#most of these are cursed and you know what? i like it that way

[sunboki]

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying. 

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes. 

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right. 

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh. 

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

.

.

.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling. 

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips. 

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh. 

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently. 

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it. 

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes. 

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with. 

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook. 

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation. 

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man? 

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected. 

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process. 

That isn’t new. 

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard. 

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You. 

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from. 

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts. 

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too. 

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.   

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved. 

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah. 

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.  

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering. 

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive. 

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever. 

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps. 

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date. 

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No. 

Enough. 

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

.

.

.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right. 

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily. 

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz. 

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his. 

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted. 

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t. 

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind. 

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression. 

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack. 

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now? 

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior. 

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds. 

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd. 

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable. 

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes. 

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?” 

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite. 

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

.

.

.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh. 

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.” 

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!” 

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes. 

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes. 

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest. 

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them. 

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining. 

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time. 

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful. 

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness. 

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face. 

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes. 

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager. 

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior. 

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

.

.

.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks. 

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you. 

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion. 

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar. 

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt. 

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life. 

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated. 

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting. 

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected. 

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder. 

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

.

.

.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response. 

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler. 

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week. 

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.  

Is he that hero? 

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man. 

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics. 

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness. 

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering. 

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath. 

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath. 

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that. 

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[kawhh]

I'm having the worst feral!Quinn brainrot. Actually the worst. I've been thinking about it all day.

This really isn't the best, but I've been trying to write it for about 8 hours. I had 2 lines written for most of that time.

Warnings: bondage, threats in his head, it's technically sort of tame for me.

Waiting until he's exhausted from a brutal round of games, in such a deep sleep that he doesn't realise that you aren't asleep in the bed with him. Aren't curled around him like you should be.

He doesn't even react when you trail your fingers down his forearms, how you wrap your hands around his wrists, squeezing them softly, feeling how strong they are. Giving yourself time to back out of your plan, knowing how mad he'll be.. you're not going to be able to walk for a week.

You can't resist the temptation of making him snap. He's been holding himself back recently, hasn't had that little extra edge. A little too soft with you, like you're suddenly too fragile.

Digging his nails into your skin like he's going to give you more, to fully get what he needs, what you want, only to retreat. Over and over again, night after night. It's fucking maddening. The threat of him being even rougher with you could make you cum on it's own, it's like he's edging you both for no reason.

You've had enough of it. You don't care what happens after. You don't care if he's mad, if he's upset, if he fucks you until you think you'll die.

You just need him to stop holding back, to stop holding back that part of him. If he thinks he'll scare you, he won't. If he thinks you'll run, you won't. You need him to be able to be fully himself. You crave it.

You'd been waiting until he was over yours.. it's much easier to restrain him to your headboard. Just tying his wrists together wouldn't be enough, you know he'd find a way to control the situation. To turn it around on you before you can make him see sense.

You brush away the faint feelings of worry as you wrap the smooth silk around his wrists, slowing down as he stirs slightly when you go to lift them higher, sharply inhaling. Waiting until he relaxes before you guide them up, securing them around the bars of your headboard, hoping the knots you researched online held strong.

Needing to be smart about it, making sure you're far enough away from him that he can't touch you, can't get near. You'd sit on his lap but you don't trust him to not ruin your plan with his legs. Don't trust him to not wrap them around you, forcing you down on his cock.

You don't have to wait long before he starts to stir again, his brows furrowing as he slowly starts to tug his wrists in confusion. Eyes snapping open when he realises he can't move them, head tilted back, glaring at the offending silk.

"Sweetheart.. what the fuck."

He's yanking harder at the silk, trying to free himself. Glaring daggers at you, a hint at the hidden feral feelings brewing in his eyes, making you even more confident in your decisions.

"Sweetheart, if you don't let me go, we're going to have a fucking problem."

He's throwing as much of his weight into his tugs as he can, lifting off the bed slightly with the force, sweat forming on his forehead from the effort, hair sticking to the moisture, making him look more deranged. Growling and cursing, maintaining eye contact with you as you sit there in silence, letting him brew.

Pausing when you reach out to grab the waistband of his sweatpants, watching you silently as you drag them down enough for you to be able to palm his cock. He doesn't react, just glares at you harder, looking like he wants to murder you with his own hands as you tease him.

"Sweetheart. This is your last. Fucking. Warning."

You can't resist rushing, not used to having this much control over him, the power going slightly to your head, making you less cautious. Sliding your hand into his boxers, tracing the veins of his cock with your fingers, gliding them up until they reach just under the head, rubbing small circles into him, watching as he starts trying to free himself again, only forcing you to tighten your grip on him.

The strangled moan he lets out, digging his teeth into his lip to hide how much you're working him up. Cursing as he throws his head back in frustration, planning on how he's going to get back at you while your hand speeds up, your little wrist twists making him grit his teeth in anger.

He'll make you regret this if it's the last thing he does. He can't wait to make you cry, to make you plead, to make you beg for his forgiveness. To restrain your arms.. your legs.. your waist. Whatever you do to him, he's giving back. You'd look so fucking cute and pathetic with a plug in your ass. Not being able to move a single inch while he fucks you. Vibrator on your clit. You'll deserve it all and more for being such a fucking brat.

He's trying his best to keep up the glare, his knuckles turning white with how hard he's clenching his hands, losing control of his body when you speed up. He hates how you know exactly how to touch him. How you know the exact pressure he needs. Hates how you're not giving in under his glare, knowing how weak and submissive you usually act the minute he's displeased.

He doesn't miss the slight smirk on your face when he can't hold back any more, cumming all over your hand. Every little action adding a tally mark. He's not missing one. He needs to know exactly how bad to punish his girl. How many lines he needs to write on your ass.

You're wiping his cum against his boxers, not even giving him the satisfaction of seeing it on you, crawling off the bed nervously. Watching as he thrashes around on the bed, the look in his eyes as you walk towards the door almost making you reconsider what you've done. The urge you have to already beg for his forgiveness, to give him anything he wants to ignore this. But you can't.

You know that whenever he breaks out from the restraints - you can already see the fabric fraying, it'll be worth it. You'll be ready to have him. To fully experience Quinn Hughes.

[joudeq]

sukuna x reader

~ strong enough

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sukuna x concubine!reader

tags - oneshot / fluffy sukuna / true form sukuna / x reader / no smut just SICKENING angst and fluff also a kiss at the end

a/n - uh for those of you who saw my deleted fic haha no u didnt (i got nervous)

context - hes been ignoring you for weeks, focusing most of his attention onto his other concubines

------------------------------------------------------

The air is electric, charged with the weight of Sukuna’s presence as he stands before you, his silhouette sharp and commanding under the dim light. His usual arrogance clings to him like a second skin—the way he holds himself, the tilt of his head, the slight curl of his lips that speaks of unchecked power. But there’s something in the way his crimson eyes rest on you tonight. They’re unreadable, and yet, their intensity makes it impossible to look away.

He doesn’t speak immediately. He lets the silence stretch, lets it coil around you both like a predator toying with its prey. When he finally breaks it, his voice is smooth, deep, and cold enough to cut stone. “You know, this is beneath me,” he says, his tone casual, almost bored. But there’s a weight behind it, an edge that suggests something far more serious.

His eyes flicker, just briefly, to your expression, as if gauging your reaction without making it obvious. Then he steps closer, and the space between you seems to shrink under the gravity of his presence. “But I’m here, aren’t I?” he continues, his words measured, calculated. “If that doesn’t tell you enough, maybe you don’t deserve the effort.”

He doesn’t bother to explain himself, doesn’t offer any justification for the rare sight of him lowering himself to address you like this. But the unspoken hangs heavy between you—the memories of the lengths he’s gone for you, the blood he’s spilled, the way his wrath has spared no one except you.

“You can sulk, you can rage,” he says, his tone sharper now, though his expression remains unreadable. “But don’t think for a second you’ll find someone else who would dare cross me the way you have and live to tell about it.”

Sukuna takes a step back, crossing his arms, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as they lock onto yours. There’s no apology in his words—none that he’ll admit to, at least. But in the tautness of his jaw, in the way he hasn’t left, in the sheer fact that the King of Curses is even acknowledging your ire, there’s a silent message he won’t say aloud.

For a moment, his eyes flicker with something close to frustration, a brief slip that he quickly hides. He crosses his arms, his gaze narrowing in irritation. But there’s an unspoken hesitation in the way he waits for you to respond. His usual impenetrable mask falters slightly, and for a brief second, you catch the faintest glimmer of something… almost vulnerable.

“Tell me,” he suddenly asks, his tone harder now, but there’s an edge of something more petty buried in the words, like a child not getting their way. “What exactly did I do wrong? What’s so unforgivable that I’m here, standing like a fool?” His voice has taken on an unexpected, almost whiny quality toward the end, like he’s trying to hold onto his dignity but can’t quite keep the frustration from seeping through.

His arms drop to his sides, the tension in his posture increasing, his eyes burning into yours, as if daring you to offer an answer that would let him off the hook. But even though he’s trying to maintain his usual cold exterior, his patience is wearing thin, and the subtle flicker of his irritation becomes clearer. He won’t admit it outright, but for once, Sukuna seems to care—at least, enough to make this effort.

You know Sukuna better than most, don't you? You've seen glimpses behind that arrogant facade, the rare moments when he lets his guard down. And maybe, just maybe, that's why you're angry now. Because he's shown you enough to make you crave more, to make you believe that there's something real beneath all the cruelty and sadism.

But he's still Sukuna, the relentless, ruthless force of nature. And he's standing here now, awaiting your response, his patience wearing thin.

So you put him out of his misery.

"You want to know what you did wrong?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly but never losing that underlying strength. "You betrayed me, Sukuna. You betrayed my trust, my feelings..." Your voice cracks, just a little, but you push on. "You treated me like a toy, a plaything, something for you to use and discard as you saw fit."

You step closer, until you're standing right in front of him, your body almost brushing against his. You have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact, but you don't back down. "I'm not just your favorite concubine, Sukuna. I'm not a prize to be won or a possession to be claimed." Your voice is low, intense, filled with a raw, honest emotion that even Sukuna can't ignore.

"And this..." You gesture around at the opulent room, the lavish mansion that surrounds you both. "This isn't enough! Throwing money at a problem doesn't make it go away."

His eyes narrow as the concubine speaks, a muscle in his jaw twitching slightly at the raw emotion in your voice. He listens, really listens, in a way that's rare for the man who sees most people as beneath him. When you finish, he's silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"You think I don't know that?" he asks finally, his voice low and rough with an emotion he rarely allows himself to feel. "You think I don't see the way you look at me, like I'm a monster, a beast that can't be tamed?" He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the single tear that escapes down your soft skin.

Sukuna's eyes search yours, his gaze intense and consuming. "I'm not a good man, angel. I've done things, terrible things, that you can't even begin to imagine." His voice is low, almost a whisper, and there's a hint of something almost like vulnerability in his tone. "But with you... with you, it's different."

His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, cradling your face in his large hands.

"I'm... I apologise, my dear. I was merely trying to protect you from myself."

You lean into his touch, despite your anger and hurt, finding a strange comfort in the warmth of his palms against your cheeks. You look up at him, your faces close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Protect me?" you ask softly, a hint of a sad, incredulous laugh in your voice. "By keeping me in the dark, by shutting me out and pushing me away?" You shake your head slightly, your hair brushing against his hands. "That's not protection, Sukuna. That's fear."

You reach up, your small hands covering his larger ones on your cheeks. You could pull them away, could push him back, but your doesn't. Instead, you hold them there, anchoring yourself to the man you've come to love.

Sukuna's eyes flicker with a complexity of emotions he rarely allows himself to feel. His grip on your cheeks tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place as he grapples with your words. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, like he's forcing the words out through a clenched throat.

"You think you're ready? You think you can handle the darkness that follows me like a shadow?" There's a harsh edge to his tone, a challenge, but beneath it, a flicker of something almost like fear. Fear of your rejection, of losing the one person who sees beyond the monster to the man beneath.

His thumbs brush over the soft skin of your cheeks, a gesture almost reverent in its gentleness. "I've seen the world burn, angel. I've watched innocent lives be torn apart, all for the sick amusement of lesser beings than myself." His jaw clenches, his eyes hardening at the memories.

"But with you... with you, it's different." He leans in closer, until your foreheads are almost touching, until you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips as he speaks again. "You make me want to be better, to try to be worthy of the faith you have in me." He closes his eyes, just for a moment, a rare show of vulnerability. "But I don't know if I can be, beautiful. I don't know if I'm strong enough to protect you from the darkness in me."

Your heart races as he leans in closer, his words sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the turmoil swirling in his crimson eyes. It would be easy to get lost in those eyes, to let them consume you, but you know you have to stay strong. For both of them.

You reach up, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the small scar just below his eye. It's a gesture of comfort, of understanding, and perhaps a silent promise. Your voice is soft but filled with conviction as you speak.

"Sukuna, listen to me. I'm not asking you to be perfect." You take a deep breath, your eyes never leaving his. "I'm asking you to be honest, to trust me with the truth of who you are. The good, the bad, and everything in between." You lean in closer, until your lips are a mere breath away from his.

"I love you, Sukuna. All of you."

Sukuna's eyes widen almost imperceptibly at your words, a flicker of something raw and unguarded passing over his face. He's not used to such open, unconditional acceptance. In a world of fear and hatred, your love is a foreign language, one he's struggling to understand but desperate to learn.

He squeezes your hand, his calloused fingers engulfing your softer ones, as if trying to anchor himself to you in the storm of emotions you've stirred up. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, but there's a new softness to it, a gentleness he's never allowed himself to express before.

"I... I love you too, angel." The words feel foreign on his tongue, clumsy and awkward, but no less true for their awkwardness. "I don't know if I deserve it, but... I'm going to try. I'll try to be the man you think I can be." He leans in, closing the scant distance between them to capture your lips in a kiss that's filled with all the pent-up passion and longing he's kept hidden for so long.

As he kisses you, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his hard, muscular body. He pours everything he's feeling into that kiss - his fear, his love, his desperate hope for a future he never dared to dream of before. And he knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that no matter what challenges lie ahead, they'll face them together.

Because in the end, it's not about being perfect. It's about being strong enough to love, flaws and all. And Sukuna, for the first time in his long, bloody life, feels like he might just be strong enough for that.

Strong enough for you.

[dismalflo]

hiii! love your poly! marauders fic, love how you write them

i wanted to request a poly! marauders x reader where the r gets into an argument with their family and the boys comfort r? or anything else poly!marauders

ily

hi anon! hope you enjoy!! <3 i liked writing this one but struggled a little bit with the ending.

poly!marauders x reader who has a frustrating call with their mother ✩ 1k words

cw: modern au, hurt/comfort, reader has a complicated relationship with their mum

The boys are exactly as they were when you left to answer your phone. James and Sirius are a tangle of limbs, giggling and curled up on the big sofa, their laughter filling the air. Remus sits on the loveseat, scrolling through the movie catalog on the TV, your blanket draped over his lap, waiting for your return.

“Everything alright, poppet?” Sirius asks, concern flickering in his eyes. You hate that it’s Sirius who asks—if anyone understands a difficult family, even if this isn't the same, it’s him. He seems to see straight through you.

“Yeah, all good, Siri,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes as you sit down beside Remus. You tuck your legs underneath you, a stiffness in your posture that betrays you. You think you’ve managed to avoid the conversation, convinced you won’t have to talk about your mum and the hurtful things she said.

You miss the way the boys are exchanging looks with each other, able to read you like a book. They're having a conversation made up entirely of facial expressions. They’re all looking at you with concern, even as you focus on the TV, biting your lip, lost in thought.

It’s Remus who breaks the quiet. “Stop biting your lip, dovey,” he murmurs gently. “You’ll make yourself bleed.” He takes a breath, as if steeling himself. “What was that about?”

You sigh, your gaze falling to your lap as you absently twist your fingers together. “Oh, it was just my parents asking me to visit,” you mumble, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You look so sad though, gorgeous” it's James' heartbroken tone that makes your head snap up. 

His expression is equally as sad as his tone, it makes your heart squeeze. When you make eye contact with the boy, you flush and you know you're caught.

“Well she asked me to come home and i was trying to explain that I couldn't just drop everything i have going on here but i would when I can” you pause for a breath, “she just kept interrupting and the she… she”

The words get stuck in your throat as tears fill your eyes, you look at each boy and see they're all sat at attention now, looking doubly concerned for you. Remus moves his hand to sweep over your back in soothing motions, encouraging you to keep talking. 

“She called me a useless disappointment,” you whisper, voice cracking. “She said she didn’t know what happened to me, where she went so wrong.” The tears are flowing freely now, and you can’t stop them.

There's a sharp breath from Remus next to you, as if he's feeling your pain for you, before he pulls you into his chest, his arms circling around you protectively. James is quick to follow his lead, sitting next to you both and stroking your leg soothingly.

“Well, fuck her,” Sirius says, standing abruptly, his voice low but fiery. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Sirius…” James hisses, his expression warning. He knows you don’t want to hear curses aimed at your mother.

Sirius immediately softens, crouching down in front of you. “Sorry, doll,” he says, his voice gentler now. “What I mean is… you’re the most incredible person I– any of us have met. If she doesn’t see that, it’s her loss.”

You swallow thickly, still feeling the sting of the words. But as you meet Sirius’ eyes, something in you starts to soften. His words are genuine, no hint of sarcasm or condescension—just the truth, and that makes your heart ache in a way you're not quite prepared for.

“That's what you all think?” you ask.

"Of course," Remus says softly, pulling you just a little closer in his arms, "you’re everything we could ever ask for, dove."

James’ hand finds yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You are not a disappointment," he says firmly, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’re perfect.”

The warmth of their words wraps around you like a soft, comforting blanket, but the ache still lingers in your chest. You swallow hard, trying to push the lump in your throat away, but it’s a losing battle.

“You really mean that?” Your voice comes out small, unsure, as though you need their validation more than you care to admit.

James’s grip on your hand tightens, a reassuring pressure that makes you feel anchored in the moment. He’s looking at you with that soft, earnest look and his eyes are filled with astounding sincerity.

"Absolutely," he affirms, his voice steady.

Sirius is still crouched in front of you, his face a mix of concern and something fiercer, something protective. He lifts a hand, reaching out to cup your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that have continued to fall. "She’s wrong, doll." he sounds desperate now, “I promise you, she's wrong.”

You let out a shaky breath, and for the first time since the call, you find yourself able to smile—small, but genuine. It feels like a relief.

"Thank you," you whisper, voice trembling but grateful.

 Sirius smiles softly at you, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "Anytime, doll.”

The ache in your chest starts to fade as you take in the soft smiles of the three of them, their eyes all focused solely on you. You let out a long, steadying breath and snuggle closer to Remus, who gives you a reassuring squeeze.

When Sirius moves, ready to go back to the big sofa, confident that you’re well taken care of, you reach out to stop him, a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Can we all sit together? Just for a bit?” you ask, your voice a little bashful, a touch of insecurity creeping in.

Sirius smiles that soft, affectionate smile of his. “Of course we can, poppet.” Without missing a beat, he plops down into James’s lap. James huffs in mock exasperation, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

The quiet of the living room, cuddled up with the boys, feels safe. And for the first time since the start of that call, you allow yourself to relax, to lean into them, and let the weight of the world drift away, if only for a moment.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! i appreciate any feedback <3

[milessunflowers]

Wow. Criminal law seems really hard. And to me, you seem magic. I can't cram, I actually need spaced out revision, it's a curse I tell you.

But anyway! May I humbly request a smau with Max Verstappen and male!snowboarder!reader who's won like a bunch of medals and trophies in multiple snowboarding categories and even a couple skiing ones just for fun (like he has a whole room full of them because there's so many and most of them are high level competitions too). But. BUT. He's actually more invested in model building. Models of what you might ask. Everything, everything from trains to animals to Buckingham Palace to people and even to entire skylines. He's really good at it too, they're all very realistic. He's the type of person to be like "OMG!!!! Just finished my model of the New York skyline!!!! Isn't it so pretty? (And I have this gold medal from the Olympics.)"

Thank you!

i know nothing abt snowboarding so hopefully this is how you saw it!

max verstappen x male!snowboarder!reader

synopsis: you would think you would show off your gold medals to the world, but no. you showed off the models you made together with your boyfriend

author's note: as stated above i know like nothing abt snowboarding so i kind of just used the pictures and vague descriptions. for this i used a lot of pictures of lego builds bc i fuck so heavy with legos and they look so cool. hope that's okay! it isn't very long bc im still not the best at smaus but hopefully you like it!

yourusername

❤️ 75.7k 💬 55.4k ➣ 43.2k

liked by lego and others

yourusername guys guys guys guys guys. look at my legos!! aren't they so pretty

view all comments...

lego i think this guy likes legos ╰┈➤yourusername does this mean we're friends now?

user1 i forget he's literally an olympic gold medalist and not just some lego freak 😭 ❤️ liked by the author

user2 this is the same guy who is srsly incredible at snowboarding? the same guy who is dating max verstappen, four time world champion?? THE SAME GUY WHO HAS LIKE TWO GOLD MEDALS??? ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 three medals* ╰┈➤user2 my bad dawg 😭

user3 bro i need y/n's wallet ╰┈➤user4 max's* ╰┈➤youruser user4 nah he's my sugar baby maxverstappen1 ╰┈➤redbullracing can confirm

maxverstappen1 schatje, where are you going to put those? ╰┈➤yourusername i put more of your trophies in storage 😇 ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 wow. ╰┈➤user5 how many times has this happened ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 too many 😔

maxverstappen1

❤️ 127k 💬 1,287 ➣ 9,567

liked by yourusername and others

maxverstappen1 remember guys, he's a gold medalist and not an overgrown child

tagged yourusername

view all comments...

yourusername well i would hope im not a child that would be weird 🤨 ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 you're the worst 🤦🏼‍♂️ ╰┈➤yourusername but you love me 😘 ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 unfortunately 🫶🏻💙

oscarpiastri when can we build more legos yourusername ╰┈➤yourusername bring logansargeant and some food and we can build some today ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 seriously?? didn't they just come over?? ╰┈➤yourusername shh maxverstappen1 ╰┈➤logansargeant yeah maxverstappen1 shhh ╰┈➤oscarpiastri plus we're already on our way ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 i give up

user6 i love how y/n is best friends with oscar and logan

user7 if my relationship isn't like max and y/n's, i don't want it ╰┈➤user8 but that means you gotta get a bf first

user9 they're so cute together oml 🥹

yourusername posted a story

convinced maxverstappen1 to build legos with me 🥰

view all story replies...

oscarpiastri how much did it take? ➾yourusername three hours of playing on the sim with him 😔 ➾oscarpiastri good luck man 🫡 ➾yourusername ty 😔

lando holy fuck you actually did it ➾yourusername just as surprising to me

user10 LEGO DATE NIGHT!!!

user11 max is gonna have to make more room on his shelves

user12 stop this is so cute 🥹

maxverstappen1

❤️ 263k 💬 5,490 ➣ 3,421

liked by redbullracing

maxverstappen1 🏂

tagged yourusername

view all comments...

yourusername that's it?? just 🏂?? for our two year anniversary?? couch ╰┈➤user13 did we just witness max getting banished to the couch? ╰┈➤lando this has got to be worth fifteen lego sets ╰┈➤yourusername AT LEAST FIFTEEN ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 okay 😔

danielricciardo yeah bro, you're in the dog house now ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 help? ╰┈➤danielricciardo nah mate you're on your own

user14 max just gave up oml 😭 ╰┈➤user15 y/n's the same way omg ╰┈➤user16 they know when not to mess with their boyfriend 🤷‍♂️ ╰┈➤user17 they're just too cute

user18 user19 take notes ╰┈➤user19 yes ma'am

user20 oh max is cooked 😭 ❤️ like by yourusername ╰┈➤user21 NOT Y/N LIKKNG THIS

yourusername still love you tho 🫶🏻 ╰┈➤oscarpiastri wonder why 🤔 ╰┈➤yourusername i mean have you seen those thighs 😍😩 ╰┈➤maxverstappen1 love you too ╰┈➤lando yourusername stop being horny on main ╰┈➤yourusername lando stop being jealous of main ✋️🙄

TAGS! (if you want to be added lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton

[hees-mine]

THE HANDY MAN - L. HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, anal fingering, cursing, flirting.

WC: 2,750k

-

A ring on your doorbell prompts you to set the cup of tea you were drinking down on your living room coffee table.

For a moment, you squint your brows together, wondering who is at your door.

But it quickly came to you you had made an appointment last week for the leaky pipe under your sink to be fixed. It’s been bugging you for a while now, and you finally made time to get it repaired.

You turn down the volume of the TV series you are watching and hop off the couch.

Walking over to the door, you comb your fingers through your messy hair and straighten out your shorts and tank top to make yourself look presentable.

You unlocked the door and twisted the knob pulling it back and revealing a repair man in a navy blue jumpsuit and a toolbox in his left hand. “Hi!” You chirp, greeting him with a warm smile.

He nods, offering you a smile as well. “Hello, so I hear you have a pipe that needs fixing.”

“You heard right,” you laugh softly and unintentionally bite down on your bottom lip as you eye him up and down. You weren’t expecting him to be so young and look so good. Even in the unflattering work uniform, he was still extremely handsome.

“Well then, mam, you called the right place. I’ll do everything in my power to get that taken care of for you today,” he says while lifting his toolbox slightly.

You open the door wide enough to let him enter, and you close it shut behind him while he stands by, waiting for you to lead the way. “This way,” you mutter while walking to the kitchen and stopping at your sink.

You bent over, opening the cabinet doors, and moving around some pots and pans you had stored under there. “Sorry about the mess,” you grunt softly, shuffling everything to the side so he has ample space to work in.

“No worries, take your time,” he speaks up behind you, shamelessly staring at your ass that’s poked out right for his eyes to feast on. Maybe his mind was in the gutter, but if he’s not mistaken, you stayed down there just a little bit longer than you needed to allow him to stare even longer, but he’s definitely not complaining.

“There,” you huff, standing up and blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “It’s that one right there.” You turn on the faucet, pointing to the pipe, and he sees it immediately.

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely leaking, alright.” he laughs softly and crouches down, looking at the pipe. It looked to be old and probably cracked, from what he could tell, but for the most part, this would be an easy fix. The only real inconvenience would be that your water had to be shut off for a while. “But nothing I can’t take care of.” he reaches into his toolbox, grabbing his flashlight and tools, ready to get started.

“Great!” You say brightly. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

He nods as you walk back to the kitchen and resume your show.

He does his work fast and efficiently. It took him twenty minutes max, but what can he say? He’s been in the business five years, and not to brag, but he was the best in the company, serving more than hundreds of customers with top-tier service, and his reviews could confirm that. “So, what do you do for work?” He asks, making small talk as he wraps up the last bit.

“Lawyer,” you answer from across the room.

Your voice sounds muffled due to his head being under your cabinets, but he can still make out your response.

He stands up, careful not to hit his head on the way up, as he grabs a rag from his toolbox and wipes off his hands. “Nice, I like a girl with ambition” Before you could respond to the comment, he twisted the knob on the faucet running the water to check for any leaks, but obviously, there were none. “Good as new,” he smiles, completely glazing over his previous comment.

Upon hearing his words, you stood up, looking at his work. Even though you didn’t really know what to look for, all you cared about was that it was no longer leaking and you could use your sink like normal. “Very nice, thank you, handyman,” you say, your tone light and flirtatious. “Would you like a glass of water lemonade?”

“Lemonade sounds nice, thank you,” he smiles, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead.

And yeah, he definitely wasn’t mistaken earlier, judging by the way you literally were bent over in your fridge, ass in the air, and the arch in your back far too exaggerated to be just innocently grabbing your lemonade pitcher.

He tosses his towel aside with a smirk, leaning against your counter and biting on his lower lip as he waits for you to pour him a glass of lemonade.

Setting the pitcher on the countertop, you grab two glasses from your cupboard, filling both cups equally.

“Thanks.” he clicks his tongue, giving you a quick wink. He takes the cup in his hand, his fingers purposely brushing against yours. He gulps down the whole cup in one go, and you’re left with your mouth slightly agape as you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Well, everything should be good. If you have any questions or concerns about anything, here’s my card. Feel free to call whenever.”

“Will do -oh, your payment. I almost forgot.” You quickly sat up, went to a small drawer in your living room, and pulled out a box where some cash was stored. “How much was it?” You ask over your shoulder.

He leaned over the counter, tapping his chin in thought. “Hmm, let’s just say 50$”

“Only?” You ask, and he hums.

“Suit yourself.” You grab the fifty while he gathers his tools, heading over toward you.

“Here you go, thank you, heeseung.” You eye him seductively.

“My pleasure.” he reaches for the money, intentionally grabbing your hand, and your breath hitches softly.

He bites his lip, fingers brushing against yours. You both make eye contact silently, giving each other a knowing look, and there’s undeniable tension between the two of you.

Simultaneously, you both let go of the dollar bill, letting it fall onto the floor along with his toolbox and immediately, his hands grab at your waist, pulling you into his body, his lips barely an inch away from yours.

-

Read full story on my Patreon

[st3f13ily]

Sealed Knowledge

Summary: In where a new student transfers to Tokyo Jujutsu High. But what makes her special in Gojo's eyes is that he can't seem to figure out her curse technique.

Timeline: Teenage arc (2006)

Just for you to know: Its, Gojo's point of view. Part 2 of Click, Snap, Capture, Confessed. Flashback.

Next | Gojo Satoru Masterlist

The first time I saw you, I knew something was different.

Not just because you were a new student that those who came and went.

But because something about you didn’t add up.

You stood there in front of Yaga, your posture relaxed yet distant. Like you weren't entirely present, you weren't intimidated, which was already unusual. Most newbies, even second-years, got a little fidgety around me.

Your cursed energy was massive. Thick. Dense. But something was off. I could feel it, but I couldn’t read it. It was controlled, yet not. There, yet fleeting. A contradiction wrapped up in a single person.

I tilted my head, adjusting my sunglasses as I watched you introduce yourself to the us.

No hesitation. No nerves. Just a name, delivered without any mistakes.

Suguru, sitting beside me, hummed. "What do you think?"

"I think she’s hiding something," I replied, grinning. "And I don’t like not knowing things."

Suguru rolled his eyes. "Of course."

We watched as Yaga finished his introduction, his voice firm. "And one more thing—make sure to assist her with the curse tools, whenever you two are on a mission with her, she will only use those weapons, nothing else. Do you two understand?."

My eyes snapped back at you.

What does Yaga means by nothing else but those curse tools?

You didn’t react to Yaga’s words, didn’t flinch, didn’t show any sign of annoyance or pride. Just stood there, hands in your pockets, gaze neutral.

Suguru and I exchanged glances. He looked skeptical. I just grinned wider.

I pushed myself off the chair, stepping closer. "Gojo Satoru," I introduced, grinning. "So, what’s your deal? What’s your technique?"

Your lips parted slightly—almost like you were about to say something—but then, hesitation. You looked away. "I can’t say."

"You can’t?" This time, it was Suguru.

Yaga sighed. "It’s forbidden for now. Higher-ups' orders."

Now I want to know.

The rest of the day, I made it my mission to observe you. No obvious moves, just the usual Gojo Satoru antics. I got in your way, asked you ridiculous questions, and even attempted to provoke a reaction.

Nothing.

Other than provoking you, which worked. Nothing else seemed to slip out. It wasn’t like you were avoiding me, either. You interacted normally, kept up with sparring, and showed no hesitation in using cursed energy. But your technique? Still a mystery.

Hah.

Cute.

Days passed and I still watched you train. What is also a mystery to me is that my six eyes can see everything, but how come I can only feel your curse energy. Which by the way, powerful.

Hand-to-hand? Solid but not flashy. No overuse of cursed energy. No unnecessary movements.

Sparring? You were good, but never did anything impressive.

At first, I thought, Maybe you're just weak.

But you—oh, you were clever. Never slipped, never accidentally let anything show, never lost control.

So I decided to get close.

"You wanna grab food after class?" I asked you casually one afternoon, twirling my sunglasses in my fingers.

You barely glanced at me. "No, thanks."

Hah. Cute.

Shoko raised an eyebrow from the side. "Rejected, huh?"

"Not rejected," I smirked, stretching my arms behind my head. "Just the first step."

Geto sighed. "Satoru, leave her alone."

"As if."

For the next two weeks, I even tried using the camera.

But I guess I got a little overboard, using it. It wasn't only for spyin—observing, anymore. It became part of my routine, taking pictures of you, from every angle, every perfect time.

And that's where it ends up today.

[[Camera scene]]

"Gojo—"

"Say cheese!"

Click

The flashes went off.

You groaned.

I laughed.

Then you shoved me off. I didn't care, I was still looking at the new piece of memory that I made right now. But then I felt it.

Your curse energy, it's stronger than your usual one.

Your entire body tensed, eyes still widening when you jerked away from my touch like you had been burned. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, and your hand flew to your temple, fingers digging into your scalp.

A sickness?

No.

Something else.

I watched in fascination as your cursed energy flared—wild, unstable, overpowered. You turned to leave, staggering toward the door, your breath uneven. But before you could even take a step past the threshold, you froze.

Then, your knees buckled.

And I should’ve seen it coming.

Before I could react, you collapsed.

My reflexes kicked in instantly, and I caught you before you could hit the ground, one arm securing your waist, the other bracing your shoulder. Your body was trembling, heat radiating from your skin. Your breathing, shallow, weak.

Then, you went limp.

My heart skipped. For half a second.

Just half.

I thought I had killed you.

But then, a soft breath escaped your lips.

Alive. Just… unconscious.

Huh.

Now, this is interesting.

I adjusted you in my arms, cradling your weight effortlessly. Strands of your hair brushed against my collarbone, your head lolling slightly. I could still feel the remnants of your cursed energy, flickering erratically as if thrown out of balance.

My fingers tightened on your shoulder.

Then, the energy is coming off. Your curse energy is now back to normal, the same curse energy since you first came in here and introduced yourself.

A slow, intrigued grin curled my lips. "Oops,"

The door slammed open. "Gojo, what the he—" Suguru stopped mid-sentence, his gaze landing on the unconscious body in my arms. His brows furrowed. "What did you do?"

I blinked at him, feigning innocence. "Me? Nothing."

He didn’t buy it.

His eyes flickered between your face and the way I was holding you. "Did you knock her out?"

I scoffed. "Of course not." Technically.

"Satoru."

"What?" I huffed. "It's not my fault she’s fragile."

A beat of silence.

Suguru sighed, rubbing his temples. "You’re holding a girl who clearly passed out in your arms, and you’re calling her fragile?"

"…Yes?"

A tired, knowing look settled on his face. "You did something stupid, did you?"

I tilted my head, smirking. "Maybe."

Suguru closed his eyes, exasperated. "And you wonder why people call you insufferable."

We moved you to the infirmary.

Yaga wasn’t pleased.

Shoko raised an eyebrow when she saw you lying unconscious in the bed. "What did you do?"

I ignored the question. I was still thinking. Still processing.

I was still curious.

"It’s her cursed technique," Yaga said, as if already knowing what I was thinking.

"What do you mean?" Both Shoko and Suguru now turned their attention to him.

Yaga sighed. "The reason the higher-ups have been keeping her under watch is because of her technique. It’s dangerous. Dangerous enough that she herself doesn’t even fully control it. And if the wrong people find out…"

He didn’t finish the sentence, but we all knew what he meant.

I stared at your sleeping face, my curiosity only growing stronger.

Yaga sighed. "Since you three are her new friends, I guess I can trust you to keep an eye on her. I'm now allowing her to tell you three her curse technique. But that technique makes her dangerous and a special-grade sorcerer. It's still dangerous for her when she still doesn't know how to control it."

Yaga is looking right through me. What did I do?

The room was heavy with silence. Suguru, Shoko, and Yaga all stared at you expectantly, waiting for an explanation. You, however, looked hesitant, your fingers gripping the blanket draped over you.

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, still processing everything that had happened. My fingers drummed against my bicep as I watched you shift uncomfortably under our collective gazes.

Yaga sighed, rubbing his temple. "You don't have to explain everything, but at least give us an idea of what happened back there."

You swallowed hard. Then, after a moment, you exhaled slowly and finally spoke. "My Cursed Technique is called Seizure Touch."

My eyebrows shot up. "Seizure Touch? Sounds... terrifying."

You glared at me. "It allows me to temporarily steal the cursed techniques of those I touch. But... there's a limit."

Suguru’s eyes narrowed. "A limit?"

You nodded. "I can only hold onto a stolen technique for a short period before it vanishes. And if the person I take it from has an overwhelming amount of cursed energy—like Gojo—it becomes unstable. That’s what happened back there. His cursed energy was too powerful. My body couldn't handle it."

Shoko hummed in thought, arms folded. "So, when Gojo touched you, your body tried to copy his technique but couldn’t contain it?"

You gave a small nod. "Exactly. My technique forcefully absorbs the technique of whoever I make contact with, but if their cursed energy is too vast, it becomes uncontrollable."

Suguru crossed his arms. "And that’s why the higher-ups don’t want anyone to know about it. If the wrong people found out, they’d try to exploit your ability."

I let out a low whistle. "Damn, that is a dangerous technique. No wonder they’ve been keeping you under wraps."

You sighed, looking away. "I never asked for this power. And now, I can’t even train freely because of how dangerous it is." There was frustration in your voice, but also exhaustion.

You pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is exactly why the higher-ups wanted to keep this a secret. If word got out, people would either fear me or try to use me. But I don't think that's the higher-up's true intention, they kept me locked up for years to protect this technique of mine. So if anything happens when I still don't know how to control it... they won't have me as their human weapon to use."

I grinned. "Well, that just makes you more interesting to me."

Your eyes flickered toward me, unimpressed. "That’s exactly what I was afraid of."

Suguru sighed. "Gojo, don't make this a game."

I smirked. "Who, me? Never."

You rolled your eyes, clearly already regretting this conversation.

Still, despite everything, I couldn't help but grin. This mystery about you was even better than I expected. And now, I had a feeling that things were only going to get more interesting from here.

For more explanation about your technique: here

[freyito]

hello hello!!! may i order an idia flavored curry rice plz?? blinks cutely) ty!!

✭ pairing(s): idia shroud x gn reader

★ in which: idia is WAY too confident that he can out miku you.

✩ curry rice black forest cake w/ idia shroud!

✦ entry for my 1k follower event, Freyito's Maid Cafe! check out the link to figure out how to send an order!!

✧ a/n: ykw anon. im so glad you changed your mind because this gave me SUCH a banger idea that i couldnt go to sleep cause i was writing it out in my head. teehee :)

🗒 cw: gn reader, ffxiv sneak, just embarrassed idia :3, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.7k

ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴇᴠɪʟ | ꜰʀᴇʏɪᴛᴏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴀꜰᴇ !

It was late at night, and you had been on call with Idia. He was grinding out materials for some new transmog that had dropped in his game, and cursing the drop rates. You, on the other hand, were grinding out Project Diva Mega Mix for no particular reason. You had just made up your mind that you wanted to full combo some extra songs, and now you were hellbent on doing so. Plus, it provided some nice background music for Idia and his grind sesh.

By now, you had two songs finished and full cleared (albeit, with 97% accuracy), and you were working on your third, Sweet Devil. You already had four failed runs, your hands were starting to cramp a bit, and Idia’s smart remarks weren’t helping you. Not to mention, you always found the mvs distracting. Too much happening in the background while you were trying to focus on the notes.

You slump back in your chair with a huff as you watch the small word ‘safe’ pop up and interrupt your combo. You watch for just a moment as the symbols fly past on the screen, a barrage of ‘miss’es following shortly after. You finally exit the mv, balling your hands into a fist and then stretching out your fingers.

“I thought you were, like, a god at rhythm games,” Idia chides. You can hear the smile through his mic.

“Well sometimes it takes a couple tries,” You sigh, shaking your head. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure it does,” He chuckles. When you look at his stream, he’s finished up running maps and his character is now toiling away by the marketboard. “I bet I could do it.”

You raise your eyebrow, though he can’t see it. “Hm, what’s the stakes?”

“We need stakes?”

“You’re insulting my integrity as a rhythm game player. I want there to be a deal.”

A silence follows your voice, but you can hear him shift back in his chair. “Okay. What do you want to bet, then?”

Hm. You yourself don’t know exactly what you want if you win. Maybe you could get some gil off of him in game, but that didn’t feel like enough. You look around your room, before spotting something rather intriguing. It was a forgotten purchase, a pastel pink maid dress. It was rather cheap material, but still served its function. You were sure if you looked for them, you’d find the rest of the pieces…

“Loser wears a maid dress,” You declare triumphantly. “I got one in my closet.”

“... I, uh, don’t wanna ask why you have that,” He mumbles, “But I guess I accept. It’d be pretty nice to see you in a maid dress, heh…”

“Don’t act like you’ve already won. You haven’t even opened the game yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, just lemme put this up on the marketboard and I’ll get on the game…”

You lean back, content to wait and give your hands a bit of a break. You can’t help but smirk at not only making Idia eat his words, but seeing him in a maid dress would make you… quite happy, to say the least. The light pink would pair well with his hair and– you have to stop yourself there. You’d rather not distract yourself any further, nor allow yourself to get cocky. You can’t get ahead of yourself, or else you risk losing perhaps the most precious award you could ever have. 

“Okay. I’m on. Which song was it again?” Idia finally speaks up. When you look back at his stream, he’s ended it.

“Sweet Devil– Hey, you should stream your screen,” You point out, tabbing back into your game.

“I’m getting to itttt,” He drags the last letter, like it was too much work, as if he had not streamed his games every time you two called.

You watch as the ‘stream has ended’ switches to his screen, scrolling through the songs before landing on sweet devil. He changes difficulties to extreme, then waits for a moment, like he’s expecting you to say something. You decide to mess with him a little bit, staying silent a little longer.

“I’m waiting,” He groans, and you can almost hear his eyes roll. “I know you’re watching. I heard the little viewer noise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle, “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Idia doesn’t even grace you with a ‘go’, or anything of the sort, simply starting the song, following your words. You scramble to tab back into the game, quickly selecting the song. 

The song and mv start up, and soon after the notes come in. You do your best to focus, to try and block out the MV, the bright pink lights of Miku’s room and Miku herself made it hard to follow the notes, especially with how fast they were. Still, you find your rhythm relatively easily, considering you knew the song and charting by heart. Normally, you’d be super conscious about the progress bar beneath the screen, checking to make sure you were well above the ‘excellent’, marker. However, you were too determined to focus. And unfortunately, that would be too much of a distraction. You don't even focus on if your hits are 'good' or 'excellent'.

The hold notes scare you the most, considering you always end up slipping up on them, somehow. Either that, or you don’t hold them for long enough and panic when you can just press the other buttons on your keyboard. You tell yourself, over and over again, in your mind, that you can just use the other set of keys. You have to. You can’t risk allowing Idia to have any sort of edge on you.

Three minutes feels like five, or even ten. Idia has been far too quiet during this, not even muttering something under his breath. You feel grateful for a moment, if you heard anything on his side, you’d probably mess up. Maybe you could mess him up. Yes. No. Ugh, if you did, you’d probably mess yourself up, too. And if you had messed him up, he’d complain and call for a redo. You would rather never play this song again, to be honest.

Just as your fingers start to tingle– a result of adrenaline, for some reason–, the word ‘success’ comes up. Behind the notes, Miku turns her little devil tail into a spear and throws it as a planet. You do your best not to celebrate too early, still having to go through with the last couple seconds of the song. You were just happy to have nailed the challenge time, more than happy. 

After the last couple of notes, you’re able to lean back and relax. For a moment. When the ‘clear’ screen comes up, you feel your heart jump at the percentage. 101.53%. You look over at Idia’s stream and can’t help but laugh. 99.07%.

“No,” He utters weakly, with an agony in his voice you have never heard before. He doesn’t say anything else.

“Yes,” You feel maniacal, an odd elation spreading through your chest. You don’t even exit the game, hopping out of your chair. “You stay right there.”

You pull the dress from your closet, listening to Idia frantically call for Ortho from your headphones. The rest of what he says is unintelligible, given the distance between you and your headphones as you rummage through drawers to find the rest of the costume. You find the cuffs, stockings, and even a headband with cat ears. It’s a little bent, but you’d fix it on the way.

Hurriedly, you stuffed the costume into a bag, grabbing your phone and turning on the flashlight. Slinging the bag over your shoulder and rushing out of your house. You keep your flashlight pointed at the ground so you don’t trip, running as fast as you can to the Hall of Mirrors. Like it is a high-stakes situation, time is precious. If you can’t make it to Ignihyde’s dorms soon, then you will never see Idia in a maid dress, even if you won the bet.

The minute you reach the Hall of Mirrors, you practically throw yourself through Ignihyde’s mirrors, scrambling through the halls with harsh breaths. Your heavy footsteps echo through the halls as you make your way up the steps and to Idia’s room, clutching the strap of your bag. Ortho is there, in front of Idia’s door, opening it just a crack.

Seeing you, the boy lights up, smiling at you from underneath his mask. “Oh, hey, Idia. They’re here!”

“Nooo!” Idia squeals, and you can what him scrambling from his chair to close the door.

You shove your foot into the crack of the door just as Idia tries to open it. He uses more force than he means to, squeeze your foot slightly. You don’t emote, despite how much it hurts. Which scares Idia. But you don’t care. You won the bet. And he needs to pay up. Ortho stares blankly, trying to figure out what has Idia acting this way, before scolding his brother.

“That’s mean! You shouldn’t try to shut your partner out, especially like that!” 

Idia shrinks back a little. It’s clear that Ortho doesn’t know what has you on such a warpath, and you are quite happy with that. Finally, you smile a little, opening the door with your other hand. 

“Ortho…” Idia murmurs, turning his gaze away from you and his brother. “We’re gonna, uhm, game all night. Just us two. So, uh, you should get some sleep.”

He sounds utterly defeated, and Ortho remains none the wiser as to what you were about to subject poor Idia too.

“Huh? But you called me here?” Ortho tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I didn’t mean it– er, It was a mistake,” 

“... Okay! I’ll leave you two be. Have fun!”

And with that, Ortho hovers away, happy to leave his brother in your hands. By then, Idia knows he’s lost. You take a step in, handing him the bag with the dress and accessories in it. You don’t even speak to him, feeling a bit too giddy about your win, and prize.

“Uhm… can you at least stay out there, while I get changed?” His voice is shy, understandably so. 

“If you lock yourself in there, I’ll get Ortho to break it down,” You place your hands on your hips, in an attempt to seem confident.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

He’s right, you were well aware that your threat was kind of empty. But there’s no way you were going to let him get away.

“Then I’ll get those Heartslabyul first years to kick the door down.”

He lets out a small ‘eep’ at this, frowning. “Okay, okay, I won’t lock the door. Fine. You win.”

He doesn’t allow you any time to reply, taking the back and closing the door all too quickly. You can hear him shuffling about and the clothes rustling, and you feel your stomach flip-flop with nerves. You fidget with your hands and turn your back to the door, pretending like you actually didn’t care all that much so that Idia could get dressed faster, like that would work. You cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your biceps while you wait.

After a while, you hear the door crack behind you, and you turn around way too excitedly. He barely peeks through, giving you a look akin to a pleading puppy. He didn’t open the door all the way, insistent that you had to slip in through the crack, in case any one else would look out and see him. He’d rather save himself the embarrassment.

Finally squeezing through the door, he shuts it quickly. You, on the other hand, are greeted with a sight. His entire face is red, the tips of his hair flickering a bright pink as he looks away in embarrassment. The dress is a little short for him, so he clutches to the hem of the skirt and pulls it down a little. The pink worked well with his hair and his skin, just like you thought. It’s cliche, one of the dresses that was copy pasted from all those maid animes and what not. But still, you think it fit well.

“This is so cheap,” Idia complains, tilting his head up. “Okay. I dressed up. Can you go now so I can get back in my pajamas?”

You realize he’s missing something. The cat ears.

“No. No, I’m not leaving until you put the cat ears on.” You state simply, looking around for where they are.

He grimaces, deflating even more. “Please no. I think I might die. Actually, I’m going to die. Right now.”

“I won the bet fair and square, it’s not my fault. Where are they, Idia.” You speak with such a stern voice, it almost scares him. He finally, hesitantly, points to his chair, his grimace deepening as he looks back at you. “Put. Them. On.”

He groans, turning around and grabbing the cat ears. He gives you one last look, begging you to just let him go. Maybe you’re being a little too sadistic, but c’mon, Idia in a maid dress. That’s it. You plan to make the most of it. Slowly, he lifts the headband over his head, then lowers it down. Now you have your own Idia cat maid in front of you. You can’t help but smile, absolutely jubilant to see this poor man wearing such a cute dress.

“Okay. Can you go now, please,” He pleads once more, bringing a hand up to his face.

“Can I at least take a picture?” You hold up your phone.

“N-no! Please, no. I’m already at my lowest point, don’t have to kick me while I’m down…”

“Okay, okay,” You decide to finally allow him some mercy, “I won’t. But… I don’t think this image is ever leaving my head any time soon.”

He sighs and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. But he doesn’t reply. Well, that won’t do. You decide to come up with a quick excuse to stay.

“Well, I ran all the way here, in the dark, it’d suck if you sent me back,” You try to play it cool, tilting your head a little and looking up through your lashes at him. This earns you a deeper blush.

“Stop it,” He huffs, turning his head. Met with his set up, he realizes you two are technically still on call. And he finds his way out. “Your pc is on, you know.”

“Huh.”

“It’s on. You’re still in call.” He points to his monitor.

Your blind blanks for a minute, before you panic a little. You would like to stay and see if you can get him to stay in the maid dress for a little longer, but at the same time, you’d rather not blow out the power supply of your pc. That thing is too damn expensive. And you love it too much.

“Okay. Bye.” You huff briskly, turning on your heels and waiting for the door open before running back down to the mirror that connected the Ignihyde dorms to the Hall of Mirrors.

Idia yelps as the door slides open fully, stepping back and pressing himself against the wall so no one would see. Like anyone else was up at this time. He listens to you rush down the hallway, before letting out a breath. Once the door is shut all the way, he’s quick to wriggle out of the dress, throwing the cat ears, cuffs, and stockings (which ended up ripping a bit) to the corner of his room.

Almost breaking the zipper, he yanks it down on the back of his dress and throws it alongside the scattered recipes, before staring intently at it. Why couldn’t you have just waited for him to undress and take it back? He didn’t want these god forsaken items here. In his room. That reminded him of you. That’s like the cheesiest romantic thing couples do! And in this fashion, perhaps even cringey! He wants to burn it, so bad. Or throw it out. But what if someone somehow finds it in the trash? And then they link it back to him? That’d be the worst scenario. The absolute worst.

He continues to stare at it for a minute, before reaching for his pajamas that were hanging off the back of his chair. Fine. He’ll leave the stupid costume alone for now. Perhaps it’d come in handy one day. Give you a taste of your own medicine… or something.

© freyito, 2025 | maid cafe event | maid cafe masterlist | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices , dividers by cafekitsune , headers by yours truly

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[11queensupreme11]

Let's say in an alternate universe, Percy, due to the Bifrost and Kronos is sent a few thousand years in the past before canon for due to still having the curse of Achilles, crash-lands in the past, right into Shiva’s palace unharmed and confused but tries to be polite, unknowingly charming Shiva and his wives despite being wary of her aura, which feels a lot like Poseidon's. Though Percy doesn't fully understand what kind of gods they are, she adopts a sweet, innocent “uwu” behavior, which draws them in even more. They briefly consider sending her back to Poseidon but ultimately decide to keep her for themselves, as their feelings grow stronger. Percy, oblivious, doesn’t catch on until they outright tell her how they feel.Years later, Percy becomes Shiva’s fourth wife, living in a mostly polyamorous relationship with Shiva and his three wives despite the fact that Shiva and his wives are huge yanderes of her. At some loint she ascends to godhood, she becomes a goddess of many things, including humanity, and gods from all over are drawn to her. Shiva and his wives constantly fend off suitors, though Percy’s obliviousness only adds to the chaos. Poseidon who finds out about Percy after she marries Shiva is not happy about it, asume in this au he is a platonic yandere, was not thrilled about Shiva being her husband due to not meeting his standards of perfection that and he just hated his personality but despite that he ends up caring for Percy and keeps an eye on her nonetheless.Then, during Ragnarok, the gods vote to destroy humanity, and Shiva, to Percy’s shock, votes in favor of it. Percy finds out, probably through Brunhilde, and confronts Shiva, accusing him of betrayal. This sparks a huge argument and leaves Percy heartbroken. She leaves the palace, swearing to fight for humanity. Shiva’s wives try to stop her. Durga takes a harsh approach, reminding Percy that she belongs to them not humanity, while Kali and Parvati are gentler, reminding Percy of the love they share and the happy memories they had together even pointing out that even if Shiva voted no it wouldn't change anything. Despite their words softening her, Percy stays determined.Meanwhile, the gods scramble to find someone who can defeat Percy. Most refuse because they either like or love her or fear Shiva and Poseidon. The only one crazy enough to fight her is Loki how do you think things go from here

lmao i love reading time travel/isekai fics where percy gets yoinked somewhere by kronos cuz that sort of start-up genuinely makes the most sense for how the poor kid would get in the general setting in the first place 😂😂

and omggggggggg you have no IDEA how much i thirst at thought of SHIVAAAAAA 😫 i would love a shiva x percy (what would their ship name be? shercy??? but then we'd have to add the wives, and the name combo would be too long.... indian ocean???? LMAO 😭)

"while Kali and Parvati are gentler, reminding Percy of the love they share and the happy memories they had together even pointing out that even if Shiva voted no it wouldn't change anything" OH THAT'D BE A BIG MISTAKE FOR KALI AND PARVATI TO SAY TBH

cuz yeah it's true that their votes wouldn't have changed anything, but it's the fact that they voted YES in the first place!!!!!! she is a mortal!!!! she's half-human! she was raised amongst them and loves and cares for them! the trio know that and yet STILL voted for their destruction!!!! it's the realization that they hate such a big part of her that hurts 💔💔💔

as for loki vs percy, ohhhhh this would actually be SO perfect if loki loved her here too lmao. why, you ask??? because lets say in this au percy also discovers the ichor/ambrosia thing and uses that in her fight. LOKI WOULD GET SO HORNY THE SECOND SHE STARTS DRINKING AND EATING FROM HIM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 HE WOULD LITERALLY LOSE THE FIGHT FROM HORNY-NESS ALONE

so percy wins, and so does loki in a way, but now he's got shiva, kali, durga, parvati, AND the greek pantheon on him cuz everyone DEFINITELY saw how down bad he was, the tournament is LIVE after all 😭😭

[heretic-gf]

@r-memberme’s masterlist.

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

updated. 02/27/25

Road Trip ⎯ “I don’t need a map,” he replies, completely unbothered. “I have an excellent sense of direction.” ⎯ fluff

Move ⎯ “You are the kind of storm that arrives in the dead of night, shaking the windows, rattling the doors. You disrupt. You demand to be noticed.” ⎯ fluff

Argument ⎯ His smirk is slow, predatory. “I could steal someone else’s drink for you.” ⎯ fluff

Wildflowers ⎯ “Darling,” he drawls, “am I supposed to be flattered or humiliated?”⎯ general

Selene ⎯ His eyes flicker with something unreadable. “A love cursed to only exist in the quiet hours of the night,” he muses. “How tragic.” ⎯ fluff

A Wolf's Lament ⎯ “You move like a ghost,” she murmurs, and it is not the first time she has accused him of this. ⎯ light angst

The Stars ⎯ Klaus hums beside her, hands folded behind his head, fingers threading into the wild mess of curls at his nape. “I think about many things.” ⎯ fluff

Restless ⎯ He considered that for a long moment. “Perhaps the moon prefers it that way,” he mused. “Perhaps it doesn’t want to be touched. Perhaps it’s content to watch, to exist in the quiet, to remain untouchable.” ⎯ fluff

Sugar ⎯ Klaus grinned at the memory. “Two hours and thirteen minutes. I was quite impressed.”⎯ fluff

Nik ⎯ Because it was the only name that did not come with expectation, with weight, with history. It was just his, just theirs, just a thread between them that refused to break no matter how much the world tried to sever it.⎯ fluff

Watercolored ⎯ “You told that old woman in the market that I was in need of a motherly embrace!”⎯ fluff

Hold You Close ⎯ “Shhh.” His lips brushed against your temple, and you nearly stopped breathing. “You wiggle like that again, and I’ll take it as an invitation.”⎯ fluff

Jealous ⎯ “I do hate to steal her away, but—oh, you know how it is. She does have a rather short attention span, after all.”⎯ fluffish

Bleeding Heart ⎯ “But if there is a day meant to celebrate love, then why should I not love you a little louder?”⎯ fluff

The World Tilted ⎯ Klaus’s scream—raw, unpracticed, and filled with an agony that no immortal soul should ever endure—broke the night ⎯ angst

I Could Have You ⎯ “I could have you,” he murmured, his voice like silk, smooth and slow and dangerous. “If I wanted.” ⎯ suggestive

Antique ⎯ ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’⎯ fluff

Lavender and Chamomile ⎯ A rare moment, a mutual understanding. ⎯ fluff

Hammock ⎯ The sky above is deepening now, the colors bleeding into something richer—indigo creeping in at the edges, stars beginning to flicker to life, hesitant but present. ⎯ fluff

Marriage Auction ⎯ Klaus hums, swirling his champagne. “That’s lovely, sweetheart.” ⎯ fluff

Picture Day ⎯ “You could at least pretend I’m not the most difficult person you’ve ever photographed.” ⎯ fluff

Trinkets ⎯ “I may have acquired it through slightly less than legal means.” ⎯ fluff

Scarf ⎯ “Because I’d rather be cold than watch you shiver.” ⎯ fluff

We ⎯ Klaus scowled. “I will throw you into the sun.”⎯ fluff

Sap ⎯ “You’re rather difficult to look away from.” ⎯ fluff

Ghost Of You ⎯ He carved himself into you, into the deepest parts of your soul, until forgetting him would mean unraveling yourself entirely. ⎯ angst

Like A Man Starved ⎯ It was nothing. It was everything.⎯ light angst

Master Chef ⎯ “I wanted to do something special,” he continued, finally looking at you. “Something… personal. And what’s more personal than a meal prepared with my own two hands?” ⎯ fluff

At My Worst, At My Best ⎯ His eyes searched yours, his breath hitching. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly. ⎯ light angst

Intruder ⎯ “You really should get better locks, by the way.” ⎯ fluff

Deception ⎯ “Gaslighting implies a level of effort that I am simply not putting in. Deceiving you doesn’t require much.” ⎯ fluff

Gentle Waters ⎯ He reached for your hand, his touch gentle as he brushed his thumb across your knuckles. “Let me take care of you tonight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ⎯ fluff

Sweet Escape ⎯ He smirked. “If this is your idea of fun, love, I worry for you.” ⎯ fluff

Pottery ⎯ “Show me what you’ve got, Picasso.” ⎯ fluff

S’mores ⎯ “Nothing,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just more captivating than the stars, that’s all.” ⎯ fluff

The Line Between Us ⎯ “I’m saying,” he interrupted, his voice firm now, “that I’m tired of being just your best friend. I’ve loved you for longer than I care to admit, and it’s agony pretending I don’t.” ⎯ fluff

The Paint Beneath ⎯ “You always did stare at art like it owed you something.” ⎯ slight angst

Blood ⎯ "What are you suggesting? A blood beauty contest?” ⎯ tw blood

Anything ⎯ “Did you… raid every orange grove in the area?” ⎯ fluff

History ⎯ “Perhaps it requires a certain level of intellect to appreciate.” ⎯ fluff

Show Me ⎯ “I’m not gentle. I don’t know how to love without breaking everything I touch.” ⎯ suggestive

You ⎯ “You are my destruction, love. And my salvation. My madness and my solace. Do you think leaving spared me? No. It condemned me to a century of torment.” ⎯ angsty

Crawlin Back To You ⎯ “Where are you?” you asked, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. There was a pause, and then he said, “Outside. In the rain.” ⎯ fluff

Fixed ⎯ “No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.” ⎯ exes to lovers, fluff

Shouldn't Be Here ⎯ “Loving you is the only thing in my long, cursed existence that has ever felt easy. The only thing that’s ever made sense.” ⎯ fluff, angst

Concert ⎯ "It’s not because I think I have the right to you. It’s because I’ve tried—God, have I tried—to stay away." ⎯ fluff, light angst

Vino Veritas ⎯ “Flattery won’t get you out of trouble if you embarrass me in front of the sommelier.” ⎯ fluff

Not A Chance ⎯ “Let me guess—you’re mysterious, brooding, and devastatingly complicated?” ⎯ fluff

Canvas ⎯ “Have you ever painted me?”⎯ fluff

Echoes Of You ⎯ "Klaus Mikaelson wept" ⎯ angst

Bold ⎯ “If I’m a fool, it’s only because of you,”⎯ fluff

Kitchen ⎯ “Are you telling me you’re challenging me to a dance battle?” ⎯ fluff

Storm ⎯ just the two of them, dancing through the storm together. ⎯ fluff

Sparkling Commentary ⎯ “What can I say? I’m a giver.”⎯ fluff

A Royal Pain ⎯ “Exciting? You’re like a cranky old man stuck in a twenty-something’s body.” ⎯ fluff

Burden ⎯ Every shadow needs light to be revealed ⎯ fluff and angst

Silent Spectator ⎯ This was now no longer a game of observation or veiled curiosity. It was undeniably, absolutely, desire⎯ suggestive

Kiss Me Like You Mean It ⎯ kisses, kisses and more kisses ⎯ fluff

Snowman ⎯ ‘Oh look, it’s Greg—the gallant snowman of the yard!‘ ⎯ fluff

Sweet Talker ⎯ Maybe klaus isn't so bad after all ⎯ fluff, sweet klaus

Dusty Tomes And Worm Love ⎯ “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” ⎯ silly humor, fluff

"My Inner Aesthetician" ⎯ In a warm, candlelit sanctuary, two souls share playful banter as they engage in a soothing skincare ritual. ⎯ fluff

Fire and Tenderness ⎯ In a candle-lit embrace, warmth blooms as tender kisses chase away the cold. With whispered apologies, a spark ignites into passionate connection, where playful banter entwines with sincere affection, promising to shield from the world’s chill. In this moment, hearts intertwine, wrapped in comfort and light. ⎯ fluff, suggestive at the end.

Morning Brew ⎯ a timeless soul navigates the soft glow of a quaint coffee shop, enchanted by a vibrant girl who brings light to his shadowed existence. ⎯ fluff, ginger!reader

"Are You Asking Me On A Date, Klaus?" ⎯ The long awaited date between a girl, and an old grumpy original hybrid. ⎯ fluff

Series.

Tam Lin

part one ⎯ ⎯⎯And you—always drawn to him, always at his side, your fates tangled like ivy clinging to stone, entwined in a way the world could not unmake.

Hesitation

I Wouldn't Hesitate ⎯ “if I had the chance to fall in love with you again, I wouldn’t hesitate.” ⎯ angstish

I Didn't Hesitate ⎯ “The thought of you being anyone else’s sunlight is something I can’t stomach.” ⎯ angst, happy ending

Territory And Trouble

Territory ⎯ “Whatever you say, Nik.” ⎯ fluff

Trouble ⎯ “Ian,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “What a name. Sounds like he was born to be dull.” ⎯ fluffish

Ever Yours, Ever Mine

One ⎯ And no matter what came next—no matter how many lifetimes you lived, how many battles you fought, how many times you lost and found each other again— That promise would never break. ⎯ fluff/angst

Two ⎯ Then—softly, quietly—he said, “I don’t think I was made for happiness.” ⎯ angst

Three ⎯ Klaus coughed, spitting blood into the dirt. His eyes flickered to you, and that was when they struck him again. You felt the impact as if it were your own. ⎯ angst

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 29/30

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words, scenes of violence, coercion, psychological pressure.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻 From the author: Hello my beloved armies 💜 I hope you are doing well 😊 I came to you with chapter 29... Um, I would like to officially admit to you that this chapter was the hardest for me to write out of all 29 that I wrote. Maybe 30 will also be difficult to write, but I'm ready for it 🫡 I don't know why, but it's hard for me to evaluate how this part turned out, whether it's worth all the time I spent and yours too, but this is how I see it 💔 Please let me know in the comments your opinion, maybe you don't like something? 🥺 As always, I appreciate and love everyone who reads and loves this story 🫂 You guys are priceless to me 😭💞

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and LOVE you🥰💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @ambiee3, @mianhae-baozi , @someoneelse0109, @medstudentlifestyle, @mskookie, @kooccult, @smokinghotstargirl , @curse-of-art, @curse-of-art2 @wintaemoonjen, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @someonegoood, @kooko007, @indigomoonchild09, @zeytiable (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 29. Saved. 

Jungkook was not himself. He stood on the terrace of the top floor and nervously lit a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke and felt a little relieved. He had to go to Namjoon and his time was running out, but he needed to smoke at least one cigarette to put his broken feelings in order. He literally took puff after puff thinking about what happened and what he should do next.

Jungkook squeezed the cigarette with his fingers, finishing it all the way to the filter. His head was heavy with thoughts, and his heart was beating faster than usual. He replayed in his mind how he saw you in Namjoon's office. It threw him off balance. Angry, he later yelled at you in Jimin's office and sent you home because you had already done so much that you weren't supposed to. You did your part, even though he asked you to stay out of it, and that was the most annoying thing.

You always did everything for him. Even now, when you were pregnant, exhausted, ready to risk your life to get him out of this hell. You played spy games to get him out of the mafia world. You were threatened, but you did it anyway to find out important information and came to Namjoon to exchange it for his freedom.

He never wanted you to get involved in this shit. You were supposed to live a quiet life, not knowing what it means to trade information for survival.

Jungkook rubbed his palm over his face, exhaling the remaining smoke. He knew you wanted a different life for you. A life without blood, without blackmail, without threats. But how? How can he get out?

Once, at the beginning of all this, he wanted to escape. He fought. He tried not to get his hands dirty with what Namjoon made him do. But then he got used to it. And maybe he even started to like it. The power, the influence, the fear he saw in the eyes of others when he walked into a room... All these things made him who he was. And he was no longer sure if he wanted to leave it. So he was in no hurry to take any radical steps. And damn it, you noticed that, and that's why you're in Namjoon's office today. To beg for him.

Fuck...

Before all this, there was this bullshit about selling weapons to the Black Pearl. It's definitely Doohoon's handiwork. Jungkook knows that he did some business with Black Pearl's Sehun, so he definitely helped Doohoon pull it off.

Thanks to their actions, he was suspected of betrayed. Of offshore fraud, of a meeting that was actually trap. He flicked his lighter irritably, though he had no cigarette. He needed to get out of this somehow, to prove that he hadn't betrayed Namjoon.

Jungkook sighed heavily and turned to leave. But as soon as he stepped into the hallway, he saw Jimin. He looked worried.

"Jungkook-ah, I've been looking for you..." - He stopped a few steps away and looked closely at his friend's face. "Are you okay? Did Y/N leave already?" - Jungkook was silent. He didn't want to talk about your fight right now. But he had to say something, so he gathered all his will into a fist and said.

"I screwed up..." - Jungkook says tiredly, hinting at what you had fought about, and that he was set up and looks like a traitor to Namjoon. "And yes, she's already gone." - Jimin frowns. He realizes that something is going on. "Why were you looking for me?" - Jungkook asks because Jimin is lost in thought.

"Namjoon is calling us all together. He asked for everyone to be in the company this morning. And now we've been told that we're all supposed to come to his office. That's why I went looking for you, that we could go together." - Jimin replies. Jungkook nods his head and walks past Jimin, who immediately follows.

"I was just heading that way." - Jungkook says as Jimin aligns himself with him.

"What's wrong, Jungkook? Why is Y/N at the company today? And why were you two fighting?" - Jimin asks. Jungkook expected him to ask about it.

"Y/N came to get free me of Namjoon's hands." - Jungkook says shortly. He walks down the corridor confidently, taking a wide stride to make sure he makes it within the 20 minutes Namjoon has given him. Jimin walks beside him at the same pace to keep up. But when he hears Jungkook's words, he stops. Jungkook notices that Jimin has disappeared and turns around, finding him a few steps behind him.

"Free you? What does that mean?" - Jimin asks. Jungkook exhale heavily.

"That's what it means. She dug up information that the Black Pearl wants to take over Uranium from us. She came to Namjoon to tell him in exchange for my place in the clan." - Jungkook explains. Jimin widens his eyes, wants to ask something, but Jungkook doesn't let him. He turns around and walks away, throwing over his shoulder. "Come on, Jimin, I can't be late."

Jungkook and Jimin entered Namjoon's office in silence. The atmosphere in the room was tense. Everyone was already in place - Taehyung was sitting with his leg over leg, Yoongi was looking at some documents, and Hoseok was typing something quickly on his phone. Namjoon stood by the table, his arms crossed over his chest, and his gaze was as sharp as a knife blade.

Jungkook walked over to Hoseok and Taehyung and shook their hands, because he hadn't seen them yet. They sat down on the couch with Jimin and waited for someone to break the silence first.

"Is Jin not coming yet?" - Jimin asked to fill the silence, which for some reason seemed heavy, although Namjoon didn't say why he had called them. Everyone present, except Yoongi, who already knew the reason, realized that something serious had happened.

"He'll be later, we can start without him." - Namjoon said tensely and pushed away from the table and moved toward the chair. He sat down, put his hands on the armrests, gently squeezing the material of the chair and looked around at everyone in turn. Everyone present looked at their boss, waiting for an explanation. Only Jungkook was staring intently at the floor, clenching his intertwined fingers. "This morning, as soon as I stepped into my office, I received information that there was a rat in the clan." - Namjoon went on to say. The silence became even heavier. Everyone in the office seemed to be frozen, trying to understand what Namjoon meant.

Jungkook slowly looked up, but did not meet his boss's eyes. He could feel the tension coursing through his entire body, squeezing his lungs and making his heart beat faster. How do you prove you're not a traitor with all this evidence? His head hurt worse.

"A rat?" - Hoseok asked, leaning on the back of the couch. He tilted his head, watching Namjoon, trying to read his expression. "What do you mean?"

Namjoon gave a short hum as if he had heard a completely predictable question. His gaze rested on Yoongi for a moment, as if they had talked about this before, and then he turned back to everyone else.

"I mean, one of us has been transferring money through offshore firms, working behind my back with a man I kicked out of the clan a long time ago."

Jungkook didn't even need to ask who he was addressing. He knew. It was about him.

"Do you have any proof?" - Asked Jimin tensely. Namjoon nodded slowly, pointing to the folder in Yoongi's hands. He threw it on the table and leaned back on the couch.

"Of course there are, Jimin, otherwise I wouldn't have gathered you all here." - Namjoon said a little irritated. Jimin picked up the folder and began to look through its contents. Jungkook didn't even look at the files again, he knew what was in them. Taehyung frowned, rested his elbow on his knee, and intertwined his fingers.

"So who do you suspect?" - He asked without waiting for his turn to look at the evidence files. Jungkook looked up at Namjoon, and the latter he said his name directly into his eyes.

"Jungkook." - His name came out of Namjoon's mouth like a sentence. The room fell dead silent. All eyes were on him. Although he realized the gravity of the situation, he felt that he could handle proving his truth.

Everyone was looking at him-some with suspicion, some with doubt, some with indescribable shock. Jimin closed the folder and looked at his friend. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyes were tense. Hosok took the folder and looked at the contents with Taehyung.

"I want an explanation, Jungkook." - Namjoon demanded. Jungkook sniffled and began to speak.

"I did meet this man, but I swear I don't know that he ever belonged to our clan. He called me when I was in the Suwon, I was waiting for a call about uranium. He said it was about a shipment, so I thought he was talking about uranium. And then he said he had samples and if I had time to meet him to examine them. I found this suspicious because I hadn't received any information about the samples. He started rubbing it in that if I didn't come, his boss would contact you and you would be unhappy. I went and when I arrived, it turned out to be weapons. Japanese weapons of good quality. I asked him where he got my phone, and he mumbled something at first, and then gave me a name. I think it was Takeshi Tanaka..." - Jungkook tells how everything happened that day, not noticing how tense Hoseok was. Jungkook had asked him to find out about this Japanese man, but he forgot to tell him that his people had gotten the information. Because of the whole uranium situation, it just slipped his mind. "I said I didn't know this Japanese guy, I said we didn't need the weapons and left. That was it, I never interacted with this man again. Namjun, I did not betray you. I have no reason to do so." - Jungkook finally finishes his explanation. Yoongi tilts his head and then rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Jungkook closely.

"What do you mean there's no Jungkook-ah? Everyone knows your position in the clan. You're not here of your own free will, and you could easily want to go behind Namjoon's back. Here are the facts: we get evidence of a meeting, a money transfer from our company, and it looks like you want to cooperate with the Black Pearl. And then your girlfriend comes in and tells us that the Black Pearl knows about Uranium, about which knew only seven people, and they want to intercept it. What are we supposed to believe?" - Yoongi asks. Jungkook took a deep breath, trying to control the rage boiling inside him. His fingers clenched into fists so hard that his nails dug into his skin. He turned his gaze to Yungi, who seemed to have already passed his sentence.

"Yes, I'm not here by choice, but isn't it stupid to betray your boss, who already has you in a vice grip? Why should I make my situation even worse? It's not logical." - Jungkook defended himself.

"You said that the man seemed suspicious and insisted that you examine the samples." - Jimin interjected. "Why didn't you call me, why didn't you ask me if this was the case or not?" - Jimin's voice sounded protesting. Jungkook deliberately kept silent, saying that he couldn't reach Jimin and Hoseok at the time because they were resting and simply didn't hear his calls, so he went alone to check what the samples were. Jungkook was silent, weighing whether to tell the truth.

"I called you, but you didn't pick up." - Jungkook said calmly. "I couldn't wait because that man was pressuring me, I couldn't not go because if it was really Uranium we would have gotten our asses handed to us by Namjoon." - Jimin's eyes run over his friend's face and realizes that he hadn't mentioned this moment during the story, but now he said it because he was pressured. Jimin cast a quick glance at Hoseok, and he looked as guilty as he did.

"Why didn't you tell us that you went to Suwon, by the way? Why were you there at that time? The photo said twenty minutes past nine in the evening?" - Taehyung asked, holding the photos in his hands. Jungkook shakes his head and barely holds back an exasperated exhale. He has to admit that he went to his parents' house with you to tell them that you two met, because it's his alibi. But he doesn't want you or his parents to be questioned.

"I went to my parents from Y/N. I had some time and so we decided to visit them. However, I did not know that I had to report to you about my every move. There was no need for that before." - Jungkook says, trying to sound casual but not irritated. Taehyung looked away, his lips pressed into a thin line. Namjoon sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"The evidence is well faked if it's not real. I asked Jin to find out everything about this evidence, so we only have to wait for him." - Namjoon said. Everyone was quiet. But not for long, because Jin walked into the clan leader's office. He looked as impeccable as ever, with a lingering smile on his face.

"You're all so miserable. Did someone die?" - He asked as he came inside.

"No one yet, but who knows if anyone will die today, it all depends on what you got." - Yoongi replies in an indifferent voice. Jin let out a short laugh as he sat down at Namdujun's table.

This was not a surprise to anyone. All seven men were very good friends and almost like family. Jin was the oldest, so he could afford to behave like this even with the leader of the Ran Noir clan. On paper, Namjoon is the boss, Yoongi is his right-hand man, and everyone else is subordinate, but in reality they were seven best friends who were very close, almost brothers. Even though Jungkook was with them for four years, he managed to become one of them. He has respect for his older Hyungs, especially Namjoon, even though he resisted him in every way possible at first.

Jin opens his laptop. Everyone looks at him intensely.

"Oh my God, Yoongi, what are you talking about? Inside you’re awakened your bloodlust?" - Jin turns his head to the window, peering out into the dusk. "Is there a full moon tonight or something?" - Yoongi rolled his eyes, and Taehyung and Hoseok laughed softly.

"Jin, that's enough, get to the point." - Namjoon ended his jokes. Jin bit his lip, still smiling, and then folded his hands over his laptop keyboard.

"So the evidence we got on Jungkook is overwhelming." - Jin said. He connected the laptop to the display that hung in Namjoon's office and brought up the images taken in Suwon. “But let's take it from the beginning. Jungkook drove there in his father's car. I checked the license plate, and it's his father's car." - Jin flipped through the photos, and everyone looked at them carefully. "Here's a picture of him getting out of the car, and in the next one they're shaking hands. Then Jungkook and this guy go into the warehouse. And in the last photo, where Jungkook appears, he gets into the car and drives away. The time on the photo is 8:34 pm. That is, their meeting lasted about 15 minutes. And there are no more photos. But I am the best hacker Korea has ever had. So I got the video. The video near the warehouse and also in the middle. By the way, I did a little digging and found out that this warehouse belongs to Doohoon’s father." - Jungkook raised his eyebrows at this, his gaze turned angry. This was the proof that Doohoon was involved. He stared at the monitor as Jin opened the video file, and didn't notice Hoseok fidgeting nervously on the couch.

"Well, here's the video. But there's a caveat, it's without sound, so it doesn't tell us much." - Jin said, pressing the play button. The video starts and Jin comments. "We see Jungkook pull up. He got out and stopped. You can see he doesn't shake hands with Hyuwon right away. Then he's obviously inviting our tongsung to come in and evaluate the goods." - Jin turns off the video and turns on the second file. "Here's a video from the warehouse itself. Jungkook is looking at the weapons in the crates..." - He zooms in on Jungkook's face. "Hey Jungkook-ah, you look confused, not like someone who knows there are weapons in the crates." - Jin turns to Jungkook and winks at him.

Jungkook looks at the older hyung in surprise, as if he knows how to prove his innocence. Jungkook purses his lips and nods in appreciation. He glances around at everyone, and they're all looking at the video carefully. Jin plays the video back as it was and stops it when Jungkook leaves the warehouse. Jin goes to the folder where the video files were and Jungkook notices another file. Another video.

"So what? We don't know what they were talking about." - Namjoon says when Jin turns off the video. He smiled and turned in his chair.

"Did I mention I'm the best hacker in Korea?" - He asks everyone. Yoongi rolls his eyes so that he looks like he's seen his own brain, and Jimin huffs.

"Yes, you did." - He answered for everyone.

"I'm the best because I'm good at getting things that seem inaccessible, and I'm good at hiding things that need to be hidden. I had to find out what they were talking about. The camera does not record sound, but there is a program developed by our native Korean IT specialists that allows you to read words from lips. Guess who has access to it?" - Jin triumphantly opens the third file and text appears next to the video. It's a video of Jungkook and Hyuwon standing in a warehouse. "I'm about to save your ass, Jungkook-ah!" - Jin says jokingly. "You can read the text they're saying on their lips." - Everyone reads the running text carefully.

"Who gave you my contact number again?" - Jungkook's line appears on the screen.

"Takeshi Tanaka, you worked with him. He mentioned you and said you'd be interested." - Everyone reads Hyuwon's response. Hoseok interrupts the silence that was caused by everyone reading.

"Is this the Japanese guy you asked me to find out about?" - He asks Jungkook suddenly. He nods slowly. Everyone else in the room looks at them.

"Yes, about him." - Jungkook says softly. Namjoon turns his gaze to Hoseok.

"Did he ask you to get the information about this Japanese guy?" - He asks tensely.

"Yeah." - Hoseok says, a little guiltily. "I had completely forgotten Jungkook-ah. He called me that evening, probably after he met with this man, and asked me to find information about Takeshi Tanaka. I was at the club at the time. And the next day, I instructed my manager to find something on this man. If Jungkook-ah asks me, I know it's important." - Hoseok says.

"So did you find out anything?" - Jungkook asks, looking at hyung.

"I did find something, but with all the chaos with Uranium, I forgot to tell you." - He admitted. "Tanaka has ties to the Black Pearl, but he's not an arms dealer or anything. He's a drug supplier. We have never dealt with him. So it's obvious that this whole meeting is a setup." - Hoseok concludes. Namjoon exhales a deep breath. He seems to be convinced.

"I told you from the beginning that our golden maknae couldn't have done it." - Jin chimes in. "That's why I checked everything carefully. The money transferred through the offshore account that Jungkook allegedly made was made on the day he was in Suwon. Therefore, he could not physically authorize the payment. This required his personal verification code, which he could only enter from a device connected to our closed network. And that was not possible in Suwon." - Jin explains.

"It's obvious that Jungkook is innocent, judging by their conversation and the fact that someone had access to his device, the code that no more than 10 people know." - Jimin summarizes. "Jungkook was set up well." - Everyone is tensely silent. Namjoon runs his hand over his face and exhales heavily.

"Yeah. Now I see that Jungkook was really set up." - He stands up and walks to the window. He puts his hands in his pockets and stares out at the Seoul night skyline. "So there is a rat after all! And he's working for the Black Pearl!" - He says angrily.

Jungkook stands up and gives a grateful look to Jin and Hoseok, who have essentially proved him innocent.

"Namjoon, I know who set me up…" - Jungkook says confidently. "It's Doohoon, I'm sure of it. I know he's been friends with Sehun for a long time, the Black Pearl's makne. They share a common interest in destroying not only me, but you as well." - Namjoon slowly turned around, his gaze even more intense. The room fell silent, everyone waiting for his reaction.

"It's that little shit again. He still can't stop?" - Namjoon asked.

"Yeah." - Jungkook said. "I think it's all his fault." - Namjoon thinks about what Jungkook said.

"But then who is the rat who told the Black Pearl?" - Taehyung asks.

"It's someone who communicates with us directly. I think it could be our managers." - Jimin suggested. Everyone paid attention to him. Yongi sat up straight and spoke.

"Why don't we use the information that Y/N brought us?" - Yoongi suggested. Jungkook abruptly turned his gaze to his other leader and glared at him.

"What do you mean?" - He asked Yoongi. He looked lazily at Jungkook, explaining his proposal.

"We'll arrange everything as shown in the screenshots that Y/N gave to that journalist, but we'll only change the mode of transportation. In a casual conversation with our managers, we'll say that we had to change the transport because Taehyung reported on inspections from the authorities at the previous location. And then we'll find out which manager could be the rat." - Yoongi finished.

"And how will we know which manager was the rat?" - Taehyung asked. "If everyone knows..."

"Let's get the best hacker in Korea to put a tracer and tap on their personal and work phones." - Namjoon said as he walked over to Jin and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Geez, Namjoon-ah, could you think of anything more boring and unbearable for me than following your managers?" - Jin asked, whimpering. Namjoon slapped him on the shoulder and grabbed his collar, forcing him to stand up.

"Get up from my desk." - Jin stood up grudgingly, grabbing his laptop. "You'll need to keep an eye on Jimin's manager, Hoseok, two of Yoongi's managers, and three of mine. Twenty-four hours a day, checking everywhere you can, I need to know who the traitor is, and when I find out, I'll skin him. They have all forgotten who they are dealing with." - Namjoon said menacingly. Everyone fell silent, and Jin stood next to Jungkook and hugged him like a little brother.

"Well, we have a plan of action." - Jimin summarized, getting up from the couch. "I wanted to suggest that we all go to Muse, we didn’t celebrated Seollal. After work at 7:30 p.m., we'll all go to the club. I think after all this, we need to relax a little bit." - He suggested.

Everyone agreed, and gradually the room began to empty. One by one, they left, discussing plans for the evening. Namjoon was sitting at the table, continuing to work, and when Jungkook took a step toward the door, he stopped him.

"Stay a minute." - Jungkook looked at Jimin, who. He stepped in front of him and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Jimin pursed his lips and sent support in the form of a nod. Jungkook closed the door and walked over to the table.

When they were alone, Namjoon ran his hand over his face, as if to wash away the fatigue.

"I..." - He fell silent, then exhaled and looked Jungkook straight in the eye. "I'm sorry." - Jungkook looked surprised, raising his eyebrows.

"For what?" - He asked, not really knowing.

"For doubting you." - Namjoon said sincerely. "I know how dedicated you are, but when the whole situation started to unfold... I really thought you might have betrayed me."

Jungkook was silent for a few seconds before responding seriously.

"I would never do that." - He assured him. Namjoon looked at him and then nodded.

"I know. I know now." - He was silent for a moment and then added. "If anything ever goes wrong, remember that you can come to me. Always." - He said suddenly. Jungkook tensed a little, but then nodded.

"Thank you." - He bowed low.

"I know you're not here of your own free will, and your girlfriend asked me to let you go in exchange for information she brought me. And it's really valuable information, and it turns out I have to keep my word. So..." - Namjoon stood up from his chair and walked over to Jungkook. Jungkook looked at his boss carefully. "I forgive you all of your debt. You no longer owe me anything. You've worked hard for me all these years, so I've decided that you're now free from our agreement." - Jungkook could not believe he was hearing these words. They had been necessary for him at one point, but why wasn't he as happy as he had imagined when the debt was paid off?

"Are you serious?" - Jungkook asked in disbelief. Namjoon smiled sadly.

"Yes, our golden maknae." - He tapped him on the shoulder. "So if you want to leave, I'll understand, but not right now. Please finish the business with Uranium and you can be free." - Namjoon pressed his lips together. He looked like he was going to cry. Jungkook wanted to laugh that a man like Namjoon wanted to cry for him. He would finally be free.

But something in the middle of him was twisting. He had wanted to leave the world of the mafia for years, and now that he was really free, he seemed... reluctant to leave. He dreamed of this moment, of freedom, of being able to just disappear and start a new life. But for some reason, now this freedom seemed empty to him, like something he does not remember, as something unknown to him. But there was you, and you were pregnant. You will definitely be against it if he stays.

Silence hung between them, but this time it was not tense.

"Namjoon..." - Jungkook looked up again at the man in front of him. He looked calm, but his eyes betrayed fatigue and... sadness?

"Yes?" - Namjoon raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Why now? Why did you decide to let me go now?" - Jungkook asked. Namjoon tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating his words, and then exhaled heavily.

"You've always been one of the best, Jungkook. I've seen you as a potential since the first time we met. And I know I kept you here longer than I should have. But after everything... I realized that I don't want you to stay here just because of your debt. If you're going to be a part of this world, it's going to be by choice." - Namjoon said honestly. "Besides, I made a promise to your girlfriend. How can I not keep my word to her, she's so brave and she really loves you to put herself through such a trial." - Jungkook smiled warmly. But he immediately remembered how he yelled at you today. His heart clenched and he felt terribly guilty. Jungkook didn't know what to say. He nodded, as if accepting Namjoon's words, but his mind was also full of questions that he couldn't find the answer to. "You can think about it." -Namjoon patted him on the shoulder. "Now go. You have a lot of work to do." - Namjoon returned to the table, and Jungkook bowed gratefully and turned and left the room. He was greeted by the warm voices of Jimin and Taehyung, who were waiting for him near Namjoon's secretary.

"Well?" - Taehyung asked when he saw Jungkook leave.

"Is everything okay?" - Jimin was also concerned, nudging him lightly with her elbow. Jungkook nodded but didn't say anything else.

Jungkook went into his office and immediately dialed your number. You were out of range. Jungkook raised his eyebrows. Jungkook stared at the phone screen as he dialed again and heard a cold, automated voice: "The caller is out of range..."

He sighed, running a hand over his face. This was suspicious. You rarely turned off your phone, especially now that you were carrying their child under your heart.

He remembered yelling at you. How his own voice cut through the air, and your eyes gradually filled with pain.

"Fuck..." - He muttered, clutching the phone in his hand. You couldn't just turn off the phone. Was you really offended? That would be fair enough... He was being an idiot.

Jungkook leaned back and closed his eyes. Memories came flooding back to him.

He had known you all his life. At first, you were just friends, inseparable since childhood. You were always there for each other, sharing secrets, laughing, quarreling. Then everything changed. You started living together because he offered to save you some money and it seemed convenient, logical, and right at the time.

This offer changed his life forever. He is happy that he offered you and happy that you agreed at the time. He remembers all the fights he had because of those stupid rules you made up. It makes him smile now, but back then it was so annoying.

There was sexual tension between you because you started to react differently to his jokes, to his touch, you were jealous of the girls he brought home back then. On the day you had a big fight and wanted to move out because he specifically did not follow the rules you created, he realized he had to act.

He realized that you seemed to like him and he was right. Soon after that you two became friends with benefits, and the sex with you was so passionate and insatiable that he was just crazy about you. And then... Then he realized that he could no longer imagine his life without you.

Jungkook was head over heels in love with you. He adored you. And the fact that you loved him back was the best thing that had ever happened to him.You had gone through so much in those six months that it seemed like you had been together forever.

Jungkook always knew you were special. Ever since we were kids, you were more than just a friend to him. But he didn't pay much attention to it - it was just something he was used to, as natural as the air he breathed.

He fell in love with you gradually, unnoticed by himself.

First, he fell in love with your laugh. You laughed loudly, openly, without holding back your emotions. He could recognize your voice among hundreds, and as soon as you laughed, his heart began to beat faster.

Then there was your stubbornness. You always had your own opinion, you were not afraid to object to him, to argue, to prove your point. Sometimes it annoyed him, but at the same time, it fascinated him. He loved that sparkle in your eyes when you were passionate about something, loved your confidence with which you challenged him.

And then came the passion.

It was always there between you - even when you were just friends. Invisible, hidden behind innocent touches, glances that lingered a little longer than they should have. He remembered the first time he touched your lips - you were so sweet on his lips, so provocative, and he fucking loved it. He remembers your first sex. How your skin trembled under his fingers, how you squeezed his shoulders as if you were afraid he would disappear.

Jungkook remembered every night he spent with you. How you whispered his name, how you curled up in his arms, how you gave him your trust and tenderness. These were the moments when he lost his head, when nothing existed but the two of you.

But it was something else that captivated him the most.

The fact that after all the passionate nights you stayed with him. He would wake up in the morning and see you next to him - with tousled hair, slightly swollen lips, still sleepy, but so dear. You would hug him in his sleep, looking for warmth, and then he would realize that you were not just his passion. You are his love.

And this love has lived in him ever since.

You had to do was look at him and he would fall back into that whirlpool. You had to say something in your quiet, trusting voice or run your fingers over his wrist and he would lose control.

You were his fire and his calm. You were his temptation and his refuge. His best friend, his love, his universe.

And every time he looked at you, he fell in love all over again.

Jungkook finally opened his eyes. He will work for a few more hours and then go home. About forty hours passed and he dialed your number again.

"The caller is out of range..." - His fingers nervously tapped the table. He looked at the screen and saw that he had already called you four times.

Something was wrong.

Jungkook tried to concentrate on his work, but nothing was working. Thoughts of you were always in his head. He tried several more times to contact you, but it was all in vain. After two hours, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up decisively, took his car keys from the desk, and left the office.

Jungkook went to Jimin's office and he was talking to someone on the phone. He had to wait for five minutes, which seemed like an eternity.

"Jimin, I came to tell you that I'm going home. Y/N is out of the zone and I don't like it. Her phone has been off for two hours now." - Jungkook said. Jimin got up excitedly and came over to him.

"Don't worry buddy, she probably just got mad at you and turned her phone off so you wouldn't call." - Jungkook shook his head. He thinks so too, but he'll be calm if he comes home and you're still mad at him and he'll do everything he can to make up with you.

"Yeah, I'll go." - Jungkook says, about to leave, but Jimin stops him.

"Hey Jungkook, when you and Y/N make up..." - He winks at Jungkook, hinting at sex between the two of you. "Come to “Muse” and we'll celebrate it together." - Jungkook smiles.

"Okay, Hyung, we'll come. When are you going to go there?" - Jungkook asked.

"I have some things to do. So I'll be there around 8:00." - Jungkook nods and says goodbye with a final "See you at the club".

On the way home, he tries to call you again, but your phone is off. Jungkook starts to get nervous. He arrives at your apartment, goes up to the 7th floor, enters the code to the door, and immediately realizes that you are not home. He looks for you in all the rooms, hoping that you are just lying there upset with no light on, but you are not there. Not in any room. The apartment is empty.

Jungkook is afraid to imagine what could have happened. He quickly goes to the car and gets behind the wheel. He starts the engine and drives to his apartment. Maybe you wanted to be there. To hide? On the way to his apartment, Jungkook dials Jimin.

"I'm listening to Jungkook-ah." - He says cheerfully.

"Jimin, brother, can you please check Y/N's location on her phone? She's not at home."

"Yes, Jungkook-ah, don't panic, okay?" - Jimin immediately felt the tension in his voice. "I'll check the geolocation now. Maybe she just turned off her phone somewhere."

"Please do it quickly." - Jungkook gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"I'll call you in ten minutes." - Jimin said.

Jungkook drove fast and arrived at his apartment, ran out of the car, and quickly went upstairs. He entered the code, opened the door, and his heart went cold. There was no sign that you had come here.

He walked from room to room, peering into the darkness until didn’t beat the wall. His breathing was labored, his chest tightened with a bad feeling. He instantly turned around, ran out of the apartment, and rushed to his car. As soon as he got behind the wheel, the phone rang.

"Well?" - He asked impatiently, answering the call. Jimin paused and then spoke.

"Kid... I don't want to scare you, but her last location was the Panho Bridge, near the Han River. And then the signal just disappeared." - Jungkook felt his chest tighten with panic.

"Wh-what?!" - He compress the steering wheel hard, trying to control himself. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. But calm down. The phone could have just blow off, or..."

"Or it could have been thrown into the river!" - Jungkook growled, nervously running his fingers through his hair. "Oh my God, she's been kidnapped? Fuck Jimin, she's pregnant... I have to find her!"

"She's pregnant? Oh my god! Jungkook, calm down! We'll find her! Just give me a minute, I'll check the cameras outside her house." - Jimin soothed.

"Do that. And please do it as soon as possible." - Jungkook dropped the phone, started the engine, and sped toward the bridge, ignoring the red lights and other drivers' signals. He was afraid that Doohoon might be involved in your disappearance again. Jungkook gripped the steering wheel with a terrifying force. The fucking sucker! He had enough. He's going to kill him if he's found to be responsible for your kidnapping.

The touches of reality come slowly. At first, it's oppressive darkness. Then - a heaviness in the head, as if consciousness is breaking through a thick fog. Your eyes do not open yet, but the sensations... they cut through this darkness, make you feel.

Cold. A piercing, unfamiliar cold that gets under my skin. You smell dampness, and dust hangs in the air.

You open your eyes. You see a dusty room in front of you. Darkness envelops every corner, with only a faint ray of moonlight coming through the dirty window. The air is frozen, musty, as if this room has not been opened for years.

Your body aches. You try to stand up, but your muscles refuse to obey. Your head is dizzy and your mouth is dry.

What did he do? What happened?

The last thing you remember is Doohoon pinning you to the car, the pain of a needle piercing your neck, and then darkness.

You don't know how you ended up here, but you know it's bad. Very bad.

Your foggy mind tries to figure out what's going on, but it fails.

Your baby.

Your heart is beating faster. What's wrong with her? Panic rolls in like a wave. You run your hands over your stomach, as if that can make a difference. What if it hurt the baby? What if...

No. If anything happens to the baby, you swear you'll kill Doohoon with your bare hands.

You turn your head involuntarily. The phone is gone. Your bag is gone. Nothing. You are cut off from the world.

Panic builds like a snowball, but you force yourself to breathe steadily. Now you can't show fear. You can't panic. You need to understand where you are and what Doohoon is up to.

You have to hold out. You have to find a way to escape. But above all, you need to understand how far Doohoon is willing to go.

Suddenly, the silence is split by the sound of footsteps. Heavy, measured, and you freeze. Your heart beats an anxious rhythm in your chest. The door creaks as it opens. A silhouette appears in the moonlight. Tall, tense. Doohoon.

His eyes are dark, shining with something inexplicable. He stares at you for a long time, as if reveling in the fact that you is helpless here, in front of him.

"Are you awake, Candy?" - His voice is soft, but you can hear the hidden tension in it. "Finally." - He closes the door behind him, and you suddenly realize that the trap has closed. It's hard to breathe from fear and pain, but you won't give up. All that matters now is the baby. You have to get through this. You have to endure it. Save the baby. You think about Jungkook and you want to cry. Sooner or later, he will find you. He will find you.

"He won't find you." - Doohoon suddenly says, as if reading your mind. He stops in front of you. He takes a chair that was standing nearby and sits down. He has a strange smile on his lips that you want to wipe away with your fists.

"Doohoon, have you gone fucking crazy?" - You say, your voice hoarse. You're shivering from the cold, your head hurts, and the gap is still spinning.

"Are you cold?" - He ignores your question and asks his own, a damn stupid one. You raise your eyebrows, wanting to strangle this idiot with your own hands.

His indifference only adds fuel to your anger. You're shivering, but you don't know if it's from the cold or from hatred.

"Are you serious?" - Your voice breaks into a rasp. "Doohoon, you injected me with something and kidnapped me, and now you're asking me if I'm cold?" - He sighs, leaning forward a little. His gaze is full of condescension.

"Well, it doesn't mean I want you to be sick, Candy." - He says it so tenderly, as if you were really his precious treasure and not a kidnapping victim. It's disgusting. It's...

You think of your baby. You look down, and almost instinctively put your hand on his. Fear clutches your throat. He notices your movement and squints.

"What's wrong?" - His voice changes, becoming more alert. "Worried about the baby?"

You force yourself to meet his gaze, trying not to show fear. You look at him with hostility.

"What did you inject me with?" - You ask. He does not answer. He just looks at you. Your patience is running out. When he doesn't answer and you feel like you've been waiting forever for him to answer, you can't contain your anger any longer. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME! ANSWER ME, YOU SICK BASTARD!" - You scream.

Everything happens quickly. He flies up to you and grabs you by the hair with one hand and the cheeks with the other. You automatically grab his hands. His fingernails dig into your soft skin, and his other hand clutches your hair painfully. He brings his face dangerously close to yours for a short distance. His face is still beautiful and flawless, but you see only the monster again, not the beautiful man.

"Who gave you permission to raise your voice to me?" - Doohoon says, lowering his voice to almost a whisper. His breath is hot and unpleasant on your skin. His eyes are dark, almost crazy. He squeezes your face harder, making you feel weak, defenseless. "You know I don't like it when you act so rough, Candy." - His voice is almost caressing, but it sounds threatening.

You gasp for air, trying not to let your fear show. His fingers dig painfully into your jaw, but you don't look away. Your heart is beating in a frantic rhythm, but you force yourself to hold on.

"Just tell me…" - You say, holding back tears. He looks at you, letting go of your cheeks. Then he touches your face gently, almost weightlessly, with his fingers. You resist, but he holds you back by pulling your hair, reminding you that you are in his hands.

"You're so beautiful, Candy. Have I ever told you that?" - He asks, his gaze locked on your eyes. You look at him angrily, no you look at him with eyes full of hate.

"I don't need your compliments." - You say, your voice trembling with hatred. Doohoon laughs. He looks at you for a second longer before suddenly letting go. You can feel the pain where his nails dug into your skin. But you don't lower your head.

"You talk too much." - He sighs, as if tired of your disobedience. Then he tilts his head to the side and changes his tone. "Sleeping pills. That's all." - You don't believe him.

"You mean it won't harm the baby?" - He presses his lips together as if thinking, before answering calmly.

"Why would I lie?" - He asks, putting his hands in his pockets. You look at his figure towering over you. Your hands clench into fists.

"Because you're an asshole." - You say through gritted teeth. He laughs. The sound makes you feel even worse.

"You're so outspoken, Candy. That's one of the things I hate about you." - He admits.

"Why am I here?" - You abruptly change the subject because you can't take the tension anymore. He doesn't answer. He hurls at you an irritating view. Doohoon decides that you have nothing more to talk about and walks away without answering you. "Hey, are you deaf? Where are you going?" - You try to get out of bed and chase him, but he's out the door. When you get to the door, it is already locked. You beat on the door with your hands, screaming, calling out to him, but to no avail. You slide down by the door, sitting on the cold floor and crying.

You sit on the cold floor, clutching your knees with your hands, and tears roll down your cheeks one by one. They are hot, stinging, but you do not wipe them away.

You are desperate. You don't even try to hide it - who needs it? You sob, biting your lip to calm yourself down a little. Everything is so bad that you don't even know how to cope with it. Why you? Why do you have to go through this?

His face pops into my head. Jungkook.

His deep dark eyes that always looked at you with such passion and care. His strong arms that hugged you as if they could protect you from the whole world. His voice full of tenderness when he called you by your favorite nickname...

"Jungkook..." - You whisper it barely audibly, as if this word could make him come here. But the silence in the room only proves once again that he is not here. That he doesn't even know where you are.

Pain rips through your chest. You clench your hands, your nails digging into your skin, trying not to cry even harder. But you can't stop yourself. And then your hand, almost instinctively, falls back on your stomach.

You inhale sharply. A baby. Your baby. You're not alone. You close your eyes slowly, forcing yourself to breathe more evenly.

For her... or him. For your baby's sake, you can't let yourself fall apart now.

A chill courses through your body, forcing you to finally lift your head. You take another breath, swallowing back tears, and finally force yourself to stand up. One step at a time. With your palms resting on the floor until you feel your body finally lift. You go back to the bed and slowly sit on the edge.

You're shaking, but you try to focus on your breathing. Take a deep breath. Exhale. Don't be nervous. Don't think about the worst.

You throw your head back, looking at the ceiling. But instead of a white canvas, you see him again. You remember his warm embrace. His chest, which you pressed against and felt so warm. His hands that touched you so gently.

You bite your lip, trying to push it out of your mind. But your heart feels like it's going crazy with pain.

"Jungkook..." - His name escapes your lips again, like a mantra. You want to be in his arms. You want to feel his warmth. You want him to be with you now... But he's not here. Only you are. And the darkness, which seems to be getting denser by the minute.

You climbed onto the bed, wrapping yourself in your coat. It was dirty, covered in dust. You sat staring at one point and didn't know what to do. You didn't know how much time has passed. An hour, two hours... you completely lost track of it. Your head hurt from crying and stress. Suddenly you heard footsteps again. Doohoon was coming toward you.

You tensed up against your will. How you wanted him to disappear to forever.

He enters the room and you notice that the light is on in the corridor. A strip of light makes its way into the room where you are sitting. Doohoon finds you sitting on the bed and flips the switch.

A bright light fills the room, and you put your hands over your crying face, you can't see the light because you're used to the darkness.

Doohoon goes inside and closes the door. The smell of ramen reaches your nose. You take your hands away from your face and see him putting a box of ramen and a corndog on a chair. He pulls the chair with the food closer to you.

You looked at the steam coming off the ramen, the smell of the seasonings should have awakened your appetite, but you didn't. You looked up at Doohoon, who took another chair and sat down next to you.

"You need to eat." - He said coldly. There was no trace of the softness in his voice that he usually showed you.

"I'm not hungry." - You said, looking away. You turned your face the other way so you wouldn't have to look at Doohoon, who you hated.

He presses his lips together, your words irritating him, but he doesn't say anything. He just pushes the food even closer, as if that will make you change your mind.

"Eat." - His voice is sharp, without any warmth.

"I said I don't want any." - You stubbornly turn away even more. Doohoon exhales, as if he's trying not to get angry.

"It's not up for discussion." - His voice becomes lower, more threatening. "You need to eat. You can't get weak."

"I don't care what you think." - You say colorlessly. You hear him smile.

"What? You decided to torture yourself? You've want to starve yourself until Junguk comes for you?" - Doohoon asks. You turn your head sharply toward him.

"It won't take him long to come get you!" - You say in exasperation. His eyes flash with curiosity. Doohoon gets up and walks over to the bed. He sits down in front of your legs tucked under your arms. You keep your eyes on him, as if preparing to defend yourself.

"You do realize he's not coming, Candy." - His voice is almost gentle, but there is only coldness in his eyes. You hate it when he calls you that. You hate the fake calmness in his voice. You hate the arrogant expression on his face as he looks at you now.

"He's coming." - You clench your teeth stubbornly. Doohoon laughs softly.

"He doesn’t care about you." - His next words make you freeze. "Jungkook won’t be getting out of that hole I drove him into anytime soon." - You blink. What? What has he done again?

"What did you…?" - You say quietly. He smiles contentedly.

"I made sure he wasn’t a problem anymore." - Doohoon replies. Your stomach clenches in horror.

"What are you talking about?!" - Your voice trembles. Did he hurt Jungkook again? He’s been everywhere. What kind of person is he?

Doohoon catches your gaze relaxed, enjoying your reaction.

"I set him up so that it would cost him his life." - He says.

"No…" - You whisper.

"Yes. And I tried to make it look very… convincing. It was easy to make him a traitor." - He says it lightly, as if it’s not a human life.

"Do you know Namjoon personally? If not, I can safely say that everyone who betrayed him is long since resting at the bottom of the Han River." - He says with a wide smile. He sits down closer and you tense up even more.

"No..." - You repeat again, not believing his words. And now you realize that this is the case Namjoon was talking about. The arms trade connected to the Black Pearl is the work of Doohoon.

"So I don't think you should go hungry. You should eat and think for yourself." - You were silent. You are breathing heavily, and you are filled with anger. For the fact that Doohoon can't accept Jungkook's existence. For not realizing that you hate him and that you will never reciprocate. For not being able to stop himself in time and making it all go crazy. Doohoon reaches for the box of ramen and hands it to you. You look at the food and then push it with your hand. All the ramen flies to the floor.

Doohoon sees what you did and his patience is over. He stands up and grabs you sharply. Doohoon squeezes your wrist so hard that you scream. His face is distorted with rage, his eyes dark as a bottomless pit.

"You're unbearable, you know that?" - His voice is husky, threatening. He pulls you sharply toward him, forcing you to rest your arms against his chest to keep your distance. You hit him, try to break free, but his grip only tightens.

"Let go of me!" - You scream, wriggling, but he doesn't even blink.

"Stop playing around. You're mine, and it's time to accept it." - He says. He leans closer, his breath burning hot on your skin. His fingers grip your jaw roughly, forcing you to look into his eyes. His other hand goes around your waist, trying to hold you close. Panic flares up in you even more.

You try to pull away, but in vain. In a moment, you find yourself on the bed, pinned down by his body. You look at him with eyes full of horror. If he does this to you, you just won't survive it.

He tries to kiss you, but you turn your head away, and then you feel his lips on your neck. The adrenaline in your blood is going through the roof. You start to resist even more, screaming. His breathing is hot and ragged, and his grip is iron. You pull with all your might, but he doesn't even move.

"Don't touch me! Stop it!" - You scream, your voice trembling with panic. - "Doohoon, don't you dare!"

He just smiles wryly, his fingers clenching your jaw ruthlessly, not allowing you to turn away.

"There's no need to provoke me, Candy." - He speaks in a low tone, his voice laced with irritation and morbid desire.

You can't breathe. He's too close. His weight is overwhelming, squeezing your chest, leaving no room for resistance. But you are not going to give up. He tries to get through your clothes and you're glad you have a coat on.

"Let me go, or else..." - Your voice breaks, but you force yourself to continue. "If you... if you do that, I'll kill myself!" - Doohoon freezes. His eyes darken even more, and this time there is something new in them - anxiety. He looks at you, his breathing steadies, and his fingers weaken. He is breathing heavily, just like you. You are painfully disgusted with him lying on top of you. He looks at your face for a moment longer, then lets you go and sits on the edge of the bed. He runs his hands over his face.

You can only hear his heavy breathing in the room. You climb further up on the bed, farther away from Doohoon. He turns to you, seeing your frightened look.

"You prefer death to being with me?" - He asks, more disappointed than angry. You look up at him, frightened, exhausted, and broken. Hot tears flow down your face from your shock. You hadn't eaten properly for two days and didn't sleep well, and you didn't have the strength to fight him because he is a healthy, strong man. Even if you knew some taekwondo moves, you couldn't use them, you just don't have the physical strength.

You are silent, scared to death. Doohoon approaches again, but he doesn't get too close. Your eyes are pure fear.

"Candy, you'll be mine willingly. You'll see, I'm much better than that bastard. We'll be happy together, you just have to accept me." - He looks at you, and you don't say anything, still crying. He curses, exhaling heavily. "I'll prove to you that you won't be disappointed in me. Just give me a chance." - He says desperately. You shiver from the old age and the cold.

"I'd rather die than be with you." - You say, determination in your voice. "You are a sick bastard who attacked a pregnant woman and kidnapped her." - You say, finally trampling on Doohoon’s hopes of having any kind of relationship with you. His eyes express anger. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you for a long time. Then he stands up abruptly. He turns to you and his voice is colder than the weather outside.

"I told you that you are mine. Whether you like it or not." - He pushed his foot away the chair with the cold corndog still on it. "Jungkook will not find you, and we will leave here very soon. To a place where no one will know you or me. And of course , I won't let you carry his child." - You freeze. It's like you're paralyzed.

"What...?" - You whisper unconsciously.

"Do you think I'm going to let you have of his child in you?" - His face distorts with anger. "I'll take it away, just like everything else."

You clutch your stomach, as if that could somehow protect your child.

"You won't do that..." - You say, shaking your head.

"I've already decided." - His voice is cold. "Jungkook is dead. And his child shouldn't live." - You clench your jaw, feeling the hot tears running down your cheeks in a thin ribbon along the route you've already laid out.

"If you ever hurt my child, I swear with everything I have, I will kill you." - You threatened. And you were one hundred percent sure of your words. You would never have thought of saying such words before, not even in your mind, let alone felt that you could do it.

Doohoon doesn't answer. He turns around and leaves the room, locking it.

The morning greets you with a coldness that penetrates to the bone. You sit with your arms wrapped around yourself, trying to keep warm. Your eyelids are heavy from a sleepless night, but you don't even think about closing your eyes. You can't. Everything is too quiet in this room, and every rustle seems as loud as thunder.

You don't know what time it is, but the sun has already risen high enough that a gray, dim light is shining through the bars of the window. It makes this room even more depressing - the walls seem even dirtier, the ceiling even lower, and your helplessness even more bitter.

You got up several times to stretch your muscles. You went to the window to study the area. There were bars on the window. You tried several times to loosen them, but to no avail. You couldn't make much noise so as not to attract attention. After trying for the third time, you gave up. You closed the window because the room was already cold.

You went to the door and listened. Doohoon's quiet voice was coming from behind the door. You could hear his words broken off: "at the company," "I got rid of phone," "the situation." The only thing you could understand from what you heard was that Doohoon had got rid of phone, but which phone was he talking about? Was it yours or his?

You listened again, but there was silence. You stood at the door, listening intently, but it was still quiet. You exhaled heavily. Your stomach growls, and you are hungry. You glance at the ramen scattered on the floor, and then at the cordon lying on the chair next to the bed. You turn away and go to the bed.

You lie down facing away from the door, curled up in a fetal position to keep warm. You close your eyes and feel terribly tired. You lie there wondering how to escape, what to do next. Is Jungkook looking for you? He should know by now that you are gone.

Your chest is pierced with pain, he is definitely looking for you. Namjoon didn't kill him. He couldn't have. He would've definitely looked into whether Jungkook could've betrayed him first. You think that would have been the case. But what if he didn't? Your blood runs cold at the thought that Jungkook could have been killed. You quickly push away the horrible thoughts that you shouldn't get yourself worked up.

You almost doze off. A cold, unpleasant dream was beginning to envelop you when suddenly you heard a loud bang. You sat up sharply on the bed, frightened. It felt like someone smashed a chair against the wall.

"FUCK! WHY THE FUCK IS THAT BASTARD STILL ALIVE!!!" - You hear Doohoon's furious voice. Your heart is pounding in your chest in a frantic rhythm. He's alive. Jungkook is alive. And he's looking for you. You run to the door, listening to what's going on behind it. "I PAID YOU MONEY TO DO THE RIGHT THING! LISTEN, YOU DUMBASS, IF I GET TO YOU, AND I WILL, YOU'RE GOING TO BE SORRY YOU DIDN'T DO IT RIGHT." - Doohoon is shouting somewhere in the next room and you can hear him clearly. He stops talking and you listen intently to the silence without even breathing. "Is he coming here?" - You can barely hear. A smile touches your lips. Your heart is racing. Jungkook is coming to get you.

But you cannot rejoice for long. You hear quick footsteps and run to bed. You barely have time to lie down on it, turning away, when the door opens. They swing open with such force that they kick up dust in a shock wave. You turn your head. Doohoon bursts into the room, his face contorted with anger, his eyes full of madness.

"Get up!" - He barks. He walks toward you and you notice a rope in his hands. You don't move. "I said get up!" - He shouts again. You look down at the ropes and notice on his wristwatch that it is 7 am.

He grabs your arm, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Before you can resist, he deftly throws the rope and ties your wrists together. Tightly. So hard that you can barely hold back a moan of pain.

"What are you doing?!" - You struggle, but it's no use. He ties you up. Your hands are tied behind your back, in a tight knot, binding them very tightly.

"We're leaving." - His voice is cold. He pushes you toward the door, forcing you to walk ahead. A few minutes later, you find yourself at the car. Doohoon opens the back door and then shoves you inside with a sudden movement. "Don't think about anything stupid." - He warns you. "I'm not an idiot to give you a chance to be free."

He drive for a long time. You don't know exactly how much time has passed. The windows are darkened, and your hands are cramping from the rough rope. You are worried that he has taken you too far. But Jungkook will definitely be able to find you, you are one hundred percent sure. You are sure that his friends from Ran Noir are helping him. They must be helping him.

When the car finally stops, Doohoon pulls you out and leads you inside a building. It's a small motel. The lamps on its sign have long since burned out, and old yellow light bulbs glow dimly in the corridors. It's almost at the end of its life.

"Be quiet." - He orders, stopping you at the threshold. "If you make a sound, you'll regret it."

You walk into a horrible lobby. An old man sits at the reception desk. He looks at you indifferently. Doohoon doesn't even try to hide your tied-up position. His hand squeezes your shoulder so hard that you're sure it will bruise.

"We need a number." - He says sharply, throwing a money on the countere. The old man looks at you lazily, then shrugs and holds out a key.

"Second floor, end of the corridor." - He answers, grabbing the money and starting to count it. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. This old man doesn't seem to care that you are tied up and dirty. Maybe he sees pictures like this every day, or maybe the earnings in this motel are so meager that he doesn't neglect any earnings.

Doohoon pulls you sharply behind him, forcing you to hurry up the stairs. The door closes with a loud click. The room is filled with the musty smell of dampness and dust. The gray curtain is barely hanging on the curtain rod, and there are dark spots on the ceiling.

"Sit down." - He orders, pushing you toward the old sofa. You don't argue. There is no point in it. You just look up at him, not hiding your anger.

"What are you going to do now? Are you going to sit here and watch me until your plan falls apart?" - You ask. The hope that Jungkook will find you soon gives you strength.

"Shut your mouth!" - He growls. "Don't try my patience!" - He warns. You shut up, thinking it's the right thing to do.

Doohoon doesn't sit down. He walks nervously around the room, clutching his phone in his hand. You realize he's nervous.

A few minutes later his phone rings. Doohoon answers it almost immediately.

"Yes!" - His voice is tense. You stare at his face, trying to understand what's going on. But it's not him who gives you the answer.

"Doohoon, I just found out that they've tracked you down. I saw that Jin is monitoring the roads from Seoul to Osan and Cheonan." - The voice on the phone is clear enough. You hold your breath. Ran Noir is looking for you, along with Jungkook. All you have to do is hold out until they find you.

"Damn shit!" - Doohoon curses. "DO SOMETHING! Turn off the lights, turn off the internet. Do something to buy me some time!" - He yells, ordering.

"Yes, Doohoon, I'll do anything for y..." - Suddenly the sound in the phone changes. It's screaming. The man on the other end seems to be choking on his own words.

"What the...?!" - Doohoon doesn't understand what happened. He hears the rustling and screaming. "Hey Insoo, what's wrong?" - Doohoon waits for an answer. You strain your ears. And you hear someone answering.

"Hello, honey." - You hear a familiar voice, but you can't remember who it belongs to. "Hey Doohoon, I think you're in big-big shit." - You catch the jovial tone and realize it must be Jin.

"Fuck!" - Doohoon throws the phone against the wall with all his might. You duck as the phone goes straight over your head. It shatters, falling into pieces. You realize only now that it was not his phone. He was using an iPhone, and the broken phone, the pieces of which are lying not far from your feet, is a Samsung. You don't have time to say anything. He abruptly grabs you, forcing you to stand up.

Doohoon drags you outside. He opens the car and pulls you into the trunk. Once you're in it, panic immediately clamps down on your throat. There is not enough air. There's not enough space. Your head is pounding, but you try not to panic.

You don't know how much time is passing. You were counting the minutes, but then you lost track. You were also ready to remember whether he turned, whether he turned on his turn signals, whether he stopped at a traffic light. But it was useless. You drove straight the whole time, not stopping anywhere.

When the car finally stops, Doohoon pulls you again. Your whole body hurts and you are exhausted to the max. The building he brings you to looks like it should have collapsed long ago. You inhale the dust and metallic flavor. An aluminum factory or something like that?

Doohoon drags you up the stairs, which sway under the weight of his steps. He sits you down on the floor. And he looks nervously out the window, which looks like it leads to the road. You see him reach into the waistband of his pants and pull out a gun. You freeze in horror.

He twirls the gun in his hands as if thinking about something, and then abruptly puts it down on the windowsill, sighing heavily. The room is in tense silence, broken only by the sound of the wind seeping through the cracks in the walls.

You clench your fists, feeling the ropes cut into your wrists. Your heart is pounding furiously.

"Why did you do all this? What have you achieved?" - You ask, your voice hoarse with fatigue. Doohoon doesn't even turn his head.

"You should have been mine from the beginning." - His voice trembles with anger. "He stole you from me, shamelessly, when I told him I liked you." - He turns to you, and his eyes are fierce. "You chose a scumbag. You chose him!" - Doohoon takes a step closer, and you instinctively move away. "And I... I loved you all my life!" - You shudder at his words.

"Love?" - You laugh bitterly. "Is this love? Kidnapping, violence, threats?" - He clenches his jaws, his eyes full of hatred.

"I could have given you everything... You ran to him. To an arrogant, narcissistic bastard who fucked everything that moved! And you took him when he was sated enough." - You look up at him sharply.

"You think you can hurt me with that? Do you think I don't know that?" - You ask. Doohoon grinds his teeth.

"You know…" - He said with venom in his voice. "So that means you just another one on his list. Another Jungkook’s whore!" - Doohoon says roughly and approaches you.

"And you're just another pathetic loser who can't accept the fact that he's been rejected!" - You reply with no less rudeness. His fist clenches. And a moment later you feel a sharp pain as his palm comes down on your cheek with all its strength. Your head falls to the side, your ears ring.

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" - Doohoon screaming. You accidentally bite your lip, not expecting a blow, and it starts to bleed. You remain silent, licking your lips, the taste of blood flooding your mouth. "I'll wait for him here." - Doohoon says, grabbing your hair. He tilts your head back and looks right into your eyes. "And this time it really will be over." - He pulls your head back and walks away.

You are left alone. Your chest heaves painfully with deep breathing. Tears are in your eyes, but you don't let them escape.

And suddenly... A barely audible rustle. You raise your head sharply. And you meet his eyes.

Jungkook.

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[yearofthesnape]

Appendix: Grief or Guilt? Engaging with Lorrie Kim's Reading

@snapecentric first pointed out the similarities between my meta above and Lorrie Kim's reading of the same scene in her masterwork Snape (A Definitive Reading). Kim and I both argue that there is, in fact, more going on than Snape's dislike at being called a coward, citing the "long pause in the sentence" as evidence (Kim). We also refer to the panic of being inarticulately trapped in a catastrophic world (Kim, paraphrasing Hilary Kovar Justice). Both of us read the scene as Snape reacting to Dumbledore's death, not just James's. Both of us speak of Snape's pain communicated via Fang and of Snape's great isolation. After this, however, our interpretations begin to diverge.

Kim's work fleshes out aspects of the scene that my meta doesn't handle; for instance, she brings up Buckbeak's attack on Snape as evidence that Snape is so isolated that even the world of beasts is not a safe refuge for his emotions (a brilliant and heartwrenching point). Also, she reads Harry's words as Harry intending to reveal to Snape that he now knows Snape betrayed James. As far as Harry's concerned, I'm now inclined to agree and stand corrected; for Harry, the most impactful part of his statement probably is intended to be "like you killed him," as in primarily James (but partly Dumbledore), which causes fewer narrative complications about how Harry switched entirely from the topic of James in Snape's last line of dialogue.

I think, however, that Kim too readily assumes that Snape and Harry are on the same page. For Snape, the crux of Harry's statement is the moment Harry solidifies his similarity to Dumbledore — "Kill me, then," the same request Dumbledore made. Harry repeats it twice, cementing his role as Dumbledore in this situation, and by the second time around, I don't think Snape's emotional focus is on James at all.

Because I think that Snape is not dealing with James here (although Harry thinks he is), I can put forward a thesis that does not involve James: This scene is about Snape's grief. Kim does fleetingly bring up grief ("There is no time yet to grieve"), but she does not centralize that grief. Since she keeps James in Snape's mind, Kim promotes a thesis that more plausibly refers to James: This scene is about Snape's guilt.

I maintain, however, that looking at grief gives a more complete engagement with all aspects of this passage. Kim's reading provides no explanation for the adjectives inside the narrative pause. While my reading of "inhuman" could be seen as a stretch, I think "demented" does require an explanation at this point in our familiarity with Dementors — and if "demented" does, "inhuman" might not be so much of a stretch after all. Granted, Dementors likely prey on feelings of guilt as well as sadness, but the narrative has always presented Dementors as bringing up "the worst experiences of your life" (PoA ch. 10), not the worst things you did.

Guilt is certainly a pain-inducing emotion, and Kim ties Snape's emotions to Fang in this way; but if Fang is connected with guilt, we lose the connection to Fang's grief-motivated howling later in the same chapter, and I think the two instances are so close together that the connection is likely important. Reading Snape as primarily guilty here breaks off that connection, and it also jeopardizes the connection between the present scene and Snape's "DON'T!" in the Prince's Tale — the only other time in the series he shouts this word. In the Prince's Tale, also, Snape is described as sounding "like a wounded animal," a possible callback to Fang in the present scene. Yet Kim makes no comment, either in her reading of the Prince's Tale or this scene.

From a psychological perspective, also, I think it unlikely that Snape is feeling primarily guilty here. He had qualms about killing Dumbledore in the past, yes; but the Killing Curse requires certainty, and Snape delivered. He knows that what he did was at Dumbledore's (reiterated) request. He knows that Lily and James died despite his best efforts; he knows that endangering them had never been his intent. Snape does not seem the sort of person to shout "DON'T!" if what he means is "DON'T BRING UP MY GUILT!" — when faced with accusation, he generally responds to it in some way, even by denying it, rather than trying to get out of its existence. The "DON'T" scene in the Prince's Tale shows Dumbledore trying hard to make Snape's "DON'T" into guilt (an action-spurring emotion) rather than grief (an emotion to sit with), but we see that his "DON'T!" was provoked by Dumbledore describing Lily's eyes, and it is followed by "Gone... dead..." which seems far more grief-filled than guilty. Snape is not afraid to face and debate the possibility of his being guilty, but he is profoundly uncomfortable with the action-opposed emotion of grief. His "DON'T" here, I argue, means "DON'T MAKE ME REMEMBER HIM, I CAN'T STAND THE PAIN YET!"

If Snape is trying to keep Harry from bringing up his guilt, Kim herself states that this is clearly not something he can legitimately request in any circumstance, since he did do the things for which he is feeling guilty. It would be tantamount to saying, "Don't tell me the truth." Even if he were not a spy, then, he would have to reframe this statement to a more appropriate one, so he would end up still saying, "Don't call me coward." ("Don't call me coward" is also an indirect way of refuting his guilt; if he is sufficiently detached to give this indirect refutation, I would imagine him to also be sufficiently detached not to look inhuman at the very thought of his being guilty.)

If Snape is trying to keep Harry from making him experience grief-laden memories of Dumbledore, though, this would almost always be a legitimate request to make... just not here, not as a spy. Snape's cover as a spy is the only thing holding him back from saying what he means in this instance, which increases the stakes and the pathos of this scene.

To conclude, then, while Kim's explanation of Snape's reaction does more easily explain the presence of James in the conversation, I still think that grief, not guilt, best accounts for all the complexities at play.

Meta: "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" as Grief Response

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward —" "DON'T —" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them — "CALL ME COWARD!" -HBP ch. 28

This scene is not, primarily, about Snape's dislike for being named a coward.

I'm not saying there's less going on than that very real and warranted dislike. Many excellent metas have been written about why Snape doesn't like being called a coward, and that does make sense; he has just performed a feat of moral courage, after all, and it has to hurt to have that attributed to cowardice. He has also just been provoked by Harry's trauma-triggering attempt to use Levicorpus — but, interestingly, that isn't what tips him over the edge into uppercase instability. Nor is it, I argue, the term "coward." McGonagall and Harry both call Snape a coward in their canonical last words to Snape, but Snape doesn't react this way to McGonagall. Nor did Snape absolutely lose it the first time Harry called him a coward in this scene. While there is a cumulative effect from the repeated insult, the extremeness of Snape's reaction gives one pause. The most obvious conclusion is that something else is going on. In this case, I argue, that "something" is Snape grieving.

Snape is not usually permitted to openly grieve, and this scene is no exception. He is a double agent; he cannot let it show that he misses "those whom he could not save." Therefore, we have to read between the lines, avoiding Snape's careful misdirection of his feelings into allowable ground (upset over an insult) and away from dangerous territory (grief over people he isn't supposed to care about).

The dialogue is also party to some misdirection. If you read only the dialogue in this scene and the preceding pages, you might assume that the "him" that Harry is talking about is Harry's father. This makes no sense, as Snape didn't kill James. The narration, on the other hand, explicitly sets up Harry in this scene to look exactly like Dumbledore before he died, making it clearer that both Harry and Snape are thinking of Dumbledore now, not James, despite Snape's attempts to keep the conversation on the (ironically) safer ground of James Potter. (Snape was the first one to bring up James in this interaction, and I think that's intentional.)

The narration is also pointing us to a bigger picture in its use of reporting and interrupting speech. Snape's paragraph splits what could have been a straightforward sentence ("DON'T CALL ME COWARD!") into two parts, with so much narration in between that we are invited to speculate on what Snape doesn't want Harry to do. The effect gives Snape a little pause, a breath, so that he probably says "DON'T — CALL ME COWARD!" That breath in the middle gives Snape a hairbreadth space to change his initial reaction to something appropriate to his cover. This is the closest we ever see Snape to blowing his cover, but (eminently capable as he is) he salvages it regardless, so thoroughly that many fans can't see past it either. I didn't, until recently.

But the narrative does. We'll see confirmed in The Prince's Tale in the next book that "DON'T" is Snape's automatic grief response; he cannot bear to hear his loved ones spoken of:

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?" "DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone... dead..."

In the HBP scene, Harry has just mentioned Dumbledore's death; Snape is being confronted by someone else about it for the first time. Furthermore, Snape knows at this point that Harry must die, and we know that being told that by Dumbledore agitated him deeply. So the parallels between Harry and Dumbledore here are even more heartbreaking for Snape. Snape is actually having to work towards Harry's death for the same reason he had to kill Dumbledore. In this scene, he has to watch Lily's son looking up at him with her eyes, looking up the way Dumbledore just did, and he has to hear that son yelling at him about how he must bury every last vestige of everyone he most loved, while that son simultaneously reminds him that the whole world, including Lily's closest representative, will hate him for it. No wonder he's reacting with "DON'T." I would too.

Even without knowing what "DON'T" means in Snape code, however, we have other narrative clues. Snape's face is described as:

demented

an unusual word, linked in the Harry Potter universe to the Dementors, who prey on despair. Being demented could just mean being deranged or unstable... or it could mean being the subject of a Dementor-like sadness so crushing it threatens to take your very soul.

inhuman

This adjective recalls a scene from OotP, another case of all-caps shouting, where Harry is torn up by grief for Sirius:

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —" "THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. -OotP, ch. 37

Lastly, the HBP scene compares Snape's pain to that of Fang stuck in Hagrid's burning hut:

as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them

Dogs are symbolic of loyalty, and Snape really is in a similar situation, trapped in an utter catastrophe in which he is collateral damage for his loyalty (in his case, to Dumbledore). The next time Fang howls, at the end of this chapter, is in grief for Dumbledore's death, drawing the parallels still closer:

Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.

Unlike Fang, Snape is not allowed to express his true feelings. Even Dumbledore, the person who understood him most, redirects him to act and not lament, and Dumbledore is dead. A metaphorical tie to a nonhuman character who is able to grieve later is as close as Snape gets. He cannot go to the funeral, just as he could not for Lily; he cannot talk to anyone; he will later be confronted with a horrifying specter of Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place. In light of all this, when Snape gives Harry the memory of himself crying over Lily's letter, it's not just him giving Harry back the correspondence. It's Snape reclaiming: I, too, grieve.

[voidofsunlight]

Title: Get In, We’re Causing Problems

Word Count: 776

Summary: Chaos—Choose your boy!

A/N: Hello! 💚 Trying out a new format—hope you like it! I won’t lie, I’m not super proud of this one, it’s my first attempt, but hopefully, you still enjoy the chaos. Sorry for not posting more tonight, it’s been a rough week. Enjoy!✨😊

You were finally, relaxing in your dorm, wrapped in a blanket, enjoying the rare moment of solitude. A book in hand, maybe a snack nearby—peace. True peace.

Which, of course, meant it was doomed.

Because without warning—

BAM.

The door slams open like it's been cursed off its hinges, crashing into the wall as your best friend bursts in like an agent of chaos with zero regard for personal space.

And then—

Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo stands in the doorway, hands on his hips, a wild grin on his face. His curls are a mess, his tie is half undone, and there’s a very real possibility he just ran here.

“Put on your shoes. We’re making terrible decisions tonight.”

You stare at him, blinking. “That’s not a greeting.”

“No time for pleasantries, love. There’s mischief to be done.”

You groan, sinking further into your blanket. “I’m tired, Matty."

“No, no, see, that’s exactly why you need this.” He saunters over, dramatically ripping the blanket off you. “Sleep? Rest? Overrated. But breaking at least one school rule? That’s how you heal.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s the plan?”

He grins, too wide to be safe. “Let’s just say… Filch is about to have a really bad night.”

Tom Riddle 

Tom enters your room calmly, as if he didn’t just barge in like an assassin. He closes the door behind him carefully, eyes sharp as they settle on you.

“Morality is optional. What’s the plan?”

You frown. “...I don’t have a plan.”

Tom tilts his head. “Oh?” He takes a slow step closer. “You mean to tell me that you were simply sitting here, peacefully, with no thoughts of mischief? No revenge plots? No dubious acts of spellwork?”

You raise a brow. “Yes?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “Unacceptable. Here.” He pulls a folded piece of parchment from his robe. “I made a list.”

You blink. “A list—?!”

“Of people who deserve to be hexed. Thought you might want to assist.”

You stare at him.

Tom stares back.

Then, you reach for your wand. “...Fine. But I pick the first target.”

He smirks. “Naturally.”

Theodore Nott

Theo doesn’t barge in. No, he leans against the doorframe casually.

He surveys you, taking in the blanket, the book, the snack. Then he smirks.

“Good choices? Never heard of ‘em. Let’s go.”

You frown, flipping a page. “Go where?”

He shrugs, stepping inside. “Does it matter?”

You raise a brow. “Theo.”

“Look, I just feel like something’s missing tonight,” he says, plopping down beside you. “And I’ve decided the answer is bad decisions.”

You groan, shutting the book. “If this is about sneaking into the kitchens again—”

He gasps. “How dare you assume I only have one bad idea?”

You sigh. “...Alright. What’s the plan?”

Theo grins. “I have no idea. Let’s wing it.”

Lorenzo Berkshire

Lorenzo saunters in, all easy confidence and casual amusement, like he already knows you’re going to say yes.

“Do you want a distraction or an alibi?”

You blink at him. “For what?”

He smirks, flopping onto your bed. “You ask too many questions.”

“Lorenzo. What. Did. You. Do.”

His smirk widens. “See, I could tell you… or you could just come with me and find out.”

You stare at him. “That sounds dangerous.”

“I know.” He grins, standing and offering his hand. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

You sigh, grabbing your wand. “I swear, if this gets me detention—”

Lorenzo winks. “Not if we do it right.”

Blaise Zabini

Blaise appears in the doorway like a summoned spirit, eyes half-lidded, looking entirely too composed for someone about to cause absolute mayhem.

“I have free will, a plan, and absolutely no self-control.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s possibly the most dangerous combination of words I’ve ever heard.”

He smirks. “Which is why you should be way more concerned.”

You sigh, setting down your book. “What’s the situation?”

“Well, I’ve come across some rather interesting information that could cause problems for everyone involved.”

You raise a brow. “And by ‘interesting information,’ you mean—”

Blaise grins. “We’re breaking into Filch’s office.”

You stare.

Then, you grab your wand. “Lead the way.”

Draco Malfoy

Draco strides in, arms crossed, voice deadpan.

“How opposed are you to grand larceny?”

You blink. “I—what?”

He sighs. “Never mind. You’re clearly not mentally prepared.”

You scramble up. “Wait, what did you do?”

Draco smirks. “Hypothetically, if one were to acquire an entire bottle of Veritaserum from Snape’s office—”

“Draco.”

“—then one might require an accomplice.”

You groan, grabbing your wand. “Fine. But if we get caught—”

“I do the talking,” he interrupts, linking arms with you. “Obviously.”

And just like that, you’re in it together. Again.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE OR REPOST AS YOUR OWN!

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #06 死

† charming forks †

"In Kkangpae, respect is earned in blood—even if it's just from a fork to the palm. But it's the hurricane brewing in Jeon's eyes as he watches you handle yourself that has you wondering if maybe there's more than one way to catch an assassin's attention."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5k

rating: mature

content: croissant speculations, bestie gossip, AD being a menace, sope behaving like a married couple, fork-y confrontations and Jeon’s curiosity being piqued (because apparently man’s got other emotions apart from his default stick-up-his-ass one).

☠ author's note ☠

WAIT WHAT?! IS IT POSSIBLE?!

JEON HAS...

*whispers dramatically* F E E L I N G S?!

Did our resident ice prince really look at someone with something other than his patented "I'd rather be literally anywhere else including possibly on fire" expression?!

Okay, in all seriousness—stop coming for my boy. I can FEEL some of you judging him through the screen. He has feelings! They're just... buried... under several layers of trauma, bad decisions, and leather jackets. You'll understand him better eventually, I promise. Maybe. If I'm feeling generous. Which I rarely am (￣︶￣)

Here's the thing: I make my characters complicated on purpose. Humans are messy little disaster creatures, and I want my characters to reflect that beautiful chaotic energy. Everyone's actions are based on the personalities and backstories I've created—some of which you have NO idea about yet. *laughs maniacally* Every character has nuances, and I really hope I'm portraying that properly. Watch me stress about character development at 3 AM while chain-drinking tea because coffee stopped working six chapters ago.

ANYWAY! AD HAS ENTERED THE CHAT. The chaotic technology gremlin of my heart! And Sope's dynamic? *chef's kiss* Two cranky old men pretending they don't care about each other while absolutely caring about each other? BEAUTIFUL. MWAH.

I know it's hard to picture everything now because you're just getting the tiniest glimpse of all these relationships. But trust me, there's an intricate web of backstory that you'll discover eventually. Have fun grasping at straws in the meantime because I'm not making it easy for you! Where's the fun if you know everything THIS SOON?!

THERE IS NONE!!!

So hang tight, be patient, and maybe save those curse words for later chapters. Trust me, you're gonna need them. I have PLANS. *ominous music plays*

Love you all, you disaster enablers. Stay hydrated!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Your crutches click-clack against the stone floors of the castle, and it's weird how normal this feels—hobbling through what used to be some fancy abandoned castle and is now home to South Korea's deadliest gang. Nobody even looks twice at you. Then again, in a place where missing fingers are basically fashion statements, a sprained ankle's hardly worth noticing.

The infirmary door swings shut behind you, cutting off the sharp smell of antiseptic and the muffled sounds of people who definitely had worse mornings than you. The hallway feels almost peaceful in comparison. Almost.

The elevator dings, and suddenly you're face to face with what looks like pure rage wrapped in a hoodie. He storms out like the elevator personally offended him, all baggy clothes and barely contained fury. The track pants and oversized hoodie stand out here—most gang members dress to intimidate, but this guy looks ready for a gaming marathon.

You freeze, crutches awkward under your arms, as he practically radiates "don't talk to me" energy into the hallway. Something about him seems familiar, though you've definitely never met. He brushes past you, and the scent of fresh lemons hits your nose—which is when it clicks.

AD. The genius behind Cyber Intelligence. The guy who designed the security system that keeps rival gangs from turning this place into Swiss cheese. His reputation around here is... interesting. Brilliant but brutal, the kind of person who'd hack your phone just because you breathed too loud near his workspace.

You shuffle into the elevator, trying not to drop your crutches or your dignity. Your card beeps against the scanner, and you hit the button for the fourth floor—home sweet home, or at least as sweet as a gang's seduction division can be.

The doors start closing, giving you one last glimpse of AD's retreating back. The whole encounter probably lasted thirty seconds, but it sticks in your mind. You've heard stories about him—how he practically lives in his division's "gamer cave," how he's as loyal to Kkangpae as he is allergic to basic human interaction.

The elevator hums around you, and you can't help wondering what pushed his buttons today. Guy looked ready to set something on fire with his mind. Though maybe that's just his face. Hard to tell with the Council of 9 sometimes—they've all got enough trauma to keep a therapy practice in business for decades.

When the doors open to your floor, the familiar buzz of the Seduction Division wraps around you like a blanket. Back to your world of honey traps and carefully crafted lies. Still, you can't quite shake the image of AD's fury from your mind. 

Guess that's life in Kkangpae—even a simple trip to the infirmary can turn into an encounter with one of the gang's most notorious leaders.

The Seduction Division's floor buzzes with its usual afternoon energy as you hobble through on your crutches. Half your colleagues are sprawled across the common area sofas, deep in mission talk, while others practice their best "come hither" looks in the wall-length mirrors. Just another Tuesday in the art of professional manipulation.

Kazuha doesn't even look up from her iPad as you pass, that wine-red hair falling in perfect waves around her face. She gives you a quick nod though—which, coming from her, might as well be a bear hug. The girl's got that whole "ice queen who could definitely ruin your life but chooses not to" vibe down to an art.

Your shared room feels like heaven after all the hopping around on crutches. Yunjin's exactly where you expected—spread out on her bed like a pink-haired starfish, head hanging off the foot end while she watches what looks like another one of those melodramas she's obsessed with. The contrast between her bubblegum hair and the pastel yellow bedding is probably giving interior designers somewhere an aneurysm.

She brightens up when she spots you, hitting pause mid-dramatic confession scene. "How was medical training?" She twists around to face you, and you can tell she's dying for some good gossip. "Did J-Hope make you practice on oranges?"

"Nah, straight to fake skin." You drop onto your bed, grateful to finally get off your feet. "Though he did spend like twenty minutes ranting about how everyone in this gang stitches like they're drunk toddlers with safety scissors."

The memory makes you laugh. For someone who literally saves lives for a living, J-Hope's got the bedside manner of a grumpy cat. Though you guess when you're dealing with gang members who think they're immortal, maybe being nice stopped working a long time ago.

"Oh!" You perk up, remembering the best part of your morning. "You'll never guess who showed up while I was there."

Yunjin's eyes go wide with interest. She's always been a sucker for castle drama.

"Jeon." You try to keep your voice casual, like you're not still thinking about how he looked without his shirt on. t̶o̶r̶s̶o̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶o̶d̶s̶

Yunjin bolts upright so fast her pink hair whips around her face. "No way. Jeon? What happened?"

"Medical checkup." You grin at how invested she already looks. "You should've seen how much he didn't want to be there."

You can still picture it perfectly—the way he filled the doorway like some dark cloud of attitude, all black clothes and that stupid leather jacket. Even his quick scan of the room felt dismissive, like everything beneath his notice was personally offending him.

"But here's the weird part." You lean in closer, lowering your voice like you're sharing state secrets. "You know how he's usually all... you know, Jeon? Like someone carved him from ice?"

Yunjin nods eagerly.

"Complete different person around J-Hope. I mean, still grumpy as hell, but like... almost human? It was like watching a statue learn to bend."

"Jeon?" Yunjin's eyes go wide. "Are we talking about the same person? Mr. I-Take-Orders-From-Nobody?"

"Oh, it gets better." You can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "He brought J-Hope a croissant."

"A croi—wait." Yunjin sits up straighter. "Oh my god, that explains this morning!"

You raise an eyebrow. "What about this morning?"

"Okay, so you know how he's basically married to that coffee machine, right?"

"First cup of the day, every day," you confirm. Everyone knows that—it's like some weird ritual. The sun rises, birds sing, and Jeon appears to claim the first coffee like it's his divine right.

"Well." Yunjin's practically vibrating with excitement now. "Me and Kazuha were having breakfast, and there he was, just... lurking by the pastries. Like, full-on stalking them. We started betting on what he'd pick because honestly? What else do you do when one of the gang leaders is having an existential crisis over baked goods?"

You frown, something not quite adding up. "Wait, he told J-Hope it was the last pastry left."

"Bullshit." Yunjin flops onto her back, pink hair spreading across her pillow like cotton candy. "It wasn't even 7 AM. The breakfast spread was packed—Kazuha and I had front row seats to his whole pastry-hunting performance."

She stares at the ceiling for a moment, like she's replaying the scene in her head. "Actually... now that I think about it, he was really focused on the croissants. Like, weirdly focused. Standing there analyzing them like they held the secrets of the universe or something."

You both fall quiet, trying to make sense of Mr. Ice Prince going on a dawn croissant mission. It's such a small thing, but it feels... significant somehow. Like finding out your scary math teacher collects Hello Kitty merchandise.

"Well, worked out for me." You shrug, trying to sound casual as you show her the pastry bag. "J-Hope doesn't even like croissants, so."

The look Yunjin gives you could only be described as suspicious. 

“Okay but like... isn't that weird to you?" She sits up straighter, getting that expression she always has when she's about to drop some tea. "Jeon's on the Council of 9. He works with J-Hope all the time. How does he not know what the guy likes?"

"What do you mean?"

She leans forward, eyes sparkling like she's solved a murder mystery. 

“Think about it. Our fearless Chief of Tactical Assassinations spent ten whole minutes picking out the perfect croissant for someone who hates croissants." Her grin gets wider. "But you know who's always having croissants for breakfast?"

The implication hits you like a truck. No way. There's absolutely no way Jeon would... t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶a̶ ̶s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶

"You're reading way too much into this." You try to sound dismissive, but your voice comes out weird. "He probably just grabbed whatever was there."

"Uh-huh." Yunjin's not buying it. "That's why he spent longer choosing a croissant than most people spend picking engagement rings."

You throw a pillow at her face. She's being ridiculous. 

Just because Jeon accidentally got you breakfast doesn't mean... anything. He's still the same guy who used you as paintball bait yesterday.

Even if he did pick out a really good croissant.

The weight of Yunjin's words hangs in the air. The idea that Jeon—Mr. Perfect-Planning-Everything—might have deliberately chosen that croissant... it makes something weird flutter in your stomach.

No. Absolutely not.

"As if." You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. "How would he even know what I like for breakfast?"

Yunjin just gives you that look—the one that says she knows something you don't want to admit. "You're both always in the cafeteria at dawn, right? Haven't you noticed? He gets his coffee right when you're picking out your croissant."

You pause. She's... not wrong. Your early morning schedule does line up with his weird first-coffee-of-the-day ritual more often than not. But the thought of Jeon actually paying attention to your breakfast preferences? t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶a̶ ̶c̶u̶t̶e̶ That's ridiculous.

"But why would he suddenly bring me breakfast?" The question comes out smaller than intended. "He doesn't even like me."

"Maybe he doesn't dislike you as much as you think." Yunjin's voice goes soft, thoughtful. "He's still human, you know? Under all that ice. Maybe he actually felt bad about your ankle."

Her logic makes an annoying amount of sense. But accepting that Jeon might have done something... nice? That he might have been paying enough attention to know what you like? That feels like admitting something you're not ready to face.

Could Jeon really have...?

No. t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ There has to be another explanation. The idea of him noticing your habits, remembering your preferences, actually feeling guilty enough to do something about it—it doesn't fit with the cold, distant chief you know.

Except... maybe it does. And that's even more unsettling than the alternative.

"You need to stop watching those dramas. They're rotting your brain."

"Fine, don't believe me." Yunjin pouts, folding her arms like a scolded kid. "But when has anything in this place ever been simple?" There's this knowing look in her eyes that makes you want to throw another pillow at her, but she mercifully drops the subject.

The pastry bag crinkles as you grab it, desperate for any distraction from t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶ this whole situation. The croissant looks perfect—because of course it does, this is Jeon you’re talking about. 

Except for that small bite you already gave it back in the infirmary.

You break it in half, offering part to Yunjin like a peace offering.

One bite and—oh.

Oh.

"This is really good," you manage between bites, trying not to sound too impressed. 

Because you hadn’t really had time to savor it, appreciate the taste. But now you do, and holy shit. You've had your fair share of castle croissants—there's a reason you drag yourself out of bed at ungodly hours to get them—but this? This is something else entirely.

Stupid Jeon and his stupid perfectionism. Everyone complains about how anal he is about everything, but apparently that extends to pastry selection too. 

That's just annoying.

"God, I could eat like five of these," Yunjin mumbles around her mouthful, and you hum in agreement.

You both enjoy the quiet for a moment, just appreciating good pastry and each other's company. Then Yunjin sits up straighter, switching into work mode. "Hey, while you're here—mind helping me with something on my iPad? I'm stuck on this one part."

You scoot closer as she pulls up files full of charts and data. This is the real meat of gang work—not the glamorous missions or dramatic showdowns, but hours of planning and strategizing. You and Yunjin fall into an easy rhythm, bouncing ideas off each other and finding solutions.

It's nice, actually. Just you and your friend, doing what you do best, making plans that could mean life or death for someone someday. 

You know, normal people stuff.

Lunchtime at the castle is its own brand of chaos. 

The cafeteria buzzes with life—metal trays clanking, conversations overlapping, and the smell of whatever's cooking today making your stomach growl. 

It's kind of wild how this massive, well-lit space becomes neutral ground where gang divisions actually mix. 

Even if it's just to argue over the last pudding cup.

Yunjin, being the angel she is, grabs a tray for you since you're still stuck with these stupid crutches. You point out what you want—some spicy stir-fried pork that smells like heaven, a mountain of steamed rice, and enough kimchi to make your breath lethal. The kind of comfort food that reminds you of simpler times, before your life involved paintball ambushes and medical training. Yunjin goes for her usual rabbit food—some fancy salad and seaweed soup.

Finding a table is surprisingly easy. There's this unwritten rule about leaving some spots open for people who need the extra space—like, say, someone who got their ankle twisted during a certain chief's brilliant bait plan. So you snag a spot near the food counter, perfect for people-watching.

The cafeteria has this weird energy to it, like a tide of people flowing in and out. Some grabbing quick bites between missions, others lingering over coffee and gossip. It's probably the most normal part of living in a gang headquarters.

"Look who's eating alone again." Yunjin's voice drops as she stabs at her salad, and you don't even need to look up to know who she means.

"Does he ever eat with anyone?" You can't help asking, because seriously, what's with Jeon and his lone wolf act?

"Sometimes." Yunjin talks around a mouthful of greens. "His division members join him occasionally. Especially Takama."

"Who's Takama?" You mix some kimchi into your rice, trying to sound casual.

"His second in command." She covers her mouth as she chews, ever polite even in a gang cafeteria. "You know, deputy officer of Tactical Assassinations."

You can't help but smirk at the way Yunjin's eyes light up. Your roommate might be shy around strangers, but get her talking about castle gossip and she transforms into a one-woman intelligence agency. Her weird talent for reading people makes her better at gathering intel than half the Seduction Division.

"Okay, tea time." She sets down her fork and turns to face you fully, going into full gossip mode. "So Jeon's basically a lone wolf in the cafeteria. Only exceptions are Takama—his second in command—or sometimes J-Hope."

You take another bite of your food, settling in for what promises to be an interesting breakdown of castle dynamics.

"And get this—J-Hope hardly ever eats here. Man's practically married to his office. But when he does show up?" She leans in closer, lowering her voice. "It's either with Jeon or AD. Those two are like his pet projects or something."

"AD and Jeon?" The combination sounds about as likely as V starting a knitting club. "Wouldn't have called that one."

"Oh no, you'll never catch them together." Yunjin waves her fork for emphasis. "There's this weird... thing between them. Nobody knows why, but the tension's so thick you could cut it with a knife. Still working on figuring that one out."

She drops her voice even lower, like she's sharing state secrets. "AD's basically a cryptid though. Lives in his gamer cave like some kind of tech hermit. But word is, if you hang around the snack bar at 3 AM..."

You snort at her dramatic delivery. "Very spooky."

"And get this—he's apparently even grumpier than J-Hope. But somehow they just... click?"

"Grumpier than Dr. Cranky?" You raise an eyebrow. "That's actually impressive."

"Right? Like, next-level antisocial. But I guess their matching bad attitudes cancel each other out or something. They're both fluent in asshole."

"Well, you'd know." You gesture at her with your chopsticks. "You're the people-reading expert here."

"I mean, I haven't seen everything firsthand." Yunjin shrugs, picking at her salad. "But J-Hope's probably the one Jeon tolerates the most. Now V, on the other hand..."

"Yeah, no need to finish that sentence." You snort. "Those two are about as friendly as cats and dogs."

"Right? They hate each other's guts. Though V's weird because he gets along with everyone else—or at least pretends to. Hard to tell with him, honestly." She pauses, eyebrows shooting up as she glances across the cafeteria. "But he seems weirdly obsessed with JM lately."

"JM?" You follow her gaze. "The finance guy?"

"See the guy in the fluffy cardigan over there?" She tilts her head subtly. "That's him. Usually sits with Chaewon and Jessi. He's like, genuinely nice to everyone, which is probably why he puts up with V's... everything."

"Christ, he must have the patience of a saint."

"Right?" Yunjin snickers. "Meanwhile V's like this social chameleon—just plops down wherever he feels like. No fixed spot, just vibing with whoever catches his attention that day."

"What about Chaewon?" You ask, genuinely curious about your division chief. "You mentioned she sits with Jessi?"

"Yeah, see that woman with the red hair next to her? That's Jessi. They're basically joined at the hip, which makes sense." Yunjin lowers her voice. "Only women on the Council of 9, you know? Gotta stick together in this boys' club."

"Must be rough up there." You watch the two women, something tight forming in your chest. "Especially for Chaewon, considering how she feels about men. Makes you wonder what they went through to get those positions."

"Yeah..." Yunjin's voice goes soft. "Gang leaders don't really talk about their past lives. All I know is Chaewon came from another gang. Might explain some things..." She trails off, watching your division chief for a moment before shaking her head. "But that feels like the kind of story you don't ask about, you know?"

"True." You push around some pork with your fork. "What about RM and Moon though? Never seen them down here."

"Oh god, you won't." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively. "Those two are like urban legends in the cafeteria. Pretty sure they're permanently glued to their office chairs, buried in paperwork."

You're about to ask more when something in the air changes. You feel it before you see it, like a wintery breeze sweeping through the room, chilling and unmistakable. Conversations stutter and restart, heads turning just enough to look casual. 

When you follow everyone's not-so-subtle glances, you spot him immediately. 

AD, the human thundercloud from this morning, has decided to grace the cafeteria with his presence. 

His hoodie's pulled low over blonde hair, and everything about his walk screams 'touch me and die.' He moves like someone who's one minor inconvenience away from committing cyber crimes.

He heads straight for the food counter, completely ignoring the line of people waiting their turn. His eyes scan the options like they've personally offended him. You can hear the quiet grumbling from the queue, but nobody seems brave enough to actually say anything.

Well, almost nobody.

"Hey man, line starts back there." Some new guy who clearly hasn't learned the castle's pecking order yet pipes up.

AD turns his head so slowly it's almost cinematic. The look he gives this poor idiot could probably crash every computer in South Korea.

"Shut the fuck up unless you want your keycard to mysteriously stop working." His voice is barely above a whisper but carries enough venom to kill a small army.

The new guy practically shrinks into himself, mouth snapping shut like a trap. Everyone else in line suddenly finds the floor tiles absolutely fascinating. You get it—when the guy who controls every digital aspect of your life threatens to lock you out of the castle, you shut up and take it.

AD turns back to the food counter like nothing happened, loading his tray with... well, everything. It's like watching someone who hasn't eaten in days try to make up for lost meals all at once. Spicy Korean chicken, Caesar salad, pepperoni pizza, and a bowl of ramen that definitely wasn't meant to be a side dish. The combination is as chaotic as his reputation.

When he turns to survey the cafeteria, his eyes briefly meet yours. The air around you drops several degrees, like someone opened a window to a winter morning. Even under that hood, his gaze is sharp enough to cut glass.

He chooses a table not far from yours, dropping into the chair with a sigh that sounds like it started somewhere around his soul. The curious looks from other members bounce right off him as he attacks his food with the same intensity most people reserve for coding or murder.

Then J-Hope walks in.

The medical chief spots AD immediately, and his eye-roll is probably visible from space. With a huff that screams "not this shit again," he marches over to AD's table like a man on a mission.

"Oh, this'll be good." Yunjin leans in, practically vibrating with excitement.

You watch as J-Hope plants himself at AD's table, hands on hips, radiating disapproval. Whatever he's saying gets completely ignored—AD just keeps eating like J-Hope isn't even there. But instead of giving up, J-Hope drops into the chair across from him, apparently settling in for the long haul.

It's kind of fascinating, actually. J-Hope's clearly telling AD off about something, probably his hermit lifestyle, while AD responds in what looks like grunts and eye-rolls. But the weird thing is... he's letting J-Hope stay. For someone who just threatened to digitally exile a guy for speaking to him, that's practically a declaration of friendship.

"They're like a divorced couple who still lives together," Yunjin whispers, barely containing her grin.

You snort into your rice. "Yeah, if both of them were the grumpy one."

It's hard not to stare at AD. There's something fascinating about watching someone who practically lives in code actually interact with humans. The guy who could probably crash South Korea's entire infrastructure with his phone is sitting here eating pizza with salad. 

He's weird for a Council member. The others, like Jeon or V, you can picture them leading divisions. But AD? He feels more like some urban legend the gang created—the grumpy gremlin in the tech cave who might lock you out of your room if you breathe too loud near his servers.

You try not to be too obvious about watching him, but it's kind of mesmerizing. Even now, with J-Hope clearly giving him hell about something, AD maintains this icy distance. Like he's tolerating human interaction because someone forced him to remember he needs food to live.

The cafeteria noise provides perfect cover as you and Yunjin lean in slightly, totally not eavesdropping on what might be the grumpiest conversation in Kkangpae history. 

"For someone who's supposed to be a genius, you eat like a fucking teenager with a death wish." J-Hope's voice carries that special blend of medical concern wrapped in pure irritation.

AD doesn't even look up from his food crime scene, just keeps shoveling spicy chicken into his mouth with the enthusiasm of someone who hasn't seen sunlight in days.

"I'm not kidding, AD. Your last medical results were shit." J-Hope leans back, crossing his arms. "Or did you delete that memory along with your basic survival instincts?"

AD finally looks up, his expression screaming 'I'd rather be getting a root canal than having this conversation.' "Can you not? I can handle my own fucking health."

"Yeah, clearly." J-Hope's voice drips sarcasm. "Because staying up for three days straight surviving on energy drinks and spite is peak healthcare. What's your plan when it catches up to you? Hack yourself a new liver?"

A ghost of amusement flickers across AD's face before he squashes it. "Maybe I will. And while I'm at it, I'll program myself some immunity to your bullshit."

"You're impossible." J-Hope rolls his eyes. "Just eat something green occasionally! I'm tired of playing doctor because you think vegetables are optional."

AD stabs a piece of lettuce with enough force to kill it twice, moving with exaggerated slowness. "There. Happy?"

J-Hope gives a narrowed stare, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "No. Eat another one."

"You're so fucking annoying." AD turns away like if he can't see J-Hope, maybe he'll cease to exist.

You and Yunjin share a look, biting back smiles as you watch AD and J-Hope's weird version of friendship play out. 

It's kind of sweet, in a grumpy-meets-grumpier way. 

Even in Kkangpae, where everyone's got walls built up to their eyeballs, sometimes you catch glimpses of actual human connection. Even if it's just two cranky leaders arguing about salad.

But the peaceful moment doesn’t last long.

Harmony shatters when a group from V's division walks in. The atmosphere shifts immediately—you can feel it in the way conversations quiet down, in how other members subtly shift away. V's assassins always move like they own the place, all swagger and deadly grace.

Your stomach drops when one of them breaks away from the pack, heading straight for your table. He's tall, probably handsome if you could get past the douchebag energy radiating off him. 

He plants his hands on your table, leaning into your space like he's got every right to be there.

"Hey princess, heard about your ankle..." His voice drips fake sympathy before sliding into something that makes your skin crawl. He leans closer, close enough that you can smell whatever cheap cologne he's drowning in. "When you recover, how about some private lessons? I bet you could teach me all about seduction..."

The suggestion hangs in the air like something rotten. 

Your mind floods with comebacks—each one sharper than the last, each one perfectly crafted to cut him down to size. 

But you keep quiet.

Not because you're scared. Not because you don't have anything to say. But because you know how this game works. 

In Kkangpae, everything's about power. One wrong move, one moment of weakness, and suddenly you're marked.

And being a woman in this testosterone-fueled nightmare means always watching your step, always calculating the cost of each word.

Your silence apparently pisses him off more than any insult could. His face twists ugly, that fake charm vanishing like smoke. "I'm talking to you, bitch."

You catch Yunjin starting to rise, all protective big sister energy, but you grab her arm. This isn't her fight. Besides, you've dealt with worse than some bruised ego in a leather jacket.

The cafeteria's gone weirdly quiet. You can feel eyes on you from every direction—AD pausing mid-bite, J-Hope's exasperation shifting to concern, V watching like this is better than cable. Even Jeon's stopped pretending to eat his lunch, those dark eyes fixed on the scene playing out.

You finally look at the guy, really look at him, keeping your face blank. 

“And I'm not interested."

The words hit him like a slap. His face goes red, then purple, and suddenly his hand twitches.

The whole cafeteria seems to hold its breath. 

You catch flickers of movement—Chaewon half-rising from her seat, JM's eyes going wide, Jessi's hand twitching toward what's probably a knife.

But it's Jeon's reaction that catches your attention. He hasn't moved, hasn't said a word, but the look he's giving this guy is like a typhoon gaining speed. The kind of stare that promises violence, calculated and cold and absolutely certain.

Not that you need the backup.

The moment his hand comes down, you move. 

The fork in your hand becomes a weapon, and you catch his wrist mid-swing, driving the tines deep into his palm. The movement is smooth, precise—exactly what they taught you in training. Always use what's available, turn everyday objects into advantages.

He screams (more shock than pain probably), stumbling back like you've burned him. His eyes are huge, that macho confidence evaporating as blood wells up around the fork still stuck in his hand. 

Everyone goes dead silent. 

Like their brains are recalculating, adjusting their mental image of the new girl who just stabbed someone with cutlery.

t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶c̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶

"Maybe think twice about who you're messing with next time."

He yanks his hand back with a string of curses, blood dripping onto the pristine cafeteria floor. His face twists ugly, like he can't decide if he's more hurt or pissed. 

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

You lean back in your chair, channeling every ounce of b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ confidence you've got. The fork might have been impulsive, but now it's time to play smart.

"Someone who has Chaewon's ear." You let that sink in for a second. "And you know who Chaewon's best friends with? Jessi. You know, the one who handles personnel management?" Your smile feels sharp enough to cut. "Wonder what they'd think about some guy from Assassinations harassing their girls."

The color drains from his face so fast it's almost funny. 

Nothing like dropping two of the scariest names in Kkangpae to make a man rethink his life choices. You can practically see him doing the math in his head—is harassing the new girl worth potentially pissing off not one, but two Council members?

"You wouldn't—" His voice wavers between threat and panic.

"Try me." You cut him off clean. "This isn't even about me. You really think they'd let this slide? Their division members getting pushed around by some wannabe tough guy?"

His jaw clenches so hard you're surprised his teeth don't crack. The rage is still there, but now it's got a healthy dose of fear mixed in. Good. Maybe next time he'll think before running his mouth.

"Fucking bitch," he spits, but the words don't have much bite anymore.

You glance pointedly at the bloody fork still sticking out of his hand. 

"Get me a new fork while you're at it. You got blood all over this one."

The cafeteria's still dead silent, everyone probably wondering if they just witnessed career suicide by cutlery. But hey—sometimes you've got to stab a man with a fork to make a point.

He shoots you one last glare before stalking off, still cursing under his breath. 

You watch him go, noticing how the other assassins suddenly find their lunch absolutely fascinating. 

Funny how quickly tough guys back down when someone actually stands up to them.

Conversations resume, though noticeably quieter than before. You can feel the weight of everyone's stares finally lifting—some impressed, others probably wondering if you've got a death wish.

Everyone's except Jeon's.

When you turn to meet his gaze, something's different. Those dark eyes catch yours across the cafeteria, and something electric passes between you. It's different from his usual dismissive glances. Like he's seeing you properly for the first time. Not just as the new girl from Seduction, or the one who twisted her ankle during his paintball game. But as someone who can hold her own.

His expression hasn't changed—he's still got that perfect poker face—but there's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. 

Something that feels almost like respect.

His lips twitch, just barely, before he looks away. 

But that tiny almost-smile says more than words could. 

Maybe stabbing someone with a fork is all it takes to impress the mighty Chief of Tactical Assassinations.

t̶o̶o̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶a̶n̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶

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[charliedawn]

Hi Charlie! I recently came up with an interesting idea about the Hannibal family. The reader (the murderer) somehow found out that the Hannibal family were cannibals (maybe she was friends with Peter and he admitted it to her) and she decided to give them a present. How will they react when she comes in with a live connected person and says, "I wanted to surprise you, but, I didn't know which organ do you love, so I brought you a whole person” 😁

Hannibal Lecter Sr.

He’d be pleasantly surprised but would mask his amusement behind a polite, knowing smile. He'd step forward, examining both you and the terrified person you brought with a certain curiosity.

"My dear little lamb, what a…thoughtful gesture. One does not often acquire such an exquisite present without great trouble. Tell me, how did you acquire them ?"

He would take this as an opportunity to assess your potential. If you did it cleanly, efficiently—he’d be impressed. If it was messy and impulsive, he’d chuckle and offer you a bit of guidance, like a refined mentor shaping a promising protégé. Either way, he definitely considers this a sign of loyalty.

Hannibal Lecter Jr.

He’s find this fascinating. His eyes would settle with interest on the future dinner, and he'd step around the person like an artist inspecting a fresh canvas.

"A whole person, indeed…a truly generous gift. But the question remains—do you know how to carve, or shall I teach you ?" He said before taking out a knife and the person started screaming in fear—muffled of course.

Hannibal Jr. wouldn’t waste this opportunity to test you. If you show hesitation, he’d smirk, amused. If you show skill, he might actually let you assist in the preparation. Regardless, this is a bonding moment for him—proof that you belong in his inner circle.

Morgan Hannibal

Morgan would be the most pragmatic about it. He'd remove his gloves, exhale sharply, and give you an evaluating look.

"You’re either very bold or stupid. Either way, I like it."

He’d check the victim’s vitals, ensuring they’re still fresh and worth consuming. Then, he'd gesture for you to follow him into the kitchen. He’s not wasting a good resource. But this also tells him something important: you’re willing to go to extreme lengths for them. He won’t forget that.

Kevin Hannibal

Kevin would burst into laughter. Not just a chuckle—full-blown, incredulous laughter.

"Oh, princess, you really did that ? For us ? For me ? That’s…that’s insane—I love it." He’d walk up to you, tilt his head, and grin. "Did you enjoy it ? Did it feel good ?"

He’s way more interested in your experience than the meal itself. He might even praise you.

Him *smiling at you* : "Are you trying to impress me ? Because it’s definitely working."

Peter Hannibal

Peter…oh, Peter would cry. He’d look at you with wide, teary eyes, his hands clasped together.

"You—you did this for us ? You’re the best !"

He would immediately hug you, completely ignoring the horrified victim you dragged in. He’s just overwhelmed by how much you care. No one’s ever done something this meaningful for him before. It wouldn’t even occur to him to question your methods—he’s too busy adoring you.

Message from Author:

You have officially won the Hannibal family’s favor. They now see you as one of them. Whether that’s a blessing or a curse…well, that depends on how much you enjoy their company.

[aboutcustardcreams]

Time. I want more time.

Summary: Rio finds you, or rather you find her. But things don't go as planned. They simply can't. And when together with Nicky and Agatha, you make her an offer, one so tempting, so impossible to refuse, it makes Rio forget why she should. So she takes it. Just for now, just for this moment, Rio -not Lady Death- allows herself the thing she’s denied for so long. Time.

a/n: I’m so, so sorry it’s been so long! As I mentioned before, I was busy studying for a public competition, which I finally took a couple of days ago. On top of that, I came down with the flu, which slowed me down a lot. But I’m feeling much better now, so here I am!

I hope there aren’t too many typos or mistakes—I didn’t reread but I'll do it latr today (let’s be honest, it is very on brand for me at this point). Anyway, I hope you like it! ❤️

previous chapter

They gave her a job, a very specific one, that clashed with every fiber of her cosmic being. Only then did Rio realize why mortals loathed and resented her so much, why each and every time she showed up to collect a soul, all she saw was fear and despair swimming in the eyes of those whose life had sadly come to an end. 

Lady Death always found a way to justify herself, until now. She persuaded herself into believing that those who feared her were just… ignorant to the real purpose of her visit. She was meant to be welcomed as a friend and not dreaded as an enemy. And some did see her that way, as a release, a quiet mercy. But most didn’t. Most couldn’t. And now, she could see why. 

Rio couldn’t help but wonder, what kind of balance was she trying to achieve by condemning you to years of torment. What good was to the world if she made sure you suffered for having used your power to save your child? She searched for the meaning of it, but this time she failed to see it. 

The Fates had been outraged, that was the truth. The punishment  she was meant to inflict to you had nothing to do with what was fair and what wasn’t. 

She sighed deeply, as she leaned against a tree. Was it better to warn you or to do it, from night to day? Should she speak to Agatha? Should she show up at all, or complete the task hidden in the shadow?

She brought her hands to her face and then rubbed at it, out of sheer petulance. She inhaled and exhaled shakingly. Silent tears welled up in her eyes then slid down her cheeks like a raging river, the moment her eyelids fell shut. 

Rio couldn’t do this to you, without granting an explanation. She couldn’t distort Agatha and Nicky’s life by acting behind their back and yours. 

Then she heard it, a voice, one she had been allowed to listen to, from the fragile veil between the two realms. She froze before crunching down behind the tree she laid on to stay put. Quickly she wiped her eyes, before tugging her hood over her face. Silence was one of her crafts. Death could come unexpectedly, like a hurricane as well as softly and subtly like the faintest whisper of wind. And now, despite the tragic drumming of her heart, she was the latter. She had to be. 

“I’m so full, mama,” she heard Nicky say, with a sigh, though by the tone of his voice, she caught how satisfied he actually was. 

A smile tugged at her lips, small, yet sincere. 

“I can see that,” Agatha mused, her blue eyes flickered from him to you, “your stomachs are like bottomless pits.” 

Your head lolled to the side, kinda dreamy. “But the lamb stock was so good, Ags.” Agatha rolled her eyes at that. She wasn’t there to deny that, her point was another. “I know that, but you had three refills, my love. Three–” she repeated, playfully elbowing at you. 

You stuck your tongue out at her in response. 

Rio watched the interaction unfold, struggling to keep her soft side at bay. She tried to see you as another task to complete, and as soon as she did that, she cursed herself because you simply were not. To separate her love for you from the things she had to do against you was impossible. 

Before meeting you and Agatha, her job was relatively easier– if not completely, it was at least partially bearable. Without emotional ties, her tasks were just that: assignments to be completed, objectives to be met. But you weren’t one, and you could never be.

“I had four!” Nicky squealed, catching her attention once again. You turned towards the boy, and so did Agatha, whose eyebrows shot up. “My, my, four you say–?!” Playfully, you draped an arm around his middle, pulled him snug against your side. His back bumped into you and before he could react your fingers found his tummy, wiggling silly. “I wonder how all that food fits in this tum-tum of yours, lil champ!” 

His reaction was immediate. Laughter burst from Nicky as he squirmed and squealed, his small hands pushing at yours but to no avail. Agatha watched with a fond smile, her eyes glimmered to the sound of her son’s giggles mingled with yours.

“I’m a grown up now, mama–” he protested between laughs. “I can eat more than both of you, if I want to!” 

“Oh-ho, hear that, Ags?” You leaned in, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of his head before finally setting him free. She hummed, a playful sound slipping past her lips. “We’ve got a tween on our hands–”

Nicky braced his hands on his knees and bent forward to collect his breath. But the glimmer in his eyes gave it away– he was happy, perhaps the happiest he has ever been. 

He could have it all now: a long life ahead, his mothers by his side and no more battles to fight. Rio’s hands turned into fists, her nails dug in so hard she ripped at her skin, but she felt no pain. The only ache– the most painful and persistent inhabited inside her chest. Nothing could top the feeling of her heart turning darker little by little. 

Agatha grimaced, brows furrowing in feign disappointment. “Well, it’s a shame really–” she rummaged through her nosebag, quickly catching the boy’s attention. And yours. His eyes locked onto her hands the moment she pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. She peeled it back, revealing two soft oat cakes, still warm, their golden surface glistening under a thick glaze of wildflower honey. They looked delicious. Nicky felt his own mouth water at the scent they emanated. “I was going to give you these later today as a snack, but since you’re a big man now, perhaps you’d rather donate them to younger children?””

His brows furrowed, his mouth parted ajar, ready to protest, but you were faster. 

“Or–” you rolled your tongue, drawing closer, eyes on them. “I could eat those.” 

Agatha should have known. “You’re worse than him,” she mused, keeping the oat cakes at a fair distance, giving you an innocent push. 

An impish grin tugged at your lips, before you giggled, “you do call me baby girl, don’t you?” 

Agatha snorted out a chuckle as she glanced at you. Her eyes spoke louder than any words. “This is not the appropriate context…”

You played dumb, “is it?” 

Nicky, completely ignoring your staring contest, decided to interfere. “If mama can eat those, so can I,” he reasoned defiantly. 

Oh yes, your boy was sharp. 

“His logic is airtight,” you admitted with a nod. 

A toothy grin played out on his face, one of victory. 

“Fine, fine,” Agatha snorted in defeat. “Both of you can have it. But later– unless you want a serious stomachache now.” She put the treats back in her nosebag, silently enjoying the way your lips turned into a slight pout, matching Nicky’s. It took all her willpower not to pounce on you two and pepper your faces with sloppy kisses. 

“We can wait, right kid?” 

Nicky nodded promptly, muttering a soft ‘I guess’, before resuming his walk, trotting ahead and busying himself searching for pieces of wood. 

You and Agatha remained a few steps behind him. It was peaceful. It was everything you always wanted. 

You were looking for a spot to settle down for the night, but in the meantime, something caught your attention. There, on the forest floor, nestled against the green of the leaves, were clusters of red berries. Their deep crimson skin gleamed, looking so smooth, plump and perfect, you couldn’t help but feel intrigued. Something about them felt off, though. You crouched down, fingers grazing the soft, delicate surface of one berry. You squeezed one between your fingers and then leaned in, inhaling it softly. There was something faintly bitter underneath its apparent sweetness– like decay. It made you wince.

“Are there any good?” Agatha asked, lowering herself to crouch beside you.

Her hand brushed a strand of hair from your face behind your ear and when she did she caught the way your nose scrunched up. 

“I’m afraid not, unless you’re eager to lose your sense of taste,” you hummed, discarding the berry and wiping your fingers on a large green leaf lying there.

Agatha chuckled softly, with a shake of her head. “Pass.” 

“Thought so,” you grinned, pulling yourself up. 

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” 

You met her gaze, the subtle shift in her tone inevitably caught your attention. “That not everything is as it seems?” 

“Yes,” she began, leaning in just a fraction closer, so that her warm breath crashed against your cheek, tickling your skin and making your stomach flutter. “But also that something so good looking, juicy and rich like those barriers can also be potentially… lethal.”

You couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle at that, your head dipping with amusement. You got the feeling it wasn’t just the berries she was talking about. Nicky, a few steps ahead, was too engrossed in his own task to notice the conversation going on between you and Agatha, his back turned as he collected wood and pines. 

“Are you calling me lethal, Ags?” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in. 

Unable to resist, she pulled you by your hips, her eyes bore into yours and you saw a flicker of arousal swim within them. There was hunger there, barely restrained. One you understood very well, because it was similar to yours. 

She hummed, her hands squeezed your hips, fingers kneading slow, deliberate circles. Each stroke of hers sent a shiver running up your spine and goosebumps to rise over your arms. Her breath ghosted over your lips, so close it made your skin tingle. “No, not lethal.” She shook her head. 

You swept your tongue over your mouth, and her eyes followed there helplessly. She wanted to claim you, pull you close and devour you right then and there, but the sun was too high in the sky. And then there was Nicky… “But easy to fall for, yes.”

You bowed your head, a quiet chuckle slipping past your lips. One Agatha found herself going mad. When your eyes bore into hers again, only a second passed before you kissed her. Agatha exhaled, her mouth parting instinctively as her eyes fluttered shut. Yours did, too. A soft hum vibrated in your throat when she deepened the kiss, drinking you in like the succubus she was. Your hands cradled her face, fingers threading into her hair as you tilted your head, surrendering to her. Her tongue crashed against yours, teasing, chasing, until she caught the very tip between her teeth, giving the lightest, most maddening nip. 

You couldn’t help the faint little chuckle that slipped past your lips, one she promptly reciprocated. “You’re being unfair now,” you whined, before laying your forehead against hers. “I– we can’t do this now.”

A flicker of amusement danced in her gaze, as she inhaled deeply in your scent, “I know, but perhaps when the night falls–” her breath was hot on your skin. 

You nodded way too quickly. “I’d like that,” your voice came out hoarse, “please,” you added eagerly. 

Agatha smiled against your lips, her fingers still tapping at your hips. “Such a good baby girl for me,” she closed the distance between you one more time to give you a gentle peck on your lips. She used that pet name on purpose, knowing the things it did to you, especially in such intimate contexts. 

“Ags–” you whined, but before you could say anything else, a sound came to your ears. It felt like a crunch in the grass that interrupted, gladly or less so, it depends on how you see it– the moment between you and Agatha. You three turned, but not at the same time. Nicky had noticed a slight movement coming from a point in the distance, a glimpse of a green cloak, one vaguely familiar to him. 

Before you and Agatha could tell him to wait, he trotted in that direction. 

Rio could have disappeared. With a snap of her fingers, she could have. She should have. But what was the point? She was never a coward and she clearly wouldn’t start now. For once, in centuries, Lady Death felt like she needed the contact– a physical one. Looking at her family in the eye, and enjoying a glimpse of normality she always wished for herself. So she stayed. 

She came out of her hiding spot, and took her hoodie off, a soft smile tugging at her lips. 

You and Agatha froze, eyes widening but for different reasons. 

Nicky’s face lit up as he ran to her. “Rio! It’s you!” 

With a chuckle, she caught him in her arms, and buried her face into his hair, while he nuzzled underneath her chin, “my dear– It’s so good to see you.” 

For a moment, time itself seemed to hesitate. It was as if Death and the very essence of Life had met halfway. It felt so right. Rio and Nicky there, together. Your eyes watered, a single tear slipped down your cheek but you wiped at it before it could wet your chin. 

Beside you, Agatha tensed up, her magic flickering at her fingertips. One wrong word, one bad movement and you knew she would have snapped. Her magic stilled when you reached out and curled your fingers around hers. She looked at you, brows furrowing, a plea in her eyes. She was conflicted, you knew that. Honestly, who better than you could, after everything you went through?

“Don’t– she’s not here to hurt him,” you reassured her, voice soft and kind.

“Moms!” Nicky called out, as Lady Death pulled him down, ever so gently.  His hand in hers as he dragged her towards you and Agatha. “It’s her! She’s the woman I told you about! I found her!” 

He looked so happy, your heart swelled. When he let go of her hand, he ran to you and pulled at your clothes, barely containing himself. 

Rio didn’t say anything, she waited for you and Agatha to do so first. 

“Rio,” saying her name felt like finally taking a breath after being underwater for ages. 

She turned, hazel eyes bore into yours with such a raw intensity, you felt the need to get even closer. She looked at Agatha too, with the same love and… what you thought being regret. Guilt gnawed at you as you did, memories of your last encounter came back to you like a hurricane. You had treated her unfairly, let yourself be fuelled by harshness– so deeply foreign to your person and pushed her away. 

“I’m sorry for-”

“I need to apologize for–”

Realizing you had talked at the same time, a soft laugh slipped past your lips. She smiled, instead, eyes flickering towards Agatha, catching the moment she started nibbling the inside of her cheek. You caught a gentle blush coloring Rio’s cheeks, when she turned to you once again and your expression softened even more. 

“You first,” Rio muttered softly. 

You rubbed at Nicky’s back, still clung to your side before speaking, “I shouldn’t have said those things,” you started, your voice barely above a murmur. “And I’m sorry I’ve been cruel to you. I regret pushing you away… it was selfish– you were as scared as Agatha and I were and–” you swallowed a lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger.

Rio’s face fell, her brows furrowing. “No, no, shhh, it’s okay–” She was quick to cut the distance between you. “

Nicky looked up at you, a pout forming on his face, recognizing you were this close to crying. “Mama–?”

You inhaled a deep shaky breath. Your eyes flickered to him, “it’s okay, my love,” you smiled, softly but sincerely. “I’m just– emotional. I’m okay.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, because you indeed were. However, there was more to it: things you weren’t ready to confess to your son. 

The sight of your lip quivering, only caused Rio’s heart to feel heavier. Agatha wasn’t doing much better, but she resisted, she had to. With one hand atop Nicky’s shoulder, she kept the other in yours, thumb gently tickling your palm as a way to reassure you. 

“I never blamed you for a second. Not you, Agatha…” A bitter smile ghosted her lips as she shrugged. “What other choice did you have?” she murmured.

It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows. 

“You had no choice either–” you croaked out. 

“Yeah, I s’pose.” Rio pursed her lips, trying to offer a smile, but it wavered, tilting into something closer to a grimace. “It’s okay now. No hard feelings,” her attempt at teasing worked quite well, because you chuckled. Weak, quiet, but real. And for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The ache remained, but it was softer now, dulled just enough to breathe. 

Agatha scoffed. She knew the pull Rio had on you, knew it because she felt it too. But unlike you, she couldn’t let herself be swayed. She needed more time, proof that it was safe to let the guard down now. No catches. No hidden prices to pay. She wanted to ask, she wanted Rio to be straightforward about her intentions, but sadly that was not the right moment, not with Nicky listening to the conversation. 

When Rio reached out a hand towards Agatha, she whimpered without meaning to. The image of the four of you gathered so closely– closer than ever before, was a lot even for her. She hated how she loved it. She hated how much it terrified her: to be shown something she wasn’t sure she could keep for herself, for Nicky and for you. She swallowed, blue eyes boring into hazel ones, searching, digging deep, trying to find clues, anything, pleading even. 

"I know this is hard for you– I see you trying, and I appreciate it. Truly." Rio said, her voice thick with emotion. You smiled at Agatha, it was encouraging, lovingly. "What you’ve done here—” Rio’s eyes flickered to Nicky, then. Her hand grazed at his cheek. “It’s nothing short of a miracle. And I couldn’t be prouder."

Agatha could have answered with one of her usual bitter remarks, but decided against it. 

Instead, she shot you a teasing look and said, “she did all the work, but insists on giving me the credit, too.”

An amused scoff slipped past your lips, as you rolled your eyes. “We talked about this, Ags–” 

“No kidding,” her remark caused Rio to barely stifle a chuckle. 

“Wait–” Nicky, his brows furrowed, mind racing, found himself bubbling with a very important question, his mouth parted, before he finally asked, “so, you do know each other?” 

A watery chuckle slipped past your lips, as you nodded. Agatha’s smile grew and so did Rio’s. Of course he would have noticed by now, considering you and Rio were talking as if there was a history and indeed there was one. There was no point in lying on that part now, wasn’t there?

“Yeah–” you confirmed, with your hand resting atop his shoulder. “Guess we know the same Rio after all–” 

“What were the odds, huh?” Agatha added, her gruff voice taking on a note of fondness. 

“There aren’t many like me,” Death teased lightly. 

Agatha folded her arms to her chest, “thank the stars for that–”

You shot her a playful elbow, despite knowing full well there was no real bite behind her remark. And Rio– she, too, knew better than to take offense. Agatha and you noticed the way she tried to hide her amusement, by pressing her tongue against her cheek. A thing of hers. 

Nicky grinned. In his perspective, this coincidence only made things easier for you to get along. “My moms and I were looking for you.” 

Lady Death frowned at his words. “Oh?” Her tone held a note of surprise, though she stopped herself from asking why. She had a feeling you’d give her the answer soon enough.

Nicky glanced up at you, as if searching for the right words. His wish was simple: he wanted Rio to be with you all. And while you knew it wasn’t that easy, that it couldn’t fully happen, not when Rio’s duty was unlike any other, you still hoped to find a compromise. 

And as for Agatha– she wasn’t sure what scared her more. The fact that Rio might actually stay, or the possibility of another betrayal coming from her. Because unlike you, she didn’t forget. She wasn’t even sure you did, to be honest. Perhaps you simply pushed the thought aside because you were desperate for some peace and quiet. Some normalcy in your life. And quite frankly, how could she blame you for wishing such a simple thing? 

Rio had mentioned a price to pay that night. So if you wanted to let your guard down, then fine, she would have to be the one with a clear head, ready to have your back. To fight, if necessary. 

When you spoke, Rio’s heart clenched in a way that almost hurt.

“We were hoping you’d… tag along,” you murmured, so softly you weren’t even sure she heard.

But Rio did. And it stole the breath from her lungs. Not that it could kill her– but it almost felt like it. She looked at Agatha for further confirmation, only to find her nodding at your words. 

“I know you’re busy,” you continued, hesitating, your fingers curling slightly at your sides, as a way to cope with your own jitters. Because yes– there was the possibility that your request would be denied. That your hope would burn out as easily as it came to  light. “I know your job is part of who you are, but—” You turned, searching for Agatha’s eyes and your heart pounded even faster when she looked at you in a way that made you feel seen and protected. “But you’re also needed here,” you pressed on, your voice steadier now. “With us. You’re not just your job, Rio. And I hope you know… you’re so much more.”

Rio didn’t say a word, she couldn’t trust her own voice yet. She had shown up with a purpose, one certainly less flattering than yours. She curled her fingers into fists, and inhaled. She almost thought the Fates did this to her, manipulated yours and Agatha’s mind into asking her such a thing. And quite frankly it wouldn’t surprise her if that was true. Only to make her suffer more. Only to make her task even more impossible to be carried out. 

“I–” she hesitated. She wanted this. She really did. 

Nicky tugged at her cloak, with adorable impatience. “Please–” he half whined. “There’s no need to hide. No need to meet in secret anymore. We can be your family–” The way he said that, with such simplicity, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, affected you three at the same time and with the same force. 

You, Agatha, Rio and Nicky. A family. A real family. 

You reached out, cupped her cheek and stroked her skin ever so gently. “What do you say? Want to give it a try?” 

She leaned in, lips a few millimeters from your face, eyes staring at your lips. She loved your hope. And she would absolutely hate it to be the one taking it from you. 

To her surprise, Agatha drew closer, too. Gently, almost absentmindedly, she reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Rio’s ear. And for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to truly look at her, not as the witch, and even less as Lady Death. But as the woman beneath it all, who never truly stopped, not even once to be hers and yours. 

“Make it right,” she added, and before you and Rio could ask her what she meant by that, she continued, “for us and for you. Just– for the love of the gods, make the right choice,” she finished, her voice barely above a whisper held a pinch of urgency.

Rio let out a quiet scoff, her smile touched with something almost amused—almost, but not quite. The right choice, she said.  She had made choices before, choices that defied fate itself. And if she had to do it again—if it meant giving you all something, even if just for a little while—then to hell with it. Her hands were still tied, but she could live with that a little longer. 

Her gaze flickered to Nicky, something unreadable passing through her eyes. She knew– Hell, she knew this choice would break her. But it wasn’t just about her. It never was. You all needed this. 

So she made up her mind, by offering you the same thing she once did.

“I’d very much like that.” 

Time. She could only offer time. 

“That means–?” Agatha began, head lolling to the side, suspicion warring with hope in her eyes.

“That I’ll stay.” She confirmed, her voice trembling as tears welled, faster than she could blink them away. “If you all will have me.” 

You smiled. Nicky cheered. Agatha swallowed hard, then nodded. The answer to that couldn’t be clearer.