inches tall was suddenly soft and sweet with Seokjin? It didn’t make sense.

But the warmth in his expression lingered, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, it made your chest tighten. He was more than what you’d seen so far… wasn’t he?

Jin’s face lit up with a bright smile as he nodded at Jungkook. Turning away, he gave Namjoon and Taehyung a light nudge to follow him.

Namjoon responded with a quick nod, a broad grin spreading across his face as he moved to join them.

Taehyung, however, didn’t move. Instead, he slumped further into his chair, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back with a loud, exaggerated sigh. His lips pressed into a pout as he stared at the ceiling like the very idea of moving was a personal offense. It was no secret that Jeon Enterprises and Kim Enterprises were very close; both companies worked hand in hand. Even Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung went to the same school and college together. Their entire childhood and teenage years were spent together, and they were still together. All three of them were always in the news, and always together too. Jungkook knew Taehyung like the back of his hand along with his antics.

Namjoon glanced over, eyebrows furrowing in that “here we go again” way of his as he caught sight of Taehyung’s antics. “Seriously?” he asked, his tone half amused, half exasperated. His hands found their way to his hips, as he watched Taehyung flap his arms against the chair’s armrests.

Taehyung raised his hand in the air, palm out, as if announcing something grand. “No!” he exclaimed, dragging the word out as he slowly pushed himself up from his seat, slowly, deliberately, making it as dramatic as possible before turning to Seokjin. “I won’t, hyung. I refuse.”

Seokjin didn’t react right away. He merely tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, making it clear he wasn’t impressed. His lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. His gaze shifted to Namjoon, wordlessly asking, Is this brat for real?

Namjoon only shrugged, an almost conspiratorial grin spreading across his face, as if he found the whole thing more entertaining than annoying. . They both turned their attention back to Taehyung, who didn’t care—if anything, their reactions only fueled his theatrics. "NO," Taehyung declared, his voice firm, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

“What now?” Seokjin asked finally, his voice calm, dangerously calm, but the words that tumbled out were tight. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—it was the kind of calm that warned you not to push your luck. His piercing eyes bored into Taehyung, sharp and calculating, a reminder that behind the soft features was a mind you didn’t want to cross. The sharp edge to it made you flinch, even though the question wasn’t directed at you.

The tension in the room shifted as even Taehyung hesitated for a second, his hand dropping to his side as he shifted under Jin’s obdurate stare. But within minutes he was back to his usual self.

You stood in the corner, half-forgotten, watching the scene unfold as if you were invisible. For a moment, it felt like you were intruding on a private family argument. They were so lost in their little world that none of them seemed to notice you lingering. The ridiculousness of the scene was almost enough to make you forget the tension lingering in the air. Almost.

Seokjin’s calm demeanour held stable as he waited for Taehyung’s next move, the silence stretching just long enough to make even you hold your breath.

But Taehyung, being Taehyung, jabbed his finger in Jungkook's direction without even sparing him a glance. “He didn’t invite me! Just you, hyung. Just you,” he said, voice laced with mock hurt. Namjoon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. How could he stay mad? Taehyung was his little brother, and no matter how ridiculous the stunt, even when they bordered on absurd, he couldn’t help but find it endearing.

Taehyung’s arms crossed over his chest, his pout deepening as he stuck his bottom lip out, eyes narrowing as he watched Seokjin expectantly.

“An invitation? Really? You want an invitation?” Seokjin asked, his voice flat and deadpan, like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this ridiculous request. “What is this, a wedding? You want calligraphy and wax seals?”

Taehyung’s pout deepened, his gaze shifting dramatically to the side as he huffed. "Please would do," His voice a mix of childish demand and mock offense, his eyes flicking to Seokjin for any sign of approval.

“A proper invite,” he huffed. “With manners. A simple please.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back his laugh, it came out bright and loud, like he’d just heard the funniest joke. "What?!" he snorted, stepping forward with an amused glint in his eyes.

His laughter only grew as he straightened, wiping a fake tear from his eye before stepping toward Taehyung. “From Jungkook? Oh, Tae, you’re delusional.” he said, his voice a mockingly sweet coo.

Taehyung’s brow twitched, and he shoved Jimin away, glaring at him. “Don’t call me delusional,” he snapped. “And stop laughing. It’s not that funny.”

Jimin, still laughing, straightened up and threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “Oh, but it is, Tae-Tae,” he teased, dragging out the nickname with enough sugar to cause cavities.

Taehyung immediately shoved him off. “Don’t call me that!” he barked, though his glare wavered when Jimin stumbled backward, his laughter echoing in the room.

“Let’s be real,” Jimin said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Jungkook saying please? You’ve got better odds of him baking us cupcakes with love letters on top.”

Seokjin watched the entire scene unfold with a quiet sigh, his arms falling to his sides as he shook his head. “Bloody idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes betrayed the fondness he felt for them all.

Jungkook, who had been leaning against the wall with the air of someone far too cool to care, quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The faint smirk on his lips said it all: “Not happening.”

“See?” Jimin said, gesturing toward Jungkook with a wide grin, as if the smirk was proof enough of what he’d been saying.

Taehyung huffed, rolling his eyes as he glared at Jungkook. "He’s insufferable." he muttered, his voice flat but dripping with monotony. He threw the words out with the kind of disinterest that only Taehyung could manage, as though even arguing was beneath him.

“Always has been,” Jimin agreed cheerfully, giving Taehyung a playful pat on the shoulder.

“You want an invite?” Seokjin deadpanned, cutting through the noise like a knife. “Fine. Jungkook, invite him.”

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”

The room fell silent for a beat before Jimin broke into another fit of laughter. “I told you!” he howled, practically doubling over again. “That guy would rather eat his shoe than say the p-word.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Taehyung muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Jimin grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “What’s the matter, Tae? Expecting something special from him? Maybe a song, a serenade, flowers—”

“Shut up,” Taehyung snapped, his face turning red as he swatted at Jimin His glare faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement behind his annoyed facade.

Namjoon, trying to keep it together, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. Seokjin did the same, clearing his throat to hide the grin threatening to break free. You couldn’t hold back either, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. The sound of it made everyone snap their heads in your direction, and you immediately went still.

“Oh, for the love of—” Taehyung groaned, standing up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly as he shoved it back. “This is ridiculous. Forget it. I’m not playing this game.”

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” Jimin pressed, a laugh already escaping as he took a step back, clearly enjoying pushing Taehyung’s buttons.

“Like I care!” Taehyung shot back, his hands gesturing wildly before he turned on his heel. He glared at Jungkook one last time. “Who’d want to spend time with a jerk like him anyway?”

You couldn’t help but agree, nodding your head. It was truly, genuinely, sincerely, honestly the most truthful statement you'd heard all day. Even Jungkook chuckled at Taehyung's behaviour, and your gaze snapped back to Jungkook. You stared at him in disbelief; you never thought you'd see this man smiling. Yet here he was, standing in all his glory, proving you wrong. Jungkook? Laughing? Relaxed? It was like spotting a unicorn in the wild. For the first time, he didn’t look like the insufferable boss you were growing to despise. He looked...earth-shatteringly handsome. You cursed under your breath, clenching your fists to keep from staring too long.

It made you feel like your brain was short-circuiting. Here was this asshole of a man, acting like he was above it all, and yet… he was smiling. It made him look almost… normal.

Why was he so ridiculously handsome? He was a jerk, a complete ass, yet... there was something about him. He was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

He was a jerk, but otherwise, he was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

You shook your head abruptly, as if physically trying to dislodge the thought. Nope. Absolutely not. Stop it.

Why were you thinking all this nonsense?

Because no matter how annoyingly perfect he looked in that moment—relaxed, smirking, and effortlessly magnetic—you knew better. He wasn’t your type. Not even close. You were way too smart to fall for someone as much of a piece of shit as he was.

As soon as your eyes met Jungkook’s, your heart dropped into your stomach. Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you suddenly felt unstable. You felt like the world had stopped. The only thing keeping you upright was the edge of the table you leaned against, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. It was like he had forgotten you were even there, but now that he remembered... you were in trouble.

Your thoughts were a mess, a rush of panic flooding your veins. Please, don't fire me. Please don't fire me, you repeated over and over in your mind. His stare made you feel like a sheep waiting to be devoured by a wolf—helpless and small.

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Jimin’s voice cut through, loud but tensed. "Why are you still standing here?" he asked, his eyes darting nervously between you and Jungkook. "I'm sure you have work to do."

You nodded quickly, too quickly, your head bobbing furiously in agreement.

“What work, Jimin?” Jungkook snapped, his voice low and brimming with frustration. “She’s fired,” he declared, sending a shiver down your spine. His words felt like a physical blow, the weight of them crushing your chest. You could barely hear the rest of his sentence as panic drowned out everything else—I've had enough of her…

What to do now?

Cry, a voice whispered in the back of your head.

Jimin, however, wasn’t having any of it. “Enough, Jungkook!” he shot back, his voice hard and commanding. The sharpness in Jimin’s words was like a shield between you and Jungkook’s anger. You could see the way Jungkook’s expression shifted—he was still seething, but Jimin left no room for argument.

“She isn’t fired, and it’s final,” Jimin said. You could see the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to control his temper.

Jungkook opened his mouth to retort, but Jimin cut him off with a simple wave of his hand, motioning for you to leave. You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted from the conference room, not even daring to look back. You weren’t sure whether to be more terrified of Jungkook or grateful to Jimin. You knew you’d messed up—it was your fault—but Jimin had chosen to take your side, and you couldn’t understand why.

You sprinted down the hall toward the elevator. Your hands trembled as you jabbed—no, banged—the elevator button for the 26th floor. The wait felt agonizingly long.

When the elevator finally dinged open, you stumbled out, half-running to your desk. Collapsing into your chair, you let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your arms on the desk. Your head fell onto your desk with a loud thud.

What had just happened?

God, your first day almost became your last.

You took a deep, steadying breath and pushed yourself upright, gripping the edge of your desk to ground yourself. This isn’t the time to wallow, you thought, brushing your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You couldn’t afford to crumble now.

You can’t mess up again, you reminded yourself, wiping a hand over your face. Jimin might’ve saved you today, but luck won’t always be there neither… he. Luck was fleeting. It wasn’t something you trusted. Not with your history. You let out a dry laugh under your breath—luck and you were like oil and water. You were the ultimate symbol of bad luck, and that delightfully beautiful director of Jeon Enterprises had simply taken pity on you. Yes, it wasn’t luck. It was Jimin’s mercy, and you couldn’t count on it happening twice. Especially not when your boss—the arrogant bastard himself—was likely already sharpening his knives for round two.

The thought of Jungkook—his dark, piercing gaze—still lingered in your mind, but you forced yourself to focus. He was a devil, no doubt, and you... you were just the unlucky fool who happened to cross his path.

You couldn't afford to mess up again. Play it safe, you told yourself. Do your job right and keep your head down. You couldn’t give him another reason to unleash his wrath.

Your eyes fell to the stack of files in front of you, and a sinking feeling hit you hard in the stomach. The pile seemed to grow taller with each breath you took. The next meeting was only thirty minutes away

You glanced at the files scattered across your desk. Focus, you reminded yourself, slapping your cheeks lightly to snap out of it. The next meeting was in thirty minutes, and you didn’t have the luxury of time to curse your misfortune or that insufferable man.

Your eyes darted over the papers, frustration bubbling up as you began sifting through them. The previous secretary—whoever they were—had left behind a tangled mess. A spectacularly awful mess.

How was this even possible?

You could almost feel your blood pressure rise as you examined the glaring errors. The deadlines were completely out of sync with the client’s expectations, the budget allocations were so far off it was laughable, and one section even referenced an entirely different project altogether. If this wasn’t fixed in time for the meeting, it would be a complete disaster, and you were the one who’d have to face the consequences.

“This is a joke,” you muttered. You grabbed a pen, tapping it furiously against the table as your brain raced to come up with a plan.

Half an hour. That’s all you had to fix this disaster before you had to present it to a room full of people, including him.

"Fuck you! Whoever you are." you muttered under your breath, pushing your sleeves up, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Get it together, you scolded yourself. “This isn’t rocket science.” Your voice cracked slightly as you muttered the words aloud, as if hearing them would calm the storm raging inside you.

You grabbed the laptop, pulling up emails and client notes to cross-check the project details. The keyboard clacked furiously under your hands. Your brows furrowed in concentration, your lips pressed into a tight line. You clicked open the soft copy of the file, eyes scanning the screen quickly.

You stole a glance at the clock, and your heart nearly stopped. Twenty minutes left. Fuck.

The dull throb behind your temples was growing each passing minute, but you didn’t have the luxury to slow down. Tears? Not an option. You didn’t have time for that. Not when your whole career was teetering on the edge of disaster.

Get through the day without Jungkook turning you into his next verbal target.

The mistakes were too obvious to miss, too dangerous to ignore. If the client saw these errors, it wasn’t just your job on the line—it was Jeon Enterprises' reputation. And that would mean your boss, Jungkook, would tear you apart, slowly and painfully.

what have you done to deserve this.

Your fingers slammed against the keyboard as you raced through the sections. The section referencing the wrong project? Gone, replaced with the right one. The mismatched deadlines? Adjusted. The budget allocations that didn’t even make sense? Rewritten, recalculated, and double-checked.

You needed to print the corrected version. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, unsure of where to even begin this process. This wasn’t just a small mistake anymore—it felt like the whole day was falling apart in real time. You stared at the screen with mounting dread. Print. Where?

You slapped the print button, watching as the computer confirmed that it was printing, but your brain was far from settled. Printer? Where’s the damn printer? Your heart pounded as you stood, snatching up your blazer and dashing out of your office.

The hallway felt endless as you looked down the corridor. You felt a wave of frustration, the kind you’d never experienced before. You could have screamed, a sound that would shake the walls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you forced a deep breath through your nose and tried to calm yourself.

Finally, you spotted the printer at the end of the hall—right by the breakroom, its small glowing light blinking. It should have been a simple solution, but when you saw the machine, all you felt was pure, hot rage. Why is it always this difficult?

Why did it feel like everything was against you today?

Because of course, it jammed halfway through. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned down, yanking at the paper slot with all your might. The printer groaned, then jammed, and you let out an angry sound that came out as a strangled groan.

“Come on, you stupid thing—work!” you hissed, muttering curses that seemed to make you feel worse. Stupid thing!

You slammed the print button again, your fingers stabbing at the machine. Finally, the printer whirred, clicked, and then began its slow, steady rhythm. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hand against your forehead to steady the dizziness threatening the edges of your focus.

Finally, the documents started coming out. You grabbed them. You ran your hands over the pages, smoothing them down compulsively as though that would make them more trustworthy. You clutched it like it was your lifeline. Not perfect, but it'll have to do. Once back in your cabin, you shoved the papers into a folder, your chest still tight.

The clock on the wall caught your attention.

Ten minutes left.

You could barely breathe as you walked out of your office, your feet moving almost on autopilot. In no time, you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s office.

You knocked. Once. Twice. And then… you waited.

You closed your eyes briefly, took a steadying breath. You bit your lip, and raised your hand to knock thrice.

"Come in!" Jungkook’s voice rang out, gruff and loud, cutting through the air. You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open, and every head in the room snapped toward you. You stepped inside, your heart racing as you greeted them with a polite but fake smile, trying your best to keep it together. Only Jimin smiled back. The others... they just stared, like you were some strange creature. Jin and Namjoon looked shocked—why? What was going on? And then there was Taehyung, his eyes wide with what could only be described as disbelief.

Jimin spoke first, his voice light and effortless, and you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars—or maybe it was just Jimin being Jimin. “You need something?”

You gave a short nod and turned to face Jungkook. His eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest, his whole posture screaming annoyance. His jaw was clenched so tight it seemed like he might snap any second. You swallowed hard, trying not to show how much his stare rattled you.

"Yeah. I was merely here to remind Mr. Jeon that the meeting starts in… like ten—no, seven minutes now," you managed to say, your voice wavering just a little as you spoke. Your hands were clenched at your sides, and you forced yourself not to fidget.

You stole a quick glance around the room. Jin and Namjoon had gone back to their own conversations, but Taehyung was still staring at you, mouth slightly open like he couldn't believe you were standing there. Jungkook still hadn’t said anything, his eyes still boring into you.

"Thank you," Jimin said, his smile soft and genuine. "He’ll be there."

You nodded once, trying not to let your relief show too much. You gave a quick, polite bow of your head, then turned, making your way to the door, your steps hurried but controlled. As you left the room, you couldn’t help but think—Jimin was an angel, working for a devil. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done without him today.

As you walked out of his cabin, you caught the faintest sound of Taehyung’s voice drifting behind you.

“Damn, dude! She’s something. She must be… to get you this worked up. Wow! I loved it.”

You didn’t linger to hear the rest, though. It was like your feet were moving faster than your brain, the urgency propelling you back to your cabin. You sprinted to your desk, your hands shaking as you skimmed through the pages one final time. You stapled them together. You had to present this with confidence, one mistake and Jungkook would tear you apart.

Five minutes left.

“You’ve got this. Just fake it. Fake it all the way.”

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the conference room. Your grip on the file tightened, your knuckles white. When you reached the door. With a firm push, you stepped inside.

Walking to the table, you laid down the stack of updated project files, replacing the older copies. Once every seat had the corrected file, you finally slid into your chair. The leather seat creaked softly as you sank into it, and you folded your hands tightly in your lap to steady them. You darted a glance at the door, waiting for everyone's but specially Jungkook’s inevitable arrival. You flipped through the files for what felt like the hundredth time. The numbers blurred slightly before your eyes, but you forced yourself to focus.

The sharp sound of the door opening made your head snap up. Jungkook walked in with the same air of authority that always seemed to announce his presence before he even spoke. His eyes locked onto you, narrowing instantly, and his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.

You stifled a sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral. What now? You wondered bitterly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Jungkook didn’t just dislike you—he hated you—like, deep, unrelenting hatred. For what reason? Who knew. And frankly, you didn’t care. If you could, you would’ve told him to take his reasons, his anger, and his goddamn temper tantrums and shove them up his perfectly tailored ass, but you knew that wouldn’t help you keep your job.

He moved around the room with precision, as he made his way to his seat. His attention was fixed on you, like you were some annoying fly he wanted to swat. You straightened in your chair. He dropped into his chair with an air of casual authority and grace of someone far too confident for their own good.

For a moment, your traitorous thoughts drifted. He was handsome—annoyingly so. Sharp jawline, paradoxically piercing boba eyes, and a frame that looked like it was carved by a sculptor. But his attitude? That was enough to ruin the whole package. If only his personality matched his looks. If only he wasn’t such a pompous, insufferable jerk. Instead of charm, he had an ego the size of the goddamn building. If he had even an ounce of kindness or respect to him, he would’ve been perfect. But no, instead he walked with the kind of arrogance that could suffocate a room, his back rigid and his posture as stiff as the stick lodged firmly up his ass.

You shook the thought from your head. He wasn’t worth your time.

The door opened again, and this time it was the clients. Jungkook stood, but just barely.

He simply stood halfway and gave a curt nod that was so half-hearted you wondered if it hurt his pride to be polite. God forbid Mr. Perfect lower himself to basic manners. His expression didn’t change—stoic and unbothered—while yours shifted into a polite mask. Maybe you were expecting too much. Maybe you were the problem. You slid your chair closer to the table and sat down next to him. You offered the clients a small smile, hoping to compensate for Jungkook’s complete lack of warmth.

But his eyes. God, his eyes. They didn’t stray far from you.

You placed the documents in front of him. You kept your gaze fixed on the table, careful not to meet his boba eyes. “Here! Mr. Jeon,” you whispered, your voice as even and professional as you could manage. The last thing you wanted was to give him even an inch to criticize you.

Before you could pull your hand back, his fingers closed around the file. His hand was warm—too warm—and for just a moment, your cold, dainty fingers brushed against his. The warmth of his hand lingered on yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Your body felt paralyzed, shocked, maybe even mesmerized by the sensation. You couldn’t pull away—not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t.

Jungkook’s hand retreated first, leaving your fingers tingling. You leaned back in your chair, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. You turned your attention to the clients, offering a polite smile. They exchanged a few glances, their expressions unreadable.

Why are they looking at me like that?

Before you could figure it out, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, quiet and low. "Why are you making that face?"

You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him as he leaned back in his seat. His voice was soft, like a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

“You look like you’re constipating,” he said, his tone casual, smooth, utterly calm—and utterly cruel and casual, as though commenting on the weather.

Your face fell. What did he just say? Your mouth fell open slightly in horror, heat rushing to your face. He did not just say that. You glared at the side of his face, imagining all the ways you could strangle him with the tie he wore so smugly. Murder was illegal, but maybe, just maybe, you could make an exception.

Ignore him. He’s not worth it or… should you just strangle him? Oh, you wanted to strangle him. No, you needed to strangle him. Who even says that? You huffed, straightening in your seat and glaring at the file in front of you.

Jungkook flipped open the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents.

And then it happened—a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, so subtle you almost missed it. “Let’s begin,” he said smoothly, finally turning his attention to the clients. But just before he did, his gaze flicked to you, brief but searing.

The meeting began.

The meeting dragged on. Your hand ached from jotting down notes, your fingers stiff as they moved across the page. All you could think about was how Jungkook managed to handle these clients—their demands were endless, their standards sky-high. Jungkook, somehow, handled their lofty standards with an ease that almost infuriated you. How could someone so insufferable be so damn good at this? You, however, were drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally. All you wanted was to go home, curl up, and forget this entire ordeal. But the clients showed no signs of slowing, so neither could you. You scribbled furiously, keeping up with the endless stream of requests and comments, your hand cramping around the pen. Every now and then, you stole glances at the clock, silently begging for it all to end.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting came to an end.

The clients rose, shaking Jungkook’s hand with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jeon,” one of them said, their tone oozing professionalism. Then their gaze flicked to you, offering a curt nod—no words, no acknowledgment of your work. You swallowed the frustration bubbling up in your chest and nodded back, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Typical. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the bitter taste of resentment as they exited the room. Well, women in corporate field.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Jungkook. Your mind was hyper-aware of his presence.

He was leaning back, the picture of ease, his chair swinging slightly from left to right. His left leg rested over his right, one arm draped casually across the armrest. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but the intensity of his stare was enough. You didn’t dare look up. Not after what had happened earlier. Not after what he said earlier.

You stole a glance, his tie had loosened slightly, the top button of his shirt undone. When he did that? He looked like he owned the entire world, and the infuriating thing was—he probably did.

You remembered what you thought while applying for this job: How hard could it be to work for him?

You’d found out the hard way, within mere hours.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just hard to work for—he was impossible. A devil in designer suits. A man who had no mercy and no patience, especially not for someone like you. Your first day had made that abundantly clear in the worst way possible.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t someone to take lightly. He was a storm you hadn’t prepared for, and it was already threatening to swallow you whole.

You pushed the glass door open, ready to step out, but then you heard it—his voice, loud and clear.

"Pebble!"

You froze. Slowly, you turned around, almost colliding with the door in the process. His eyes locked onto yours, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t the friendly kind—it was something else. Something that made you feel both irritated and, disturbingly, giddy.

"What?" you muttered, your voice low and unsure. You weren't able to understand why you gripped it ever so tightly.

He stood from his chair, rising with an ease that felt effortless, his hands casually buried in his pockets. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to examine you. He was far too good-looking for your sanity, far too composed, far too everything.

Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.

What was this? Why were you feeling so fragile in front of him? You didn’t have time to figure it out because, in three long strides, he was standing in front of you, so close that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you. His eyes were still on you, as if he were studying you—no, devouring you with just a glance. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And that, right there, made you even more furious.

Is this guy stupid? you wondered. What was the point of staring like that? It felt intrusive, unnerving, yet somehow, you couldn’t tear your own gaze away.

Staring, in your book, was the hallmark of cheap behaviour, reserved for people with no manners or boundaries. But he somehow pulled it off, with that smirk and those features and that way he seemed to have everything in the world under control. As if his ridiculous good looks gave him a free pass.

"Coffee. In my office."

"Huh?" was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper, still unsure of what was happening.

He tsked, shaking his head like you were hopeless. “You heard me. Black. No sugar. Ms…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly.

Your eyes widened in realization. He didn’t know your name. Or worse—he hadn’t even tried to know it until now. Your throat tightened, and you opened your mouth, about to respond, but before a single word could leave your lips, he finished with,

"Pebble."

Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.

Pebble.

He had just called you Pebble.

You stood there, staring, stunned, unable to believe what just happened.

He was the most disrespectful, irritating, unbearable person you had ever met.

The anger built up in you until you couldn’t stand still anymore. You stomped your foot hard against the ground.

You would make him regret this.

Oh, you absolutely would.

With a resigned sigh, you turned toward the elevator, dragging your feet. At least you now knew where the coffee machine was—down at the far end of the floor. Great. More walking. You hadn’t even done this much cardio in the past year, let alone in a single day. No wonder all the women here looked so fit—they practically lived on their feet.

When you reached the elevator, you noticed him—Jungkook—already stepping into it. Your pace slowed instinctively. No way were you getting in that elevator with him, even for a single second. He wouldn’t stop the elevator for you anyway—he was too much of a jerk to care.

But when had life ever gone according to your plans?

Before you could change direction, you heard the sound of the doors closing and sliding back open.

Oh, hell no. Your body tensed. You didn't want to step in there with him, but you didn’t have a choice. You dragged your feet reluctantly. The annoyance in his eyes deepened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was already regretting his decision to wait for you.

Finally, you reached the door.

“Get fucking in, woman.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stepped inside, muttering curses in your head, and the doors slid shut with a soft ding.

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look at him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to figure you out or, worse, punish you for existing.

Maybe he was pissed.

And you? You couldn’t decide if you hated him more in this moment or if you just wanted to get out of this damn elevator as quickly as possible.

“I thought you had work here,” he said, his tone casual.

“Huh?” you managed, surprised.

He shook his head, as if you were already the most frustrating thing he’d encountered that day.

“Do you know anything else besides ‘huh?’”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t wait. “I said, I thought you had work here.”

“What work?” you snapped. His eyes flared. But the bastard smirked, like he’d been expecting this reaction.

“What meeting do we have next, Pebble?” His voice was smooth, almost playful.

Your stomach dropped. Pebble. He had just said it again. But. You froze. His words lingered in your mind like a bad omen, but all that filled your head was white noise. The name of the company… where was it? Shit.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, just to make sure you knew how badly you’d messed up. “You need to collect some files from marketing and sales team. You forgot.”

The damn files. I forgot? You swallowed hard, glancing around the elevator as if the walls could give you an answer.

“What are you trying to do—break the glass and jump into the sales and marketing floor?” he said, his tone as bored as his expression. His words felt cruel, but you knew there was a bite of truth to them.

You shook your head, cheeks heating as you mentally berated yourself. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, embarrassed and annoyed. More walking. That’s all you could think about now.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook stepped out first. He glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow, and for a split second, you thought—just maybe—he might say something remotely decent. But no, that was far too much to hope for. His lips curled into that damn smirk as he turned away and said, “Coffee. On my desk. In five minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he turned around and walked away.

You stepped out of the elevator, its door closing behind you. You let out a frustrated exhale. . God, I hate him. You made your way to the coffee machine. You prepared the coffee just like he’d ordered, and even the smell made your stomach churn. The bitterness of it matched the bitterness radiating from him. No wonder he was always so damn miserable. A person who drank this much bitter coffee could only have a bitter heart.

You walked down the hall to his office. The door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly, holding the cup in your hands.

“Come in,” he barked again from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, placing the coffee on his desk. He was sitting at his desk, back straight, his sharp features focused on his laptop. The desk was neat, pristine, every paper and pen in its place, a stark contrast to the chaos on your desk.

“Here, Mr. Jeon,” you said, your voice tight with forced politeness.

He didn’t even look at you. Instead, he grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips like it was the most important thing in the world. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the first sip, and you watched in disbelief as he sighed deeply, as though he’d just tasted heaven.

“Good,” he muttered, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was all about the coffee. Your stomach turned at the absurdity of it. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that you’d stood there, prepared it, and handed it to him.

“Send Jimin in my office. Now, leave,” he demanded, his voice flat, as if he were speaking to a wall, not a person.

Every inch of you wanted to pull his hair out, to throw something across his perfectly organized desk. Instead, you nodded stiffly.

“Sure, Mr. Jeon,” you said, forcing the words past your clenched teeth before turning on your heel and leaving.

Once outside, the first thing you did was head straight for Jimin, who was at his desk, buried in papers. His workspace was cluttered with post-its, notes, and scribbles. His eyes lifted when you approached, and though his face showed signs of being busy, his greeting was polite as ever.

“What brings you here, Ms. …,” he began, with a soft smile.

“Mr. Jeon wants you in his office,” you replied, keeping it brief. You didn't have the energy to engage in any more small talk.

"Why?" Jimin asked, as he stood up, closing the file in his hands and sliding his blazer on with a sharp tug. You just shrugged. Jimin gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting his blazer. His tone indicated he didn’t mind being interrupted. “I’ll head in there.” You watched as he walked toward the hallway.

You followed your own path toward the marketing department first. You handed over the files, your hands sore from too much writing, before heading toward the sales department. The constant movement was starting to wear you down, but you couldn’t let it show. You did the same at the sales department, before finally making your way back to your office, your feet aching more than ever. This is going to be a long day, you thought, pressing a hand to your lower back as you settled into your chair.

Before you could catch a break, the clock ticked, signaling that it was time for the next meeting. You picked yourself up again, shoulders sore and heavy, and made your way back toward Jungkook’s office.

You knocked on the door before stepping in, your hand pressing into the wood with slightly trembling fingers. This time Jimin was in there with him, seated on the couch. He looked agitated—hands running through his hair as he exchanged words with Jungkook.

You hesitated at the threshold. You didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. You quickly turned on your heel, shaking your head as you backed out. These guys were insane.

You closed the door behind you with a gentle push and let out a shaky exhale. Your hands gripped your notebook tightly as you walked back toward the hallway.

The next meetings were a blur. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself relieved when Jungkook skipped every other meeting for the day. He didn't show up, and Jimin took over. The clients didn’t seem to mind the change, and in fact, it made things easier. Jimin’s presence was soothing. His voice was soft, his smile was kind. He spoke in careful sentences, his calm composure like a reassuring presence. Working with him was smoother, quieter—lovelier, even. He made the chaos of the day seem more manageable, and you found yourself wishing you found yourself wishing you could work for Jimin, just him.

But you quickly shut that thought down. That wasn’t possible, not when you were stuck in this job, tied to Jungkook. No matter how much you hated it, you had to stick around. It was unviable to leave, even though every part of you screamed for the chance to escape. You have to stick around him.

As the last meeting came to an end, you gathered the files and followed Jimin out of the conference room. He took the files from your hands. You were thankful for his help, but the lingering feeling of being under the spotlight didn’t fade. You hated the attention, and of course, everyone would stare. Having the director of the company himself helping you with your work was far too big of a deal. The eyes of all the female employees had burned into you as you walked out. You couldn’t shake the sense of discomfort, and it only worsened as you stepped into the elevator with Jimin.

"Mr. Park, you really don’t have to do this," you said, offering a shy smile as the elevator doors slid shut behind you.

Jimin, however, seemed unfazed. He gave a lazy smile, his voice light as he answered. "Oh, I’m not doing it for you." Jimin leaned casually against the wall, eyes scanning the floor numbers as they lit up.

You blinked, confused, your brows knitting together. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He turned his head, flashing you a mischievous grin. "It’s more for me, really."

Your frown deepened. "For you?" You couldn’t hide your confusion, but Jimin just chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"You see," he began, shifting slightly to face you fully. His eyes sparkled with a playful yet sincere gleam. "I come from old money. I just can't stand the idea of a woman doing something like that when I’m around. Makes me feel like I’m failing somewhere. I’ve got this fragile ego, you know?" His voice was light, teasing, but his smile softened as he continued. "It just feels better to help out. Plus, it’s... good manners."

"Yeah?" You asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyebrows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his words. The slight smirk tugging at his lips told you he knew you were lost but didn’t care enough to explain. Instead, he only shrugged nonchalantly, his expression so casual it almost felt dismissive.

Before you could respond further, the elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Jimin stepped out first. You followed behind as you adjusted your grip on the files. He led the way to your cabin, his presence drawing a few curious glances from colleagues. You felt those stares prickling at your back again, but Jimin seemed entirely unbothered. He walked you to your cabin, while you struggled to keep up with his pace. When he finally reached your desk, he placed the stack of five thick files down with practiced ease, brushing invisible dust off his hands like it was no big deal.

"All set. Anything else you need before I head out?" he asked, his voice light as he straightened his blazer.

Thanks again, Mr. Park," you said, shaking your head.

Jimin gave a small nod in return, stepping back. Just as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. "Take care, pretty," he said, his tone casual, yet the words felt deliberate.

Your hands froze mid-motion as your head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise. Heat rushed to your face, and you felt the unmistakable blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire. You stared at the empty doorway where Jimin had disappeared, his words echoing in your mind.

"What the hell," you muttered under your breath. Forcing yourself to focus, you picked up the files, flipping through the pages with renewed determination. It was time to finish up for the day, but not before ensuring everything was in order for tomorrow. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes scanning schedules and notes, the lingering warmth on your cheeks refusing to fade completely.

When you finally finished your work, you grabbed the file Jungkook had instructed you to complete and headed to his office. As you approached, you noticed the door slightly ajar. Through the small gap, you could see Jimin sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook, on the other hand, sat with his brows furrowed in a way that seemed permanently etched into his face. It was a wonder Jimin didn’t crack under the weight of his perpetual grimace. If he wasn’t so ridiculously good-looking, you were certain his demeanour would’ve been a massive letdown.

"Are you even human?" Jimin's voice rose, his tone laced with disbelief as he leaned forward, his palms slapping against the desk with a dull thud. His lips pressed tightly together. His words seemed to hit like a quiet plea, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care. His eyes stayed glued to his file as he flipped the pages.

"I am dying over here. I am that tired and you are one of the reasons behind it. Don’t you dare ignore me, Jeon Jungkook!" Jimin continued, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. His words grew louder as he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air, as if trying to physically puncture Jungkook’s indifference.

"Huh?" Jungkook’s voice was flat, almost absent, as he gave Jimin just a single glance, his eyes flickering for a mere millisecond before he turned back to the file in his hands. He gave a distracted nod, not sparing Jimin much more attention.

Jimin’s jaw dropped slightly, his annoyance reaching a boiling point. "Seriously!" he exclaimed. His fingers curled into loose fists as he leaned back, pacing a step before planting his hands on his hips. "You made me handle all your meetings and deal with my own workload. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken while you sit here, all cozy with your stupid papers! Do you not have any regard—"

"You're right," Jungkook said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact, cutting off Jimin’s rambling mid-sentence. He slowly closed the file in front of him and placed it neatly to the side. This time, he leaned back in his chair, his posture loosening slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His dark, boba eyes locked on Jimin’s. "I am sorry, hyung. You're always picking up the slack for me. I don't say it enough, but… I’m really grateful. I couldn’t do this without you."

Jimin froze for a moment, his brow furrowing as he eyed Jungkook suspiciously. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, studying Jungkook as if he had just grown a second head. "Oh? What’s wrong with you?" he asked, dragging the words out slowly. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the edge of Jungkook's desk. "Show me your head. You punk, I’m sure you hit it somewhere."

Jimin shot up from his seat and lunged across the desk with inflated urgency, his hand reaching for Jungkook's head like a concerned but overly dramatic mother.

"Jimin-shi!" Jungkook exclaimed, his voice rising in protest as he swatted at Jimin’s hands. He grabbed Jimin’s wrists, prying them away from his head. His brows knitted together as he leaned back further in his chair, out of reach, glaring at Jimin. "I swear, I’ll kill you."

"There you are," Jimin said, a grin spreading across his face as he let out a sigh. He flopped back into his chair, dramatically wiping his brow as if the ordeal had been exhausting. "I was worried for nothing. Glad to see the real grumpy, homicidal self's still here."

Before they could exchange any more words, you finally stepped forward, your knuckles rapping lightly on the doorframe.

Knock, knock.

The sound broke through, causing both their heads to snap in your direction.

For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. You tightened your grip on the file in your hands, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt. Clearing your throat, you finally stepped inside. "Sorry to interrupt," you said.

Jimin’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he tilted his head, gesturing toward the file. "It’s fine. Come in. Looks like someone’s got work to do, unlike us," he teased, his tone light.

You tried your best to force a smile onto your face—a polite, controlled, and friendly expression—but as your eyes met his. Your throat felt like it had closed up, your voice thin and wobbly. Why did he make you so nervous? Yes, he was intimidating. Yes, you’d dealt with difficult bosses before. But there was something about him—something that felt wrong, a shrill, intense warning in the back of your mind, like a distant alarm telling you danger was near.

Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you passed Jimin’s chair. He was sitting casually, his hands clasped behind his head, completely at ease as he looked over at you. You stopped beside Jungkook's desk, just behind where Jimin was sitting. "Mr. Jeon, I just finished the tasks you assigned." Your voice was soft but steady as you extended the file toward him. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though it felt like staring into the eye of the devil. "Here’s the file. I’m leaving now, so I was wondering if there’s anything else you need before I go?"

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly and precisely. His sharp gaze scanned your face, lingering on your forced smile before sliding down to the file you’d placed on his desk. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips, and his eyes—soft and doe-like at first glance—betrayed a sharp, predatory glint. "Actually," he drawled, his voice carried an edge that made your pulse quicken. He gestured lazily toward the towering stack of files on the far corner of his desk. "I do need something."

Your eyes widened as they darted to the stack, a silent gasp catching in your throat. The files seemed endless. You swallowed hard, glancing back at him, but his expression was unreadable. You couldn’t decide if you were more nervous or outright afraid of what was coming next. "See those files?" he continued, tilting his head slightly, his tone casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I need them reviewed and sorted by tomorrow."

And you just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out whether you had a choice, or if you were already drowning. Tomorrow? That was impossible. You turned back to Jungkook, hoping to find some hint that he was joking, but his expression was calm and unyielding, like carved stone.

"I…" you began, but your voice faltered.

"Something wrong?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to argue.

It was your first day, and you couldn’t understand what went wrong. You’d always thought Jungkook was handsome, admired him from the glossy pages of magazines and the distant buzz of news. You'd been excited, so excited to work for the most wanted bachelor in the continent. But now? Now, it wasn’t going as planned.

Too much work. Too much. How could anyone be expected to handle this much work? You thought you could handle challenges, but this? This felt impossible. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. You’d probably have to sell your soul to some demon and even then, it still wouldn’t feel enough. You couldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to do this. But the thought of giving up? That wasn’t even an option. You wanted to scream. No. You didn't want to scream you wanted to kick him where the sun doesn't shine.

"To-tomorrow," you stammered, barely able to believe the words coming out of your mouth. You were close to snapping, but something in his gaze made you hesitate.

"Impossible?" Jungkook interrupted, his voice a low, smooth. His eyes locked on yours, the warmth in them replaced with ice. "I’m not interested in hearing any excuses. You need to understand where and for who you’re working. Workload is a usual thing here. You either do it or resign. It’s up to you. Nobody’s begging you to stay."

The words were harsh. There was no softness to them, no room for debate, no compromise. He wanted you to know that you had no power here. His small, smug smile confirmed it—a clear taunt, a game to him, and you could feel it deep in your bones. He wasn’t just being cold. No, he enjoyed this. He was tormenting you, and you knew it. He was such a sadistic being.

"Understood," you said, the words coming out of your mouth with a firmness that surprised even you.

You turned your back to him and grabbed the stack of files from where they were carelessly left. The moment you lifted them, you knew this was going to be hell. It was heavy—too heavy—far heavier than you’d expected. Your arms shook as you struggled to balance them. You almost stumbled under the sheer force of it, but you steadied yourself.

You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to ask Jimin for help. You glanced toward him, only to find that he and Jungkook were locked in a silent staring match, their gazes locked like two wolves sizing each other up. Jimin looked like he was about to explode. You couldn’t drag him into this. He already looked like he was walking a thin line, and you didn’t want to add to the fire. Besides, Jimin looked angry enough already.

So, you started walking.

You struggled your way out of his office. Your legs wobbled under the weight, and you nearly stumbled into the doorframe as you tried to maintain your balance. You wanted to scream. You hated him. You hated everything about this. Him. His smug smile. His icy tone. His ridiculous expectations. In truth, you’d never felt this much resentment toward anyone. Not even your previous bosses had managed to push you this far. But Jungkook? He was something else entirely. A walking nightmare wrapped in a handsome package, and you were stuck in it.

The moment you stepped into your office, you slammed the door behind you. You were done. You were going home. You couldn’t wait to get out of here. You grabbed your bag and purse. You cursed under your breath, knowing you couldn’t leave without grabbing those files too. There was no way you were going to spend another minute in that sterile, over-designed office. You adjusted the files again, and with a final shake of your head, you stepped out of your office. Your feet moved on autopilot as you walked toward the elevators. You didn’t look back. There wasn’t any point.

You knew you’d have to come back.

You knew you’d have to face him again.

But for now, you needed to get out.

The first day had been hell, all thanks to your devilish boss.

Jungkook and Jimin stepped out of Jungkook’s office. Jimin shot a sharp glare at Jungkook, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, on the other hand, wore a smug, teasing smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. He could feel Jimin’s annoyance and found it far too satisfying to ignore.

"Jiminshi," Jungkook said casually, but Jimin didn’t even give him a second glance, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply.

“Shut up,” Jimin snapped back without hesitation, the heat in his voice enough to make Jungkook pause for a second. It almost made him laugh, but he quickly held it back, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Come on, Jimin. We’re already late. And Jin hyung will be mad if we get even more late," Jungkook added, his tone light but carrying an edge of urgency. His smile was easy and easygoing, the kind that always got under Jimin’s skin, and this time, it did the trick. Jimin let out a slow, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his irritation simmer down. He nodded once, fingers gripping his phone a little too tightly. His hand flexed as he tucked it back into his pocket, his gaze fixed forward as they walked towards the elevator side by side.

Jungkook pushed the button to call the elevator, and Jimin stood next to him, arms crossed, still giving off that frustrated vibe. But Jungkook could see the edges of his irritation slowly dulling. Even if Jimin was pissed, he wouldn’t stay mad for long. Jimin was always the wise one, and he knew that getting upset over Jungkook's antics wouldn’t help anything. Jin had invited them for dinner tonight, and they both knew this wasn’t just another casual evening. Jimin had told Jin about you—how Jungkook couldn’t hear your thoughts, which still felt weird and foreign to him. It was strange, unsettling in a way, and Jin had wanted to discuss it. He’d called them both over, saying he needed to talk. Jungkook was curious about what Jin had in mind. It wasn’t every day that Jin invited them over, especially not without a reason.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook gestured for Jimin to enter first. Jimin grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. Jungkook stepped in behind him, and the two of them stood in silence. He was looking forward to the evening, not only to talk things out but also to meet Jin's wife. She was a kind and sweet woman. If it wasn't for Taehyung, they would have never met her. Jin had been married for years, but he rarely invited anyone over, keeping his personal life guarded. Jungkook and Jimin always looked forward to her company. Jin, on the other hand, was borderline obsessed with her. It was impossible not to notice the way he adored her. They all had to be on their best behavior when she was around, though—Jin’s protective streak was well known.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet swoosh. They descended in silence, the air feeling heavier as their thoughts swirled. Both knew this night would give them more answers, but they weren’t sure what kind of questions would arise afterward.

Jungkook and Jimin soon stepped into the reception area. The receptionist was seated at her desk, typing quickly, and her head lifted the moment she saw them. She offered a polite smile as they approached.

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Park," she greeted warmly. Jungkook didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes stayed ahead as he strode past her. He could hear her thoughts—granted, not every single word, but enough. Disgusting. Intrusive. He had no shame in admitting it. He didn’t feel the need to entertain it, so he ignored her completely.

Jimin, however, was different. His easy smile came naturally as he gave her a small, polite nod. His body language was relaxed, his movements smooth as he walked beside Jungkook toward the parking lot. His gaze was neutral, a simple act of kindness that contrasted sharply with Jungkook's indifference.

They reached the parking lot, and Jimin climbed into his car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. He had originally planned on making Jungkook drive, but the irritation bubbling in him from earlier—the way Jungkook had acted with you—made him rethink. He was annoyed, not just because of what happened, but because Jungkook’s behavior had crossed a line. It wasn’t professionalism; it was just unnecessary rudeness. Pure and simple. Jimin had half a mind to lecture him, but instead, he started the engine, the sound of it roaring to life filling the air.

But Jungkook didn’t get in his own car. His eyes weren’t on Jimin, nor were they on the road. They were locked on something—or rather, someone.

You.

You were standing by your car, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders looked tense, rigid, the way they always did when you were tired. You were clearly trying to calm yourself, but your lips were moving. You were speaking to yourself, or maybe the wind, but Jungkook could see it—your face contorted into something that looked like frustration, like rage.

He observed you. His body was suddenly heavy, his thoughts distracted. You looked like you wanted to set the entire parking lot on fire. From the way your hands tightened into fists by your sides, Jungkook could tell you were seething, clearly ready to explode. He couldn’t hear your thoughts, couldn’t read your mind like he could with everyone else, but it didn’t matter. Your expression was enough. You were cursing him out, he was sure of it.

It felt wrong to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like an itch buried beneath his skin. His entire body ached to know what you were saying, but you were like a closed book—impossible to read. It irritated him. That feeling of helplessness, the itch he couldn’t scratch. He hated not knowing exactly what you were thinking, hated that he couldn’t tap into the storm swirling behind those eyes. You looked like you wanted to strangle him, and the idea actually made him chuckle darkly to himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was something oddly magnetic about you. You looked so exhausted, so ready to shatter, your emotions playing across your face like an open book he couldn’t read. And that drove him insane. He wanted to know all of you. Every thought. Every word. Every secret. But he couldn’t. And it pissed him off.

His chest tightened as he studied you, his mind working in circles. Even though you looked like you were about to explode with frustration, there was a strange sense of calm that settled over him. Paradoxically, your anger—your confusion—was like a balm to his restless thoughts. His hands twitched at his sides.

And you, completely unaware of his gaze, kept muttering, your words too quiet for him to catch. The cold wind swayed your hair, and Jungkook wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him. He hated that he cared. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know.

He shifted his weight, a part of him wanting to walk away, but another part of him... couldn’t. He hated how curious he was about you. You were a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and that was something Jungkook couldn’t stand.

You suddenly turned your head, catching Jungkook’s eyes locked on you. Jungkook’s breath hitched. The shock of being caught sent a wave of heat through his chest. His eyes widened in alarm. Shit.

He knew. He knew you caught him. His face twisted into a mix of panic and frustration, and before he could overthink it, he whipped his head around, his heart pounding. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate. He bolted into his car, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Without looking back, the engine roared to life as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. He sped out of the parking lot, his focus darting between the road and his rearview mirror, where you were barely visible in the distance.

But before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the heavens opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking everything in an instant.

And then—he cursed.

He hated the rain. It always made him feel fragile, exposed, as though the world was pressing in on him in a way he couldn’t control. The sound of it pounding on the roof, the windshield, and the pavement—it was overwhelming, and it irritated him that he couldn’t understand why. It was stupid.

He glanced at the road, but Jimin’s car was nowhere to be seen. Of course, Jimin was probably already halfway there, and here he was, alone and soaked in this awful weather. His head was a mess, and his frustration felt tenfold. Great. He groaned, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. Perfect. The rain made it harder to see, the windshield wipers swishing furiously, but still, everything was blurry. Most people would’ve slowed down, maybe even pulled over. But Jungkook wasn’t like most people. So, he didn’t. His foot pressed harder against the gas, not caring about the storm that made the road slippery and hard to see.

Then, Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of Jimin’s car parked outside a convenience store, headlights flickering through the rain. He let out a soft, amused chuckle, shaking his head.

Typical Jimin.

Jimin was probably picking up some random snacks or an odd gift for Jin and his wife. The thought made him grin—what could you possibly find at a convenience store that would be good enough for dinner with Jin and his wife? Not much, he figured. But Jimin would always find a way to make things interesting. There was no way Jimin would have time to get something nice, and even if he did, Jin wouldn’t care. Namjoon wouldn’t even be there; he was off with his girlfriend. It was the kind of casual thing Jimin would do, and Jungkook was sure Taehyung along with Eunji (Namjoon's girlfriend's daughter) would tease him mercilessly about whatever he picked up. He could already imagine the scene: Jimin sulking, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly enjoying the attention. He spotted Jimin emerging from the door, an awkward bag in his hands, and he wondered what he had found.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. He didn’t want to be stuck in the rain any longer, so he pressed on, the road slick with water. The roads were empty. His headlights swept through the downpour, and the sound of his engine roared louder, mixing with the patter of the rain. The world felt gray and cold, and for a moment, he wondered if anyone else was even out here. His eyes darted, blinked twice, then three times in quick succession. A sharp flash of light broke through the downpour—streetlights, or headlights—too fast, too sudden. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but his vision was useless against the storm.

Something’s coming.

Before he could react, he felt it. A sharp, sudden jolt as his car lost control. His hand gripped the wheel harder, his muscles tensed. He tried desperately to turn the steering wheel, left, right—anything to steady the car—but it felt as though the wheels had no grip at all. His breathing came out in short, sharp bursts.

And then it hit.

The sound was deafening—metal groaning, glass shattering. Jungkook’s body was thrown against the seat as the car twirled. He barely registered the impact before the airbag exploded in his face with a loud whoosh, his head slamming into it with force. His vision blurred, and the pain came, biting and sudden. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow. The car spun—once, twice, thrice. His hands trembled against the steering wheel, and his head throbbed painfully. His heart felt as though it would pound out of his chest.

For a moment, everything went silent. He could feel his body shaking. His head swam, dizziness clouding his vision. His pulse raced as the rush of adrenaline hit, but then, fear—a feeling he rarely ever felt—took over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after Mr. Park took him in. Not after Jimin became his family. He wasn’t supposed to feel this vulnerable. But now, the sensation was loud and personal, crawling up to his heart, through his arms, and into his bones.

Jungkook's world spun around him, the blur of the rain and the crash fading into nothingness. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. The sound of the storm, the screeching tires, everything disappeared. He wasn’t in his car anymore. He wasn’t even on the road. No, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm.

He was seven again.

The leather seats were soft, comforting, and the scent of his mother’s perfume lingered in the air. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine, a calm contrast to the chaos he had just left behind. He glanced around. His father was driving, hands steady on the wheel, wearing his familiar cheeky smile. His mother sat beside him, head against the window, her gaze distant but peaceful. Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, squeezed between the seatbelt and the door. His arms were crossed tightly, shoulders hunched in frustration, as he kept his head down to avoid their attention.

“Hun, how long until we get there?” his mother’s voice broke the calm, soft and uncertain, reaching his father’s ears. She turned her head toward him with a small smile, her face lit faintly by the dashboard glow.

Mr. Jeon turned toward her, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He shot her a cheery look, his eyes soft with affection as he answered. “Quite,” was all he said, but there was a warmth in his voice that made her smile.

But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.

Jungkook was sitting in the backseat, his little arms crossed tightly over his chest, his puffy cheeks flushed red. His head was turned toward the window, a frown tugging at his lips.

"What happened, Jung?" His father asked gently, voice full of care.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered up to meet his father's eyes, but he didn’t speak. Jungkook just huffed, his lip curling slightly, trying to hold back more tears. His arms tightened around himself, his small body so tense it seemed like he was trying to disappear into the seat. His eyes welled up again, and he sniffled, looking away.

“He don’t want to go.” Mrs. Jeon whispered softly, her voice light but firm, as though she’d been trying to ease the situation for some time. She shifted in her seat, her hands lightly brushing her white Chanel dress.

"I know that," Mr. Jeon said with a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking back to Jungkook. "But why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Mrs. Jeon shrugged her shoulders, turning toward her husband with a helpless smile, her eyes glinting faintly with understanding. “You know how shy he is,” she whispered to him, just loud enough for him to hear but not Jungkook. Her voice was soft and wrapped in familiarity, like a gentle assurance.

Mr. Jeon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. He then turned his attention back to Jungkook, his smile wide and encouraging. “But Taehyung will be there, too. Don’t you want to play with your hyung?” he teased, wiggling his brows playfully as he spoke.

Jungkook’s expression twisted with irritation. He pouted even more, his arms folding tighter across his chest. “No,” he snapped, his voice a little louder than before. “No, Taehyungie.” He refused to even look at his father, turning his head toward the window. His little hands balled into fists at his sides as he sat there.

Mr. Jeon froze for a moment at Jungkook’s sudden outburst. His eyes widened briefly as he glanced back at his son in the rearview mirror, but he let it go. He wasn’t angry—he never was with his son—but the outburst was unexpected. Jungkook wasn’t one to open up easily, and Mr. Jeon understood that. It wasn’t that Jungkook disliked Taehyung; he just couldn’t handle him. Taehyung was too much—too loud, too dramatic, too confident for Jungkook’s liking. His endless antics and unshakable charm always rubbed Jungkook the wrong way. It was easier for Jungkook to retreat into his shell than to deal with someone like Taehyung. Jungkook preferred the quiet, the safety of his own thoughts, while Taehyung was none of those things.

“Park uncle and his son are coming too. You wanted to meet Park uncle’s son?” Mr. Jeon tried again, his voice light and filled with gentle encouragement. He glanced back briefly, his brow furrowed slightly. He wanted Jungkook to at least be excited.

They were heading toward the Kim mansion for a grand party. A formal event with a lot of people, glittering dresses, and chatter. The kind of place where smiles felt like currency and charm was the language. It was important because their families shared good relationships with the Kim's. It was a social obligation.

But Jungkook didn’t bite. His gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. He pressed his cheek harder against the cold glass, the coolness against his skin doing little to ease the rising frustration in his chest. He wasn’t interested. His father’s words barely registered in his mind. The whole idea of going to a big event, the crowded space, the noise—it all just felt overwhelming.

“No,” Jungkook muttered, his voice tight, almost as if he were trying to seal off any further conversation. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn't want to go. Not to meet Park Uncle’s son. Not to that party. Not anywhere. He wanted to stay home. He hated people. All of them. Parties. Crowds. They made his skin crawl. Even though Park uncle was always kind and brought him chocolate, even though he was gentle and easy to talk to, it didn’t matter. Meeting his son was a thought that felt like a chore.

Mr. Jeon’s face softened with a small, exasperated sigh. He turned his head, catching his wife’s eye for a brief moment. Mrs. Jeon gently tapped his arm, urging him to stop pushing Jungkook. But Mr. Jeon didn’t listen. He could see his son’s discomfort and it worried him. He wasn’t going to let it slide this time.

“Son, listen,” he began, trying again with more patience, his voice firm but not unkind. “You should—”

But his words were cut short by the sudden screech of tires and a blinding flash of headlights, too bright, too fast. Then—boom. Something slammed into their car, a deafening crash that shook everything around him. The impact tore through them, sending the car off the road. The world spun wildly, glass shattered, metal twisted, and screams filled the air. His head smacked against the seatbelt, his shoulders pulled hard by the force as the car twisted and turned like a broken toy. His arms flailed, his hands gripping at anything they could find, but there was nothing.

Finally, the car came to a violent stop and everything felt eerily quiet. The sound of the engine sputtering, the hiss of rain, and the faint, dull ringing in his ears filled his senses. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but his head spun. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. His chest was tight, his breath shallow. Through his blurred vision, he saw it—them. Blood streaked his vision, dark and warm as it trickled into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. His breath came in short, broken pants. He couldn’t see clearly—everything felt distorted, red, and wrong. His mother was there. Her body was twisted, crumpled, unnatural, and there was so much blood. Everywhere but specially beneath her.

“Mom…” he whispered, his voice broken, a thin, desperate sound. His lips trembled, his head shaking as though he could will it away, but the horror wouldn’t leave. His small hands gripped at his seatbelt again, his fingers sticky, his face soaked with rain and fear. All he knew was that his mother was hurt, she was bleeding and wasn't moving. No, no, no… His chest ached, a desperate pain that he couldn’t understand.

His eyes shifted to his father, still breathing, but barely. His father’s chest rose weakly, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest. “Dada…” His voice cracked, the sound barely more than a whimper as he reached out for his father, his small hands pressing against the seat. The fear was suffocating, but the pain of seeing his father so helpless, so close to slipping away, was worse. His body shook uncontrollably, his tiny frame trying to fight the overwhelming terror that threatened to swallow him whole.

The silence felt unbearable. Everything around him felt like a blur, yet every detail was all real and painstrikingly cruel. His hands trembled, his body shaking, his chest aching as he waited—desperately—for some kind of answer. But before his father could respond, figures emerged from the darkness dressed in black uniforms that glistened faintly under the rain. Their presence felt wrong, but the night itself was nothing if wasn't sinful. Jungkook’s head spun, his ears ringing painfully. The sound was distorted, every word like a distant, broken whisper. But the fragments came through, jagged and broken.

“And, it’s done... Wasn't much. Let him suffer.”

Jungkook visibly flinched at their words, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His ears rang painfully, making it hard to hear, but the fragments reached him like poison.

“He denied boss, after all.”

"Hmm, all he needed was that file. Black orchid project's file."

"Yeah, stupid motherfucker." They turned to leave, but then one of them paused, looking back at Mr. Jeon’s bloody form, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “You know, since you’re dying anyways, let me tell you something… we found her. We got the first kid from the Black Orchid project. And with her, we’ll get them all. And with you dead, who will stop us.”

Their laughter was cruel and hollow, echoing in the stillness like nails scraping across the floor. Jungkook’s chest tightened, and his stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as they disappeared into the rain. The words haunted him, swirling in his mind, but before he could process them, another sound broke through—the sound of his father’s breath.

Mr. Jeon’s body shifted, his chest rising and falling in labored, shallow breaths. His tear-streaked face twisted with pain as his eyes met Jungkook’s, the weight of everything crashing down in those last, fleeting moments. “Jungkook…” His voice was raw, barely a whisper, but it carried so much guilt that it felt like it could suffocate him. “I’m so sorry, my boy… this… this is all because of me.”

“Dada…” His voice was cracked, shaky, the fear rising in his chest like a storm. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling, but it fell short, his small fingers grazing the air instead of his father’s skin.

Just as Jungkook’s vision began to blur, another sound broke through the haze—the screech of tires and the distant sound of shoes splashing through the rain. Relief flickered faintly in his chest. Someone was coming. But his blurry gaze couldn’t make out who it was.

A pair of feet appeared before him, followed by the frantic sound of someone running, slipping in the rain as they skidded to a halt next to the wreckage.

It was Mr. Park, panting, his face pale with shock as he took in the horror before him.

Mr. Park dropped to his knees beside the wreckage, his hands trembling as they hovered over the twisted metal, unable to focus on anything but the devastation before him. His breath hitched in his chest as his gaze fell on Mrs. Jeon’s crumpled, lifeless form, and the tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could manage was a broken, “Oh, my... How… what?” His gaze settled on Jungkook’s mother, crumpled and lifeless in the front seat, and his breath hitched. His hands gripped the cold, wet metal of the car, his entire body shaking as he fought the overwhelming wave of fear and sorrow threatening to drown him.

“Hang on! I’ll get you both out, I promise!” His voice cracked as he spoke, his hands fumbling against the seatbelt, desperate to pull them free.

But Mr. Jeon, with great effort, shook his head. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the words cut through the chaos. “No... no... listen to me.” He coughed, his body convulsing from the effort, and blood spattered onto his chest. “I... I won’t be able to make it out of here. Take Jungkook... get him out... and raise him. There’s no one else I trust more than you, Park. You’re like a brother to me. Please... take care of him... like he’s your own.”

Mr. Park’s eyes filled with tears, and he squeezed them shut for a moment, trying to push back the wave of grief threatening to drown him. His chest tightened, and his voice cracked as he fought to keep it steady. “I will. I promise. But don’t say that, we can still—”

“No…” Mr. Jeon’s voice was barely a whisper now, weak and distant, almost drowned out by the rain. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he coughed, blood staining his mouth. “It’s too late for me… just save him. Please.”

Mr. Park’s hand trembled as it hovered over Mr. Jeon’s, and he nodded, his lips trembling. He wasn’t ready to accept this, but he knew there was no choice. “I’ll take him,” he whispered. “I’ll take him, I promise.”

With trembling hands, Mr. Park unbuckled Jungkook, his heart breaking at the sight of the boy’s tear-streaked face, pale and bloodied. The tiny body was limp in his arms, and he fought to hold back his own tears, knowing it wouldn’t help. Jungkook’s head lolled against his shoulder, eyes barely open, blinking with confusion and fear, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Park whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his arms tightening around Jungkook as he lifted him from the wreckage. The boy’s head rested against his chest, the faintest stir of breath against his skin. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, though he knew nothing about this could ever be okay. If anything, he himself didn't trusted his words. They felt hollow.

“I’ll be back to get you. And I’ll get you out too, just hang there,” he said, his voice final, desperate, and certain. His hands trembled as he cradled Jungkook against his chest, his gaze flickering back toward Mr. Jeon, whose eyes were barely open. Mr. Park wasn't sure if he was even capable enough to fulfil that promise but at moment it was all he could offer, it was all he had left.

Mr. Jeon’s eyes fluttered, a faint nod the only response he could manage. His body had grown so still, but the tear streaked face, the way his lips trembled, said everything. He knew it was a promise that wouldn’t be kept—but he nodded anyway, and the last bit of hope faded in the silence of the wreckage. With one final glance, Mr. Park turned, his arms cradling Jungkook against him, as he ran toward safety, the boy’s limp body a stark contrast to the life and pain surrounding them. The rain continued to pour, and with each step, it felt like the world was slipping further away.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered weakly as he was carried to Mr. Park’s car. His small body felt light and cold against the older man’s chest. Inside the vehicle, Jimin sat in the backseat, his wide eyes staring at the scene before him. His small hands gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the headlights. When Mr. Park placed Jungkook beside him, Jimin’s shock melted into an visible concern. His little face was a mix of worry and gentleness as he shifted closer, his small body trembling slightly. Without hesitation, he wrapped his tiny arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a hug. The warmth of Jimin’s embrace was so soft, so comforting, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.

“Don’t cry… it’s okay, don’t cry,” Jimin whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled Jungkook closer. Jungkook’s eyes burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was tight, his chest hollow with loss. The last thing he felt before the world around him went black was Jimin’s arms, holding him tight, and the warmth of a friendship that now felt fragile, like a thread ready to snap.

Meanwhile, Mr. Park’s hands were shaking, his desperation choking his every movement as he turned back to the wreck. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted toward the flames, but he didn’t make it. Before he could even reach the wreckage, the explosion erupted in a violent wave, the flames licking at the sky as they consumed the car. The explosion rocked the ground beneath him, the heat so intense it scorched his skin, and the rain didn’t do a thing to stop the inferno. The sound of the blast echoed in his chest, and for a moment, Mr. Park stood frozen, his body trembling from the shock, the image of his closest friend burning into his mind. His breath caught in his throat, his heart twisted painfully, but he couldn’t move. He watched as the fire consumed everything—everything he had hoped to save. The rain poured harder, but it was useless against the inferno.

And just like that, Jungkook lost everything in one brutal, cruel instant. His mind hung on that moment, the crackling fire and the unyielding rain swallowing it all. The sound of the explosion still rang in his ears as he was pulled from the memory. Another sharp, blinding flash of light cut through his closed eyelids, yanking him out of his haze. His head throbbed painfully, the beat of his pulse a steady rhythm that seemed to match the aching in his skull.

A car screeched to a halt in front of him, the sound cutting through the fog in his mind like a blade. For a moment, he thought it was Jimin. But that couldn’t be right—Jimin was way behind him, far away from this mess, in a safe place. How could he have gotten ahead so fast? Jungkook’s thoughts came fast and fragmented. His breaths came quicker, his hands trembling harder as his body tensed with uncertainty.

What was happening? Was it Jimin? Was it someone else? His mind felt fractured, his body unable to respond. His body felt paralysed, useless.

The driver stepped out into the downpour, his black uniform drenched in seconds, but he moved forward with an unsettling calm. The sight of the uniform—it was like a switch had been flipped inside Jungkook. But his thoughts were too scattered, too foggy, to make sense of it. The closer the man got, the louder the buzz in Jungkook’s head grew, like lightening sissling through his skull. It was unbearable. His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging in desperately, but the pain only intensified. A low, broken groan escaped his throat.

Without warning, a loud, brutal crash shattered the silence. The man had smashed the car window. The sound tore through his body like a physical blow, breaking his fragile focus. His eyes flew open just as he felt the sting of broken glass. The shards flying like tiny stars of pain that bit into his skin. Before Jungkook could even flinch, a rough hand wrapped around his collar and yanked him from the seat. He was dragged out into the downpour, the cold, icy rain slamming into his face, washing away the blood. The cold slapped against his skin like a thousand tiny knives, but he was too weak to react. His limbs were heavy, his body numb, as if it wasn’t even his own. He couldn’t fight back. The man dragged him across the slick road like he weighed nothing, and with a brutal toss, he was slammed onto the wet pavement. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the cold, muddy water instantly soaked through his clothes, seeping into his bones.

He forced himself to push up or at least he tired. His hands trembled, weak and brittle, but he couldn’t hold himself. His body gave out, and he collapsed back into the mud with a helpless, wet sound. His face turned upward, the rain blurring his vision, every droplet a sharp needle that dug into his skin. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in shallow bursts, but the pain in his skull, his limbs, and his chest refused to go away. Jungkook tried again, his body shaking harder this time. His head swayed from side to side as he struggled, but the rain felt endless, each droplet pounding into him, each one deeper, colder, meaner. His heartbeat was an erratic drumbeat in his chest, thudding against his ribs like it might give out at any moment. His vision remained a hazy blur—everything was grey, wet, and cold, and the pounding in his skull grew stronger with every heartbeat.

Jungkook’s eyes fought to stay open, his vision blurring more with each passing second, but the shape of the man in front of him became clearer. The man in the black uniform loomed over him, a dark, shifting figure that blurred in the rain. His face was a shadow, but the smirk on his lips was cruel and clear.

The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Jungkook struggle beneath him, barely able to lift himself up on one elbow. His hand gripped the gun with a steady, deadly calm, and as he crouched down, water splashed from his chin, droplets falling onto Jungkook’s face. “Look at you,” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery, “pathetic. No high and mighty prince now, huh? Where’s your guard dog to save you?”

Jungkook’s chest heaved in ragged breaths, his heart hammering in his ribcage. He could feel the weight of his body dragging him further into the puddle, the cold seeping into his bones, but his muscles were too weak to fight back. His hand twitched, desperately trying to reach for something—anything—to push himself up, but it shook violently, unable to get any purchase. He gritted his teeth, eyes clouded with pain and dizziness, unable to respond, unable to do anything but lie there and take it.

“today was my lucky day, I guess,” he laughed.

“You’ve been a thorn in our side for too long,” the man continued, his voice dropping lower as he straightened, standing taller. His form was solid and imposing, his boots kicking mud as he took a step back. The gun rose, glinting under the pale light of the streetlamps. The barrel was cold, steady, and pointed directly at Jungkook’s chest.

“Time to put you out of your misery, kid. Join mommy and daddy. I wager... You’ve been dying to.” A cold sweat broke out across Jungkook’s skin even in shrill rain, and for a brief moment, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, flicking between the gun and the man’s mocking face, terror clawing at him from the inside. His chest tightened, his body frozen as the world spun around him, and he tried once more to move, to escape, but his legs were useless, as if the earth beneath him was swallowing him whole. All that remained was the sharp, unrelenting noise of the rain and the sickening sound of the man’s finger inching toward the trigger.

Jungkook’s body went rigid as the man’s words echoed in his mind. His heart thundered in his chest as the memories of his parents flooded him—their lifeless eyes, the blood staining the night, the terror that gripped him then and now. His hands, slick with cold rain, shook uncontrollably as he stared at the barrel of the gun. His throat constricted, but no words came out—only a choked sob that was lost in the downpour.

The man’s grin widened, cruel and savage, as he inched his finger toward the trigger. Jungkook could see the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction of finally having the power to take everything from him. The laughter in his voice was sharp, like glass scraping against his skin, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he squeezed the trigger.

"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."

The gunshot shattered the night—louder than the storm, louder than the pounding in Jungkook's ears. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world seemed to stop. The rain paused in midair, hanging like frozen tears, the wind silenced as if holding its breath. Jungkook felt the world tilt beneath him, and his body instinctively braced for the impact that was supposed to come.

a/n: So, how’d you guys like it? Hate it? Loved it? I need the feedback, break me, but like... gently, okay? I’m fragile and I’ll cry, like, on the spot. But honestly, there might be some grammatical disasters in there. Why? Because I got sick and just didn’t have the energy to do much editing work on it. So yeah, don’t judge me too hard, I’m basically a walking disaster right now. Also, I really hope you still love Jungkook after reading this. Please don’t hate him. Show him some love. And, like, show me some too, because my ego is starving. Tell me how amazing it was (or, like, pretend it was) and boost my fragile little ego, okay? I need it. Love ya, guys!

91 notes · View notes

blackenedsnow · 2 days ago

Note

OMG YOUR BLOG IS SO SO SO COOL ??? HELLO?? IM IN LUV W YOUR LAYOUT AAAAA

soeey but may i make a request pls i beg bc ive been thinking ab this all day every day for like a week 😭😭 is it okay to request slashers reacting to you faking an 0rgasm?? 😭 specifically micheal bc I'm in my mikey phase but if not then don't worry about it <3<3<3 but tag me if possible !! thank you!!!

slashers reactions to you faking an orgasm

WARNING ; NSFW/18+, fake orgasms

PAIRING: Michael Myers x Reader, Jason Voorhees x Reader, Billy Loomis x Reader

NOTE: Omg, first of all, thank you for the sweet words about my blog!! 🖤 I didn't know what other slashers to put so I put a few in those feel spinner thingys and chose like that. Hope you enjoy!

MICHAEL MYERS

He knows your body better than anyone, and the moment he catches onto the fact that you faked it?

He goes completely still.

No breathing, no movement—just his blank mask staring at you like you’ve committed a cardinal sin.

He’s not mad, per se.

He’s disappointed.

But also? He takes it as a personal challenge.

You think you need to fake it? That you’d have to with him?

Oh, he’s going to prove you so wrong.

Expect him to be relentless.

He’ll have you pinned under his weight, utterly at his mercy, as he drags it out of you for real this time.

And you won’t be able to fake anything by the end of it—not with the way he watches you like a predator, soaking in every sound and twitch you make.

(And yeah, maybe he’s a little salty. He’ll take his time, make you beg, just to remind you who’s in charge here.)

JASON VOORHEES

He’s not exactly the most experienced in this department, but he tries so hard to please you.

When you fake it, he stops immediately.

He looks at you with confusion, maybe even a little bit of hurt.

Jason doesn’t understand why you’d fake something like this.

Did he hurt you? Did you not want to be with him? Were you bored? His mind spirals into self-doubt.

He’ll sit back, his big hands resting on your thighs as he studies your face, searching for answers.

If you admit you were faking it, Jason might feel a little dejected, but he’ll try to do better.

He’s nothing if not attentive, and he’ll take your cues more seriously from now on.

Honestly, he’s so focused on making you happy that the whole situation ends up being more of a learning experience than anything else.

Jason just wants to be a good partner.

BILLY LOOMIS

Oh, you’re gonna regret this one, babe.

Billy is petty as hell.

The second he catches on, he stops everything.

Completely.

Pulls back, smirking down at you with that cocky, condescending expression.

What follows is absolute hell—the good kind, though.

Billy edges you mercilessly, taking you right to the brink over and over again until you’re begging him to let you finish.

When he finally lets you come undone, it’s explosive.

Billy makes sure you won’t even think about faking it again.

And, of course, he’ll tease you about it for weeks afterward.

#slasher #slashers #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher headcanons #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x reader #billy loomis x reader #ghostface x reader #x reader #ask #fanfic #request #headcanons

81 notes · View notes

moriitis · 2 days ago

Note

Hey! Happy holidays, moriitis!

This is an unusual curiosity, but... What do you think about Toby being a father?

I feel like he wouldn't like having a child, or maybe he would, I don't know... do you think he would be a good father? (Let's suppose that hypothetically you have a daughter)

Have a nice Christmas, I love you! 💗

Father!Toby Rogers HeadCanons. Fem!Reader.

FIRST, I wanna say how fucking weird it was reading this ask at 5 am because I shit you not, before I went to sleep THIS VERY THOUGHT crossed my mind and I told myself I was gonna write this today. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. No, on a real note, glad we are on the same wave length. I LOVE THIS and thank you for requesting it! Have the most happiest of holidays yourself! <3 AND NO I LOVE YOU.

Content/Warnings; abortion, mentions of miscarriages, blood, birth, children, babies.

If you had asked him what he did on a specific Wednesday two weeks ago, he'd have no idea. That was one of the downsides to being a proxy; the memory loss and foggy mind. But fuck, did he remember the morning you told him you were pregnant. His heart fell through his ass, his skin colour turning fifty shades paler than usual.

Admittedly, his first reaction was to laugh. He'd snort in your face and narrow his eyes suspiciously toward you.

"Weird fucking thing to say."

Would be one of the first things he would say. Because you pranked him so often that he simply didn't believe you and it was such a weird fucking thing to say? What a weird prank?

But when you didn't laugh, his lips pursed nervously and he shifted from one foot to the other. The silence was louder than anything as you both stared at each other. The seriousness on your face, this was going too far.

"You're on birth control... right?"

And before he knew it, you were tearing up and right there and then he wanted a hole to swallow him up and eat him. This was bad, no, worse than bad; this was really fucking serious.

Slender would fucking kill him, he'd kill him first and then kill you. This wasn't supposed to happen, shit, he shouldn't have been fucking with you in the first place and now you were fucking pregnant?!

He wanted to panic, he wanted to dart out the door and leave forever but he was tied to Slender. Not just as a proxy, but a slave; a mere worker.

It was the look on your face too, he couldn't leave you? What kind of man were he? Not that he had a particularly good role model for what being a man was like

God forbid he turned into that man.

"Okay."

He would start -

"Okay, okay, ooookay."

He was reassuring himself more than he were reassuring you and his hands reached out to grip firmly on your shoulders. This didn't have to happen, he could.. well, you could fall down some stairs or better yet, drink some alcohol? That'll get rid of a baby, right?

Those thoughts, those dirty, putrid thoughts. What was he thinking? He was disgusted in himself but he couldn't help it, he was panicking.

He couldn't be a father, he was not made to be a father. What if he turned into him? What if he were to.. god forbid it, lay his hands on the babe? He was a dangerous individual, why should the softness of a baby stop him?

Perhaps it was because it were.. his baby. A life growing inside of... you.

"I can't do it."

He admitted.

"I am not fit to be- I CANNOT be- Our life- What we do- No, no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you but-"

He was rambling. He was afraid, he couldn't bare to look at you because what if he were to suddenly lay a hand on you?

Sitting down with Toby and talking to him was the best option. To clear your minds, to form a plan - to figure out what to do and whether you both wanted this baby.

Toby was honest, so brutally honest that frankly it made you burst into tears.

"It's not that I don't want it- it's that I-.. I can't."

His words hurt so much but he promised he'd be there to help you each step of the way. Fuck, he'd even get Jack in an attempt to try and help with the termination.

But word travelled fast and it sure travelled quick.

Slender's rage was not shouting or screaming; it was the eerie silence or disappointing faceless stare he would give you. It was the nausea that followed, the anxiety that riddled itself in your blood stream.

And just like that, Toby's whole life was gone. You had just.. simply disappeared. And it killed him, the unknowing of what happened to you. It killed him to think that he could've possibly killed you.

But you were not dead. Slender had come to an... agreement.

You were to stay a proxy but you were to terminate the child and with that, he sent you on the other side of the forest. In a cabin, alone and to deal with your emotions.

Jack had came to aid you with the termination.

But something inside of you told you that.. you wanted this child. That perhaps this child was a chance of hope, of normality. That maybe you could escape.

And you hated to bare such a burden on a child that was not yet born.

It took a lot of convincing from Jack, a lot of persuasion to keep the baby and to do regular visits to ensure it was growing healthy. You were to birth the baby alone, for Jack couldn't risk getting caught. But he taught you well, how to handle it and of course gave you lots of books.

It was risky, going against Slender. He would know something was up, especially since you had not come back as quickly as he had expected.

So Jack lied for you, he hated it but did it nevertheless. What was he going to lose?

He told Slender you were in a coma and that he needed to do regular checks to ensure you were alive.

Slender wouldn't know, fuck, Slender wasn't human - so the lie worked perfectly.

The pregnancy was rough. Unwelcoming. You vomited everything up, you were unable to gather firewood due to the fatigue - so on most nights you would be freezing alone.

A part of you didn't expect the baby to survive. That you would miscarriage.

But weeks slogged into months and you were bursting.

And you had to do this alone.

You didn't count how long you were in labour for, but it felt like for days.

So much blood, that something was wrong and you just knew it.

But you pushed through, with each book Jack had given you being an aid.

The baby was born during the night.

And she did not cry. Nor weep, nor whine.

Your heart dropped.

You were slumped on the cabin floor, blood pooling around your thighs and knees as you doubled over. There, on the towels beneath you, were the child. Pale, small.

If it weren't for the shock, you would've moved instantly. But you couldn't. All you could do was watch in disbelief, your head glazed in sweat.

But motherly instincts kicked in quick.

And you reached for the scissors, cutting the cord and making haste to save your daughters life.

Your daughter. A girl. You had no idea what the gender were but it were evident as you helplessly rubbed the babes back, hoping to clear some airways to hear that cry.

Relief washed over you, a cry that would've seen irritating for some; music to your ears.

You had a daughter - she was alive!

It took Jack a couple months until he passed by again, he was on his rounds locally and knew he needed to check up on you. A part of him expected to find you dead and half of him prepared himself to the smell of death as he itched closer toward the cabin. The smell of the rotting corpse either being you, the child or both.

But there was a new smell. A sweeter smell.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised when he discovered the cooing child in your arms but he were.

You had named her Lyla.

And you ached for Toby.

Jack couldn't vouch for the coma lie anymore and he knew that soon you were to be caught.

So, he did what he thought were best. He dragged Toby's sorry ass here. And it took a lot of convincing.

Toby succumbing to depression at the idea of losing you. Spending most days in bed, grieving.

So, when he walked into the cabin, he quite literally dropped to his knees, it was like everything inside him had been healed.

"You're alive-?!" Toby choked out. A part of him believed he were dreaming. His eyes scanned every fibre of your being, your hair, eyes, lips and.. the baby in your arms. His mouth hung agape and you couldn't help the stream of tears that came flooding down your cheeks. The brunette couldn't lie, he couldn't say that you looked well because you didn't. You looked.. so hungry, so weak and yet this beautiful child looked so healthy. "You- is that- am I?" All you could do was nod to his words as you approached him, Toby barely able to find the courage to look at the child in your arms. No, he had to make sure you were real first. His hand reached out, fingertips barely grazing over your cheekbones and there he smashed his lips against your own.

It took a lot of explaining and Toby was.. well, in shock for an hour or two as he tried to come to terms with it all. The idea that you did this.. alone. That you carried this child alone for months, that you gave birth alone. He should've been there, he would've been in a heartbeat!

But that voice in the back of his head reminded him of the words he spoke to you on the day that you announced you were pregnant. Oh, how they were not true.

Because as soon as he glanced at the baby, he knew in that moment that he wanted to be.. a father. Well, he wanted to try.

"She's beautiful.." he whispered, voice hoarse as he fought back the lump in his throat. Toby reached out but stopped himself. What if even a mere touch would make the baby disappear? What if.. somehow, he hurt her?! His expression pained as he hesitated, between wanting to love but being too afraid to do so. The both of you exchanged glances, your own look encouraging him silently. You trusted Toby, despite his nature, despite what he does; you knew he would never hurt her. And you relayed those very thoughts with a look alone as you gently urged the little bundle toward him. Toby wanted to decline but slowly, he took the baby within his own arms. He was awkward, freezing and sitting as still as he could, like she were made out of glass. It made you laugh. "You're not going to hurt her," you reassured with words this time. "But what if the day comes that I do?"

When Toby found out his daughters name were Lyla, he broke down into tears. He was crying so much that he kept calling himself 'such a little bitch' between each sob.

It was pretty funny.

But you didn't laugh, you just rubbed his shoulder reassuringly as he sobbed tears over his daughter.

Which prompted Lyla to whine softly.

And then Toby cried more because he thought he hurt her. Shit, this man was more hormonal than you were.

It took Toby many weeks to adjust to this new lifestyle and he tried his best to form a bond with his daughter. You had the pleasure of nine months to form a bond, Toby had no time to prepare at all.

But it was hard because every time he looked at her, his heart broke into a million tiny pieces.

She was too perfect, too beautiful and anxiety consumed him at the thought of losing her. He had just got you back!

And you were the two girls in his life he loved ever so dearly.

So, he insisted that he looked after her more. Despite the fact that every time he held her, he wanted to fucking die. He was too damn anxious for this shit.

Admittedly, as weeks turned into months, you were thankful for Toby's willingness to parent more often.

But it was hard at the start

It seemed Lyla hated Toby and it frustrated Toby each time she would cry whenever she were in his arms

She was clingy, and you understood both of their emotions.

So when Lyla was asleep, Toby would feel his emotions get the better of him too. He would be angry, but his anger turned more into sadness as he stormed off into the wilderness for some alone time.

And this happened often. Toby needed time and you understood this, a part of you feeling guilty for thrusting this parent role upon him so suddenly - especially after he expressed his discomfort with the idea of being a father.

But it was still early days.

And you were unsure on what happened that particular night but when Toby came back from his usual walks, he was a different man.

And when he gently scooped Lyla up into his arms, it seemed she noticed that too.

Perhaps it was the confidence? Or how calm he appeared?

Whatever it was, it seemed now they were inseparable.

The love in his gaze as he rocked Lyla gently in his arms, like he was holding his entire world and nothing was going to take that away from him.

Well, that was until Slender found out.

And it turned into a literal shit show.

The way Jack came storming into the cabin, bursting your little bubble you had created, your idea of a happy, normal family disappearing as quickly as you had dreamt it.

The panic on Toby's face as he knew.

And you knew.

You expected worse, but Slender was... forgiving.

You were unsure what was said, whether Jack had swayed his mind or perhaps if Toby promised some unspoken promise.

But the cabin you had given birth in was to become your home.

On one condition.

You were banished. No, you would not go back to society - especially not after the things you know and had seen, but you were to stay here until your death. Which would not be a peaceful death, but that day would come. For now, Lyla was fine and despite your worry about her future; Slender agreed that she would be fine.

You did not trust the entity's words. But you were thankful nevertheless.

"How the hell did you get so big?!" You heard Toby yell from the living room, Lyla's giggles followed. From the corner of your eye, Toby spun her around in the space of the living room. There was no denying that the scene warmed your heart, but also made you chew the bottom of your lip anxiously.

Toby always said that you worried about her too much and maybe you did, but fucking hell... if her ankle caught the table or her head on the wall! Rushing over, you quickly waved your arms out. "Whoaa, okay, hold on- she's gonna hurt herself or get sick-!" you quickly spoke, trying to pitch your voice a little louder than Lyla's giggles. Toby stopped momentarily, Lyla in his arms and he looked at you with a questioning look. "She's fine, see?" Toby held her out and she flopped in his arms, almost looking as if she were about to drop on the floor and instinctively you threw your hands out to catch her. The brunette could only chuckle as he bundled her up close to his chest. "You worry too much." Those same words again and you rolled your eyes, a soft crinkle of irritation evident in your brow. Lyla was.. fine and perhaps you did worry too much, but Toby didn't really understand the concept of.. gentle playing. Like the times he'd throw her in the air, it make you wanna vomit at the idea of her hitting her head on the roof, or god forbid - he drops her. She was too little for this roughness and deep down, she'd always be your little baby. But Lyla was nearly two and it broke your heart to admit that, as much as you enjoy watching her grow.

And she preferred playing with Toby than with you. Mostly because she was a carbon copy of Toby himself. From the nose to the hair colour. She had your eyes though, so screw you Toby.

Toby became the very man he promised himself he would become, the very father he wished he had himself.

Loving and caring. Lyla was most certainly Daddy's little girl and Toby wore that badge with pride.

If it weren't for the circumstances and for the fact that Toby does not own a wallet he'd have little pictures of his daughter nestled away inside the pocket of his wallet.

Despite the bumpy start, Lyla couldn't get enough of Toby and he ensured that every night he'd read her a bedtime story. He'd even fall asleep himself sometimes just beside her bed, other nights just wanting to sit close in case something were to happen.

Admittedly, a part of you worried that Toby was.. too attached to her.

But whenever they were together, Toby was healing something inside of him that he thought could never be healed.

And essentially, he was living a childhood he had always wished for through his own daughter.

Eventually, Lyla blossomed into a teenager and it was.... hell.

"I fucking hate this cabin, I hate being here! Why can't we be normal! What's with all this off the grid shit!" The voice yelled from down the hall. Oh, she wasn't wrong, Lyla had every right to be pissed but having to live with an angsty teenager that hated everyone and everything was a lot worse.

And Toby never, NEVER, did the punishments.

Just... strict words.

No, he couldn't trust himself, so let you deal with it.

But at times he would find himself taking Lyla outside for a walk to talk to her. To let her know that he was there if she wanted to talk.

And yes, Toby does 100% sneak her out to go to the nearest town.

All in all, Toby would be, against all odds, the best father he could offer. Though I do see him not wanting kids at all. I also HC that all the proxies are infertile anyway.

But if it were to play out, it'd probably be something like this. Toby would be the cool dad where you could just about get away with some stuff. Toby would also be one of those guys where he claims he hates the cat kid and then forms such a close bond with the cat kid.

Oh, and is this man protective of his children too. !

Very much refers to his children as 'sperm pet.' Or he pulls a Kratos and he's kinda like 'get 'ere, boy/girl.'

I RAMBLED TOO MUCH

I feel like I didn't really answer your question

I'm sorry. I will write more about this in the future though.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta headcanons #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby headcanons #fuck i wrote so much im so sorry #this man could get me pregnant and i would say thank you #nah on a real note FUCK THEM KIDS FR

91 notes · View notes

starlet-orchids · 3 days ago

Text

ok ok eden garden chapter 1 rant and afterthoughts (spoilers for all of the chapter here)

WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN GOD

I def want to write my afterthoughts on this cause it has seriously ruined my whole mind rn

First I did the daily life on one day and the trial on the next so in the middle of the night, I had a whole dream that Diana was the killer and so when the trial said it was Diana I was like: OH WAS MY DREAM RIGHR??? (Ofc it wasnt)

GOD RHE DIANA AND DAMON PARALLELS ARE PARALLEING TOO BTW. I can not describe better than others have but god I cant

I really will miss the damon wolfgang dynamic, I did one of his fte and I found it so admirable how he def did want to help everyone and even if he had a mild dislike for Damon and Eva, he was willing to cooperate ig?? And also how Damon mentioned he challenged him to do better, god I love me some challenge rivals I will miss them

Damon and Kai were also super funny. I didnt like Kai too much in the prologue but I started warming up to him in chapter 1, he is very goofy and just a guy. I cant hate him too much for that

My other fav damon dynamics going on were with Cassidy and Toshiko each. Cassidy and Damon are a powerduo, they bicker but they get stuff done quick. Toshiko and Damon also are so sibs, I died when I first saw the mochi nickname btw. I hope to see them be siblings more, I am grateful for their content.

Now the elephant in the room of Damon and Eva. Ok uhm. Eva had so so much characterization here its crazy. Eva slowly revealing her true self to others after getting exposed, showing how her ult liar front was just a facade in order to not be seen as lower. She def has a bad complex cause of her past (watch her ftes), she hates being seen as low and nothing human so because of that, has become blind to people who do care. She was willing to sacrifice everyone cause she thought no one trusted her at all in any way. I think she targeted Wolfgang cause of how he was the main one who was singling her out from the rest. She was bitter towards him and everyone who followed him the entire time compared to Damon. Damon acknowledged it but subconsiosly allowed himself to build trust with the rest. Why else would he start defending Diana after being the one to start accusing her? He recognized the kindness she had given to him that had no tone of pity. Meanwhile Eva couldnt see the help with no strings attached from Diana and so decided to frame her otherwise.

Eva and Damon friendship is so sweet, they both were excluded and dislike being seen lower/less than their peers. The way Damon cried after her execution even after she admitted to not believing the care and trust she had recieved from them all. The irony on how Eva pointed out the most likely to kill were the ultimates and yet she starts the game.

Hm other stuff I would like to say last now are that the cgs are cute, the grace wolfgang stuff is so crazy and I cant not wait for the next chapters if chapter 1 was willing to pull smth like this alrdy!! The pacing of the daily life and the trial were quite reasonable and the banter was so silly to read, I enjoyed it a ton for sure

Also I could write a whole Eva analysis but I suck at wording stuff, please tell me if I should write one tbh.

ok thats all of it, have a guess at who my favs are after reading all of this. Thank you for reading if you did!!!

#p:eg #project edens garden #p:eg spoilers

34 notes · View notes

genderqueerdykes · 2 days ago

Note

i wanted to say as someone who actually does id with nonbinary quite strongly also thank you for making it clear that it's not just the catch all for anything and everything. I hate seeing a label i connect with pushed on people who don't want it - like thats missing the whole entire point! the whole point of gender labels like this is to not push words and expectations on to people who don't want them! nonbinary is not the magic catch all third gender and yeah it can be pretty broad but it's not the only option! Let people use the words they want! Pushing genders onto people who don't want to identify that way is just transphobia with extra steps.

Anyway thanks love your posts

thank you so much for sending this ask i really love this!

it is really shitty that people assume that the "default" "third" gender is non binary, because i feel like at times that can be kind of insulting to you, as well, for people forcing folks into a group they don't want to be in. the entire point of identifying as queer is to find what fits you, in specific. it doesn't matter what works for anyone else, we are supposed to focus on ourselves

like, non binary people have their own experiences and it's honestly very rude to conflate ALL genders that aren't 100% binary with the non binary community because what people have ended up doing is creating yet another binary. if people are seriously out here thinking that you can only be a binary trans person, or non binary, they have created a yet another binary. like apparently a ton of people got pissed off when i pointed out that saying that someone is either non binary or binary is literally creating a binary. how the fuck can you create a binary for a term called NON binary? what the hell is that about

"Pushing genders onto people who don't want to identify that way is just transphobia with extra steps."

yesssss, thank you so much. beautifully put. i hate- actually, no i don't. i don't hate to be the older queer who tells people to stop trying to erase queer history in favor forcing everyone to switch to newer terms. genderqueer is a term that has been around for decades. that doesn't make it outdated: that means it has tons of importance in queer history. also, it just sucks to force people to use non binary as opposed to their own terms, especially terms with smaller communities, because they deserve to be seen. neutrois and maverique are genders that come to mind that get swept into "non binary" and not allowed to be expressed by themselves.

thank you so much for sending this, i really appreciate it!

#asks #answers #non binary #nonbinary #enby

27 notes · View notes

velvetvexations · 19 hours ago

Note

Re the anon talking about ppl claiming that you can do forcefem in a way that isn't kinky and therefore is sfw & shouldn't be tagged – THANK YOU. As an ace person who is both somewhat sex averse and mildly involved in kink (basically I like erotica (of the fantastical, impossible to do in reality variety) & write some of it but I have to be in the right mood and I'm uncomfortable with actually having sex or having sexual interactions that aren't clearly roleplay), I was a little upset with some friends a few years ago for making sexual comments about me (like joking about whether I'm a top/bottom or saying things like 'step on me', etc). I asked them if they could stop/tone it down a little and my actually close friends did but a few kept getting defensive about how it was clearly a joke and they were saying I was a bottom in a slang/meme way and didn't mean anything sexual by it. And like... the point isn't how you intend for something to come across, the point is how it's received and the words you're saying are clearly sexual and it's starting to get weird. Something doesn't stop being rude or straight up sexual harassment if you mean it as a joke/in a nonsexual way.

I'm not a Puritan by any means. All kink (involving consensual adults) is fine by me but being sex-positive also means respecting that some people aren't into your kinks or sex in general and to not get offended if someone unfollows you because of untagged kink/nsfw or leaves a conversation because they're squicked out. (Seriously, we need to bring back the concept of 'squicks' to communicate that there's nothing morally wrong with certain kinks but some can still gross you out and you can choose to avoid them.) Rebranding what's clearly a kink and is understood to be a kink anywhere that's not this website, especially one that can clearly be triggering to people, and calling anyone who doesn't want to see it transmisogynists is just... weird.

(Also while I have 0 problems with people who transition for kink reasons or people who have gender-related kinks, it sets a kind of dangerous precedent for seriously claiming something like forcefem is trans praxis when one of the most common transphobic & specifically transmisogynistic lines of attack is that being trans is sexually motivated & trans people are groomer pedophiles, etc etc. If you think of your transition/gender as forcefemming then cool! Good for you! Kink is an important part of queerness. But maybe try to not apply that to the entire community when there are people who don't feel the same and there are people who are put in real physical danger because of those assumptions that being trans is inherently sexual.)

This is especially true of forcefem because "nonsexual forcefem" is literally just transmascs being forced to detransition. People with non-con kinks kinna have a big responsibility to not go about it in a way that's triggering to other people.

#vexatious #forcefem #ace phobia #transandro phobia #discourse

28 notes · View notes

m1dnitefloat · 2 days ago

Note

hi!!! i just want to say i love your club penguin ocs so much!!! they have such fun designs <33 i was wondering if you have any lore for them??? or if they interact with the other club penguin characters :3

ohoho you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to ramble about my ocs .. ok i only really have stuff for two of them but yknow ..

(warning for probably horrible writing, this is the first time I’m really putting this stuff into words, and I’m not all that great at writing characters in the first place, so bear with me)

i’ll start off with skye since they’re the one i have the most info on lol

skye is one of my oldest ocs! i created them all the way back in 2012, they were originally an epf agent based on one of the penguins used in some of the promotional material for operation blackout. i’ve written out the epf stuff out of their character since then, though they’ve retained most of their basic traits.

skye is one of the island’s local freelance artists, as well as a member of the stage society and the party committee. they often help with designing and creating sets, props, and decorations for events throughout the island! skye is known for their creativity among their peers, however they’re horrendously shy and dislike being in the spotlight, preferring to work “behind the scenes.”

as for character relationships .. I’d imagine they’d be pretty good friends with dot! canonically, dot has been shown to have a love for theatre, and I like to think she’s had a hand (or flipper?) in designing costumes for various stage plays, so I’d imagine she and skye would bond over that kind of stuff.

skye also eventually becomes good friends with rookie! he first approached them for help with planning the 2014 fair (thanks to a recommendation from dot lol), and skye, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to help out with the design and construction of the amazement park. I’d imagine rookie plays a key role in skye’s character development, helping them come out of their shell somewhat (they have a kinda ‘extrovert adopts an introvert’ thing going on). here’s some bonus funny doodles of them:

some misc facts about skye I’ve had in my head:

- they don’t own any puffles or pets, but they do act as somewhat of a caretaker for the keeper of the stage, making the effort to check up on and put food out for it everyday.

- a bit too dedicated to their craft for their own good, they’ve pulled one too many all-nighters just to work on one of their various projects.

- their favorite artistic medium is painting, though they love to experiment and have dabbled into pretty much every medium at some point (with varying degrees of success).

then there’s my kind-of-penguinsona, agent pinky! or sometimes just ‘pink.’ kind of a weird name I know, i derived it from my og username on club penguin, pinkyrose059, since that’s what I based pinky off of.

pinky is a laid-back, but somewhat jaded, tactical agent for the epf. they have kind of a ‘been there, done that’ attitude, leading them to not really take their agent role all that seriously (i can imagine them quarreling with their boss, jpg, sometimes cause of this) …. that’s all I kinda got for them rn, i haven’t really had much in mind for them compared to skye lol.

#club penguin #club penguin oc #my art #🐇✉️#SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO RESPOND :’D again this is my first time really writing this stuff down lol

23 notes · View notes

little-jana · 2 days ago

Text

Mistletoe Series: 🎄David Rossi (4)

"Holiday Wisdom"

Pairing: mentor!David Rossi x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: fatherfigure!Rossi, talk of burnout, forehead kiss

Words: 1.5k

Summary: A fatherly kiss under the mistletoe from a certain Italian.

The BAU Christmas party was in full swing, and it was exactly what I expected from Penelope Garcia—a riot of color and glitter. The bullpen was draped in twinkling lights, garlands hung from every corner, and ornaments dangled from desks and cubicles. The crowning touch was the mistletoe—strategically placed in seemingly every doorway and corner of the room.

It was festive, cheerful, and a little overwhelming. I sipped at a mug of cider, lingering by the dessert table, watching my team. Emily and JJ were by the bar, laughing over something Derek had said. Spencer was standing in a corner, deep in conversation with Rossi, no doubt unloading a detailed history of holiday traditions. Hotch was nearby, his rare, faint smile softened by the glow of the lights.

This was my family. My sometimes dysfunctional, always dependable family. And tonight, for once, we weren’t chasing monsters or piecing together the horrors of human behavior. We were just… us.

“Enjoying yourself?”

I turned to see David Rossi standing beside me, a wine glass in hand, his expression equal parts amused and curious.

“Trying to,” I said with a small smile. “It’s a bit much.”

He smirked, gesturing around the room. “That’s Garcia for you. Go big or go home.”

“She definitely went big,” I replied, my smile widening.

Rossi chuckled, his rich, warm laugh cutting through the noise of the party. “You look like you could use something stronger than cider.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, like your fancy Chianti?”

He held up his glass, swirling the deep red liquid. “Chianti Classico. Pairs beautifully with everything, including over-the-top Christmas parties.”

“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he said, smirking.

There was something comforting about Rossi’s presence. He had a way of grounding people, of offering guidance without being overbearing. From the moment I joined the team, he’d taken me under his wing, doling out advice, teasing me when I needed it, and giving me the occasional nudge in the right direction.

“Seriously, though,” he said, his tone softening. “How are you holding up?”

I hesitated, knowing he’d see through any attempt to brush off the question. “I’m okay,” I said finally. “It’s just… a lot. The cases, the travel, the holidays. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know how to stop.”

Rossi nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That’s the thing about this job. It doesn’t leave much room for balance. But you need to find it, Y/N. Burnout doesn’t just happen—it builds. You’ve got to know when to step back.”

I smiled faintly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But it’s necessary. Trust me, I’ve been where you are. It’s easy to pour everything into the job and forget about yourself in the process. But if you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t take care of anyone else.”

I looked at him, surprised by the earnestness in his voice. “You’re really good at this, you know. The whole dad thing.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I prefer to think of myself as an older, wiser mentor. But if you want to call me your BAU dad, I won’t argue.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Thanks, Rossi. I mean it.”

He smiled, the kind of warm, genuine smile that always managed to put me at ease.

“Y/N!”

We both turned as Penelope bounded toward us, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She had a sprig of mistletoe in one hand and a step ladder in the other, and I immediately knew where this was going.

“Oh, no,” I muttered.

“Oh, yes,” Penelope said, grinning. “You two are standing in the *perfect* spot.”

“Garcia,” Rossi said, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“Don’t even try to argue,” she said, cutting him off. “Rules are rules. Mistletoe means you’ve got to kiss.”

I groaned, glancing up to confirm that, yes, we were indeed standing directly under a sprig of mistletoe. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s tradition!” Penelope said, crossing her arms. “And you know how I feel about tradition.”

Rossi sighed, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. “Fine. But I’m doing this my way.”

Before I could protest, Rossi turned to me, his gaze soft. He stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, kid,” he said quietly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead.

It wasn’t romantic or awkward—it was warm, reassuring, and full of affection. The kind of gesture that reminded me just how much Rossi cared, even if he rarely said it outright.

I blinked up at him, my heart unexpectedly full. “Merry Christmas, Rossi,” I said softly.

Penelope sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine, that was adorable. Not what I was going for, but I’ll take it.”

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t push your luck, Garcia.”

She flounced off in search of her next mistletoe victims, leaving us standing there.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, looking up at him.

“For what?”

“For… being you,” I said, feeling a little foolish but meaning every word.

Rossi smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Anytime, kid.”

As the party continued around us, I couldn’t help but feel grateful—not just for Rossi, but for all of it. This team, this family.

And in that moment, under the twinkling lights and the ridiculous mistletoe, I realized just how lucky I was to have them.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #david rossi #david rossi imagine #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi one shot #david rossi x reader

22 notes · View notes

magical-reid · 10 hours ago

Text

A Christmas Promise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (One or two uses of Y/N)

Perspective: Third person

Word Count: 1.6 K

Prompt #6: "You owe me a kiss"

It was Christmas Eve at the BAU, and the team was winding down after a long and exhausting case. The air in the bullpen felt warmer than usual, thanks to the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree in the corner and the soft hum of holiday music playing from a small speaker. The team had gathered for a quick, informal holiday celebration, though Spencer Reid had been unusually quiet all evening.

You couldn’t help but notice how he stood off to the side, nervously adjusting his scarf and occasionally glancing at the others, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket as if to hide some lingering uncertainty. It wasn’t like Spencer to be this distant—especially not during the holidays, when the team usually went out of their way to be a little more lighthearted.

"Hey, Reid," you called softly, stepping toward him with a small smile, "everything okay?"

Spencer blinked at you, his brown eyes wide as if startled from his thoughts. He quickly nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking," he mumbled, running a hand through his messy hair. His usual charm and wit seemed absent, replaced by an almost shy demeanor.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "You don’t seem fine. You sure you're not just trying to hide from the chaos?"

He chuckled nervously. "Maybe a little."

"Well," you said with a playful smile, "if you're going to stand over here all by yourself, at least join me in a drink. It’s Christmas Eve, after all."

Reid hesitated, his fingers twitching as if unsure whether to follow you. Then he seemed to make up his mind, his lips curling into a soft, almost bashful smile. "Okay, sure."

You led him to the small bar set up in the corner of the bullpen. It wasn’t much—just a few bottles of mulled wine, some sparkling cider, and a selection of cookies. It wasn’t about the drink, though; it was about being together, away from the usual chaos. You poured two glasses of mulled wine, the rich aroma of cinnamon, orange peel, and cloves filling the air as the dark red liquid swirled in your glass. Spencer accepted his with a grateful smile, and you both stood there for a moment in silence.

The room was warm, with the faint scent of pine from the Christmas tree and the sound of holiday music drifting through the air. The rest of the team was engaged in light conversation, some of them dancing to the soft tunes or exchanging gifts, but you and Spencer remained on the fringes, watching.

You took a sip of your drink and glanced sideways at him, trying to gauge his mood. He was staring at the tree, his gaze unfocused, lost in thought. There was something different about him tonight, something hesitant and vulnerable.

"Spencer, what’s going on?" you asked gently, placing your hand lightly on his arm. "You’re not your usual self. Is it the case? Or is there something else bothering you?"

Spencer shifted slightly, his face flushed with a soft pink color, his fingers curling around his glass like he was trying to ground himself. He was always the smartest person in the room, but moments like these revealed how deeply he felt things—sometimes even more intensely than anyone knew.

"I’ve just been... thinking about something," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the tree. "Something I promised I would do if... if we were still here at Christmas."

You tilted your head slightly, intrigued. "A promise? What kind of promise?"

He cleared his throat and finally looked at you, though his gaze was nervous, almost apologetic. "It’s a Christmas promise," he said quietly, his voice soft but with an underlying sense of seriousness. "One that I made a while ago, to someone very important to me."

You frowned, unsure where this was going. "What kind of promise? Spencer, what did you promise?"

Reid bit his lip, visibly anxious. "I promised that if we were still... together this Christmas, I would finally tell you how I feel. I would stop overthinking it and just... say it."

Your heart skipped a beat, your stomach fluttering. Was this really happening? Spencer—always so cautious with his emotions, always guarding his heart—was telling you this now? You suddenly felt very aware of the warmth spreading through your chest and the slight tremor in your hands.

"I—" You started, your voice shaky, but before you could process everything, Spencer continued, his eyes downcast.

"You’ve always been so patient with me, even when I’ve been... a mess." His words were gentle but weighted with the vulnerability you rarely saw from him. "And I promised that... if I could finally get it right, I would ask you for something. You... you owe me a kiss."

You blinked, staring at him as if you hadn’t heard him correctly. "I... owe you a kiss?"

He looked up at you then, his eyes wide and full of that same uncertainty you knew all too well. "You said last year, after I... after I saved you from that crazy suspect, that I owed you a kiss." His voice faltered a little, but the sincerity in his expression was clear. "Well, I think it’s time for me to cash in on that promise."

You stood frozen for a moment, your mind racing. You’d known Spencer for years—seen him in moments of brilliance, moments of awkwardness, and moments of deep introspection. But you’d never seen him so vulnerable, so open. The weight of his words and his gaze made your heart pound in your chest.

"You... you’ve wanted this for a while?" you whispered, your pulse quickening as you realized the depth of his feelings.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hand nervously brushing the back of his neck. "I—I know it’s a lot, and I’m not... I’m not good at this kind of thing. But, Y/N, I’ve been trying to tell you for months. I just... I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I didn’t want to mess things up."

You smiled softly, touched by his honesty. You reached up, gently touching his cheek, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers sending a ripple of affection through you. "Spencer, you’ve never had to worry about messing anything up. I’ve felt the same way for a long time."

He blinked, the realization settling over him like a wave, and before he could say another word, you closed the gap between you. Your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss, your heart racing as his warmth enveloped you. Spencer’s lips were gentle, unsure at first, but as his hands slid to your waist and pulled you a little closer, the kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more certain.

It was everything you’d dreamed of and more—the warmth of his embrace, the taste of mulled wine still lingering on his lips, the sweetness of his shy affection finally giving way to something more tangible. The world seemed to fade around you, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, magical moment.

When you finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile. Spencer was staring at you, his face flushed and his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide with awe. He was still a little stunned, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

"Did I make good on my promise?" he asked, his voice soft and full of wonder.

You laughed softly, your fingers gently brushing his cheek. "You did, Reid. You really did."

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The noise of the holiday celebration around you seemed far away, and all that mattered was the feeling of Spencer in front of you, this unspoken connection finally made real.

Spencer took a step back, still holding your hand, but now there was a new lightness in his eyes—something deeper than the usual spark of his genius. "So... I guess that means we’re both finally on the same page?" he asked, his voice suddenly filled with a hint of mischief.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling. "I think so, yeah."

Then, with a more genuine, less awkward smile, he said, "I’m glad. Because there’s one more thing I’ve been thinking about."

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

He leaned in close again, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "That dance you promised me last year, when you told me I owed you a kiss. You never followed through on that part."

You blinked, startled, and then laughed as you realized what he meant. "Well, if you insist."

Spencer’s grin spread wider, his hand slipping gently into yours. "I insist," he said softly, guiding you to the center of the room, where the team’s holiday playlist had just switched to a slow, romantic song.

And there, under the soft glow of Christmas lights and surrounded by the warmth of your friends, Spencer Reid held you close for the first time—not just as a colleague, not just as a friend—but as something more. You were no longer just observers of the magic of the holiday season; you were part of it.

In Spencer’s arms, with the music and the lights dancing around you, you realized that maybe the best Christmas gifts weren’t the ones wrapped in pretty paper. Maybe the best gifts were the ones that had been there all along—waiting for the right moment to be unwrapped.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fic #magical-Reid #self insert #reader insert #fluff #requested #prompted

43 notes · View notes

stripedstarsblueflags · 1 day ago

Text

Sunshine boy

Word count: 3.5k

Pairing: Landoscar

Rating: T for substance use

caught in the rain

omg did blueflags just write fluff?

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Oscar says. “Remind me how you got this number?”

On the other end of the line, Max Fewtrell is not amused. “Mate, I’ve had it,” he grumbles, huffing into the speaker like he’s struggling with something. Oscar winces at the static and pulls the phone away from his ear. “And, seriously, you’re worried about that now? We’ve got bigger problems.”

From the background, a giggling voice slurs, “Hi Osc!”

Oscar allows himself one second of blushing and butterflies at hearing Lando’s voice; then Max’s concern spreads to him as well. He listens as Max attempts to calm him down from… whatever’s going on. “Hey, Lando, come on, look at me… take some deep breaths– no, no, don’t eat that–”

“What’s going on?” Oscar interjects, standing up and pacing. His anxiety is immediately conjuring up worst-case scenarios, and it’s not helping. He walks to the window and looks out at the night outside; some fresh air would be nice, but it’s been absolutely pouring for the last few hours and shows no signs of abating now. “Is he okay?”

“I’m okay!” Lando sings, so loud into the speaker that Oscar flinches and nearly drops the phone. There’s some more scuffling on their line, presumably as Max swipes his phone back. “He’s not,” Max contradicts firmly as Lando whines petulantly in the background. He has to raise his voice over a white-noise roar in the background, Oscar notes.

“Did he take something?” Oscar asks. He looks to the front door where he’s left his shoes. He thinks about driving fast in this kind of rain– it’s not that he can’t do it, it’s that none of the other drivers on the road can. “And where are you guys?”

“I found him in a park, stoned out of his mind,” Max tells him. The roar in the background gets louder, like a busy street. “I don’t know who he was smoking with, he’s not really giving me complete sentences, but–”

“That’s because you’re not nice,” Lando complains. “See? That’s complete. Tha’s very complete…”

As worried as he is, Oscar can’t help but feel an almost painful sense of endearment. As cute as he is, though, Lando has apparently had some lapses of judgement tonight.

“Are you outside?” Oscar asks, just as a roll of thunder rumbles overhead. “In this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Max says, urgency creeping into his tone. “He’s locked out. No keys, no wallet. He called me on a payphone. I mean, thank god I know his spots…”

Oscar swears under his breath. He can’t take his eyes away from the storm outside, the way the rain slices through the air in cold sheets and spills over rooftops with whitewater force. “Okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself as he tries to thinks. “You drove there, right? Can you at least–”

“We’re walking to my car right now,” Max confirms. “And normally I’d just let him crash at mine, but I’ve got family visiting this weekend. They can’t see him like this. Fuck, Lando, I told you to keep your arm around my shoulders– sorry,” Max apologizes. “He’s a lot to handle right now. Listen, Oscar, I’ve already called half a dozen people. If there was anyone else, I wouldn’t–”

Oscar puts the pieces together over Max’s fumbling. “You want to drop him off at mine?”

“I’ve got a spare,” Max says quickly, talking in a rush like he’s scared Oscar will hang up. “Somewhere, I mean. I didn’t have time to find it before I went out to get him, I can go back to my place and look for it properly but I don’t know how long that’s gonna take and I don’t want to leave him alone in the car too long and–”

“Max, it’s fine,” Oscar interrupts. It’s only when Max sighs, full of relief, that he starts wrapping his head around what he’s just agreed to.

“Thank you,” Max tells him sincerely. “You’re a good guy, Oscar. Knew I could count on you.”

Oscar bites his lip against the sudden warmth in his face, overwhelmed by the compliment, and tries to push his embarrassment aside. “Right,” he mutters. “Um, don’t mention it. How far away are you?”

“I need your address, first.”

Lando, sounding no less coherent, pipes up: “‘S in my phone already.”

“What?” Oscar and Max say at the same time.

“Lando, you don’t have your phone,” Max reminds him. Then, to Oscar: “Why does he have your address?”

“Um–” Oscar is uncharacteristically flustered at the interrogative tone in Max’s voice, which seems to imply something far beyond the mundane situation. “Uh, he dropped me off from padel, once, we were playing with–”

“Okay, yeah,” Max concedes. Whatever that edge was in his voice (suspiciously like jealousy) is smoothed out before Oscar can make sense of it. “Listen, just text me your address and I’ll tell you when we’re close. Also, uh–” Max clears his throat. “He’s, like, soaking wet, so–”

“I’ll take care of him,” Oscar assures him.

“Oscooooo,” Lando coos happily.

He hears Max open a car door, and the call ends sometimes in the midst of Max trying to manhandle Lando into the passenger seat, which is a relief. Oscar doesn’t think he can say a single word without stammering now.f

If Lando sounded out of it on the phone, Oscar is definitely not prepared for what’s standing on his doorstep.

Both Max and Lando are drenched to the bone, water pooling under their shoes and into the hallway carpet. Max must’ve given one of his layers to Lando because he’s only wearing a t-shirt, which is plastered to his skin and nearly transparent. Despite the extra jumper, Lando’s shaking so badly that Max has to hold him upright.

“Shit,” Oscar say. “You guys look terrible.”

“Nice to see you too, Oscar,” Max grumbles, slinging Lando’s arm over his shoulders right before he starts sliding.

“Nice to see you, Oscar,” Lando mimicks dopily, eyes glazed. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose are a blotchy red like he’s been badly sunburnt, while the rest of his skin is frighteningly pale. His teeth are chattering too hard for him to keep his mouth closed, and there’s a slight glisten of drool on his chin

Oscar quickly opens the door wider and beckons them both inside. Max struggles to get Lando to coordinate his feet enough to walk; Oscar reaches out instinctively, then immediately draws his hands back like he’s been burned. He aches watching the two of them struggle, but it’s one thing to agree to help Lando, and quite another to… what, cradle him? Carry him? Surely if Lando were sober he’d have objections–

“Did, uh,” he starts eloquently. “Did he, like, OD? Is that even a thing with weed?”

Max shakes his head and braces himself against a wall so he can adjust his grip on Lando’s waist. Lando watches the dark handprint spread under his palm and drip rainwater onto the carpet, mesmerized.

“He didn’t, and no,” Max says, in answer to Oscar’s questions. “But his tolerance is practically nonexistent. Worst I’ve ever seen. And knowing him he probably forgot to eat…”

“Sorry,” Lando mumbles, confirming.

Max sighs. “We’re gonna have a talk about this, you and I. Don’t think you get off easy just cause you’re with Oscar.”

Oscar’s taken aback, but before he can begin to wrap his head around what that might mean, Max nods at him. “Thanks again for your help. I’ll be back as soon as I can to take him home, just gotta remember where I left that fucking key.”

“Okay.” Max is clearly exhausted. Oscar finally reaches out without second-guessing himself; Max looks at him gratefully before stepping closer and finally shifting Lando’s dead weight from his own arms to Oscar’s.

Lando stumbles, nearly knocking them both off balance, and then curls into Oscar immediately. Oscar flinches and draws in a sharp breath; it’s like hugging a block of ice. Lando is absolutely freezing, and his rain-drenched clothes are quickly soaking Oscar as well. He shivers so hard Oscar can hear the spasm in his breathing, everything too tense for him to catch his breath. He closes his eyes and makes a sound like a mewling kitten and burrows into Oscar’s chest, tucking his face into his shirt.

”You got him?” Max asks, flicking water out of his eyes.

Oscar’s got him. One arm wraps firmly around Lando’s waist, maintaining their balance despite the actual pain his bare skin experiences from how cold Lando is, and the other cups the back of his head in his hand and draws his face closer to his own body heat. Lando hums against him, and Oscar can feel the vibration at the base of his sternum.

“Yeah,” Oscar answers belatedly. “I can find some clothes for him, something comfy…”

“Good. You do that.” Max gives him one pained smile, failing to suppress his own shudders, and steps back over the threshold. “I owe you one.”

Before Oscar can explain that Max doesn’t owe him anything, that he’s happy to help, that he would’ve offered without being asked if he’d have known, that’s he’s actually rather irritated that he wasn’t higher up on the list of people Max had called, come to think of it–

Max leaves, closing the door behind him.

Oscar is left alone with a very cold, very wet, very stoned Lando Norris.

Lando’s ragged breathing is the loudest noise in the flat. He’s squirming in Oscar’s arms, nuzzling insistently at his chest like he’s trying to climb inside of Oscar. His hands are so cold they leave painful stinging impressions wherever they touch Oscar’s skin.

“God, Lando,” Oscar murmurs. “You’re freezing.”

Stating the obvious. Lando moans miserably in agreement.

“Yep, okay. Follow me. Uh, can you walk?”

Apparently Lando can, as long as he’s allowed to cling to Oscar like a giant half-frozen octopus at the same time. The walk down the hall to the bedroom is agonizingly slow, but every time Oscar tries to detach himself to get them both moving quicker Lando cries out. He’s very much not in his right mind, but he still sounds so pained that Oscar lets himself be nearly frozen along with him in the simple quest to get to the end of the hall.

He has to physically pry Lando’s arms off him in order to sit him on the bed. Lando whines and reaches out into the air, trying to pull him back and missing atrociously. Oscar peers into his eyes; there’s not a spark of recognition or self-awareness. All Lando understands is that he’s cold, and the only bit of warmth is going away.

”Lando, please, just stay here,” Oscar pleads, only belatedly realizing he’s using the same voice he used with their family dog. “I promise I’ll be right back, I just need to get some extra clothes for you, okay? Something warm.”

“Mm’kay,” Lando mumbles, nodding too many times. He wraps his arms around himself, but his strength is visibly fading. His lips have darkened to a bruise-like blue. Not a good sign.

“Stay here.” Oscar moves quickly, digging through his drawers to find the warmest possible outfit. He gathers everything he needs and turns back to Lando, sitting near-catatonic on his bed, and stalls.

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat when Lando shows no response. “Hey. Lando.”

A flicker of awareness. Lando’s eyes focus on him for a split second, then cross.

Oscar approaches him, tentatively holding out the clothes like he’s holding out a treat to a stray dog. “Bathroom’s over there,” he says, gesturing with his chin. When Lando doesn’t react, he adds, “You need to get out of these clothes. You’re soaked, you’re gonna get sick.”

To his relief, Lando finally seems to hear him; unfortunately, some crucial parts of the sentence have evidently been missed as Lando starts trying to wriggle out of his shirts right there.

“Woah, uh, you sure–“ Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, which is stupid since Lando’s got so many layers on that he’s not even a little indecent, but he finds it easier to talk without looking. “You sure you want to do that here? And not in the bathroom? Or I could like, step out and–”

”No-o-o-!” Landos’ voice is so broken by shivers that Oscar’s resolve simply melts. He steps forward to help his friend.

It’s a lot quicker with the two of them working together. When Oscar finally pulls Lando’s last shirt over his head, exposing his bare chest and arms, he makes such a pained yelp that Oscar scrambles to get the dry clothes on him like he’s being timed.

With a lot of fumbling and strategically averted glances, they finally manage to get Lando completely redressed. His hair is still dripping, but he looks much more comfortable in fleece pajama pants and a hoodie so big it goes down to his thighs. His fingers don’t even reach past the sleeves; it looks like he’s got big paws instead, floppy when he reaches for the hood and pulls it up.

Oscar’s teased Lando about their height difference a few times, but right now he looks tiny. Red-rimmed eyes blinking up at him from the shadow of the hood, shoulders all but swallowed up in the fabric, hands tucked primly inside the sleeves as Lando rocks on his heels.

It feels only natural when Oscar opens his arms and welcomes Lando back into his embrace. Lando, to his credit, seems a lot more coordinated now that he’s not wearing half his weight in rainwater. He slides his arms under Oscar’s and holds him around the waist, letting his head rest on Oscar’s chest like it’s his new favorite pillow. “Thanks, Osc,” he sighs contentedly.

The nickname that can seem so mundane in the media activities feels suddenly, vulnerably intimate. Well, Lando’s never said it with his lips pressed right up against him, has he?

To distract himself, he tries to focus on just getting Lando away from the brink of hypothermia. He tightens his grip and rubs up and down his back with open palms. “You’re still so cold,” he frets, just to have something to say.

“Nmshph’ you,” Lando protests.

Oscar places his warm hand over the back of Lando’s neck, still refrigerator-cold. “What was that?” he asks.

Lando mouths at empty air a few times before he speaks, like he’s trying to form the sentence before his mind is ready. “I said ‘Not with you’,” he answers.

Oscar inhales a little too sharply.

This does not mean anything this does not mean anything this does not–

He just needs to keep the tremor out of his voice. He just needs to be normal about this.

He closes his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll keep you warm.”

To describe Lando’s response as anything other than a purr would be simply delusional.

Oscar’s hands move without his permission, seeking up to run shaky fingers through Lando’s hair. He’s careful to be gentle around the tangles. It’s still wet, but no longer dripping in small waterfalls into his eyes, so that’s an improvement. Lando sways his head from side to side, like he’s encouraging Oscar to keep going.

So he does. Lando’s breathing evens out, the shivering smoothed over. His eyes flutter shut.

“Do you want to lie down?” Oscar asks.

Lando nods tiredly against his chest, so he carefully walks them both over to the bed. Stripping back the covers proves to be a challenge, because Lando is putting more and more weight on him by the minute. His shoulder is starting to cramp up, an unpleasant stiffness making its way into his neck.

“Lando,” he huffs tiredly. “This would be easier if you could just step ba–”

“So pretty,” Lando murmurs.

Now Oscar might be the one turning to ice, with how quickly his whole body falls into stillness. “Uh,” he begins gracelessly, a pillow slipping out of his hands and back onto the mattress with a thwump that makes Lando giggle. “Erm, what was that?”

He’s asking in the confused, self-denying hope that Lando will either realize he didn’t mean what he just said or will have forgotten the thought entirely. No such luck, though, as Lando finally leans against the bed and allows Oscar’s shoulder a much-needed respite. He turns a bit and tries to arch his back to lean away from Oscar without completely detaching himself, but he doesn’t quite have the coordination. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he places his sweater paws on Oscar’s waist.

Looking down at the position, Oscar’s brain short-circuits.

It looks like they’re dancing. Not even in an elegant, romantic way, more like two school kids who are trying not to get caught by the chaperone.

Oscar brings his eyes back to Lando’s upturned face, bedsheets all but forgotten. Lando still looks so small, swimming in Oscar’s clothes, looking up dazedly through his eyelashes. The smile flickering on his lips could light up the whole room. “You’re so pretty,” he hums contentedly. “What are we doing?”

“What?” Oscar snaps himself out of it seconds after the question leaves his mouth; he does not need to give Lando any more prompting. His face is burning. He’s a little out of breath. He needs to find some way to neutralize this situation, to get himself and his own live-wire feelings away from this…. what, danger? temptation?

“We,” he says, answering Lando and talking over his own spiraling stream of consciousness, “are getting you ready for bed. And then Max is going to come back and take you home.”

“Tu tu tu tu…”

“No, not that Max. The other Max.”

Lando nods sleepily and, to Oscar’s immense relief, finally starts climbing into the bed. Oscar puts his hands behind his head so he doesn’t death-drop it into the wall.

Then Lando’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“Wh– because he has a key. To your flat.”

Lando shakes his head. “Why,” he repeats again with a petulant frown. “Got a bed right here.”

Oscar swallows. “Yeah, but that’s my bed.”

Lando shakes his head again and opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but instead settles for reaching into the air and making weak grabby hands for Oscar. “‘s your bed,” he reasons.

Oscar allows himself a split second of imagination: the two of them, curled together under the covers, the whole room blanketed in the shushing sounds of the rain outside. Lando curling into him like he’s finding some sort of sanctuary in Oscar’s arms.

Then he decides his best escape plan is going to be lying through his teeth: “Um, that’s okay, actually, I’m not tired…”

“Yeah, but I am.”

Something about that last sentence sounds scarily sober all of the sudden. Oscar peers into Lando’s eyes, trying to discern the bloodshot threads that mean the drug still has a dominant hold over his mind. In the dim lamplight of his bedroom, it’s hard to tell. Lando seems to like the attention, though, staring back with what can only be described as awe.

“Pretty,” he whispers, his voice barely audible on the edge of a sleepy exhale. His eyelids are starting to slide shut, slow and heavy as syrup. “Come to bed.”

He sounds tired, but he doesn’t sound nearly as out of it as he did even ten minutes ago.

Something between excitement and panic ignites in Oscar’s chest like a gas fire. His mind races two steps ahead of him, providing an onslaught of horrifying what-ifs: what if Lando comes to his senses and pushes him out of the bed, what if he realizes what’s going on and thinks Oscar is trying to insinuate something, what if he changes his mind about what he means when he’s obviously delirious and half-frozen to death, what––

What if he means it?

Whatever the case, the regretful, abrasive Lando in Oscar’s head is nothing compared to what’s curled up in his bed right now. Longing eyes, reaching hands. Rain-matted curls making little loop-shaped impressions on the pillowcase.

Who would he be to say no?

Oscar climbs carefully into the bed.

His initial plans to stay within the narrow strip of space between Lando and the edge of the bed are dashed immediately.

Lando finds him under the blankets and goes full koala. Within seconds of lying down he’s wrapped in so much Lando that the blankets feel like an afterthought. Lando’s practically lying on top of him.

Oscar tries to keep his breathing under control. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to… well, anyone. Their legs are entwined. Lando’s arm is slung across his waist, head back on his chest like he could build a home there.

And the thing is, it doesn’t feel dangerous. It doesn’t feel like temptation.

There’s no fear here, no second-guessing anxiety or hysterical self doubt.

He’s under the covers with Lando, and it feels right.

Lando’s still a little cold. Oscar shifts up just enough to free one of his arms and wrap it around Lando’s shoulders. Lando curls into him, purring again.

It’s nice.

“Thanks, Osc,” Lando sighs, voice muffled by Oscar’s shirt.

Oscar finds his free hand lifting to card through Lando’s hair again. He can’t help it. “Yeah,” he says as Lando nestles in, savoring all the warmth Oscar has to give, “anytime.”

22 notes · View notes