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glossdebut · 28 days ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 02

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: aqua uses her journalism degree to write a fake article, lots of yoongi pov, MC lore drop, extremely brief descriptions of sexual acts, some questions are answered but not many, sope cameo! also seokjin cameo! do you detect a hint of hyyh yoonkook-ism? because you should! EVENTS TRANSPIRE! (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 5.2k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: damn i always drop early don't i? here's a pre-holiday gift for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading SO FUCKING FAST LOL <3

p.s. from here on out updates are going to be much slower. we’re getting to the Real Plot now and i have to use my brain a little bit more. plus i want to make time to write other, shorter things! so be sure to check out my other fics if waiting for this becomes unbearable lol

CH. 02: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST

Love in the Spotlight: Is "Burn The Stage" Singer Falling for a Scandal Magnet?

It’s the love story that’s rocking Seoul—and leaving fans divided. Jeon Jeongguk, the smooth-talking, chart-topping frontman of “Burn The Stage,” has been the subject of intense speculation after rumors surfaced that he’s been secretly seeing one of South Korea’s most talked about models, YLN YN. And while Jeongguk’s millions of fans would do anything to claim him as their own, it’s YN’s wild reputation that’s making this relationship one to watch.

The dating rumors of the two surfaced online when YN was seen on the balcony at Wasteland during the final show of the Burn The Stage’s world tour. Eyewitnesses claim that after the show, the two were spotted backstage together, sharing a private moment.

While Jeongguk’s image has been polished and pristine despite his rock star persona, YN’s name is frequently linked with controversy. From a string of public feuds with fellow influencers to rumors of reckless behavior, she has garnered a reputation for attracting scandal wherever she goes—a trait at odds with what fans have seen from Jeongguk. So what could possibly draw the two together?

Some fans are already sounding the alarm, warning Jeongguk that dating someone like YN could tarnish his squeaky-clean image.

“I don’t know why Jeongguk would choose her,” one concerned fan commented on Instagram. “She’s trouble, and he’s too good for her. His image will be ruined if this is true.”

Despite the criticism, others are rallying behind the couple, suggesting that Jeongguk may be the one to help YN change her ways. “Everyone has a past,” one fan posted on X (formerly known as Twitter). “Maybe Jeongguk sees something in her that no one else does. People can grow and evolve.”

While neither Jeongguk or YN’s companies have released an official statement on the matter, YN hasn’t been shy about fueling the rumors. In a recent post on her Instagram, she shared a photo of herself wearing a Burn The Stage hoodie, captioning it, “i guess i’ve got good taste 👀” which has sent fans into overdrive speculating that she’s sending a not-so-subtle message about her relationship with Jeongguk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Yoongi groans to himself. He can’t read any more of this drivel. The wooden table in front of him suddenly looks all too inviting, perfect for him to bash his skull into.

You’re everywhere, completely inescapable for the past week. Apparently, Yoongi’s bi-weekly breakfast with Hoseok is no exception. The first one they’ve been able to have since the tour, too. God forbid he wants to mindlessly scroll on his phone for a second while he waits for his friend to return, because there you are, taunting him.

After the concert, Yoongi had been so annoyed by seeing you again. Pissed off at the circumstances. Ready to do anything in his power to extricate you from Jeongguk as fast as possible.

The past week has dulled his rage considerably. The endorphins of playing live have died, as have the potent emotions that come with them. Yoongi’s logical adult brain has set in, leaving him with only a headache.

“Woah,” Hoseok says, snorting as he slides a coffee into Yoongi’s field of vision. He slips into the booth across from him, taking a sip from his own cup with an amused look on his face. “You look much more homicidal than I left you. What could’ve possibly pissed you off in the last five minutes?”

Wordlessly, Yoongi hands Hoseok his phone, the article still displayed on the screen. Hoseok silently reads the first few paragraphs, and when he scrolls back up to look at the photo attached, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh?” he says, zooming in on your face. On Yoongi’s phone. The audacity. “This is the Innisfree girl, right? She’s dating Jeongguk?”

“Allegedly.”

“Is her skin really that nice in person?”

“Not the point,” Yoongi hisses, snatching his phone back from Hoseok’s grip and hastily closing the article to get your dumb face off of his phone. Dumb, poreless face.

“Okay, touchy,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in surrender. “Please explain the point.”

“I don’t trust her,” Yoongi says, tapping his foot under the table. “The relationship is bogus. She’s after something, I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“And you’re basing this on…?”

“Intuition,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Right. Because your intuition is never wrong,” Hoseok says, tone laden with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that you weren’t the biggest fan of me when we met?”

“I thought you were annoying,” Yoongi agrees. He takes a sip of his coffee to mask a smirk. “Who says I was wrong about that?”

“I’d probably be hurt if you hadn’t essentially bought us couple rings last year,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows. “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Aish, they weren’t couple rings,” Yoongi complains. “Stop saying that. The wrong person is going to hear you and think it’s true.”

“Your ears are pink!” Hoseok exclaims triumphantly, pointing at the evidence. “Your mouth says one thing, but your ears always give you away.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi grumbles, pulling his beanie down. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Right, right. Sorry, hyung, you’re just so easy to tease,” Hoseok says, not even bothering to stifle his snickering. The bastard. “Jeonggukie’s new lady love. Go. Wait, do you want to fuck her?”

“What?” Yoongi sputters, eyes widening because what the fuck? “No—what? Look, it’s not just intuition, okay? I’m right about her. And you saw what the article said—drama follows her wherever she goes. Maybe she thinks dating Jeongguk will rehabilitate her image, or something like that.”

Yoongi had been so confident that wasn’t the case, since you’ve maintained all of your brand deals even in the midst of your many scandals, but maybe he was wrong. He still doesn’t know why you’re doing this, and it’s like the closer he gets, the less he can see.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “She’s also just a bitch.”

“Okay,” Hoseok concedes, crossing his arms. “If you say so. She’s a bitch who you don’t want to fuck. What are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I have that dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking of talking to Jeongguk after or something.”

“And telling him that his girlfriend is the devil? I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jeongguk is a stubborn kid, but he knows I wouldn’t ruin something good for him. If I word it right, maybe he’ll listen.”

“You’re not wrong. For whatever reason, Jeongguk trusts your judgement.”

Yoongi glares at him. “Go fuck yourself, Hob-ah.”

“Whatever, hyung,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s talk about something else, please. I haven’t seen you in months.”

Yoongi relents easily. He doesn’t really want to be talking about you either, not when it feels like an ice pick is being jammed into his temple.

He’ll just have to figure out what to say to Jeongguk later.

★ ★ ★

“Wow,” Seokjin says around a mouthful of jjapaguri. “He really hates you, huh?”

He’s fresh out of a long shift at the hospital, but he still headed straight to your apartment at the promise of food and celebrity gossip—his two biggest weaknesses, especially when the food doesn’t have to be made by him and the celebrity is you.

“Seems like it,” you sigh, using your chopsticks to push your noodles around aimlessly. “Normally I wouldn’t care, you know? Like, get in line, asshole.”

“But you care.”

“But I care.”

“Because of Jeongguk,” Seokjin says knowingly.

You drop your chopsticks and groan, stifling the sound by covering your face with your hands.

“Yes,” you concede. “But not because of that. I just want to help him, you know? He got me through a really rough spot last year. I’d feel like shit if I agreed to do this for him and then it ended up blowing up in our faces because of me.”

“Mmm,” Seokjin hums, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m sure the fact that you’re in love with him is a big motivator, though.”

You pick up your head, glaring at him. “Love is a big word, Jin.”

A very big word, you think, picking up your glass of wine to take a long gulp. God help you.

“A fitting one, too!” he says gleefully. “Come oooon. No judgement here. He’s hot. Not as hot as me, of course, but I have to give credit where credit is due.”

“Yes, you’re a god among men,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t love Jeongguk. Not like that, at least. Do I need to remind you of the whole reason I’m doing this in the first place?”

“Yeah, yeah, the secret girlfriend,” Seokjin says, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re spending a lot of time with him, is all I’m saying. The tides may turn in your favor.”

Wow, and you thought you were delusional.

“Fat chance,” you deadpan, polishing off your wine. “Especially if Yoongi is as persistent as he’s making himself out to be.”

“What’s his beef with you, anyway?” Seokjin asks, snorting to himself as he picks up a piece of steak with his chopsticks. Hilarious. “I feel like he’s going a little far for it to just be protectiveness, you know?”

Right. When you’d given Seokjin the rundown via text, you’d left one pretty substantial piece of information out.

“He said, um,” you start, picking at one of your nails nervously—a habit that Hyerin would smack you on the back of the head for, if she were here. “He said that he knows… more than I think.”

Just like that, all of the humor drains from Seokjin’s expression. “Meaning…?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice wobbling just a bit. “I don’t know, but if it does mean that… It makes the idea of rolling over and doing what he says pretty enticing, not gonna lie.”

“Fuck that,” Seokjin says firmly, your eyes widening in response. “If he’s the type of guy to use something like that as blackmail, then he’s a piece of shit. I don’t care if he is trying to protect Jeongguk.”

“He can’t know, though,” you groan, fully resting your head on the cool marble of your kitchen countertop now.

You’ve been wracking your brain for days now, trying to figure out if it’s even possible for Yoongi to know anything. You’re pretty confident the answer is no, but there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure without confirmation from the man himself. And you’d honestly rather die.

“Nobody knows except the people involved and you. You’re the only one who didn’t sign an NDA, and I’m pretty confident you’ve never met Min Yoongi. Not to mention you just wouldn’t—”

“Share that information? Hell no, I wouldn’t,” Seokjin interrupts, scoffing. “Okay, well… Regardless of whether he knows anything, he honestly just sounds like a dick and I think you should kill him.”

You snort, lifting your eyes to look at him from where your head rests on the counter. “Maybe that can be plan B,” you offer.

“Fine, then what’s the plan A?” Seokjin counters, crossing his arms and raising a conspiratorial eyebrow at you.

Fantastic question, one you’ve been thinking about the answer to since you abruptly left the afterparty that night. It’s not like you can tell Jeongguk what’s going on and risk having to tell him the whole truth. You trust Jeongguk, but…

No, it’s not an option. You don’t want anyone else to know. So, if Yoongi’s going to insist on being a problem for you, you might as well return the favor. It’s only fair.

You grin, lifting your head and leaning closer to Seokjin.

“I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi hasn’t touched a cigarette since he was twenty one years old.

He picked up the nasty habit at sixteen, when one of his friends doled out African Ice Jacks amongst the group, bragging that his hyung had bought the pack for him. As soon as the lighter was flicked on and the bittersweet taste of bubblegum and tobacco filled Yoongi’s lungs, he was hooked.

It was stupidly easy to get his hands on cigarettes before he was of legal age, even when his friend’s hyung couldn’t supply them for whatever reason. All of the adults around him smoked, including his parents.

It felt as though cigarettes were an extension of his hand, felt wrong when he didn’t have the option to light one up. During school hours, Yoongi’s fingers would twitch on his desk as he waited for his last class to end.

He was a fucking anxious, wound-up kid. Smoking was the only thing that helped, sometimes. If he had a shit day, at least he could have a cigarette.

When the band got signed, though, things changed. Despite the fact that the majority of the population in Korea smoked, celebrities were vilified for it in the media. For whatever fucking reason. Yoongi didn’t care much what the media had to say about him, but he reasoned that it would be pretty stupid to let his dream die over Ice Jacks. So he quit.

It was hard at first, but it’s been five years now. After so much time, it’s rare that cigarettes even cross his mind, even when others smoke around him.

Sitting across the table from you now, though, Yoongi’s fingers twitch just like they had when he was in grade school staring at a clock.

He and the band started frequenting Yoojung Sikdang long before there was any real hope for fame. It was their chosen spot after every practice. The ajumma who owns it knows their names, remembers their orders by heart. Over the years, the only part of the restaurant that’s changed is their autographed photos on the wall. They’ve celebrated every single milestone here, big or small, just the five of them. Alone.

Wrapping up their first world tour should be no different. It’s their biggest milestone yet, and all Yoongi wanted was to eat ssambap with his best friends. Remind himself that none of the fame matters as long as they still have this.

But here you are. Of course. Encroaching on everything Yoongi’s built, everything he holds dear to his heart.

The only time it’s ever been more than the five of them here was the night they signed their contract, accompanied by two label executives. Even if you’re allegedly riding Jeongguk’s dick, no way are you that fucking important.

Yoongi would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed off. You are such a fucking pest. He just can’t shake you off.

“You don’t like what you ordered?” Jimin asks you, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts.

Yoongi’s made an effort to keep to himself for the majority of the dinner. No use in ruining everyone else’s night—it’s still a special one, after all. Besides, he’s still trying to be an adult about things. You may have ruined his plan to talk to Jeongguk tonight, but it’s not like he’s going to cause a scene in front of a restaurant full of people—

“Oh, I’m just not very hungry,” you say. Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

All you’ve been doing all night is burrowing into Jeongguk’s side, barely touching your food. Lipgloss still perfectly in place. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t care—he’s not paying for it. He wastes food on the label’s dime all the time. At Yoojung Sikdang, though?

“Why did you come, then?”

The words come out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can stop them, sharp and pointed. He’d fully intended to keep his mouth shut, eat his food, and then go home. Maybe buy a pack on the way. But now they’re out there, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to care. Certainly not to feel bad.

For the first time since you’d walked in on Jeongguk’s arm, you make eye contact with him. On purpose this time—challenging. Yoongi’s not a little bitch, so he stares back.

“Because Jeonggukie invited me,” you say, faux sweetness dripping from your words as you lean your head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Eyes still fixed on Yoongi. “I figured it would be okay, since you all gave me such a warm welcome last time.”

Yeah. Yoongi’s buying that pack of cigarettes.

“You’re always welcome to come out with us,” Taehyung coos, like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. Knowing Taehyung, he probably does.

Everyone seems to be in agreement on that front, too, except Yoongi who rolls his eyes as he shoves a ssam into his mouth. Whatever.

“It’s gonna be hell getting you out of here, though,” Namjoon adds from Yoongi’s left. He leans over to glance at the crowd of people peering through the front of the restaurant, cameras at the ready, desperate to get a glimpse of you and Jeongguk. Not that you’re making it particularly hard.

“We’ve never had a crowd like that out there,” Jimin says, in awe. “I’m not surprised, though. Those articles about you two have been getting tons of clicks.”

“Ah,” you say. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he’d think you sound almost sheepish. “That, um. That might be my fault. I told my manager I was coming here. She must’ve tipped someone off.”

Of course.

“Anything for a photo-op, right?” Yoongi sneers, unable to help himself. It’s such an easy shot, after all. You’re being so transparent.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as if he’s appalled.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, tilting your head at him. That little flash of a challenge is still in your eyes, and Yoongi doesn’t like it one bit. “Do you have a problem with me being here?”

Yoongi scoffs, sitting up. When he speaks, it’s laced with bitterness. “We just don’t normally come here with guests, that’s all. I guess I didn’t get the memo that that’d suddenly changed.”

“I invited her, hyung,” Jeongguk says. “She’s my girlfriend.” He wraps his arm around you protectively and, fuck, you’re good. You’re so good at making Yoongi look like the asshole.

“I get that, Guk-ah,” Yoongi tries, his voice considerably softer now. “But, come on… Here? And the mob outside, I mean… Do you really think that was just a harmless mistake?”

“What are you implying?” Jeongguk grits out. He’s angry now, that much is clear, and it’s Yoongi’s fault.

You have him trapped. He’s surrounded by landmines, unable to come up with a single response that could possibly defuse them.

“Come on, guys,” Namjoon says, glancing at Yoongi pointedly. “We’re here to celebrate.”

“If Yoongi-ssi is uncomfortable that I’m here, maybe I should go,” you say, making to get up.

Jeongguk reaches for your arm, stopping you. “No,” he says. “Yoongi-hyung, you can either get over it and stay with us, or you can leave. You’re the only one who doesn’t want her here.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi scoffs, looking around at everyone. Is this really happening to him right now? This is his band!

The table is deadly silent. Everyone refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes except you and Jeongguk, who raises a challenging eyebrow at him. It’s immediately apparent to Yoongi that he’s not winning this one. That somehow, he’s ruined the night meant to celebrate him and his friends.

Bitterly, Yoongi laughs. “Fine.”

No one protests when he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, and that stings much more than Yoongi would like to admit.

He catches your eye as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, anger flaring at how pleased you look.

“Have a nice fucking dinner,” Yoongi mutters, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Leaving his friends to face a crowd of photographers and fans that you called.

As he walks out into the cold, dodging the phones being shoved in his face, all he can think about is the way Jeongguk had looked at him.

★ ★ ★

You met Jeon Jeongguk a year ago, give or take a few months. You just remember it was cold.

Less than twenty-four hours after a particularly nasty breakup with a guy you didn’t love but liked enough, you were back on the clock. Zipped into something tight and expensive, wearing the best waterproof mascara money could buy.

You hated those events to begin with—the galas, end of year ceremonies for awards you were no longer viable to win. They were torture for you. But the sting of being freshly single only made things worse, so you had decided to make the most of it.

You may not have been able to win a KMA, but you were well within your rights to treat the KMAs themselves like your own personal dating pool. No better way to rid yourself of your ex like getting with someone new, you thought.

Which is where Jeongguk came in, devastatingly hot in his tailored suit. You’d ran into him on your way from the bathroom—much like you had with Yoongi, now that you think about it—and you instantly found yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring. Jeongguk, as it turned out, was very interested in showing you.

You were both a little drunk, but the attraction was real. Instant.

One very handsy cab ride later, and you were in his apartment, grinding on his lap as you experienced first-hand just how little of an obstacle a lip ring can be if the man who has it knows what he’s doing.

Things were going so well—Jeongguk’s tongue exploring your mouth as you felt his cock stiffening beneath you. But it all came crashing down as soon as his hand slid under your dress.

The fact of the matter was, you’d just been dumped. Regardless of how strongly you did or didn’t feel about your ex, you’d still been dumped and it still hurt. As soon as Jeongguk really touched you, it became all too apparent that you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Luckily, at the slightest bit of hesitance from you, Jeongguk’s hand immediately retreated from under your dress.

He was sweet about it. Really, really sweet. Valiantly ignored his erection and offered to listen instead, which made you laugh. Comforted you even though you hadn’t thought you needed it. Let you sleep in his bed anyway. When you left the next morning, kindly offered to be your friend, because you clearly needed one.

You’ve been friends ever since.

Not in the same way that Seokjin is your friend, of course. Seokjin is your best friend, has been since you were both kids. But Jeongguk just… He gets the industry, in a way that Seokjin never will.

Which brings you to last month.

Last month, when Jeongguk called you nervously in the middle of his tour schedule. Asked you to be his fake girlfriend in guilty, hushed whispers.

You didn’t need to know why. You were always going to say yes.

But Jeongguk explained anyway. He explained that he has a girlfriend, a real girlfriend, who isn’t from your world. That he hasn’t been able to see her nearly as much as he’d like to because he’s terrified of the backlash she could receive from being connected to him romantically.

You read between the lines—you have nothing to lose, at this point. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone online doesn’t have something to say about you, reputable or not.

He explained that in order to maintain the lie, no one in the industry could know the truth, not even Jeongguk’s bandmates. According to him, they wouldn’t understand why he felt the need to go to such lengths. You didn’t completely agree then, but having met Yoongi now, you get it.

His girlfriend knows about you, he’d told you. She knows who you are, knows about that night last year, and that she still agreed to let him ask you this. She doesn’t see you as a threat.

It stung, a little. Of course it did. You and Jeongguk may be friends, but you’ve always felt a hint of something else there. Maybe it was the kindness he’d shown you when you met. Maybe it’s just him. But you never said anything, convinced it was one-sided.

Clearly you were right.

Still, you want to do this for him. You care about him, and just because you can’t maintain a stable relationship doesn’t mean Jeongguk doesn’t deserve a chance at one.

You think, if Yoongi knew, he’d feel the same.

★ ★ ★

Five years down the drain, Yoongi thinks. Ashes his cigarette. Oh well.

Honestly, it’s not even really about you, although Yoongi would love to pretend otherwise. If he pins it all on you, it makes his mission to get rid of you all the more noble. The label breathing down his neck. The impending deadline of an album he doesn’t know if he can write. Dongsaengs that don’t know how to stay out of trouble. If it’s all your fault, it can’t be his.

This—the smoking—was bound to happen, with or without you. You just helped the process along.

He’s perched on his windowsill, puffing his way through cigarette number two, when his phone buzzes next to him.

Namjoon doesn’t call him nearly ever. Yoongi has a way that he likes things done, and Namjoon is probably his only friend that actually respects it. Emails for work. In-person or texts for personal shit. Video calls never. Phone calls only if Yoongi needs to hear it now and there’s no other way.

Yoongi picks up.

“Joon-ah?” Cautious. He likes phone calls the least because phone calls mean trouble, like someone is in the hospital. He’s gotten that call before, more than once.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “Do you have a minute?”

Namjoon wouldn’t be asking that if someone was in the hospital, so Yoongi allows himself to unclench. Just a little. “Yeah, I have a minute.”

He hears rustling on the line, like Namjoon is fidgeting. But Namjoon is always fidgeting, so that could mean nothing.

“I figured, given the events of tonight, that it would be a good call to warn you ahead of time. I would’ve come by your apartment, but I’ve got meetings all morning tomorrow and it’s late. I didn’t want to wait until next time I see you though, so…” Namjoon starts, trailing off.

Yoongi works his jaw. “Spit it out, Joon-ah,” he says, because Namjoon is shit at delivering bad news. He’s always beating around the bush, trying to soften the blow. It’s great for the kids, but it makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to have to bury his first-born or some shit. Yoongi likes clear, direct.

Namjoon knows this, so he always gets it right on the second try.

“YN is going to the Jeju house with you guys,” Namjoon says. Clear and direct, but the absolute last thing Yoongi wants to hear right now.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“She has literally no fucking reason to be there, Joon-ah,” Yoongi grits out. The cigarette secured between his index and middle knuckles has burned down to nothing, singes his fingers. He hisses and flicks it out the window. “Is she going to help us write an album? Is that it?”

“Hyung—“

“No, she isn’t. She’s going to distract my lead singer the whole time and make the whole point of the trip fucking impossible,” he interrupts, because once he gets started he can’t stop. “Who signed off on this? Doesn’t she have a job? Isn’t there a goddamn camera that needs to be smoldered at?”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says. He’s using his manager voice, and Yoongi shuts up instantly.

Namjoon uses this voice on the kids all the time. Realistically, it’s not a big deal. It’s his job. But he’s never had to use it on Yoongi before.

He deserves it, though. Yoongi knows that. He knows that he’s been insufferable ever since you showed up, and he doesn’t like it either. He’d wanted to talk to Jeongguk, to have a heart-to-heart with him about it, but that’s proven impossible given that you’re always around. And Namjoon is their voice of reason.

Yoongi tries again.

“I don’t like her,” he explains, keeping his voice level. “I don’t think she has Jeongguk’s best interests at heart. I’m just trying to look out for him.”

The line stays quiet for a long moment, like Namjoon is taking special care in choosing his next words. It would make Yoongi nervous, but that’s just what Namjoon does.

“Hyung, you need to leave it alone,” he finally says.

What the fuck.

Yoongi could have foreseen plenty of responses from Namjoon. He’s been on the receiving end of Namjoon’s sage advice more than he’s proud of. Yoongi worries a lot, and Namjoon is particularly good at quieting those worries, particularly when they pertain to the kids. And they usually do. But he sure as shit wasn’t expecting to be blown off like that.

“Joon-ah, Jeongguk is gonna—“

“Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him.”

Lose him? Is Yoongi going insane? Is he fucking missing some integral piece of this puzzle that everyone else seems to have?

The notion of losing Jeongguk is completely absurd. How could he lose Jeongguk over something like this? Jeongguk, the college freshman with the huge eyes who followed Yoongi around like a puppy. Jeongguk who sang so softly when Yoongi asked, who beamed with pride when Yoongi told him he had something special. Jeongguk who dropped out alongside Yoongi, took a risk because he trusted his hyung to take care of him.

It was Yoongi and Jeongguk before it was anyone else, and Yoongi has never let Jeongguk down once, won’t allow himself to. This is the thing that’s going to change that?

“What are you even talking about?”

“Just… leave this one alone, Yoongi,” Namjoon sighs. “She’s coming whether you like it or not, and you need to at least pretend to play nice.”

Yoongi doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child who’s the cause of his parent’s headache, not by Kim Namjoon. The label dickheads are one thing, but the one person Yoongi has entrusted with everything for the past five years? Before that, even? Fuck that. Namjoon doesn’t talk to him this way, and that’s not about to change because of you.

“Namjoon-ah, if you’re going to blow me off, at least put my cock in your mouth and do it right,” Yoongi spits, hanging up before he can think better of his words.

Fuck.

Yoongi hasn’t bitten Namjoon’s head off like that in a long time. It doesn’t feel good to be back in old patterns like this. Yoongi knows why he doesn’t trust you, but he doesn’t know what it is about you that makes it so—urgent. Like he’s a wild animal primed to bite. To hurt. Yoongi isn’t that guy.

If what Namjoon said is true, if Jeongguk really is at risk of slipping through Yoongi’s fingers, he has to get his fucking act together. He has to try harder to handle this like an adult.

So, you’re coming to Jeju. Fine. Yoongi can be civil.

Even if the only way for him to be civil is not to speak to you at all.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future fics!

✧ TAGLIST:

@jajabro @pitchblack0309 @sugar-snap @ot72025 @ktownshizzle

@futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @namjoonsbuspass @wobblewobble822

@kkaetnipjeon @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken @this-most-assuredly-counts @sugafun @binniesbabe

@1800lxcifrrr @whoa-jo @amarawayne @kimsaerom @bangtangsworld @angellekookie

@jalexad @tarahardcore @valhallawhispers @chimmisbae @notsevenwithyou

@jimingirl95 @jadestonedaeho7

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

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starrieangel · 11 days ago

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🎮Mouthwashing Crew playing Minecraft with you🌾

I said I was gonna write it.. well here it is

Features: Curly & Reader, Anya & Reader, Daisuke & Reader, Jimmy & Reader

Tags: Could be read as Platonic or Romantic, Normal!Jimmy (lol)

rb if you like ♡!

Curly

Does Not understand

He's such a dad, he has no idea how to work this thing or why everything is blocks..? but you told him it's really fun, so he'll give it his best shot!

First thing he does: "Whats this thing?" *runs directly up to creeper*

"Why did he do that to me !!? I was just saying hi D:"

He gets the hang of it pretty quickly after that, though. You get distracted mining and when you come back he has a double chest full of nothing but oak logs (He thinks the game is just about chopping trees)

Gets uncharacteristically excited about seeing a fox for the first time; spends next 30 minutes trying to make it his pet

Eventually gives up, and you don't even end up building anything out of the logs, you guys just end up watching a movie afterwards. He's says next time, you guys are gonna build a big house! (Spoiler: he builds a giant cube house out of nothing but wooden planks)

Anya

A thousand times worse than Curly, except she's played this game so many times before she. really has no excuse to be this bad

Gets scared because she's only ever played on peaceful mode...

Spends the whole time gathering animals. Let the woman farm!!!

Would also probably build pixel art out of the wool from her sheep farm

Long story short, there is a funeral, eulogy, and headstone for her late cat. You swear you dont know how that lava got there...

Ends up noping out of the game after you make her go to the nether for the first time XD

Daisuke

Grew up with this game, has beaten it more times than he count

He lets you build the base and decorate it while he mines, or you both go on epic cave adventures..!!

Soo so many funny moments involving falling into giant pits, burning in lava, being exploded... etc.

Daisuke screams into the mic a loooot. Like, a lot. Look up perfectly cut minecraft screams, that's how he plays this game

You end up playing. FOR HOURS

Daisuke is still finishing up his nether hub, its almost 2 am, and you are so so tired... he tells you to get some sleep, while he finishes building..!! When does this guy sleep..?

Jimmy

Does anyone else get the feeling Jimmy plays COD with his headset plugged into his xbox 360 controller or is that.. just me ???

Yes he's tried the game a few times, but he's always thought it was more for kids. Plus he hasn't seen any of the updates since the original console release, so he gets on and is like "Wtf is this shit"

Tries to fight the warden ... does not pick up on the sound mechanic at all ... tries to collect honey ... insta killed by swarm of bees ... and other similar misfortunes befall poor Jimble

You guys don't even make it to the nether before he decides maybe you should play something else XD

Ends up waking you up from rage quitting CS:GO (You fell asleep after he forced you to watch him play)

🎮🌾⛏️

Let me know what you thought in the replies and if u liked it !! or send me an ask with your mouthwashing headcanons ♡♡

#jimbles made me laugh the most while writing its canon u cant convince me otherwise #fandom #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #anya x reader #daisuke x reader #jimmy x reader #mouthwashing imagines #f/o #f/o imagines #mine

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biteyoubiteme · 7 months ago

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masterlist + rules

-ˋˏ✄┈requests : closed hard hours: closed soft hours: closed

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ im cam, 23, she/her, i dont bite but i want to >:p MDNI!! 18+ ONLY! ageless and blank blogs dni

˗ˏˋ most recent: bitten wc: 3.8k (beomgyu) [NSFW]

currently working on

txt m.list ✄ skz m.list

rules:

-not all asks and requests will be answered or responded to. it will take me time to answer asks please do not ask when something will be written or when i will get to your ask if i even get to it. check out my wips post to see updates! -minors and ageless blogs should not mess with my blog! please have your age visible somewhere on your account!

🏷️ I will not add ageless blogs to my taglist! if you want to be added pls send an ask! and make sure you say what you would like to be tagged for! ex: 1kevent taglist, txt permanent taglist, skz and txt permanent taglist. if you want to be taken off the taglist just send an ask! my feelings wont be hurt lol -i only write for txt and straykids. pls do not ask me to write memberxmember i write throuple content but only what IM comfortable with!! i do not write male!reader sorry i only have experience writing fem!reader.

-yes pls! breeding kink, size kink, size training, somno, cam girl or cam boy fics, perv!member, throuple/poly, threesomes, cukolding, yandere themes, sub!member, chubby!reader, choking (m! and f!rec), crying, biting! -maybe! (mostly yes but depends on my mood) dubcon, hybrid, daddy kinks, parent!member, fantasy au, royalty au, -hard no! piss, shit, puke, incest, stepcest, fauxcest, underage idols, no illegal or huge agegaps, age play, race play, self harm, eating disorders, mommy kinks, idolxidol, noncon/rape, high school au, any form of abuse!

#cams!bookshelf #cam!talks #cam!answersasks #cams!hardhours #cams!softhours #yeonkai x reader

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ghoulphile · 8 months ago

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i want this man to do gross, disrespectful, unspeakable, borderline illegal things to me

⭐ inbox | discord | ao3 ⭐ requests: temporarily closed | tag lists: open last updated | 6/6/24 notes | i'll update this post as i continue to write. fics will be 18+ unless stated otherwise ❤️ requests closed so i can catch up on the ones already submitted - will be opening up again soon!

🍒 sticky fingers the ghoul x reader one-shot | 18+

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.”

🍒 janey's dad cooper howard x reader two-shot, part one | 18+

“We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

🍒 run rabbit run the ghoul x reader drabble, request | 18+

the drabble thing HNNNGH think about coop calling you bunny from the start bc he clocked that you were always a down for it and you not getting it until he after you fuck for the first time

🍒 in the middle of the night the ghoul x reader drabble, request | 18+

Cooper watching you sleep. Its a quiet night. nothing but bugs passing by. Cooper keeps watching, and his mind wanders. cut to him "borrowing" your soft and smooth hand, pulling it from under your makeshift blanket and wrapping it on his dick, jacking himself with your hand bc he's bored/trying to pass the time/stay awake

🍒 wish you'd make me cry the ghoul x reader drabble, request | 18+

"You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c

🍒 dog days pre-war cooper howard x reader fluff, request

I was wondering if you'd write something about maybe prewar/postwar (either one) cooper where his love is a bit sick (not life threateningly so ect) and he just takes good care of them

🍒 it's always the quiet ones pre-war cooper howard x reader drabble | 18+

We can see that Cooper tends to go for good girls but what if he ran into a seemingly innocent - or at the very least kind - person… but they dirty talk like a sinner in the sack?

🍒 no use cryin' over spilled milk the ghoul x reader one-shot | 18+

based off this ask; trying to survive topside after growing up in a vault is hard enough, but doing it five months pregnant? it's a good thing you find the ghoul when you do.

🍒 i can taste your skin in my teeth the ghoul x reader drabble request, wip | 18+

drabble request thingy: "you're so wet and I haven't even touched you" and/or "aww... you're pathetic" I feel like these go so well together in a very mean(super hot) way >:)

🍒 use me pre-war cooper howard x reader drabble request, wip | 18+

for the drabble request "I want to use you so fucking bad" with pre bomb coop?

🍒 don't threaten me with a good time the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

how do you think our ghoul would handle having a breeding kink?

🍒 in the collision of your kiss pre-war cooper howard x reader wip | 18+

"As I live and breathe, that's Cooper Howard! Why, he must've cost a fortune -- how ever did you get him to agree to attend a children's party?"

🍒 criminal tongues the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

Could I get and aggressive smut with coop like he hasn't had any in 200 something years ! Hes needy and wants it NOW

🍒 finders, keepers the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

Cooper wants people to know the reader is *his*, and she best damn well know it to. If she doesn't, he'll have to show her

🍒 god is a woman pre-war cooper howard x reader request, wip | 18+

If you don't mind of making cooper howard/the ghoul being submissive or treating reader like a goddess of a smut?

🍒 bury all your secrets in my skin the ghoul x reader request, wip | 18+

I was thinking how it would be to be the first to get him to take all his clothes off since the bombs fell. Being the first to get him to be vulnerable in this way. If you would write this I would be very grateful.

#masterlist #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader

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hwamphwamp · 2 months ago

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i wished for you // choi jongho

a/n: meant to write a little something for Jongho's birthday and wouldn't you know it, I forgot every time I thought about it. I wrote this sappy shit while taking one of the longest baths of my life today so enjoy!

genre: fluff

word count: 848

warnings: none really outside of the mention of alcohol/being drunk? a little lovesick bullshit here?? a little self-indulgent fluff there???

———————————————————————————

It wasn’t uncommon for you to return home from work to find a voicemail from Jongho waiting for you. In fact, the two of you had been engaged in a playful game of voicemail tag for the past week and a half, navigating the challenges of time differences and your hectic schedules. Yet, even though you would have preferred to hear his voice directly, there was something comforting about receiving those little snippets of him—like a sweet surprise at the end of a long, dreary day.

Most of his voicemails were usually straightforward—brief updates about his day, questions about yours, the usual exchanges that kept you connected across the miles. But tonight’s voicemail was much different.

“Ok, so I know we just got to the point of saying ‘I love you’ recently,” he began, a playful tone to his voice as though he was already aware of how this might sound. "So I hope this doesn’t freak you out, but I’m a weeeee bit drunk." You could picture him grinning sheepishly, the way he always did when he was nervous or about to say something he thought might make you laugh. He continued, “And when the guys had me blow out the candles on my cake tonight, I wished for you."

You paused when you heard those words. "I wished for you." It sounded so simple, but it carried a weight you weren’t expecting. He already had you—what more could he wish for? The thought lingered for a moment before he quickly clarified, his tone a little softer now, a touch more serious.

"Not like... I didn't actually wish FOR you. I already have you, duh." You couldn’t help but smile at that, imagining the playful roll of his eyes as he said it. "But I wished for you to always be with me, which is so stupid because I know you could never just drop everything and run around the world with me." His voice dipped slightly, as if he was wrestling with the reality of the situation, acknowledging how far-fetched his wish really was. And yet, there was something so genuine about the way he said it, something so heartfelt that it made your chest tighten.

He paused for a moment, as though he was trying to gather his thoughts or maybe second-guessing whether he should keep going, but then he pushed on. “But still, I wished that by some miracle we could just be alone together for the rest of our lives.”

That’s when the weight of his words really sank in. He wasn’t just talking about wanting you by his side during the fun, easy moments. He was talking about the kind of deep, unwavering connection where nothing—no job, no obligation, no distance—could ever come between you. It was the kind of wish you made when you’re so completely in love with someone that you can’t imagine a life without them.

In his slightly tipsy, vulnerable state, he was letting you in on something raw and real: the dream of having you all to himself, of being able to live in a world where it was just the two of you, free from the chaos of everyday life. It was the kind of wish that, while impossible, was filled with so much love and longing that it made your heart ache a little. He knew it wasn’t realistic—he even said so—but that didn’t stop him from wishing for it anyway. There was something achingly romantic about that.

Then came the part that made you smile the most: “Did that make sense?” You could practically hear him blushing on the other end of the line, embarrassed by how open he had just been, how he had let his guard down completely. And before you could even process everything he’d said, he wrapped it up with a quick, “It’s ok, love you, goodnight,” like he needed to get the last few words out before his courage faded.

That voicemail—just a simple, drunken message—felt like you were getting to peek through a window that lead straight to his heart. It wasn’t just about the words “I love you” that you’d both recently started saying; it was about the kind of love that made him wish, without hesitation, that you could always be together. His wish wasn’t about material things or fleeting moments. It was about living a life where it was just the two of you, lost in your own little world.

Sure, he laughed it off a bit, tried to make it seem like it was no big deal, but you knew better. There was something so sincere, so deeply affectionate in his words that you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell as you listened. It wasn’t just the alcohol talking—this was him, unfiltered, admitting that he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it, and wishing that somehow, you’d never have to be apart.

No matter what, you were determined to make his birthday wish a reality. After all, it was your wish too, and you’d tell him that as soon as his hangover subsided the next day.

#happy belated birthday to my favorite silly lil dude #wish he wasn’t a figment of my imagination #jongho #choi jongho #ateez #ateez jongho #atz #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #atz fanfiction #atz fanfic #ateez x reader

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phyrestartr · 4 months ago

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Man of Worship (P.1) | Zagreus x M!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

w/c: 2.3k #NSFW themes, demigod reader, eventual polyamory, traumatic past, healing from trauma, mentions of dub-con, mentions of suicide, hurt/comfort, boys being boys, toxic parents, olympic gods doing typical olympic god bs

Note: SO this is basically a rework of Rhubarb, even though I still want to pursue the rest of Rhubarb with that particular reader character, HOWEVER I generally make two or three versions of the same story while I'm brainstorming, and I ended up digging into more Greek mythos while looking for inspo and BOOM.

ANYWAY I didn't tag for this since it's a new fandom I'm writing for, but if you'd like to be tagged, pls feel free to leave a comment!! I'll update my tag form thing in a moment too :D I hope this is a fun read!!

1. A Gardener?

He noticed first the flutter of feathered wings. It was an odd thing to hear in the underworld, and even odder still to hear it come from the outer gardens–the place poor, pitiful Zagreus was barred from.

Father won't tell me anything of this. And that was true--Hades was anything but straightforward and honest with his son. So, to the real parent of the house was where the prince went.

“Erm, Nyx?” Zagreus asked, shooting glances back at the iron gates as he met his mother-figure. “I've got a question for you, if you don't mind.”

“I do not mind. I will do my best to answer, my child.” She watched him with eased attention, then followed his gaze to the forbidden outdoors. “Is something the matter?”

“No–well, maybe? Not sure, but. Well.” Zagreus rubbed the back of his neck. “Just–are there birds out in the garden?”

Nyx blinked. “Birds?”

“Yes. I keep hearing something fluttering around every now and then, and I swear I've seen something moving around in the garden. You know, the one I'm not allowed to enter?”

“Ah.” The goddess nodded. “Of course. There is a new servant of the house, one who was chosen to tend to the gardens.”

“Really.” Zagreus planted his hands on his hips and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, gaze returning to the forbidden area. “Well, that's the first I've heard of it.”

“He does not linger long; he arrives with the sun, and leaves only when the work is done,” Nyx explained. “He is a diligent helper of the House. Your father is quite pleased, I've noticed.”

“Well, I've never thought that Father could be pleased in any regards.” Zagreus’ mismatched gaze flickered back to Nyx. “But why now? The garden's never needed a tender before.”

“A flower wilted,” Nyx sighed, looking aside. “And your father has grown concerned.”

“Hah. Concerned for the plants? Good to know he can still give a damn about something,” Zagreus bit, sending a scalding glare to the throne. “Guess that's why he locked it up, kept it from me.”

Night smiled, sympathetic. “You do have a reputation.”

“One that I must uphold,” he agreed, heart light and spirit lifted higher. “Thank you, Nyx. I should get back to ransacking my father's domain.”

Nyx nodded sagely and reached a hand up, fixing the tilt of Zagreus’ burning laurel. “I would hope for nothing less, my child.”

–

“You play music?”

Your voice startled Zagreus, sending a Zeus-like jolt through him and holding him in place with a fit of numbing static. Thankfully, however, twas not the true bite of the sky king, and Zagreus had the luxury to back out of his room a few paces.

“You heard?” He asked, face somehow both paling and burning in tandem.

You, whilst leaning against the iron gate, nodded. “‘N if I did?”

“Oh.” Zagreus rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “That's unfortunate. Sorry for the bother.”

“Don't misunderstand me, god.” Your spectral eyes bore into him with easy confidence. Zagreus quite liked that look. “You played much like a dying pigeon at first, I'll admit, but you've improved.”

Zagreus laughed and approached you. Your dry informality pricked him with intrigue. “Well, now I know you're lying.”

“Lies are useless for those who need the truth.” Your words came so bold, the prince had no choice but to believe you. “I can hear it. The notes–they come easier to you. Sweeter, even. Like figs ripe on the tree.”

“Figs?” Zagreus tilted his head much like Cerberus might. “Huh. Can't say I've had one of those.”

“Really? Well, then I shall see to it that you wonder no longer, god.” You leaned away, nearly out of sight of the iron-barred gateway, and jostled through the leaves of a bush or tree of sorts before the sharp snap of something announced your return.

You stuck your arm through a gap in the fence, one where your glowing skin was threatened by a cascade of decorative thorns, but you didn't much care. That care, instead, found itself funneled into the deliverance of a ripe fig to the prince of the underworld, it seemed.

Zagreus stared for a moment. He wasn't used to receiving gifts unless he bestowed one upon another, first. To him, this almost felt like–could it be--

“If you don't take it in the next three seconds, I'm going to eat it myself and not hand you another,” you groused.

“Hah.” He snatched the fruit from your hand. “You wouldn't dare.”

“I've dared much worse, god, believe me.” You withdrew your hand and drummed your palms against the iron. “Well, enjoy. And be sure to clean your hands before touching that lyre again.” You looked him over, face placid as it'd been for his entire short history knowing you–but your eyes, the strange things, they hinted at hidden curiosities. “I'll be listening.”

–

“Say, Meg, do you know much about the new House attendant?” Zagreus asked, flourishing his Stygian blade as he walked towards the Fury, prepared to fight after a quick chat.

Megaera's eyes narrowed. “You're talking about the flirt.”

“The flirt?” Zagreus rested his sword down, digging its diamond tip into the cracked ground. “Is that really what he's known for? Flirting? He doesn't seem like the type.”

A heavy sigh left Meg. “Ask Than. He might be more willing to endure your rambling and answer questions. I am not.”

“You know, I think we really need to work on your patience.” Still, he flicked up his blade of the underworld, and lunged first.

–

As the Fates would have it, Thanatos was already at the House. Even more fateful, still, was where he stood–not by the river Styx, no, but by the garden’s gate for a change. Death's presence on that side of the house seemed…odd, despite his infrequent visits to the lounge. Never before did he show interest in a coworker, neither, not unless it was his twin who needed some firm and stringent guidance.

“Admiring the flowers?” Zagreus asked, and Death flinched.

“No, I–” He sighed, and spared a look over his shoulder. “What do you want, Zagreus?”

The shorter one shrugged, and stood beside his age-old friend. “Came to find you. Is that so odd?”

“If you're going to shove more nectar in my hands, then you can forget it.” Thanatos looked away again and scowled beyond iron bars. “You've made your bed.”

Zagreus stifled a sigh, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I–well–in all honesty, I had a question, one that I'd hoped you could answer.”

“Then ask.”

“Right to the point then.” Zagreus cleared his throat and shuffled closer to Death. “Who exactly is the new gardener? Meg said you might know.”

Thanatos graced him with a wide-eyed stare. “I thought you'd know by now.”

Zagreus shrugged. “I wouldn't be asking if I knew.”

“He is–” Death paused, his jaw tightening, tendons threatening to snap. “Why do you want to know?”

Zagreus convinced himself not to pry. “We haven't had a new servant of the House in, well, eternities. Father wouldn't allow just anyone in here.”

“Sure, but don't you think you should ask him yourself?”

“It's hard to catch him. He's quite flighty, as Fate would have it. Must be the wings.”

“Must be.” Zagreus swore he heard the inkling of a smile on those words. “Well, I don't think it's fair for me to spoil the introduction. But I will say this–he was a servant of the House in life, and now continues on in death.”

“Really?” Zagreus couldn't quite wrap his head around it. How could someone be devoted to the house before even arriving?

“Yes. He made my job easier, in some regards. Assisted, at the very least,” Death said.

“Huh.” Zagreus crossed his arms and scuffed his sole against time-worn stone. “Guess that explains that. I don't suppose you'd be willing to go into elaborate detail regarding what exactly our avian gardener did in life to earn yours and Father's favour? Or, even just his name?”

“No.” A luminous wash of turquoise licked off Death's shoulders, his scythe. “Ask him yourself. I've work to do.”

And with the toll of a bell, he was gone.

–

It took a while to catch you again. Apparently, you kept to a strict, self-imposed schedule that Zagreus couldn't even begin to understand despite its simplicity. Nyx told him you arrived come morning, at the very least. That may have been helpful, if Zagreus could tell the damn time in the underworld.

So, he resorted to guessing; if he could not find you through the convenience of your daily routine, he'd swing by whenever he died. He was bound to run into you at some point.

And he did. It was when he wandered to the lounge, eager to deliver a wealth of fish to the head chef, that he caught the ghostly sound of feathers against leaves.

Zagreus backed out of the lounge in time to see your curious glance. A rush pulsed through him–finally, finally, he'd get his chance to interrogate you.

“Hey!” He called.

“Hey,” You called back.

“Just--don’t go anywhere. I need to hand over some river denizens and then I need to speak with you,” Zagreus rambled off as quickly as he could.

Your brows furrowed, but you offered a shallow nod. “I'll wait up.”

With that, Zagreus sped by the gossiping Meg and Dusa and a gaggle of other patrons to all but throw his catch to the head chef. It was a good haul today. Hopefully that meant–ah ha.

Zagreus rolled the bottle of nectar over in his hands. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he sang, and ran off, tucking the gift away before approaching the iron bars.

You were toiling away, a little farther in the garden than before, but not too far to escape the prince's presence. It gave him a chance to take a good look at you: simple black chiton on a well-muscled frame, wings full of bronze feathers, wild hair tied back into the smallest of ponytails. You looked quite ordinary, save for the wings.

But your eyes had been strange: they glowed. Not with the morose cold of Ixion, but with the exact opposite. Warm. Bronze. Sunlit, maybe. He'd never known sunlight, but you must have kept a drop of it in your very soul.

“So?” You said as you meandered back to him. You walked with unbothered confidence, much different to Zagreus’ sprightly impatience. “What important matters must we discuss?”

“Your name, first of all,” the prince requested. “I am Zagreus, son of Hades and--"

“Prince of the underworld,” you added. “Well, I figured you were him. Good to have a proper introduction, I suppose.” You took a breath. “As for me, you'll call me (Name).”

Zagreus repeated the name. It held a fullness in his mouth, something sweet and foreign, too much like the fig you'd offered him not too long ago. Maybe you were the minor god of figs (wouldn't that be something?).

“Pleased to meet you, then. I trust the garden will be well-kept in your capable hands. And wings,” Zag said. “Oh! And, ah, here--a token of thanks for your hard work.”

Your brows raised and Zagreus’ chest filled with hope; for once, your blank mask changed, and you looked less like a gorgon-born statue and more like a human. Somehow, it gave him relief.

But your expression crumpled into furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. “Nectar?” You wondered aloud.

Zagreus nodded and slipped the bottle best he could through the gap. “Yes, I…I hope you will take it, if it pleases you.”

You examined the bottle as it slipped into your hand and leaned a shoulder up against the gate. “Odd. Why is it in the underworld?”

The tension left Zagreus’ muscles as you accepted the gift. “Not a clue. Maybe Olympus ferries some down here from time to time to try and liven things up.”

“Hah.” The mock laughter almost sounded genuine. “Dionysus would, from what I've heard of him.” You held the bottle up, watching the light reflect shards of gold and ghostly greens. “He's not so bad, that god of wine.”

“You've met him?” Zagreus wondered.

“No,” you admitted. Your light-filled eyes found him again. “But I've met gods, when I once lived. No man should have to meet them. They bring misfortune, even the supposed good ones.”

The prince took a sure step forward, and your eyes steeled. “Well, you're right about Dionysus,” he assured instead of scorned. “He's good. I'm sure he's had his moments, still. But I get on with him well.” I'm sure you would, too, he decided against saying; the more he took in your features, the more he realized the god's work carved into you, painting you unnatural colours and robbing you of something only humans could have. He didn't think you'd much enjoy being forced into a hypothetical with them.

“Then I shall take your word for it,” you said. “And I will pretend this bottle comes from Dionysus, to make it more palatable.”

“Well, whatever pleases you.” Zagreus smiled and leaned against the wall by the gate. “But, if I may ask, which gods have you–”

“Boy,” Hades’ voice thundered, echoing down the hall. “Do not disturb the rest of the House and distract them from their duties. Unlike you, they do not wish to disappoint.”

Zagreus clicked his tongue and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, of course, Father. I'll get right to ignoring every blasted person in this damn House. Perhaps I'll consider a life of solitude while I'm at it!”

“Do not test me further, boy.”

Zagreus rolled his eyes, but gave in, finding your (gentler?) eyes once again. “Well. I'd more than happily argue with my father all day–or night–about this, but I wouldn't want you to bear the punishment.”

You nodded a little and glanced from the prince back down to the bottle. “I appreciate this, princeling.”

“It's nothing, really.” Though Zagreus did indeed beam with delight. “Well, then I'll leave you to your work.”

“Be sure to come back. I need to return the favour,” you said as you turned. “Until then, princeling.”

#cw: death #cw: suicide #cw: dubcon #male reader insert #male reader #zagreus x reader #zag x reader #zagreus hades x reader #zagreus hades game x you #hades game reader insert #hades game x reader #zagreus x male reader #hades game male reader insert

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j0kers-light · 5 months ago

Note

hi bae, ik youve been going thru a rough patch i hope(in fact ik) you’ll bounce back harder.🫶🏻

i really wanted to make a request for a long long time now, no pressure write it whenever u feel like it i am just going to drop it here.

for me J has always been a Lana del rey song specially the ultra violence album, he’s shades of blue, he’s ultraviolenec, smts hes even brooklyn baby. Can you write something dark, like real dark where hes possessive, violent, exatcly like he was in TDK. Pulling stunts and dropping hints. maybe he kidnappes the reader or smt like that, he’s acting all crazy and violent but something inside him just makes him slip to a lil caring or loving side every now and then, which eventually leads to some serious SMUT 😏😏

the reader could be his enemy’s daughter(maybe even batman’s daughter lol i am going wild) he tortures her,loves her, takes care of her then tortures her a lil more but make no mistake the reader is a fireball she gives him that lil fight they have in her which makes J even more attached to her.

ik i am just blabbing and making no sense, but i hope ukwim. i am also attaching a link to my fav J edit ever which might give u an outline of what i am trying to say. maybe even add J’s POV.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CqyP1PdveA9/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

okay ill shut up now. feel better love you 🫶🏻

His Lighthouse: Broken Dolls (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Broken Dolls - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

I feel ashamed that you had to wait so long for this request. Forgive me times a thousand @heathisbae !! I still love you and I got carried away with the word count. (10,500 words!!) I promise you that my blood, sweat, and tears went into this request. You should've let me stay in my enclosure. I LOVE DARK requests and I was in a dark and lonely place when I wrote this. The perfect mood for Broken Dolls.

Gather round children it’s time to go over some legal stuff. I usually do not care about trigger warnings. You are responsible for your own reading pleasure, BUT I’ll add a TW: List because yall gone need it. Chaos had a lil bit too much fun writing this one.. 👀😬

TW! Dark!Joker. rape, knife, blood, impact, choking, power play, dacryphilia, spitting, biting kinks, unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, degradation, no prep (foreplay is important kids) uhhhh… I’m missing something. 🤔 It’s canon Joker people. He’s a walking trigger warning.

Just be careful if you decide to read this one. I know I went overboard but your mental health is always my top priority. Enjoy or not. It’s entirely up to you. Since its a dark request, I decided not to tag anyone except @heathisbae Read at your own risk 🖤✨

Your father made it virtually impossible for anyone to find out. By fate’s design, you looked nothing like the iconic figure you called “father”, and you were forever grateful for that.

Your skin complexion, eye, and hair color masked you from the surname that was your birthright. You were the rumored Wayne heiress that Gotham City whispered about. Many far and wide longed to meet you to strengthen their businesses by marriage, whereas others flat out questioned your conception.

Bruce Wayne had neither confirmed nor denied the mother of any of his children to the world. Not like he ever would. There were only a few secrets Bruce had left in this world: you being the most important one.

Your life would be in danger if anyone were to find out you were a Wayne or worse, the precious daughter of Batman.

Many were adopted into the bat family, but you were blood to Bruce. A last-ditch effort he made to secure his family’s legacy; He hired a surrogate.

Should Batman ever fall in combat, you could pick up the torch and continue the Wayne legacy.

At an early age you wanted to make your father proud and wisely decided not to follow in his footsteps moonlighting as a vigilante. The eldest boys, Dick and Jason, celebrated for days. They loved their half-sister and supported every decision you make, but they would’ve put their foot down should you have wished to don a bat suit.

Instead of violence, you dedicated your life to education. Only the best schools with full ride scholarships—your cv was lengthy as it was profound. You spoke multiple foreign languages, held many accreditations issued from all over the globe, and excelled at virtually every extra-curricular skill you could think of.

You were a hardworking, driven woman with a no-nonsense attitude. That much, you got from your mother.

You dominated any boardroom you entered, and your famous e/c eyes could make or break contracts with a single look. Now that was all your father’s genes. You gave the phrase, beauty and brains, a living breathing, mascot and Bruce couldn’t be prouder.

That unfortunately made you a target.

You shied away from public humanitarian appearances to avoid being recognized as a Wayne. Too many similarities with Bruce would make people curious. Instead, you worked behind a smokescreen and attended the many charities and sponsorship parties as a third-party spectator to oversee your work.

That way, you got to see your hard work being implemented into the community—far better results than your father’s monetary donations provided.

You took pride knowing your hard work was creating a change in Gotham City. With the safeguards Bruce and the boys had in place; it would take an actual genius to put the numerous clues together to uncover your identity. You could live in relative peace while still making a difference.

Sadly, your long forgotten surrogate mother would soon threaten life as you knew it.

Joker prided himself in being a vigilant man. Nothing, not even the smallest of details, went unnoticed by him and when it came to his best friend Batman, J took extra care to notice every little thing.

The level of surveillance Joker did on the dark knight bordered on obsession but in a way, he was. Joker strived to be twelve steps ahead of his arch-nemesis in order to maintain his freedom. Being shipped back to Arkham was not an option, so he took information gathering very seriously.

Joker knew that Batman was Bruce Wayne for years. He was surprised other Gotham villains or just the local law enforcement didn’t put the clues together. It was so obvious.

There was no point in telling the world Batman’s not so little secret, but when Joker studied the daily life of Bruce Wayne a bit further, now that was a blackmail gold mine. Having a one up on Bats just felt good and especially when Joker discovered the perfect weapon that would break the man once and for all.

You.

Tucked away and hidden in plain sight; Y/n Wayne, the perfect tool for Joker’s plans.

A father’s worst nightmare, seeing their child in distress, Joker looked forward to scaring Bruce with this latest prank. All he had to do was get close enough to steal you away, but Bruce kept you protected twenty-four seven. Smart man and Joker didn’t blame his bestie for being a protective father.

There were dangerous people out there who would dream of your demise if they knew the truth!

No, it was much easier to track down your mother and it was mere child’s play to make her talk. Joker thoroughly enjoyed extracting as much information from the woman before her untimely demise.

He found it was unfair that she was virtually defenseless while you had security tighter than most world leaders. It wasn’t fair in Joker’s book, so he set out to put your safeguards to the test.

And what achievement it was to outsmart Batman at his own game.

You should’ve known better. Dad drilled it into your brain time and time again to always be aware of your surroundings.

There was no such thing as a coincidence. Things happened for a reason, and it was up to you to detect any signs of danger at any given time.

The same could be said for that fateful night. You were feeling a bit overwhelmed by a journalist at a charity event. She kept asking probing questions—a few hitting too close for comfort about your identity.

How ironic that you attended every event the rumored Wayne heiress organized and knew so much about her personal affairs. What a coincidence how reporters asked you questions like you were the boss..

The curious woman would not leave you alone! Her mindless chitchat felt more like an interrogation by the minute. You feared your identity was compromised after one of her questions rang true, but she simply laughed it off and said that if you were indeed a Wayne, “You’d be way prettier.”

Whatever that meant.

Perhaps the comment hit hard since your longtime friend/rival, Lana, stole attention from the fund raiser with her scandalous outfit. The brunette reeked of new money and had an ego the size of Metropolis, demanding attention wherever she went.

Her appearance ruined your event for helping orphaned kids and turned it into a mini Met Gala. You had every right for storming out to scream into the back alley. She never failed at ruining things!

You were really letting your frustration be heard when a whistle nearby startled you.

“Listen to the pipes on that one.”

You quickly stopped screaming once you realized that you weren’t alone. A lone male was smoking in the same alley, and he locked eyes with you once he caught your attention.

They were an unnatural green that felt familiar however, you couldn’t place where you might’ve seen them before.

“By all means... don’t let me keep ya from your.. uhh temper tantrum.” He blew a long puff of smoke into the night air.

At first you were in shock, but that reaction soon turned into irritation. Just who did he think he was talking to you like that? “I am not having a tantrum thank you very much a-and... you can’t smoke here!”

He simply chuckled while taking another drag. You crossed your arms and tapped your heels on the concrete as you waited for a response. This guy was something else.

“Hello? Did you hear me?” You added.

“Yup.” He popped the letter p, “Loud n’ clear. Pretty sure this area is ah... employees only. Ya wouldn’t catch me smokin’ if ya weren’t out here being a brat, hm?”

He had a point, but you still scoffed at his choice of words. You had the idea of using your title as the boss of this event to get him fired; yet he would surely talk and by morning, Gotham City would know that you’re a Wayne. That was the last thing you wanted; however, it was worth the hassle if it got rid of him.

For now, all you could do was shake your head at this strange man breaking your employee’s no smoking rule. You personally selected all the staff for the event and your security team performed background checks on everyone to ensure your safety.

The gentlemen sitting before you did not jog your memory.

His presence made you uneasy and you took a step back, “Do I know you?”

He snorted, smoke emerging from his nostrils in comical puffs. “Uh no, but I knoooo~ooow you.”

The blood in your veins ran cold when the stranger stood up and stepped into the light. “Didn’t your dad tell ya not to talk to strangers Miss Wayne?” He said mockingly.

You took one look at The Joker’s grotesque scars and turned to run.

Joker grinned and let you have a running start although you didn’t get far. Your feet got caught in your dress fabric and made his job relatively easy. The two of you tumbled to the ground, Joker landing on your back, but that quickly changed with a sharp elbow to his nose.

You didn’t stick around to see if your hit landed, you just scrambled to your feet and tried to reach for the back door when a hand grabbing your ankle disrupted your sense of balance. One second you were upright, the next, you were on the ground seeing double vision.

Joker didn’t think you’d put up much of a fight. His research into you was limited, but he doubted that you had any of the fighting skills your father was notorious for.

Technically he was right. You had taken up self defense training from Jason and he reported that you sucked at it.

Despite your lack of skills and concussion, you weren’t going down without a fight. One of your nails scratched Joker’s elongated smile causing it to bleed and suddenly, he had enough of your little games.

You were making too much noise, and his window of opportunity to kidnap you was running out. If he didn’t move you soon, his plan would be ruined. You just had to make things difficult for him.

“Alrighty Y/n, time for a little nap. Shhhhh... shh easy now.” Joker dodged your wild punch to his face as he dug a syringe out of his pocket.

The sight of it made you panic and fight back harder but your scream of help was drowned out by a roar of applause from inside. The auction must’ve ended with a success. Joker pierced your skin and watched the milky white substance disappear into your system.

It was cold seeping into your veins as you still tried to fight back.

“Aht ahttttt don’t fight it. Let it happen.” Joker crooned into your ear; not like you could hear him. Your body felt so heavy, you lost function of your limbs so suddenly it was terrifying.

The Joker’s obnoxious laugh sounded miles away from you. When your eyelashes fluttered closed, Joker knew victory was his.

The environment that you woke up in was dark and cold.

Your limbs were still groggy with whatever The Joker had injected you with and after a few test stretches, you still had motion in them. Although it would do you no good. The distinctive sound of metal on metal gave away your current predicament.

You were chained to something.

You tried not to panic but you were unable to see anything a few inches in front of you much less see how far the chain allowed you to move. You felt something solid underneath you and concluded that it was some sort of mattress or padding. It was a small comfort while being confined in total darkness.

Wherever you were, The Joker was to blame, and you weren’t going to let him have this much power over you. You had to find a way out before he started his sick form of entertainment.

Every citizen of Gotham knew Joker’s M.O. You didn’t want to be tortured to death all for a laugh.

You waited until your eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings before exploring how much freedom you truly had.

You felt around in the darkness until your hands bumped into something solid. It was a surface with nothing that could help you escape on it, so you moved on. Minutes felt like hours as you stumbled through the dark, searching for anything useful. Just when you thought you were painting a clear picture of the room in your head, a door opened beside you.

The blinding light was nothing compared to the searing pain of the door hitting you square in the face or that of the trauma caused by falling to the ground.

The room was still spinning when your loudmouth got the better of you.

“What’s your f__king problem?!” You cried out. You feared that your nose was broken, it sure felt like it with the amount of blood you felt gushing out. The Joker didn’t seem phased by the display.

Instead, he stepped right over you and flicked on a light, blinding you in the process. “Errr let’s see... problems. MY problem.. Social injustice? Global warming…uhhh rush hour traffic?” Joker paused for dramatic effect and slowly turned to face you. You froze, feeling his emerald eyes rake over your form hungrily.

The unnatural hue seemed to suck you in the longer you stared. “You.” Joker purred.

“M-Me?” How were you a problem? He abducted you not the other way round!

You had never crossed paths with the Clown Prince of Crime until tonight. The two of you couldn’t be more worlds apart. You stayed nose deep in your humanitarian work and out of any trouble whereas The Joker was trouble personified.

The only thing that linked you to Joker was your father, yet you doubted the clown was smart enough to put all the puzzle pieces together to uncover that.

You prayed that this was all some sort of misunderstanding but judging how The Joker was staring, your hopes began to shatter one by one.

You instinctively shielded your body from the known threat and in doing so, your skin brushed against unknown material. The formal dress you originally wore for the evening was gone and replaced by a thin t-shirt and baggy men’s pants. The implications were not lost on you.

You turned to glare at the madman before you. “Who changed my clothes!?” If you were able to blush, you knew you’d be redder than a tomato.

This man obviously had no respect for women. He simply threw his head back and laughed, “The pleasure is allllllllllll mine.”

You failed at hiding your full body shudder and even worse, you were unable to silence yourself from talking trash. “Screw you.” You regretted saying it the moment you opened your mouth.

The room suddenly got quiet. Joker sauntered his way over to your mattress and crouched down so he could be eye level with you. He admired the fire burning within your e/c eyes for a time. Such a strong wielded fire, it was beautiful to behold. If Joker had his way, there would only be smoking embers after he had his fun. He would make sure of it.

The Joker always had an air of drama about him, and it took center stage as he spoke to you. “Ya wanna.. know something? You should be lucK-yyyy my boys didn’t change ya. They would’ve loved to uh.. what did ya say? Screw you.”

His choice of words held more meaning as he tried to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. You shut down that idea by chomping at his fingers the second they were within your reach.

You refused to sit around like some damsel in destress until dad or one of the boys came to rescue you. You would fight back even if it killed you.

To Joker, your little stunt was comical. You could rebel all you wanted; your antics would never compare to what he had in store for you.

He simply wagged his paint-stained fingers at you like a scolding parent and insulted you further. “Mm, feisty! I like thaT. But that’s no way to behave while you’re here. No noooo. No. You are a verry special guest, Y/n!”

Joker walked over to the table that you found earlier. You watched as he pulled out a tripod and took the time to set up a camera in your general direction. Once it was positioned to his liking, he mashed a button—and to your horror, a red light began to blink.

“Tada! May I present.... Y/n, my lead-ing lady in this uh.. short film of mine! The title you ask? Why it’s, How to Break Batman’s Little Girl 101!”

Joker’s words were like a sucker punch to your gut. They bounced off the thick walls of the room and echoed back in your eardrum's times a hundred. Your worst nightmare was happening right before your eyes. Not only did someone know who you were, but dad’s long kept secret was out—and his arch-nemesis of all people, knew about it.

You were blinking a mile a minute and Joker thought your lips flailing like a fish was oh so adorable. Kissable really but he shook that odd thought away.

He hyped up his performance so much, you weren’t sure if he was addressing you or the camera at this point.

“Oh come now, Y/n. Don’t act so sur-prised! I knew Bats’ secret for years now. We are friends ya know.... Mmm on second thought. Ya might wanna work on the security Batsy.. I just so happened to waltz in and steal your precious.... and might I add.... beau-ti-ful daughter away easy peasy. Did I mention she’s verrrry beautiful?”

You snapped out of your panic by Joker’s fingers grazing your cheek. Your response was instinctive by slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

Joker wasted no time reacting to your outburst. His gentle touch turned cruel and struck your face hard enough to turn it sideways right into the wall.

He quickly grabbed ahold of your jaw and yanked you back upright. You were forced to bear witness to his self-inflicted scars, all jagged and swollen up close. It was a permanent reminder just how insane this man truly was. Joker’s nails dug into your cheek and for a split second, you genuinely feared this man.

His green eyes were almost electric staring into your soul. “You’re mine now and I’ll touch ya however I want. Got thaT?”

Joker saw the insult queuing up in your brain and squeezed your face tighter in his grasp. You whined but still managed to part your lips to respond. “I’m not yours.” You growled.

A brief staring contest ensued. Green verses your e/c.

Joker admired your bravery; you questioned his sanity. He dressed the part of a gentleman with his three-piece suit and coattails (despite the outlandish colors) yet he was so far removed from the title. He was unpredictable in every sense of the word that you weren’t sure if you would survive a moment longer in his presence.

You were confident that someone would come save you, Joker thought you were too naïve to understand the gravity of your situation. In any case, he would have ample time to extinguish the fire blazing in your eyes before someone started searching for you.

He was so caught up crafting his mental plans, he didn’t notice the glint in your eye right before you bit his hand.

It hardly phased him and for your efforts you received a rough shove towards the ground. Thankfully the mattress softened the blow however you still had the strength to glare at The Joker in disdain.

“Let’s see how long that feisty streak of yours last hmm?” Joker chuckled under his breath and walked over to the door.

The sudden change in brightness blinded you again but this time you caught a glimpse of a bulky man guarding the door before he and Joker disappeared from sight.

Finally you were alone with your thoughts. The first thing you did was let out a shaky sigh and glance at the camera still recording you. The Joker didn’t turn it off and you concluded its sole purpose was to monitor you and collect material for the ransom cd your dad would receive.

You choked back a sob just thinking about dad. He would be beside himself knowing you were abducted. Finding out that his greatest enemy took you would be a low blow—one you hoped he would overcome in order to rescue you. Dick and Jason would steer the detective in the right direction but with every hour that passed, you knew dad would slowly lose his mind. He knew firsthand what Joker was capable of. Your nose throbbed bitterly as a harsh reminder.

There was nothing stopping the clown from killing you if he simply became bored.

If only you took dad’s words to heart and abided by his strict security measures. You had snuck away from your detail for a bit of privacy. Now you regretted that dumb decision. You were in Joker’s clutches with no chance of escape, and it was all your fault.

He chained you to a bedpost like some animal and now that there was light in the room, you could see it in its entirety.

It was a mini prison right down to the bare necessities. The Joker had every intention of keeping you here, cut off from Gotham City, most likely below ground to disrupt the bat tracker embedded in you since childhood.

You scratched at your wrist, praying that it miraculously still worked despite the odds. Surely your father, the world’s greatest detective, could locate his daughter with much less.

It was the only reassurance you had.

You were getting tired overthinking your predicament. There was nothing you could do at present, so with one last hesitant glance at the video recorder, you tried your best to get comfortable on the mattress and fall asleep.

That became your routine. Time held no value anymore.

Was it a few days? Weeks? Longer? How were you to know? You were confined to four concrete walls with no form of contact, save for the ever present blinking red light watching your every move.

You were forced to use the horrendous facilities they called a bathroom, and meals (which were surprisingly great) were brought to your room like clockwork while you were asleep.

You began to look forward to the tray that would magically appear on your table. It was the only connection to the outside world you had, and you didn’t take it for granted.

There was always a special treat on your dinner plate and it never failed at putting a smile on your face regardless of being a prisoner. You tried to keep a grip on your sanity with these small bouts of happiness, but it was obvious what angle Joker was playing at.

He was using isolation to mentally break you and it was working.

You thought being locked away all alone would be easy, but the constant silence was unbearable and before long you began to fear when Joker would return.

Not fearing him specifically, but of what you might do for a sliver of human interaction.

That visit came unexpectedly. You woke up from a nap sensing a presence inside your room. Sadly, you had embraced having hallucinations during your lengthy stay here, but this one felt a little too real.

Something didn’t feel right. “H-Hello?”

The door was still closed with the lights dimmed and there wasn’t a tray of food dropped by, so you glanced near the bathroom area on pure instincts. Nothing was inside the room except that camera that you loathed so much. Its constant flashing light both annoyed and comforted you. At least you weren’t completely alone.

You sighed to yourself and was about to fall back asleep when you felt something move behind you. Joker’s laugh blended in with your scream as you tried to scramble away.

You didn’t get far given that Joker dragged you back towards him.

The last thing you expected after waking up was a man lying in the same bed as you. It was a natural response to freak out, especially since it was The Joker pinning you to the mattress. “YOU SICK F__K! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”

You didn’t see the way Joker's eyes glazed over or the way his hands tightened around you before he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Have I lost my… have I.. losT my mind?”

You tried to pry his hands off you, but Joker was just too strong as he continued to repeat your question over and over. His manic laughter was deafening in your ear. “Have I lost my mind, Y/n? Or have you?”

You looked up into pools of jade that glinted mockingly down at you. “What are you...?”

Joker cut you off by directing your gaze to the camera in the room. “Did ya forget I’ve been watching you this entire time doll? Talking to yourself, your uh... hopeless words of affirmation? Oh Dad will come, he’ll come save me! Hang in there, Y/n! You’re so braaaaaave and strong!”’

Joker’s imitation of your voice was cringeworthy as he repeated your own words out loud. He mocked your defiant spirit and hopes of escape as if it was a joke. Strangely enough, Joker’s tone softened, and he sounded sincere with his next angle of attack.

“You just don’t get iT. Daddy’s not coming Y/n. No one knows you’re missing, and nooo one cares either. It’s been a month now doll. If Daddy Bats really cared about his precious daughter, he would’ve rescued you by now don’tcha think?”

Joker was just messing with you. This was another tactic of his to break you down. He was a master of manipulation and his way with words was just as dangerous as his work with knives. His sole existence was to harm others and yet with your fragile state of mind, a part of you believed him.

You couldn’t believe that a month had passed with no one trying to find you. Was Joker telling the truth?

It was too absurd to believe. “N-No.... no dad cares about me. He wouldn't.... he wouldn’t give up..” You whispered. You didn’t know who you were trying to convince here, you or The Joker.

He must’ve seen the doubt starting to creep in for he pushed you a little further. “Are you sure, Y/n? He’s a uh, busy bat! Fighting crime always comes first, you know that better than anyyyyy one. He’s never had time for you...” Joker smiled, watching you blink back tears.

He enjoyed every minute of tearing down your defenses one lie at a time.

He leaned away and bit back a smile when you followed, seeking his contact. You were making this child’s play for him.

“Bats always sent ya away when you were younger. Never letting you err.. blossom to your fullest. He hid you away because you were a failure to him. A mistake. He never cared about you! But guess whaT?”

Joker waited until you looked up into his grassy green eyes. Were they always so expressive or was it your imagination that made them sparkle? It was the first source of human contact you had in who knows how long. You felt special to have The Joker staring at you the way he was.

The air in the room was filled with static energy as you waited for Joker’s next words. You craved validation, acceptance, and attention at a time like this. The Joker had starved you for far too long in isolation.

His hand raised up and softly caressed the side of your face and you missed how his eyes lingered on your lips longer than intended.

“I care Y/n.” He chuckled seeing you pout, “I mean iT! I’ve been so ah.. cruel to ya. I should’ve treated you better. You want me to treat ya better doll?”

Joker leaned forward and kissed both of your cheeks. The contact made you jump and blink up at him in shock. If he couldn’t hear your heart beating wildly, then he was deaf.

You soaked up his form of human contact like a sponge. How long had you been wasting away in this room?

Was it really a month like Joker had said? Right as Joker was leaning down to kiss you properly, you had a moment of clarity.

Who was to blame for you being trapped in here? Why were you here in the first place? The answer was right in front of you, buttering you up with sweet lies and fake affection. Joker was playing you like a fiddle, and you were weak enough to fall for it.

Not anymore.

The Joker was the enemy. He was full of lies. Dad would never abandon you so why were so inclined to believe this green haired clown? No amount of isolation, no form of torture, could break you to believe such. You couldn’t give up so easily. You were a Wayne. You were born a fighter.

Joker’s scarred lips ghosted against yours as you shoved him away. “You are nothing but a liar.”

You enjoyed his brief moment of shock before his eyes cooled into the hard emeralds that they were.

And just like that the act was over. One second you were in the comfort of Joker’s arms, the next you were tossed aside like trash and his true colors were revealed.

He towered over you like a titan as you tried to back away but there was simply nowhere to go. You were at Joker’s mercy, and he spared you none. Each kick to your body made you cry out for Joker to stop but he didn’t listen, rather he laughed and kicked harder.

You grabbed his ankle and begged him to stop but he jerked free and stomped on your wrist in retaliation. The audible crack was background noise to your earsplitting scream— yet it was all music to Joker’s ears.

He enjoyed the pain of others and yours was icing on the cake.

You sounded so pretty, so helpless and filled with anguish. He wanted to hear more. He was obsessed. How far could he push you until you gave under pressure?

Two knocks on the door stole Joker’s attention and his eyes watched as another person entered the room. Joker knew who it was. Anyone else wouldn’t dare enter while he had his fun.

Frost took one look at you sobbing on the floor before he focused his attention back on his boss. “We got trouble.”

Joker rolled his eyes at Frost for interrupting his fun although it was probably for the best. He didn’t want to break you just yet. Slow and steady won the race and he had all he time in the world to do so.

He might’ve went overboard today judging by how you visibly flinched when he moved in your direction, but he knew you’d bounce back defiant as ever. You had to.

“You’ll have to uhh, excuse me Y/n. It seems.. I’m needed elsewhere. Don’t. You. Move.” He patted your head and laughed all the way out the door.

The heavy sound of it closing did little to silence your tears.

The pain was nothing. You were more upset with yourself for not being stronger. Joker was destroying your fighting spirit in record time and you were powerless to stop him.

The bruises never faded, and it made sleeping even more difficult on your worn mattress.

Sure, Joker was considerate enough to cast your broken wrist, but it was a small gesture compared to the verbal and added physical abuse he bestowed upon you daily.

You became Joker’s personal punching bag and there was no end in sight to your suffering.

Each time the door opened, you were forced to endure Joker’s twisted mind games or his heavy hand. It didn’t matter that you were a woman, in his eyes you deserved every ounce of pain that he inflicted. And when he finally left you bleeding and holding back tears, your own thoughts tortured you some more.

Did father really abandon you? How was the world’s greatest detective, renowned for his state-of-the-art technology and gadgets, unable to locate his only daughter?

The days blended together and all the hope you originally had of being rescued, diminished.

The Joker enjoyed his daily visits with you but he could tell that it wasn’t enough. Your body was obviously battered yet your mind remained intact.

You still possessed a thread of hope that made you defiant to the end. You spat in Joker's face whenever he was in range, and you rolled your eyes at his half-hearted jokes about killing you.

“Then do it.” Your snide remarks often led to more beatings that did little to fulfill Joker’s goal.

Nothing seemed to be working to ultimately break you, so he decided to try a different angle.

You woke up to the smell of food in the air. Your stomach growled in want, but the reset of your body hurt too much to move. You debated skipping eating all together in favor of rest however that choice was made for you.

“Sit up.”

His voice. The root of all of your problems. You didn’t have the strength to be bothered with him today.

Joker waited for you to move yet when you remained lying down, he became agitated. “I won’T re-peat myself doll.”

Your voice cracked with your response. “I can’t. It hurts.” You just wanted to be left alone, to hurt in peace but Joker controlled everything here. As if you had a choice to begin with.

“Lemme help you.”

Just hearing the offer gave you the strength to flip over to face him. Surely he was joking. He wanted to help you?! After all he did? Screw the consequences, you had to speak your mind.

“Help me? You want to help me? Okay then. Go away! Far… far away and leave me alone! Or even better! Let me go! What’s the point of keeping me here? What do you want from me?!”

During your speech you began to cry and Joker (for the first time in his life) felt guilty. Your timeless beauty was marred by cuts and bruises that he caused, and he couldn’t justify his actions for creating them.

Somewhere along the way Joker lost focus of the mission.

It was all a game— to get at Batman but along the way Joker saw how strong you truly were. Anything he tossed your way, you deflected it with ease. You never faltered, never lost hope. Even now as you lay weak and hungry, your eyes set him ablaze.

You had won, he just didn’t know at what.

Joker didn’t know what else to do with this failed experiment of his. One thing was certain, he wasn’t letting you go. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Your rant fizzled off as you stared at Joker.

There was an odd gleam in his eyes that you were wary of. He looked lost in thought and when he snapped to, you were shocked to see a genuine smile appear on his lips.

You feared what his thoughts could lead to.

To mask your fear, you rolled your eyes at his lack of an answer and reached for your dinner tray. Your groan of pain made Joker wince. Were you really in that much pain?

Without thinking, he smacked your hand away and stabbed a portion of food with the provided fork. The two of you stared at each other in silence waiting for the other to make a move.

“I can feed myself.” You grumbled.

Joker gave you an, ‘are you sure about that’ look and tapped the fork to your lips.

Just thinking about moving used up too much energy and your muscles begged for you to take him up on the offer. The Joker, Gotham City’s notorious criminal, wanted to feed you dinner; who were you to deny him?

You begrudgingly opened your mouth while looking away from his smug green eyes.

The act was so demoralizing, but you kept your cool while chewing in silence and opening your mouth for the next morsel.

Just to be cheeky, you closed your lips around the fork and refused to let go. Joker didn’t think it was funny but he entertained your bratty behavior nonetheless. He considered stabbing your tongue—but thought against it. There was no need to be violent.

He was trying a different angle to this whole hostage situation he created. Your defenses were down tonight and he would be a fool not to take advantage of them.

A quick glance to his right confirmed that the video camera was still recording. Perhaps it was time to send a message to daddy dearest and make some progress.

You were under the impression that Joker was taking pity on you with his nice guy act. He was patient, feeding you bites of food and not shoving it down your throat like he’d done in the past when you tried starving yourself.

He was being.. (dare you say it) nice. You should’ve known it was too good to be true.

He finished feeding you and you thought he was moving onto the slice of cake that was on the tray. You had been eyeing it since Joker uncovered it and you licked your lips thinking about the delectable treat.

It would have to wait. There was an ominous shift in the air that completely blindsided you.

Joker didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t have any plans when he entered your room tonight. It was supposed to be a simple food drop—nothing more, but the moment his eyes landed on you curled up on the mattress resting so beautifully, what left of his demented mind, checked out early.

This past month and a half was filled with harsh lessons and far too many close calls. Batman and his ban of birds did everything in their power to find you and they almost succeeded once or twice.

Thankfully Joker was smart enough to place you inside a shipping container so you could always be mobile and out of reach. You hardly noticed the frequent moves since he coordinated them during your sleeping hours. It also ensured your meals were always hot and fresh since they could just travel to wherever Joker deemed fit to your standards.

Everything was planned down to the smallest detail, everything except developing feelings for you.

Now that was out of Joker’s control.

Underneath the clown façade, Joker was still a man and you were absolutely stunning with your aristocratic beauty and educated mind.

Your fierce personality drew him in despite you being a means to an end. You were supposed to be a form of entertainment, a toy until Joker got bored and let Batman have his daughter back but over time, Joker became attached to you in an unhealthy way.

You were Joker’s property, his special secret hidden from the world to do with as he so pleased.

He stopped hitting you and allowed you time to heal due to some unknown form of guilt. More and more tasty desserts were included with your meals to make up for his abusive behavior, and unbeknownst to you, Joker watched you sleep every night.

There was something soothing watching you blissfully unaware of the monster in your bed. He could slit your throat in your sleep but he didn’t. No, that would be a waste.

Joker found it better to sleep beside you and hold you close. He knew you would freak out if you knew all the liberties that he took while you were asleep.

From tracing your major arteries with a knife to leaving lipstick marks all over your skin—his feelings for you were disturbing and perfectly justified in his opinion.

Joker didn’t want the traditional lovey dovey crap most couples shared because he wasn’t normal. He wanted to own, to control, to destroy you completely and then protect the broken pieces that remained.

There was no concept of love in Joker’s mind and there never would be. Seeing you so docile as he fed you was the breaking point. He got a taste of your submissive side and craved more.

Why couldn’t you just give in and break already? You brought this upon yourself. You forced Joker to do this.

He blocked out the sound of your cries and wrestled your arms down to onto the mattress. His only goal was to get you naked and when you began to struggle more, he took matters into his own hands.

Joker grabbed the army knife from his pocket and sliced your clothes off. One motion caught your skin and you howled as the sharp metal tore it open. Joker saw red bubble to the surface and dove down to lick you clean.

He didn’t like hearing your voice filled with pain. It distracted him from getting hard and after staring you in the eye, you quickly got the message. Keep quiet or else.

You tried not to make a sound louder than your whimpers. You didn’t want to provoke Joker’s wrath.

“Much better. So pretty.” Joker hummed to himself when you were laid bare beneath him although he frowned seeing tears staining your cheeks. “Shhhhhh, hey hey. Look at me... Behave and it won’t hurT.”

He watched your lip wobble as you remained quiet. Your wrists were being held down by Joker’s hand, leaving you powerless to squirm away and he loved the power scale tipping in his favor. Good. You would always be beneath him.

He struggled a bit to unzip his fly but managed to get his cock out without letting you go. A shame you were being bratty and didn’t prepare yourself for this. He really had to do everything around here.

Joker spat on his hand and worked it up and down his cock, groaning to himself at the feeling. His eyes roamed over his doll and admired your beauty mid stoke. You had curves in all the right places that begged to be fondled. He wanted to touch them, but if he let go of your hands, you would act out.

He could see the fire burning in your eyes. If he gave you an inch, you’d take a mile.

Yet it was criminal not to mark you up the way he wanted.

Joker sighed as he lined himself up with your pussy. You panicked and tried moving away from his tip tapping your opening with heavy slaps to no avail.

“Are ya gonna behave doll?”

He shifted his weight and applied more pressure on your healing broken wrist when you continued to rebel. The searing pain made you bite your lip and cease struggling altogether.

“Now. Are you gonna be a errr.. good doll for me n’ stay realllllllly still?” Joker sang.

Your lip curled back, ready to cuss him out, instead a loud scream took escaped your lips as Joker began to force his way inside your dry entrance.

It burned. It ached. He was tearing you apart and you shook your head in agony as it continued without end. You didn’t think about the consequences, you bucked your hips away from the unwanted invasion.

You knew you were in trouble the moment Joker said your name in warning.

“What. Did. I just say doll? Dumb b___h.”

Joker let go of your wrists to hold your hips instead. Once he found purchase, he began thrusting in and out of your pussy. His pleasure was your torment. Your silent tears spurred him on and he swatted your hands away that tried to push him off.

Nothing would stop him after he got a taste of you. He was an idiot for not taking you sooner.

“Haha, you’re grippin’ me soooooo tight doll. Ease up for me!” Joker groaned louder to drown out your pathetic pleas. He would not slow down; you were too perfect to stop now.

He noticed the camera in the corner and got an idea. “Are ya enjoying yourself, doll? Why don’tcha give the ah.. a-audience a good show? Go on. Tell him how you feel.”

You forgot all about the recorder in the room! Your sharp gasp was music to his ears. You tried to turn away, but Joker would have none of that. He grabbed your jaw and forcibly turned your face towards the lens. Your tears were a paid actor for his production.

“Ya see that Bats? ThaT, oh f__k... t-that is the face of your failure. She’s all mine and I’m gonna take ahaha.. verrry good care of her. All mine.. d__n it..” Joker choked back a moan and licked the tears from your face as he sped up his thrusts. If he kept this up, he would cum before the fun really started. Although he shouldn’t have to be the only one getting off.

With a smug grin, he snaked a hand down to rub messy circles on your clit.

The response was instantaneous. You threw your head back with a mewl on your tongue. He felt the result of his adventurous touch the same time you let out an unexpected moan. “Oh? Ya like that doll?” He mocked.

He laughed at you trying to deny deny deny but your body was speaking on your behalf.

You tightened around him and he felt the slick begin to coat his cock. He arched an eyebrow at the sudden turn of events. You really were enjoying this. He wondered...

He stroked your clit faster and was rewarded by another sweet moan gracing his ears. His doll made the prettiest sounds under distress. He could see the confusion dancing across your features.

“Ohhhhhh Bats! You have a naughty.. naughty girl! Enjoying my touch after begging me to stop just minutes ago? Ah.. mmm, it's okay doll! M-Moan louder. Enjoy ittt, I know I am. Mm, you feel better the uh wetter you become.”

Joker stopped mid thrust when you clenched down unexpectedly on him. Were you trying to crush him to death?

He wondered if you could feel him throbbing in your pussy. Your tiny fists were beating on his clothed chest but there was no point in pretending.

You were enjoying yourself and if he was correct to assume, you were getting close. You just needed a little push and Joker had just the thing.

“I knew you were secretly a whore. Only dirty sluts get off on being used like a toy. Hehe. It's a-always the quiet ones f__k!” Joker chuckled to himself followed by a shuddering groan. You were very close. He had to act fast.

Without warning he bit down hard on your shoulder. You moaned out before covering your mouth with your hand. It was too late; Joker already knew what kind of woman you were. He bit harder and rejoiced as blood bubbled up to the surface to coat his lips. Finally, he was marking you up the way you deserved.

He sped up his thrusts, laughing at the sloppy sound of wet skin on skin in the room. His cock happily slid in and out of your pussy now that you were horny.

You were shaking your head in denial even as your legs shivered on Joker’s shoulders. He licked the fresh bite mark clean before whispering in your ear.

“Let go Y/n. Shatter into a thousand tiny lit-tle pieces— and when you snap them back together, I'll be righT here to ruin you all over again. And again. And again. I will always break you just the way you need. The way you deserve. So go on. Do itttt. B-Break for me.... For us.”

Joker thought you were beautiful before, seeing you admit defeat and cum was a vision from heaven.

Your cheeks darkened in color as your lips parted like the sea to allow carnal bliss to fall from its depths. You twitched uncontrollably in Joker’s hold, and he was more than happy to pull you in close as you fell apart on his cock.

You rode the wave of pleasure and swept Joker along with the force. He was caught off guard by your tightening cunt and came with your name a whisper on his lips.

No drug could ever compare to the high you gave him.

He saw new sounds and heard colors that he couldn’t name. His breath came in short pants as he came down. Words failed him, his head was still too foggy to process the world around him.

What could one say after an orgasm that intense? He just came inside your quivering hole, and he already wanted to do it again.

He couldn’t find the energy to even think coherently! All he could do was flop down next to you and sort out his senses in the right categories.

His paint-stained hands wandered aimlessly and began playing with the ends of your hair, much to your horror. While Joker floated in post-coital bliss, you fell back to your harsh reality.

You let this monster have sex with you and even worse, you enjoyed it.

You felt dirty, cheap, a literal failure. You allowed The Joker to touch you, to make you feel good. You came from his ministrations. God, you could feel him softening inside your used pussy. Your inner thighs felt sticky, and you shuddered realizing that The Joker came inside you. The room began to spin as you spiraled into a panic attack.

What would dad think when he found out? What if you became pregnant with this monster’s child. You felt sick to your stomach and feeling Joker playing with your hair, as if nothing was wrong, tipped you over the edge.

“Don’t touch me!” You wailed. Your shout made Joker come to and instinctively hold you closer to his chest. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside your head, but you didn’t have to be so loud.

“Doll... I ahh uh, already touched ya.” He rubbed up and down your back despite you flinching from his touch.

You made eye contact with the video recorder in the corner and Joker curiously followed your gaze. Oh. That would explain your sour mood. You were smart and deduced what he would do with the footage. “Listen Y/n..”

A knock at the door interrupted Joker’s sentence. He didn’t move an inch as he granted whomever on the other side entry.

You tried maintaining your modesty but it was a useless effort. You were bare as the day you were born in Joker’s arms and he wasn’t letting you go.

Joker’s henchman walked in and struck a conversation with the clown, pretended as if you didn’t exist. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die you were so embarrassed.

You didn’t notice what was going on until Joker snapped his fingers in your face. “Huh?”

Joker rolled his eyes at your lack of awareness. He sat up straight and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I said..... take a bath while I’m gone. I uh.. took your chain off for ya.”

He pointed at your bare ankle that was in fact free of the heavy metal. You twisted your leg, feeling the freedom granted to you.

You wanted to thank Joker but he was already walking out the door with his henchman. And just like that, you were alone. The silence was unbearable as the full reality hit you full force.

You didn’t fight back. Why did you give in so easily? Why did you miss the warmth of Joker body against yours? Just what was wrong with you for craving his touch?

Screw taking a bath, you ran straight towards the toilet to empty your stomach.

Sleep did not come to you when your mind was abuzz with doubt.

You paced the room while biting your nails and reliving your time spent with Joker over and over. You were beyond restless thinking about your uncertain future. What would Joker do now that he got what he wanted?

Would you be killed off and discarded like trash? Would your family be given the chance to mourn your passing? Would they even know what became of you? There were too many questions and not enough answers. One thing was for certain, you refused to sit around and wait for your fate.

For some unknown reason Joker removed your chain. It was a sliver of hope that you planned on exploiting.

The heavy metal door loomed in the distance. Before it served as a reminder of how trapped you were; now it was a shining beacon of hope. Either coincidental or simply a miracle, Joker also took the elusive camera with him. Nothing was stopping you from running, and nothing was holding you back.

Joker had slashed your clothes to ribbons but the woolen blanket on the mattress was still intact for you to wrap around your body.

It left you feeling far too exposed, but you had no other option available. Once covered, you padded over to the door and turned the handle to freedom.

The hallway was dark and ominous before you.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to venture into the unknown. You looked at the barren cell you were forced to inhabit and back into the dark void, weighing the odds.

You took the first step, then another, and another until you were walking with haste—desperately searching for an exit.

Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as you stumbled across a door with light poking out underneath the frame. It was the only lead you had so far towards an exit. You slowly pushed it open and regretted it instantly.

The room full of men all stopped their various conversations to stare you caught like a deer in headlights in the doorway. You quite literally walked into a den of wolves.

“Well well. Look what we have here!” One guy catcalled.

They all leered at your body poorly wrapped up in a blanket. It was obvious your purpose here at their hideout. Free entertainment.

The door slammed shut behind you, trapping you again, only this time in far more hostile conditions. You berated yourself for leaving the safety of your cell if this was the cost. You could barely defend yourself against Joker. There were too many men here to even consider escaping.

You backtracked right into a broad chest and the male laughed at you already cowering in fear.

He roughly pulled your hair while another pair of hands ripped your blanket away to knead your breasts. Whistles and laughter broke out in the room at the sight. “The Boss been keepin’ this from us!? Look! She’s freshly used too!”

You screamed as fingers stabbed their way into your cunt and explored inside. Their hands weren't like Jokers. There was no pleasure to be gained here and unlike before, your body did not warm up to the stimuli.

You were in pain as they groped and fondled your body and despite Joker being the origin to all your problems, you cried out his name to save you.

Someone yanked your hair again before shattering all your hopes with a handful of words. “Ya think the boss is gonna help you? You are nuthin’ to him! Just a warm hole for him to use. And now it's our turn.”

You closed your eyes to block out the pain. The last of your fighting spirit faded away as a lone tear rolled down your cheek.

Frost and Joker were waking back towards your room when they heard the loud commotion coming from the common room.

It was well in the night and nothing of note should’ve excited the men to be so rowdy. Most of them should’ve been on patrols in the first place.

Frost merely shrugged his shoulders and followed his Boss.

Curiosity killed the cat, but Joker was not so simple minded. He knew something was wrong. He wasn't religious by any means, but he prayed that this didn’t involve you.

He barged into the common room ready to scold his men when his worst fears came to light.

Joker didn’t think, he simply acted until nothing else stood in his way to get to you. Frost could handle the aftermath of his rage—you were the only constant in Joker’s mind the second he opened the door and saw you in distress.

He left you just a few hours prior, safe and accounted for in your room. He left to prepare better accommodations to reflect your newfound status in his life. Joker took great care of his possessions, and you deserved better than being tucked away in some dingy shipping container. You didn’t belong on the floor like a cheap whore. No, you were worthy to be displayed, dressed up like the doll Joker wanted you to be.

Never did he imagine he would return to this.

He fought his way to your side and fell to his knees by your side. His green eyes were wide with an unknown emotion as they took in your battered form.

He didn’t want to touch and accidentally hurt you any further yet something about the thousand-yard stare in your eyes told him you were no longer here to feel anything at all. Joker knew how ruthless his men were, but this was barbaric.

He didn’t regret killing them after what they done. His only remorse was not making them suffer more before death.

Joker gathered you up in his arms and tried shaking you back into focus. “Y/n? Y/n, c'mon doll! Look at me.. s-say something!?” He pleaded.

You mumbled something inaudible and curled up into a ball.

Rage. Guilt and surprisingly shame. Joker’s mind was wild with this flood of new emotions.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a single cell of compassion in his body, yet the sight of his newest toy utterly broken (and not of his own doing) had him feeling remorseful.

“I... I don’T.. I...” Joker gathered his thoughts with a deep inhale.

Frost watched the intimate scene while kicking over a body. It was a bloody mess in here; however, that had to wait.

Frost could tell his Boss needed some assistance. “I’ll run a bath.” Frost said offhandedly.

It would point Joker in the right direction at least rather than rocking you back and forth on the floor to no avail. The comment snapped Joker out of his musing.

Emerald eyes roamed over your sleeping form. “Bath. Y-Yeah uh she needs a uh.. bath.”

He nodded to himself and slowly rose to his feet to carry you out of the common room. He passed up your old room in favor of his own that had more privacy. Not like it would matter. You had yet to speak.

This was not the outcome Joker had planned. Even after he washed you clean and tucked you into bed— he sat by your side contemplating his next move.

You were no longer the shiny doll he wanted on his shelf. His own men had ruined you. They took away your feisty demeanor and all conscience thought from you that made this game fun.

Joker tried to get you to speak, to react to anything, but you remained stagnant, blinking owlishly at the wall until sleep finally took you. Nothing of the defiant Y/n that Joker had grown to like remained.

You left him with no other alternative. He got what he wanted, and it was time to move on.

In three more days, it would mark your two-month long disappearance. Bruce would be a liar if he said he didn’t count the days if not the minutes that you were gone.

He blamed himself for your capture and the boys tried their hardest to steer him in the right direction and not spiral into depression. Bruce loved all his children, but you were his by blood. You held a special place in Bruce’s heart and as such, he spent every waking second trying to find you.

No expenses were spared, and any lead (no matter how small) were investigated. Joker was smart, but Bruce was smarter. He would find you.

Dick and Tim investigated a possible lead and discovered where you were originally being held. You still had a sweet tooth and your favorite bakery recognized your custom order being placed and tipped off Wayne Enterprises about the person who picked it up.

Unfortunately, The Joker moved you before Batman could arrive at the location but now they knew you were still alive. It strengthened their hopes in finding you safe and sound.

Numerous rescue attempts were thwarted in the following weeks, but they never gave up. There would be another lead, they would have another chance to save you.

All hope was not lost.

Their patience was rewarded the day the Batcomputer picked up a signal on your tracker. It was finally online for the first time in months. Everyone scrambled to assemble at the pinned location. Bruce was ready for a fight and mentally prepared himself to do anything necessary to get you back.

None of the boys were prepared to arrive at the back of your office building. It seemed to be a mistake, it had to be. Was Joker sending them on a wild goose chase? Bruce scanned the area but there was only one faint heat signature detected. His nerves were on edge, already assuming the worst.

Bruce’s heart stopped beating when he saw a body lying in the delivery drop-off/ loading area. He didn’t wait for the others to secure the area. His father instincts were in overdrive as he rushed to your side, calling out your name.

You were unresponsive with only a tattered blanket covering your shivering form. That’s when Bruce saw the bruises painting your body and the cast still present on your wrist. He didn’t want to believe that this battered woman was his spit-fire daughter.

You were a shell of your former self when Bruce finally roused you awake. The fire that once blazed intently within your e/c eyes was gone and it was evident what The Joker did to you.

“Bruce, look.” Dick said as he picked up something near your feet.

Scattered around your body was a deck of playing cards. On the joker card a note was written in red.

You can have her back Bats; I don’t like broken dolls.

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beatrice-otter · 2 years ago

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Why AO3 needs to be accountable for reducing fandom racism in its internal culture and the archive

You've probably seen end-otw-racism in the last few days, trying to get people to support their efforts to get the AO3 to actually DO something about the racism problem that AO3 has admitted that it has. Here's their call to action post, with a brief summary of the problems and what they want people to do about it. Basically, there have been problems with racism at AO3 since the beginning, and they did acknowledge the problems in 2020 and promise to fix them, and haven't actually ... done most of the things they said they would. They have started to implement blocking and muting, which is good, because those are vital tools for fans of color to protect themselves from racist harassment, but they haven't updated their TOS or changed their Abuse policies or hired the diversity consultant they said they were going to. And that's a big problem. Among other things the original head of the Abuse team--the one who set it up and developed the policies and procedures still in use today!--was a noted racist who has since been banned from at least one convention and at least one fanwork exchange for making a lot of fans of color uncomfortable. This is not the only problem with a white supremacist culture in the organization, but it is emblematic of the larger issues with the organization's culture that have not been addressed. (That link is from 2020, but nothing substantial has changed since then, alas.) If you think that the AO3 is fine, and people are overstating things, I really encourage you to go read that post and the links in it. And then go read these tweet threads about what the state of things at AO3 is now. Maybe also go read Stitch's excellent essays on racism in fandom (and remember that people have tried to destroy her life--get her fired and get her on terrorist watch lists--for writing them). What sorts of things does end-otw-racism want? Basic stuff that AO3 should already be doing. For example, people should not be allowed to harass people through AO3 using trolling fanworks, harassing tags, and comments. Yet when people use these parts of AO3 infrastructure to harass people of color and create a hostile environment for them, AO3 Abuse says there's nothing they can do and it doesn't count as harassment under the site's TOS. end-otw-racism is not calling for censorship. They are calling for the OTW to realize that AO3 currently has a Nazi Bar Problem. You cannot have a safe that is safe for both nazis and people of color. If you try, the nazis will harass and drive out the people of color. Tolerance is not a moral principle, it is a peace treaty; if one side does not abide by it, asking the other side to abide by it is asking them to lay down and accept their abuse. And free speech is incredibly important, but it has limits; and those limits are where you are using speech to harass people and incite violence, which some people are using AO3 to do! I hope that you will all support end-otw-racism in calling for the AO3 to fulfill its promises and address the issues in question, and I hope the AO3 will listen. comments Comment? https://ift.tt/4BR98XN

#dreamwidth #original post

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adhd-fandom-hyperfocus · 2 months ago

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Secret Box

Sorry no fancy formatting or anything here. I got sudden inspired to write this from an anon @moodymisty got Tagging @kit-williams because I know Mr. Turbo is her man Warnings: Hints of NSFW stuff at the very end. Sorry if Turbo sounds ooc I haven't written him at all before so be kind. Also, did not proofread this. MINOR DNI

"Oh I don't know, I would be unhappy too if all I had to was tear things down and war. Maybe he wants to something else?"

"What do you mean? He seems quite happy breaking things."

He watched you frown so deeply, "My little bother was like that, everyone thought he like being mad. Just did not know how to convey his feelings, and felt like he had to stay under father's thumb. But he really just wanted to be an artist. I loved his art!"

"I didn't know you had a brother, where is he?"

"Dead. Died angry and lonely because father wanted a soldier."

His furious hearts stopped in his chest. You saw him. You did not realize it, but you did. It scared him, mad him want to rage and break you. It made him want to keep you close. Show you those things he wanted to forget.

***

"What in the Emperor's name is that?"

"Oh one of those puzzle boxes, some call them secret boxes because once you open them you can keep little important secrets in them!" your smile makes his head spin and his stomach lurch.

He wanted you to smile at him like that more. He needed you to talk to him about the silly little boxes.

"Why do you have so many? They seem pointless, we do not have anything to keep in them."

"Oh, I am far too stupid to open them, but I find them beautiful, each one looks different, opens differently, and all so complex, like people!"

***

Weeks he slaved over his workbench, keeping this secret to all, which was made easy when got the small chance to engage with you. Or most commonly, watch you interact with others, needed to make sure you didn't give his secrets away; at least he tried to convince himself of that.

You thought yourself stupid, but you figured him out in a way not even the damn Emperor himself could. What looked so simple was perhaps the most complex of all.

You wanted to see the art he could create that wasn't for war, how his mind could do if allowed to run free. Called his work art, like it was something to also marvel at.

The primarch looked over his newest creation, the small box was intricate in it's design, how he liked things. But it was what was inside that made his chest feel weak, and yet made him powerful all the same. The primarch of iron was feeling himself soften at the heat that had made a permanent home in his lower abdomen.

When he presented the box to you he did not say he made it, refused to. But as he explained his lie, the look you cast at him shocked him. You knew his bluff. Of course you did.

"Well, whoever made this is a true master! I have never seen something to beautiful before, thank you my lord," you smile up at him, letting him keep his pride and secret, "I know you are a busy man, but should you remember who made this could you be so kind to your serf and tell me?"

Prutabo grunted and nodded, "If I feel so inclined. Let me know if and when you open it."

***

Days and weeks pass and you keep him updated with your progress, he makes comments that hint he isn't too interested, after all someone of his genius would have opened it already. You agree, but you won't give up. You determination makes his hearts feel like they are in knots. How happy and joyful you are over his little toy. The fun you find in testing yourself only just to say you did it. The moments of you updating him live inside his dreams, where he is brave enough to hold your hand and smile back.

The crusade had called him away and like always it kept him longer than anyone else. While his brothers got to reap all the glory he was cleanup, or the brunt hammer to break wills. So of course when the Lord of Iron returned everyone scattered. Hid like cowards.

Not you. Even with him exuding even more of his dour demeanor you came running up to him. Puzzle box in hand.

"My Lord! I know you just returned, but I have been waiting for teran weeks for you to return." you were overflowing with excitement; practically vibrating with it.

It was like a disease that spread quickly, because as you spoke his ire cooled. You were happy he was home.

"Make it quick." though he hoped you took as long as you wanted.

"I am about to open the box, and I wanted to open it with you!" you grin up at him coming closer, "Exciting right?"

You...waited for him. Wanted to share in his happiness with...Throne he thought he was going to burst out of his armor and into flames.

"For someone who cannot easily solve things, I suppose. Well, open it." he grumbled, fighting to keep his mask on.

As you moved the last piece into place and opened the lid, a centerpiece rose up, and thereupon it was a metal sculpting of morning glories rising up and in bloom, the spun slowly as music played. And resting inside the main flower was a small ring, designed to look like vines holding a blooming rose the held a pink diamond.

Oh the look upon your face he would have waited lifetimes just to see it. It made this little box the greatest thing he would ever fashion.

"My Lord...I...forgive me, my words are failing." you whisper still marveling at the spinning flowers, "I love morning glories..."

Perturabo nodded, "I am aware. I do listen..." he wanted to know about the ring, wanted you to wear it.

Let everyone know you were his. That you wanted to be his.

Tears well up in your eyes as you so gingerly take the ring. Without needing to ask he gently holds the box so you might place it upon one of your fingers. He watches intently as you try various fingers before putting it upon your ring finger.

"My..."

"Perturabo. You can call me by my name...should you wish to continue to wear that ring." he spoke so very softly for himself.

Thorne, he needed you to keep it on.

"I will, Perturabo," you say his name to see how it rolls off your tongue and it sounds like heaven to him.

When this crusade is over he will fill this place with sounds of your and his children, and he will cast off all this cold machinery for things that truly mattered to him. Being a toy maker in one's spare time wasn't such a foolish notion. He would not die like your brother, and leave you alone.

"Are you sure you want...I mean... I am a serf, people will talk and I do not want to tarnish your name." you whisper to him, eyes fixed on the ring.

"They would be foolish to speak of it where I can hear." was all he offered.

Your small hands slip over his covered in his massive gauntlets, and he was trembling to get this armor off.

"My Lady, if it pleases you," his voice low and he leaned in close so no other could hear, "I wish to remove this armor, if you would wait for me in my chambers..." he couldn't believe he was doing this! Smoothness and words were not his strong points, but for you, he would try, "There is a puzzle I would like to get to know intimately, work with my hands, would you be willing?"

His face burned as he waited what felt like eons for you to reply. Was this all too much too fast? Was he being a fool?

You take the music puzzle box from him and when you pull back you are smiling with cheeks as flushed as his, "I would love that. Now go before your men see you this shade of red and not yelling. I do not want to ruin your reputation." you tease

Perturabo smiled, "You, I will allow to ruin me." he said before tearing off to get this damn armor off.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #perturabo #amon writes

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trippinsorrows · 3 months ago

Text

ltye + 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 oneshot

authors note: the wonderful @callmekayd asked about roman's conversation with fetu where he called solana his light, so i figured, why not write it?

only gonna tag a couple of people, cause i'll link this with the next update.

gif belongs to @romanreigns

words: 2.3k

warnings: some angst, discussion of solana's trauma

“You’re quiet, tonight.”

Roman looks over from the bottle of corona he was spinning in a circle on the wooden dining room table. “Am I?”

Fetu chuckles, snatching the bottle from him. “Smartass.” She pops off the cap and takes a swig, Roman sitting up in the chair.

“Should you be drinking that with your medications?”

“Probably not.” She answers so casually, so nonchalantly. It makes him sigh. This is what Ava was talking about. “But, I’m old, so I do what I want. Now stop trying to change the subject.” Placing the cap back on the drink she’s now commandeered as her own, she asks again in a more serious tone. “What’s going on, atalii o le uso?”

That’s such a loaded question, so much so that he’s not sure where to start. “Solana….”

“Your wife, right?” He nods, eyes glancing to the phone that’s screen up on the table. She hasn’t text him in a couple hours, which could either be a good or bad thing. He’s not sure. “How is that going? I know you weren’t very happy about it the last time I saw you.”

Roman is the one to chuckle. It’s almost unreal how much his tune has changed since his last visit with his aunt where he essentially expressed both disinterest and acceptance with the arrangement.

“Yes, it’s about her, but….not in the way you think.”

When he doesn’t say anything, Fetu impatiently implores, “well, would you hurry up, boy? I may be old, but I still need my beauty sleep.”

Rolling his eyes, Roman shakes his head, growing quiet, muddled thoughts floating into something less disorganized and more cohesive. “She’’s—she’s not what I thought she would be.”

At that, Fetu asks, “Oh?” She offers a warm smile. “Tell me.”

Another loaded request he’s not sure how to handle. Roman swallows. “She’s…..kind.”

Fetu snorts, again grabbing the beer he really should try to take from her and would if not for the fact she’d probably bust it over his head in the process. “Well, they say opposites attract.” Roman rolls his eyes. Granted, she’s not entirely wrong, hence why he offers no disagreement. “What else?”

Leaning back in the chair, Roman tries to think of the best way to describe her. To describe the last person on earth he ever expected to care about but has done just that. “I’ve…..I’ve never met anyone like her. She has a big heart, and she’s so innocent. Despite being raised in this life, surviving hell, she still….she still has this softness about her.”

Fetu hums, reminding him, “not everyone in this world is cruel and unkind, Roman. There are very much good people, and it sounds like you’ve maybe been lucky enough to land one of them as a partner.”

He nods, quietly admitting. “I have.” Roman traces his finger over the imperfections of the wooden table. “But, she’s had a lot of trauma. It’s been….not the easiest to get to where we are.” He takes a deep breath, disclosing, “we haven’t even consummated the marriage yet.”

Fetu’s eyes widen a bit as she asks, truly out of genuine curiosity, “wasn’t that the point of the marriage? To create an heir?”

“She was gang raped as a child,” Roman informs in a low voice, only feeling comfortable sharing such sensitive information because he knows it will never leave this room. “So touch is….it’s hard for her. She asked to work up to intimacy, so we’re trying that.”

“Oh, that poor child.” Fetu’s expression is visibly disturbed and saddened. “Sick fucks.” Roman doesn’t say anything, but the murderous urges boiling underneath are something he has to push back down. In due time. “Wait. Don’t take this as me agreeing with that bullshit requirement, but if she wasn’t a virgin, how did the Elders approve of the marriage? It obviously wasn’t her fault, but we both know how they are. Traditionalist pricks.”

If not for the nature of the conversation, Roman would laugh. “Her father had the doctor lie on her medical report. It stated she was still a virgin.” Roman feels the need almost to defend, “wouldn’t have made a difference to me either way. You know this.”

“It better not. I didn’t raise you to be a hypocrite.” Fair. “Wait, her father did that?”

That actually makes Roman chuckle, but there’s no humor whatsoever. “That’s why I’m here.” Hand naturally forming into a fist, he continues to share information he would never share with anyone else. “Her mother was stabbed to death when she was ten. Solana was there and stabbed too, but she survived.” His jaw clenches. “Her father and brother are both pieces of shit who used to abuse and torture her.”

Fetu is visibly perturbed by the heavy details. “My God, that girl has been through hell.”

“I know.” It doesn’t make sense to Roman how with everything she’s experienced, she still stands, still keeps going, keeps fighting. “But, she’s made tremendous progress since leaving her family. I made her start training, and I think it’s helped a lot. She’s made good friends with Naomi and her friend Bayley. Solana is half Mexican, and Bayley is Mexican, so they seem to bond a lot over that.” And he's happy she has that. Glad she has people she can talk to and connect with. “She’s……happy now.”

Better.

Much better.

Fetu tilts her head to the side. “Something tells me there’s a but.”

There is. A major one. Roman releasing a heavy sigh and running his hand over his face. “I found out her father was behind the hit that killed her mother and was intended to kill Solana too, but she survived. And when he couldn’t afford to pay off the balance, he sold Solana’s virginity and had it set up like a home invasion.”

Fetu says something in Samoan, her own expression slipping into something angry. “What a fucking piece of shit. His own wife? His child?” She asks, an almost demanding element to her question. “You’re going to kill him, right?” Like it’s less of a request and more of an order.

“Of course.” That’s a no brainer. Roman’s new number one mission in this life is to see Xavier, his bitch ass son, and Solana’s rapists meet gruesome, painful deaths. And he’ll be sure to see it through. “But, I don’t—I don’t know if I should tell her. “ He quickly adds, “but, I don’t want to lie to her either. I promised her I’d never do that.”

Fetu nods, her lips pressed together in a sort of frown. “I see…..”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he admits in a low voice. “I don’t—I can’t see her hurt.”

“Roman….” Fetu’s voice takes on that gentle tone that’s always been comforting to Roman. That, for a long time, before Solana, was the only source of comfort he truly could find in this life. “It’s obvious you lo—care for this girl.” She catches herself. In his own timing. “But, the truth is, there is no way around her being hurt by this.” Roman looks away, jaw clenched, clearly not wanting or liking what he’s hearing. As expected. “She’s going to be devastated. As would anyone to find out their own flesh and blood, let alone a parent, could be so evil.”

“She’s tried to kill herself when she was younger.” Recalling this specific piece is by far the hardest part. Just thinking about the medical report he read detailing the emotional aftermath Solana’s attempt. How distraught she was. “I just—I just don’t want to be the cause that pushes her over the edge.”

Fetu reaches over the table, placing her hand on top of his. “It wouldn’t be because of you.”

He shakes his head. “Yes, it would. Either because of what I tell her or I don’t tell her, and she finds out some other sort of way.”

“Is there a way she could find out?”

Roman has to think about it. One of the first things he did was cut off contact between Solana and her family. For the mere fact he knows Xavier is up to something, wants something out of Roman’s marriage to Solana. Roman knew that he would try to use her, and just from what he saw at the outset of this whole thing, he knew the last thing she needed was to be dragged into some type of wicked plan.

Xavier has no way to contact her, and he’s not stupid enough to show up or send his dumbass son to her job.

He knows it’d be walking into a deathtrap. So, no, it seems like there’s no chance for this information to ever get out and arrive at Solana’s doorstep.

But……there’s still a chance.

“I don’t know,” is the answer Roman settles on. ‘But, I can’t—I won’t do anything I think could hurt her, and this…..this will do more than hurt her.”

It could destroy her. Destroy all the progress she’s made. Regress her so far back that he’s not sure she’d be able to recover.

And he can’t have that.

“I think she deserves to know the truth. It was her mother. Her assault. She has a right to know.” Roman doesn’t disagree with that. “But, I’m also thinking about everything you’ve told me regarding her mental health, and I guess my concern is what that truth could do to her. If she could handle it.”

And that’s exactly what his fear is.

Roman’s voice is full of vulnerability that he could never show outside of this safe space. “I don’t think I could handle seeing her the way she used to be. I—I care about her too much to do that to her.”

“I understand.” Because she does. Oh, she does. And if not for the heavy nature of this conversation, she’d be more expressive at the joy bubbling beneath the surface. Her elation at finally having years worth of prayers answered. At having comfort in knowing her sweet boy has finally found his person. His soulmate. “Your intentions are good, Roman, and I can’t tell you what to do, though something tells me that’s what you’d prefer.”

He scoffs, shaking his head and admitting, “I just needed to talk to someone.”

That much was obvious. She continues, advising, “what I can tell you is to just continue to support and be there for her, because when she does find out, whether from you or some other means, she’s going to need you, son.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, sitting on his aunt’s wisdom. She’s right. This truly is the depiction of being stuck between a rock and a hard place, but for the sake of Solana’s mental health, it’s not in her best interest to know the truth.

He’ll tell her.

But only when the time is right.

Fetu, however, has a question of her own. “I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Roman sits up and sighs, “I’m always honest with you, uso o le tinā.”

“Because you know, even with how big and strong you’ve gotten, I’ll still whoop your ass, little boy.” She’s pleased to see the small smile that accompanies his eye roll, a brief glimpse of that young child she once knew so long ago appearing for the first time in a long time. And she’s pretty sure she can bet just what’s brought that dormant side out of him.

Or who.

Her voice is gentle. “If you knew then what you know now about Solana, would you have still agreed to marry her?”

It’s a valid question.

It’s also something he doesn’t have to think about.

“Yes.” Fetu smiles. Knowing. Confirmation. “I wouldn’t change anything.” It’s the easiest thing his aunt could ever ask him. It requires no thought. No contemplation. Just an automatic response. “Solana is…..she’s my light.”

Her heart swells, and she finds herself with unshed tears. There’s this invisible weight that’s suddenly lifted off her soul. A worry that’s been destroyed by one woman. One strong woman who’s managed to capture the heart of her sweet boy.

Even if he hasn’t realized it just yet.

“Well, she’s obviously a strong woman to survive all she has, and she must be to deal with you.” She flicks his hand, pulling back and asking, “let me see a picture of her.”

Roman grabs his phone, unlocking it and opening his photos album. Hitting the favorites folder, he selects one of the photos taken of Solana the night she went out with Bayley and Naomi for Cinco de Mayo.

Reaching the phone to his aunt, he watches her slide her glasses over her eyes, mouth ajar just a bit. “Oh my goodness, she’s beautiful! Too pretty for you.” Roman smiles. “You know if my tits still sat nice like that, I’d wear stuff like that too.”

And just like that, a scowl is on Roman’s face. That was the last visual he needed. Ever.

Taking his phone, Fetu implores, “I want to meet her, Roman.” He stills, hitting the lock button after checking for any texts from Solana. “It’s bad enough I can’t have gentleman callers or anyone else come see me. The least I can do is meet your wife.” It’s a fair request, though something he’s unsure about. “I’m tired of seeing your big ears and Ava’s massive forehead all the time. Bring Solana here.”

This request, however, is not the easiest thing. He doesn’t have an answer for her right now. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” she warns. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Roman tenses at that. He hates when she jokes like that.

He stands up, walking over and kneeling in front of her. “Thank you.”

Fetu smiles warmly, reaching over to kiss his forehead. “Ou te alofa ia te oe”.

He doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate. “Oute alofa fo'i ia oe”

-------

Translations:

"atalii o le uso" = nephew

"uso o le tinā" = aunt

“Ou te alofa ia te oe”. = I love you.

“Oute alofa fo'i ia oe” = I love you too.

#roman reigns oneshot #ltye things #arisnotebook

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wondernus · 2 years ago

Text

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement.

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce.

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm.

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

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