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smok3r7 · 26 days

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Pinky Promise

OFC x OCDads best-friend

18+, mature

1• Hibiscus

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: Fathers are supposed to be the ones taking care of their child, but Josephine’s life is the other way around. Her life is booze, her dad, and her dad’s best friend - what could go wrong?

Chapter summary: Some people get dealt pretty rough cards in life, Josephine’s life is full of them.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Emetophobia warning (will be pretty consistent throughout the whole thing) (not descriptive in this one, just the aftermath/clean up! Will give fair warnings beforehand!)

—

“I’m gonna go ride that!” Josephine slurs to the group of girls she met at the bar, as she eyes the mechanical bull. The group of three, who are all absolutely wasted, laugh and cheer her on to do it, following behind her so they can all watch.

With their cheers echoing in the background, Josephine mounts the mechanical beast, holding on tight with her right hand wrapped around the leather loop. “Let’s go, baby!” She purrs at Frankie, who runs the machine, making sure she’s showing her tits more than she needs to. He shows a flirty smirk and starts it up.

As it starts to spin slowly, leaning her forward and then backwards, her heart races with exhilaration - she’s done this countless times and yet every time she still gets giddy. Suddenly the speed of the bull picks up and whips her around, and she can feel her jean shorts ride up more and more on her ass and her tits bounce in her low cut shirt. The wind whips through her dark brown hair, and a sense of freedom washes over her.

Still holding on strong with one hand in the air and her hips move in rhythm with the machine, Josephine feels a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The bar full of people blurs around her, and for a moment, nothing else exists but the thrill of the moment. She lets out a contagious laugh and holler, feeling alive and carefree.

The music blares, the lights flash, and for a moment, she feels truly alive. As she finally gets thrown off, she lands on the brown inflatable with a thud. Her friends rush over, helping her up, all of them breathless with laughter and adrenaline.

But instead of feeling defeated, she bursts into uncontrollable laughter, her new found friends cheering and rushing over to help her up. They are all breathless with laughter and adrenaline, sharing a moment of pure joy and camaraderie. As they walk away from the bull, Josephine knows she’ll be sore tomorrow, but still smiles.

“Girl, you set a new record!” The small blonde, whose name Josephine can’t remember, exclaims. Josephine playfully tells her to shut up and turns back towards the bull-board, sure enough she watches the guy write, Josephine - 2:03.

Let’s hear it for the new record holder, by three seconds, Josephineeeee!

After Frankie announces, the bar fills with hoots and hollers from every corner. Josephine turns back to the girls and does a playful bow to everyone in the bar, which makes her feel exhilarated. She can't believe she just broke the bar record for the bull ride, Nicky has been the record holder for twenty-seven years and Josephine just broke it by three seconds, absolutely wasted.

With the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Josephine basks in the glory of her accomplishment, she drunkenly tells the girls the next round is on her.

The cheers of the crowd fade away into the thumping music, creating a euphoric atmosphere. With a smile on her face and a fire in her eyes she skips over to the bar and tells Eric, the bartender, to pour a round of the highest tequila he’s got.

She turns around and leans her elbows on the bar top, scanning the room to the best of her ability. The crowded bar is filled with chatter and laughter as the glasses clink and the music plays in the background. Just then, she sees a guy who looks all too familiar and is staring directly at her, but with the mix of booze and people, she can’t make him out.

“Romano-” he softly announces her last name.

“Thank you, Eric.” She swiftly turns around and grabs the four shot glasses. “Put it on my tab!” She tells him, but before she can leave, Eric stops her.

“Hey, good work up there.”

She gives a toothy smile and tells him thank you, before she carefully weaves through the bar of people. She reaches the tall table where the other girls are and sets the glasses down with a loud thud. They all thank her and tell her she’s the best, and she raises her glass, the amber liquid glistening in the low light, toasting to them for being her support tonight and how she loves them all.

Salude, Josephine toasts with a slam of the glass from the table, then she swallows the shot. Tequila burns down her throat, but she savors the warmth it brings, feeling a sense of liberation wash over her. She needed this night out after the hellish week she’s had because of her father, but there’s time later to worry about that.

“Good ridin’ there doll,” suddenly, an all too familiar voice says behind her, sending shivers down her spine. Before turning around she sees the looks on the blonde's face, she’s starstruck, so that also solidifies who it is.

Turning her body around she sees Joey Reed, her neighbor and her dad’s best friend, who she’s had the hots for, standing a few feet away from her with a mischievous twinkle in his brown orbs. His dark hair is in the beginning stage of growing back from a buzz cut, the one she loves so much, and there’s a five-o’clock shadow on the lower half of his face.

She loves when Joey looks like this, not shaggy like he does when it’s all grown out and not too mean when he freshly cuts it all down. This is just perfect.

Despite her racing heart and butterflies in her stomach, she musters a confident smile and purrs, "Thanks, Joey. I didn't know you were watching." She takes a breath as she does a quick glance of his body; a fitting black long sleeve and baggy blue jeans, with his brown work boots that have old and new oil stains splattered on them.

His grin widens at her reaction to seeing him, and he takes a step closer, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Their eyes lock in a silent conversation, a dance of desire and anticipation. In that fleeting moment, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, her secret crush on him isn’t so secret after all.

“I’m always watchin’,” he admits as he leans down to her right ear, “which is why I gotta take you home, now.” His voice is different from when he walked up to her, more demanding and not as flirty. Joey's words echo in her mind, making her feel annoyed and angry. She knows he means well, but his sudden shift in demeanor caught her off guard, but she’s used to it after so many years of the same thing.

She can’t deny the protective instinct in his voice, but she resents the implication that she needs his guidance. Josephine has always been fiercely independent, especially these past handful years and Joey's attempt to control her actions only fuels her rebellious spirit.

Ignoring the knot of emotions in her chest, Josephine squares her shoulders and meets Joey's gaze head-on. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself," she says firmly, “Have a good night, doll.” She throws the enduring nickname back at him, clearly making a point.

Joey blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting her defiance. He knew Josephine was gonna be a bit of a challenge, but not this bad. She stands before him, hand on her hip, her seafoam green-blue eyes narrow in determination. Joey can’t help but admire her spirit, even as frustration brews within him.

She’s not going to make things easy for him, that much was clear to him. Which is exactly what she wants out of this situation, so she playfully blows a kiss to him and turns around to her girlfriends for the night.

“Who’s that?” The tall dark haired girl asks Josephine, clearly wondering if she can get with him or not.

Josephine chuckles to herself. “My neighbor and dads buddy, he’s just tryin’ to keep me outta trouble,” she confesses, “but sometimes I just can’t-“ Before she can finish her sentence, she feels a hand on her wrist that spins her around and she’s suddenly thrown over Joey's shoulder.

“Yo- what the fuck, Joey?!” She curses him out as she tries to kick and punch any part of his muscular body, but she ultimately fails. “Put me down right now- I’m not ready to go home- Joey-“

“Just stop,” he barks to her, which stops her sporadic movements, “Night ladies, I’m sure you’ll be seein’ Josephine here again.” His tone switches to be playful and nice to them while he’s still annoyed with her on his shoulder.

With her still perched on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her thighs holding her in place, he sighs inwardly, wondering how he always ends up in these situations with her, but at the same time he knows why she acts this way.

Her damn father.

—

Joey hands Josephine a Barbie colored pink bike helmet, the one he specifically got for her, but she drunkenly refuses, fearing it will mess up her hair. She loves his Harley bike, she wishes she could have one of her own but she knows that’s not in her cards right now.

"Doll, it's already messed up and looks like shit," he admits, urging her to listen to him. "Put this on, hop on the back, and shut up. Easy as pie." He adds with a smirk as he sits on the bike with his torso turned to her, the helmet still in his hand.

“You’re an asshole, ‘ya know that?” Josephine scoffs as she snags the pink helmet from his hand and reluctantly puts it on, somehow with that last shot flowing through her, she’s able to loop the buckle underneath her chin.

“Wouldn’t wanna be any other way doll,” he admits with a smile as he watches her stand next to him, her face still plastered with annoyance, “plus, you know you love it.”

The laugh that leaves her chest is genuine when she hears that, “No I don’t, Joey.” Her arms now fold against her chest and her right hip pops out, trying to show as much attitude as she possibly can. But he doesn’t bite the bait she left out, “Sure you don’t. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be standin’ here still, now would you?”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes and smiles as she admits defeat in this one, but she knows she’ll get another chance to win. “You gonna let me on or what?”

She watches the way he smirks and stands up for her to sit behind him and she can’t help but feel her heart flutter as she lifts her left leg over the seat so she can sit. Hold on, doll face, he tells her as he starts the bike up, Josephine just smiles at his witty comment and wraps her arms around his toned torso.

The engine’s loud as he revs and takes off out the parking lot, the cool fall night sobering her up, her grip around him tightens. She can feel his body, the slightly abed torso and wider shoulders create this feeling of relief in her. His smell of sweat, car body shop, and cologne make her feel like she’s home, like she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

As much as she hates to admit it, she loves being on the bike with him, it’s like an escape of all her responsibilities that she has. She just wishes he didn't try to parent her all the time. She is twenty seven, after all, and perfectly capable of making her own decisions, much like she has for the past seven-ish years.

But ultimately, in moments like this, with the wind in her hair and the thrill of the ride with Joey, she lets go of her frustrations and simply enjoys the freedom of the open road with the man she does really care for and respect. She wishes all her nights could be like this one; on the bike with Joey.

The chill of the breeze flying by her bare legs and face out on the open road make her feel alive. But deep down, she knows that this fleeting escape from reality won’t last. Her poor excuse of a father, drowning in his own demons, will inevitably drag her down with him.

His addiction to booze has turned their home into a living hell, filled with broken promises and shattered dreams. Her life used to mean something, she was going to college to become an engineer for god sake, but now all she does is babysit her father while she makes some of the same mistakes.

She’s thankful for Joey, if her dad and him never got close, she doesn’t know where she would be or how she’d be. He’s her rock, as much as he can get on her nerves.

Despite the chaos surrounding her, Josephine holds onto the moments of peace she finds on the back of Joey's bike, hoping that one day they will outweigh the darkness that threatens to consume her world.

As she holds onto Joey tightly, she wishes for a different life, a life without the constant struggle and pain. But for now, all she can do is enjoy the sacred moments of happiness that come her way, hoping that someday things will change for the better.

She lays the side of her face between his shoulder blades the best she can with her helmet and she just watches the way the lights on the buildings blur past. It all looks like a painting of a city where a girl doesn’t belong, or at least isn’t where she should be in her life.

She can tell they’re almost home, the small shops start to look familiar again which causes her stomach to tie into knots - she doesn’t want to go home. She doesn’t want to have to clean up whatever mess her father created.

If she asked, Joey would let her stay with him for the night, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to be more of a burden than she already feels like she is. He goes out of his way to keep up with her and she knows he’d rather be out fucking some girl he met at the bar, which Josephine probably cock-blocked him from tonight with her shenanigans.

So she leaves the question in her head.

As he pulls into the driveway, next to her car, her heart sinks. The house looks quiet, just like she thought. She takes a deep breath, gathers her courage, and steps off the bike.

“You want me to come in and help with Neil?” Joey sincerely asks her, as much as he plays around with her, he really does care about her well-being. He knows she’s almost at her breaking point and he doesn’t want her to get there.

She unloops her helmet and hands it to him, “No,” she sighs, now sober from the ride home, “I got it. I’m just gonna deal with it now and go right to bed. Thank you, Joey.”

“It’s really no problem-“

“I said I got it. See you tomorrow,” she blurts out her voice tinged with frustration, not trying to be rude but she can’t help it. But the thought of cleaning up her dad's vomit for the fourth time this week was wearing her patience thin.

As Joey stares sadly at her from his motorcycle, she can see the genuine concern in his eyes. Despite her stubborn independence, she wishes she could let him in, let him help bear the burden that seems to grow heavier with each passing day. But her pride and resentment stand like barriers between them, leaving Joey on the sidelines, longing to be the support she needs but can’t bring herself to accept.

She spins on her heels and she’s up on her porch when she hears Joey say, night Josephine, and back out her driveway and ride to his, right next door. She smiles softly, the fact he dropped her off at her house instead of his just takes a load off, even something as small as dropping her off at her home, can mean so much to her.

—

As she stands in the threshold of the front door, a sense of dread fills her. The stench of alcohol and vomit hang heavy in the air. The familiar sight of her dad passed out on the couch greets her, but this time, it’s different.

Instead of chaos, there’s an eerie kind of calmness in the air. The TV blares the sound of Family Guy, providing a temporary escape for her father and in all honesty, Josephine too. It’s one of those silly shows she and he would watch before his work accident seven years ago. And they still do, but not as often.

With a heavy sigh, she closes the front door, locking both the deadbolt and handle. Sliding her shoes off, she goes straight to the cleaning closet tucked away in the long hallway on the other side of the house.

The hallway leads to the main floor bathroom, branching off from the elegant dining room and cozy front rooms of her old Victorian house. About four years ago, Josephine actually bought the house from her dad because she knew he wasn’t going to be able to afford it since he wasn’t working.

So instead of being in fear of getting foreclosed on, she decided to bite the bullet and handle it. At the time it hurt her wallet tremendously, but about a year ago she was finally able to have a savings account again and some fun money.

As she reaches for the cleaning supplies, memories flood her mind - memories of laughter, tears, and love shared within these walls, specifically with her dad. It’s really sad knowing he used to be the best father, especially after her mom died after giving birth. He made it his mission to never let Josephine feel the weight of losing both parents, but somewhere along the line, he broke that promise to her.

After grabbing the handful of things she needs, she heads back to the living room and kneels down to clean the mess on the carpet, her heart heavy with a mix of frustration and sadness. As she cleans up, memories of happier times with her dad flicker through her mind, reminding her of the man he used to be and will never be again.

With a deep sigh, Josephine throws the trash into the bucket she grabbed and looks at her dad, peacefully passed out. Much like Joey, his hair is buzzed but his beard is a bit longer than his. But he also looks sick, his cheeks sunken in and his skin color is more yellowish than normal.

A wave of sadness washes over her. He looks so different today than he used to almost a decade ago, his usual vibrant spirit nowhere to be found. She remembers the days when he used to play with her in the garden, his laughter filling the air. But now, he lies there, a mere shadow of the man he once was.

She tucks her dad in with a thin blanket and turns the TV volume down a few, so it’s not blasting through the walls. She doesn’t need to, or want to, watch this right now. All she wants to do is shower and crawl into her bed for the last bit of night she has left, since it is two-thirty in the morning.

As much as she hates this lifestyle, it’s the best case scenario in her home.

It’s been seven years of the same cycle. Coming home or waking up to vomit and/or blood somewhere, knowing that means he wants her to clean it up, mainly because he can’t.

Then when she’s done, grabs him his fifth of vodka from the freezer he bought the night before. Put it in a cooler with ice and set it next to him with a bucket, just in case he has to throw up again. And leave him in the living room where he plays video games, all day. Or sleeps.

All day.

Which is exactly what she does now, after cleaning up his mess, like always.

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nanamis-baker · 6 months

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Bake Date

Summary: You and Nanami attempt to bake your favourite bread.

Pairing: Sorcerer! Nanami x f! reader

Content: Fluff, baking and kneading, suggestive, implied smut at the end | Basically me combining my love for baking and for Nanami :P

WC: 3.3k

A cool autumn breeze swirled around you, sending loose strands of hair whipping against your face. The rhythmic tap of Nanami's shoes was the only sound that cut through the crisp night air. You clutched the paper bag from "Golden Crust" - the golden logo a warm beacon in the twilight. Inside, a small victory awaited.

This wasn't any ordinary bread. It was a celebratory indulgence for You and Nanami – the elusive Herb Focaccia from Golden Crust. The kind that boasted of secret recipes passed down for generations, its aroma a legend in itself. You could already picture the golden-brown crust, flecked with a hint of sea salt. Beneath it, the promise of fragrant herbs - rosemary, thyme, a touch of oregano - swirled in your imagination. Every bite was whispered of a symphony of flavours, dancing on your tongue.

Golden Crust's Herb Focaccia was a rare treat. They baked it in small batches, and it vanished from the shelves quicker than a blink. But tonight, after a hard-fought victory, you and Nanami were the lucky ones, clutching a piece of that culinary magic. It was a small celebration in itself.

A cool autumn breeze sent a shiver down your spine. Sensing your discomfort, Nanami shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. "Thanks," you mumbled, glancing up at him “But won’t you get cold?”. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as he shook his head. "We're almost home anyways, sweetheart," he replied, his voice a steady murmur as the familiar silhouette of your apartment building rose in the distance.

Nanami unlocked the apartment door, stepping aside to let you in first. Inside, the warmth of your apartment welcomed you like a hug. Nanami helped you remove his coat, his touch sending a spark through you. You couldn't help but let out a small sigh of contentment.

Without wasting a moment, you went into the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge, a triumphant grin spreading across your face as you emerged with a selection of cheeses – creamy ricotta, a sharp pecorino romano, and a wedge of fragrant goat cheese.

You sliced into the Herb Focaccia, the golden crust giving way to reveal a fluffy, herb-infused interior. Working quickly, you arranged the slices on a plate, the bread filling the room with its savoury aroma.

Just then, Nanami wandered into the kitchen, his suspender gone and his sleeves rolled up. "Wow," he breathed, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him, as he looked at the arrangement of cheese and sliced bread. "That looks amazing,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your neck.

Finally, the moment you’ve been waiting for. You took a bite of your hard-earned bread, letting the flavours explode on your tongue. A soft moan escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss. The combination of textures – the crisp crust yielding to the soft, pillowy interior, punctuated by the sharp tang of cheese and the fragrant whisper of herbs – was pure magic.

"This," you breathed, a dreamy smile on your face, "is absolutely delicious."

Nanami, who was watching you with a hint of amusement in his eyes, reached for a slice. He took a bite, his expression mirroring your own for a brief moment before settling into a satisfied nod and a soft smile.

"It is," he agreed, taking another thoughtful bite. "A shame they always sell out so fast. Wish we had some alternative..."

Wheels turned in your head as you said as a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "What if we tried making this at home, huh? We have the next two days off without any missions – the perfect time to try something new!”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. The corners of his lips twitched into a barely-there smile. "Baking, huh?" he drawled, his voice laced with a playful challenge. "We're both about as experienced as Gojo is with manners."

You swatted him playfully on the arm. "Hey!" you protested, a grin tugging at your lips. "That's exactly why it'll be fun!"

He hesitated for a moment, the playful glint in your eyes mirroring his own amusement. A genuine smile finally bloomed on his face. "Alright," he conceded, stepping closer and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "Considering it's our break, we might as well give Golden Crust a run for their money."

Sun streamed through the living room window, casting a warm glow on your furrowed brow as you scrolled through endless online recipes on your iPad. Despite what you said yesterday about enjoying a break, you did have a mission today, although a different mission – to find the perfect Herb Focaccia recipe.

"Aha!" you exclaimed, a grin replacing your frown. "This one seems promising," you announced, turning to Nanami who stood beside you, already waiting with a pen and a grocery list. He was a picture of casual comfort- clad in jeans and a light sweater.

Nanami glanced over your shoulder at the recipe. "Looks doable," he agreed, jotting down ingredients. "Straightforward, and with good reviews – that's a good sign."

With the shopping list complete, you and Nanami left for the grocery store. Navigating the aisles together, you tossed bags of flour, yeast, and a bunch of fragrant herbs – rosemary, thyme, and oregano – into your cart.

Nanami surprised you with his surprising knowledge of flour. As you reached the flour section, he paused, expertly selecting a bag. "Hold on," he said, "for focaccia, bread flour is actually better than all-purpose. It has more gluten, which gives it that nice, chewy texture."

You smiled, impressed by this unexpected expertise. "So, we have a baking wiz here, huh?" you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Back in the apartment, you unloaded the groceries, setting the ingredients out on the counter. Nanami followed suit, carefully placing the bag of flour beside the yeast and herbs. The flour bag held a secret – a small hole lurking at the bottom, waiting to cause trouble.

As Nanami plunked the bag down with a satisfied thud, a white explosion erupted. A cloud of flour billowed out, engulfing you both in a powdery embrace. You coughed, momentarily blinded by the sudden snowstorm.

For a beat, the kitchen was covered in flour-dusted surprise. Then, as the dust settled, a giggle escaped your lips. It quickly escalated into full-blown laughter, and Nanami joined you soon, the sound of his laughter, deep and rich, filled the space.

As you were wiping away the tears of mirth from your eyes, Nanami said, “Well, that’s quite a start,” a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Nanami brushed the flour off his T-shirt; he had ditched his sweater before you two started baking. He looked so relaxed, despite the dusty start you had. His eyes were playful, crinkling in the corners that made your heart skip a beat. You reached up, standing on your tippy toes to ruffle his hair, ruining his perfectly combed hair. Nanami looked at you, his eyebrow raised, “What? You had flour there!” you chuckled.

Nanami shook his head as he picked up the iPad and pulled up the recipe. "Shall we continue, now that the flour is out of my hair?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement. You nodded, a grin still plastered on your face, and pulled out a set of bowls, ready to tackle the recipe together.

The kitchen was filled with Nanami’s voice as he read out the instructions. You, meanwhile, were busy measuring out the yeast. As you poured it into a bowl of warm water and sugar, a peculiar aroma tickled your nose. Nanami’s nose scrunched at the smell.

"That...smells interesting," he remarked, a hint of laughter dancing in his eyes. "Is that what activated yeast is supposed to smell like?" You shot him a playful wink "Maybe, maybe not, sweetheart- We will find out soon enough," you said, as you stirred the mixture, covered it, set it aside and put a timer, waiting for the yeast to activate.

Nanami chuckled. He turned his attention to the dry ingredients, carefully measuring and sifting them into a separate bowl. You watched him work, captivated by his meticulous movements. "You're surprisingly good at this," you observed after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence.

Nanami glanced up, a hint of red creeping up his neck. "I may or may not have watched a few baking videos last night," he admitted sheepishly. A wide smile bloomed on your face. "Aww, Kento, that's so sweet! No wonder you're a pro already!"

Nanami gave a small shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just trying to make sure we don't end up with a complete disaster," he mumbled, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Besides, a little preparation never hurt anyone, right?”

A ding sounded in the kitchen, interrupting the two of you. It was the timer, indicating 15 minutes had been up. You reached for the bowl containing the yeast, lifting the cover with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

The yeasty mixture had indeed transformed – a frothy golden cap bubbled on top, emitting an aroma stronger than before. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly, but...unique. "Well, that certainly looks...active," you remarked, offering Nanami a playful smile. He leaned in for a closer look, a hint of amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Active enough," he agreed, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Following the recipe, you poured the olive oil into the yeast mixture, stirring gently to combine. Then you tipped the wet ingredients into the dry ones. With ease, Nanami took the lead. Using a sturdy wooden spoon, he began folding and mixing the wet and dry ingredients until a shaggy dough emerged. It was a glorious mess – a tangled web of flour, water, and flecks of golden yeast.

Stepping aside, Nanami gestured towards the countertop, while he continued mixing. You nodded in understanding and dusted the surface liberally with flour, creating a snowy landscape for the dough to come. He carefully tipped the shaggy mass onto the floured surface.

Nanami’s fingers dipped into the gooey mess, strong hands worked on the dough. You watched, captivated, as the dough began to transform under his touch. Slowly, the shaggy mess yielded, becoming smoother and more elastic with each press.

A blush crept up your cheeks – a reaction you couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the focus completely breaking his usual stoic demeanour. Or perhaps it was the way the flour dusted his dark hair, making him look both domestic and surprisingly…sexy.

And his arms- God his arms. His forearms spoke of strength and control. The muscles bunched and flexed with each deliberate movement. A network of veins ran up his arm, a subtle map that you have traced so many times with your lips, hidden beneath the sun-kissed skin. His hands, surprisingly gentle moments ago while mixing, transformed into instruments of purpose.

Long fingers dug into the dough, drawing it in, pushing it away, folding and stretching it. Suddenly, Nanami's voice cut through your thoughts, laced with amusement. "Seems like someone's getting a little jealous of the dough," he teased, his gaze meeting yours. He had swapped his usual glasses for a wired frame style that somehow made him look even more devastatingly handsome.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you stammered out a defence. "I was just...concerned you might be a little too rough on the dough," you mumbled, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away.

"Don't worry, darling," he replied, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I know exactly when to be rough. Not that you need any reminding."

You met his gaze- your cheeks were definitely red now. A slow smile spread across Nanami's face as he witnessed the effect of his words. "Besides," he added, leaning in a little, his voice playful again, "I think our dough is ready to move into the oven.”

Right. The dough. Baking with Nanami. You mentally shook yourself back to reality. Clearing your throat, you reached for the iPad, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

"Actually," you started, consulting the recipe, "I think we need to let it rise for a bit." You grabbed a bowl and began coating the inside with olive oil. Nanami, a hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips, picked up the dough and transferred it gently to the prepared bowl before covering it with a clean kitchen towel as you set the timer.

An hour melted away and you and Nanami approached the bowl, a shared look of anticipation passing between you as you lifted the towel.

A gasp escaped your lips – the dough had risen magnificently, its volume nearly doubled. It puffed proudly, a smooth, elastic surface begging to be pocked.

You turned to Nanami, who had something similar to... pride, in his eyes. It was something unexpected, and warmth bloomed in your chest.

You watched Nanami lean on the counter to grab the iPad, his T-shirt riding up ever so slightly, his back visible, causing you to draw a breath. He straightened up, seemingly unaware of your reaction, and read out the instructions for the next step. Following his lead, you grabbed the baking tray, coating it with olive oil, creating a glistening canvas for the dough.

Lifting the risen dough, a surge of accomplishment welled up within you. It felt light and airy- the result of your combined efforts. Together, you and Nanami gently placed it onto the oiled tray, your fingers brushing briefly with his as you spread the dough evenly.

A comfortable silence settled once more. Following the recipe, you used your fingertips to create gentle indentations in the dough – dimples to welcome the olive oil, as mentioned in the recipe. Nanami took over next, as he drizzled a light stream of oil over the surface. Then, he sprinkled some sea salt and a generous amount of herbs on top of the dough, adding a visual and aromatic flourish.

Finally, you carefully covered the transformed dough with a damp cloth. "There," you announced with quiet pride. A satisfied smile tugged at Nanami's lips as he set the oven to preheat. The air crackled with unspoken anticipation as you both turned towards the next step – letting the dough rise again before baking it.

You and Nanami sat in comfortable silence, waiting for the oven to preheat and the dough to rise.

A soft ding interrupted the silence. The oven timer blinked at you, announcing the 25 minutes had flown by. The dough was ready for its transformation.

Nanami grabbed the oven mitts and put them on. You carefully peeled back the damp cloth, revealing the risen dough in all its glory. You passed on the tray to Nanami's gloved hands and he slid the tray into the warmth of the oven, the door shutting with a soft thud.

Silence fell once more, but this time filled with anticipation. The oven hummed as Nanami wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before resting his chin on top of your head. "Let's see how this turns out," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear that sent shivers down your spine.

The aroma of toasted herbs hung heavy in the air, a warm, inviting fragrance that eclipsed even the lingering scent of flour. The focaccia had emerged from the oven a golden beauty, its surface dappled with sea salt and herbs.

You set it aside to cool, a necessary but agonising wait. Nanami disappeared into the fridge, emerging with a selection of cheese you'd used yesterday- creamy ricotta, a sharp pecorino romano, and goat cheese. You, in turn, busied yourself with a simple balsamic vinegar and olive oil dip, the sharp tang a perfect contrast to the richness promised by the cheese.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. With a practised hand, you sliced into the focaccia, revealing the fluffy interior generously infused with herbs. You bit your lip, a nervous flutter in your stomach. So far, so good. Everything had gone according to plan.

Arranging the slices on a plate, you added the cheese and the dip, creating a vibrant tapestry of colours and texture. You and Nanami exchanged a look, both reaching for a piece of bread at the same time.

The first bite was a revelation. The focaccia was warm and yielding, the texture a delightful contrast to the crisp golden crust. The herbs, released by the heat, danced on your tongue, a symphony of flavour that mingled beautifully with the salty tang of the cheese and the sharp sweetness of the dip.

Nanami broke the silence, a slow smile spreading across his face. "It's delicious," he said, his voice filled with genuine surprise and a hint of awe.

You returned the smile, relief and joy washing over you. "It really is," you agreed, savouring each bite.

The twist here? It tasted nothing like Golden Crust's legendary focaccia bread. It was a completely different beast, with its own unique flavour profile. But that didn't make it any less delicious. In fact, it was a delightful surprise, as you both weren’t expecting this turn of events.

Nanami took another bite of the bread, this time with cheese, “I don’t know which bread I like more, the golden crust one or this one,” he admitted, his brows knit together as if he were choosing between the two options.

A surprised laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Really?" you asked, a playful glint in your eyes. "Golden Crust has some serious competition then, huh?"

Nanami chuckled, taking another bite and savouring the contrasting textures. "Honestly," he began, "they're both fantastic, just different. Golden Crust is all about that classic, reliable flavour, but this..." he gestured to the plate, "this has a certain... ineffable quality, a unique charm that's hard to put into words. It's like a combination of flavours and textures, each bite a delightful surprise. It's fresh, unexpected, and bursting with flavour."

The rest of the evening unfolded in a comfortable rhythm. You and Nanami devoured the focaccia, exchanging bites of cheese and dipping the bread into the tangy balsamic vinegar mixture.

As the golden light of dawn began to peek through the kitchen window, a comfortable silence settled between you. Nanami, with a tired yet contented smile, stacked the empty plates while you cleared the countertop. After cleaning the kitchen, you turned the lights off and made your way to the living room.

Exhaustion finally caught up to you both- it was surprisingly tiring to make bread. You found yourselves on the living room couch, nestled against Nanami's side. His arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin.

"We should try that again sometime," you murmured, reaching out to brush a stray streak of flour from his cheek.

Nanami hummed in agreement. "Yeah, it was a great first attempt."

The smell of herbs in the air was replaced by something else. Leaning closer, you teased, "Maybe it's because of your kneading skills. You have good hands after all."

A flicker of something more than amusement danced in Nanami's eyes. He scooped you up in his arms, surprising you with his sudden movement.

"We are definitely covered in flour," he said, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Desperate need of a shower, even..." He paused, the air thick with unspoken desire. "And if we're continuing this..." his voice dropped even lower, "...maybe I should practice those hands more."

Laughter bubbled up from your chest as he carried you away towards the bathroom, the promise of something sweeter hanging in the air.

a/n: There it is- my first fanfic! (and of course, it's a Nanami fanfic). Would LOVE to know what you guys thought of this!

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #tasha's works ✍️

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pennyellee · 10 months

Text

CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared.

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life.

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

“Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited.

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts

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shintaru · 3 months

Text

Windbreaker | master list

Discord sever

Head canons ~

wb reacts to y/n trying the water challenge

Cuddling head canons pt.1

Cuddling head canons pt.2

Cuddling head canons pt.3

Cuddling head canons pt.4

Cuddling head canons pt.5

Cuddling head canons pt.6

Cuddling head canons pt.7

Cuddling head canons pt.8

caught kissing their SO pt.1

Dating head canons pt.1

Dating head canons pt.2

Dating head canons pt.3

Dating head canons pt.4

Dating head canons pt.5

Dating head canons pt.6

random head canons

Signature scent pt.1

Signature Scent pt.2

Signature Scent pt. 3

Signature Scent pt.4

Harry Potter houses

How to pull them

Crush pt.1

Crush pt.2

Crush pt.3

Crush pt.4

One - shots ~

What’s your favorite scary movie?

Who’s your favorite serial killer?

Owen Knight x Guitarist reader

please, please, please - wooin

the boy is mine Chris D’Char

Abandoned amusement park

The boy is mine Joker

girl next door - wooin

been like this - wooin

Trick or treating

Haunted Wooin

Pumpkin patch

Costume party

Ouija board

Trick wooin

Corn maze

lie - wooin

Apples

Treats

Mini series ~

song fics ~

Smut ~

Before I die I’m trying to fuck you baby Dom

The Reaper Hyuk Kwon NSFW friends to lovers

I’m gon make you feel it (size kink) multi

Let me lick on your tattoos multi

Yeah it’s you (oh, it’s you) Wooin

Slut me out 2 Wooin & Joker

Say my name Owen Knight

NSFW head canons pt.1

Lights on Vinny Hong

Scoop Chris D’Char

Ride for me Wooin

Talk dirty Wooin

All yours Dom

Water Joker

Scars joker

Mood boards ~

Owen knight when the night calls

The boy is mine Chris D’Char

The boy is mine Joker

Haunted Wooin

Chris D’ Char

Joker - Hajun

apples Joker

Vinny Hong

𝔉ü𝔯 𝔒𝔴𝔢𝔫

Camilla

wooin

If I’ve linked a post and it isn’t in bold that means I haven’t written it yet

My requests are closed atm I have 39 drafts I’m going to get caught up and then re open them!!

#windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker #joker windbreaker #chris d'char #dom kang x reader #owen knight #ryohei windbreaker #joker windbreaker x reader #wooin windbreaker #wooin x reader #jay jo x reader #vinny hong #minu yun #harry shepherd x reader #hyuk kwon x reader #hwangyeon choi #sangho choi x reader #Spotify

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doetic · 1 year

Text

anything. (TEASER) - dom!experienced!Jschlatt x smaller!sub!inexperienced!F!reader (18+)

Plot: Inexperienced reader finds herself in the bedroom of a man she had only met online that morning in an attempt to be more spontaneous and adventurous following a breakup. Warnings: BDSM (very light hitting and choking but no established safe word), smut, hookup culture, size kink (reader is described as shorter, thin, small and fragile compared to schlatt), female reader with female parts (not many gendered terms besides occasional things like good girl) Word Count (for this snippet): 456 A/n: Based on a Jordan Romano self insert smut I wrote in a notebook during a boring uni lecture

“So fuckin’ tiny,”

Schlatt’s voice came out as a low, near-growl as he looked you up and down with a slow, predatory gaze. His large hands tightly gripped your waist with a possessive firmness to them.

“I could do anything to you, and I’d bet you’d love it all.” He wet his lips. “Wouldn’t you?”

Shyly you let out a hum of confirmation, looking down at his hands on your waist rather than up into his eyes. Sex in general wasn’t something you were clueless of, but definitely not your area of expertise. However, he was handsome, and you were feeling spontaneous following the end of a long term relationship.

“C’mon toots, use your words,” he let out an amused chuckle, moving his left hand from your waist to your cheek. His thumb was placed under your jaw and turned your face up to look him in the eyes. “You’ll love any way I decide to use you, won’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” a warmth filled your cheeks as you spoke “Please use me…”

If you could purr, a low rumble would have filled your chest at the electric feeling of his touch. The intensity of his gaze could almost be physically felt as he searched your eyes for any sign of wanting to back out, but despite the nervous energy wafting off of you, there was none to be found.

His oh-so-tempting lips parted into a cocky grin, his thumb gently rubbing the skin of your jaw. “So shy… don’t worry, I can be gentle.”

You felt cold as he removed his touch from you and sat down on the bed behind him, gesturing for you to straddle him.

“It’s okay,” you spoke as you obeyed his silent command. “It’s just been a while.”

You ran a hand cautiously and shyly along his chest, looking down at your hand instead of his face again. His hand gently grabbed your wrist and guided it underneath his shirt with the careful patience one would give to a frightened animal.

“I won’t hurt you baby, I promise.” He spoke, leaning into your neck. You almost gasped at the feeling of his breath against your sensitive skin alone, and once his lips pressed against it you felt as if you were dissolving into his touch.

You believed his words, but knew at the same time that the man before you was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The large man before you certainly had the capability to bruise and harm you in the most heavenly ways at his will, and a part of you craved for his gentle touch to become the harsh and animalistic one you knew he was capable of.

“I know,” you replied sincerely. “Please don’t make me wait.”

#alyssia's upcoming #jschlatt smut #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt fic #schlatt oneshot #schlatt x reader #schlatt smut

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adelheidsideblog · 6 months

Note

hcs for thee axis giving oral?

Italy:

Very enthusiastic about giving head (and also very good at it: definitely in the top three best nations when it comes to giving head)

Very handsy too: Feliciano likes to grab his partner by the ass and pull them into him.

Encourages his partner to put their hands on his head (and loves it when they pull his hair)

Doesn't stop after his partner orgasms: he loves when his partner is so overstimulated from his mouth that their legs are shaking and their eyes are watery.

Loves the string of spit after he finally pulls away from his partner.

Germany:

Some of you are going to hate me for this but I don't think he's the best at oral. He's not bad at all! Just inexperienced.

With that being said though his perfectionist and people pleasing tendencies make him eager to do better, and the best way to do that is by having plenty of practice.

Has a tendency to go down on his partner without warning in the evenings when they're sitting around after dinner.

Will push your hips down and hold you there so that you can't move away from him.

Secretly really enjoys getting on his knees for his partner

Japan:

Yet another munch: performs oral more often than he receives it.

After rougher sessions with his partner I think he would give head almost as a form of aftercare

Usually he wakes up before his partner, so he's gotten into the habit of giving head to wake them up.

He has a fantasy of going down on his partner while they watch porn or read smut

Loves to kiss his partner after so they can taste themselves

Romano:

He's better with his fingers but still amazing at oral

Really likes to perform oral on his partner in public and see if they can keep quiet

He can be a bit of a tease and loves to edge his partner, giving you enough to be pleasurable but not enough to make you cum. Not until you're begging, that is.

For AFAB partners his favorite position is eating it from the back

Has a thing for using handcuffs and blindfolds on his partner when he goes down on them

Prussia:

He seems like he would be really into face sitting, or pressing his partner against a wall before going down on them

Likes to bite and mark up his partner's thighs when he goes down on them

He's either edging/denying you or overstimulating you to the point you're in tears and begging, and rarely anything in between

Likes to keep his hands busy while giving head; either using them to hold his partner's legs open or using them to help get them off, or whatever else he thinks of in the moment

Has a slight oral fixation

#adelheid speaks #hetalia smut #hetalia headcanons #hetalia #aph germany #ludwig beilschmidt #aph japan #kiku honda #aph italy #feliciano vargas #italy veneziano #aph south italy #lovino vargas #aph romano #aph prussia #gilbert beilschmidt

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1p2p-heta-suggestives · 1 year

Note

How would the 2p Axis and Allies react to their s/o asking for a threesome with one of their friends?

2p N. Italy immediately shoots it down, he's offended they'd even ask for it. He's not very sexual, he sees sex as a meaningful thing since he grew up very religious and for them to ask for that makes him feel really insecure.

2p S. Italy is hesitant to agree, he's never actually done anything like that before. He may act really confident when it comes to sex but he gets nervous about exploring anything new. He probably just agrees anyway.

2p Germany agrees immediately, he doesn't really care. More people, more fun - that's his logic to it. As long as he doesn’t dislike their friend (unlikely, he gets along with pretty much everyone), he sees no real issue with it.

2p Japan is ecstatic about it, the moment he hears the word “threesome” is the second he agrees. It could be with someone that he barely knows, a friend they only just made, he would not care.

2p America is another of them that instantly agrees, no hesitation to it. He’s probably asked his s/o something like that before, he loves them for bringing it up.

2p England is flustered as all Hell at the request, he has no idea what to say in response to it. He’s not against it but it’ll take him a while to warm up to the idea enough to agree to it.

2p Canada would only agree to it if he knows the friend very well because he doesn't exactly want to do that with someone he doesn't really know. If he doesn’t know them well, not happening.

2p France has a lot of mixed feelings about it. On one hand, he loves the idea, for sure, absolutely. On the other hand, it’s too much effort for him, takes too much energy, can he just watch them instead?

2p China really doesn't have much reaction to it, it's not like it'd be the first time he’s had a threesome. He’d want to know what prompted them to ask about it but he’s not going to interrogate them about it.

2p Russia doesn't shut the idea down but he also doesn't agree, he says that he'll think about it. It really depends on who it is and his s/o can expect to be questioned on why, mostly for curiosity's sake.

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mangofresca · 24 days

Text

footprint nostalgia

And sometimes, Spain watches Romano walk across the sands of his beaches, and he imprints the image of his footprint to memory, a twinkling haze of nostalgia and melancholy and the most desperate plea to see it again tomorrow, to see it again forever, with his following right behind. Spamano, oneshot.

Words: 5,380, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Hetalia

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Making Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, this was mainly my excuse to write top romano bc no one ever lets my man have anything, could be seen as a companion piece to red wine and honey but also could be read alone, also an unholy amount of italics because!!! i like them!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @renonv!!!!!! HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

now pardon me while i go to bed. i have to wake up at 1 am in the morning for my flight. everyone keep your fingers crossed that i dont miss my plane!!!!

#hws romano #aph romano #hws spain #aph spain #spamano #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #ao3 fic

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plantinghobbies · 5 months

Text

The Same Damn Thing (collab with @sycophanticsolipsism)

Here’s part 5, can’t believe we’ve only got two parts left! Thank you to everyone for your likes and reblogs and kudos and feedback, can’t tell you how much it motivates us and how much we appreciate it. It truly lifts our spirits so thank you thank you. The most thanks to @sycophanticsolipsism for supporting my sorry ass through a writer’s block, this thing would probably still have like 100 words without you!

If you need to catch up, check out the masterlist.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, angst, probably some typos

Part 5: If I Could Go Back To That Evening We Met…

“I’d kill to go back to that evening we met. Trembling hands as I’d ask for your number again, you saw me different then…when I held your heart in my hand” - Lewis Capaldi

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nobody on the flight is happy to be leaving the magic of Rome, clutching their Prosecco and pecorino Romano from duty free as if it will evaporate upon takeoff. Nobody except Val, that is. She is buzzing, fidgety, can’t get out of this goddamn country fast enough. She has been in constant motion since the moment she’d woken up this morning.

Val’s had her share of mornings (less than some of her friends but more than she likes to admit) where she woke up disoriented and hungover, unhappy with where she was and a little foggy on how she got there. But this morning? This one was by far the worst, because she didn’t wake up next to a strange guy wearing one sock drooling on her shoulder. No, instead it was Matty - adorable, inconvenient, sexy Matty. By one night stand standards, it was probably the safest she’d ever been. And yet it was the most reckless, brainless thing she’d ever done.

‘It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.’ She’d repeated it to herself over and over - during her shower, throughout the most chaotic packing job of her life, and all the way to the airport. But no matter how much Val tried, her treacherous bitch of a brain would not let it go. She rocks up to the gate after boarding has begun, sliding into her seat at the front of the plane (she’d used the few minutes waiting for a taxi at the hotel to switch her seat), keeping her head low and her sunglasses on (she takes back all the times she previously called people wearing sunglasses on planes pretentious twats. She gets it now). She’d held her breath as he boarded, pretending to be asleep when she saw his eyes searching for her. Her noise cancelling headphones provide little relief from the rattling around in her head. Now that she’s stopped, albeit forcibly, it’s harder to keep the thoughts she’s desperate to avoid at bay.

She catches up on texts as the plane taxies, until her friend Dina responds to a picture of Barry Keoghan in the group chat with a resounding “fuck me” and Val’s transported back to the moment Matty whispered that in her ear as he slid into her for the first time. Opening her email once they’re airborne, her inbox is flooded with emails from him from the last few days, running commentary on the conference sessions they’d attended separately. Reading his cute ramblings on the boring presenters and arrogant question askers felt like a shiv jabbed through her ribs. Finally, she gives up, slamming the laptop shut and closing her eyes. Maybe if she’s unconscious she won’t think about it.

If her life were a movie, Val would have stirred to light stubble nuzzling her neck, his hand snaking down her front, his gruff voice whispering filthy nothings in her ear. But life wasn’t a movie. Instead, the blare of the wakeup call had jolted them awake, her elbow colliding with his jaw as they both scrambled to answer it. By the time Matty’d thanked the hotel staff with broken Italian, Val was already in her jeans, searching for her earring while avoiding looking at him completely.

“Val…” His voice is low, shaky, uncertain, like he’s approaching a caged animal. Val’s heard him employ that tone a hundred times before - with clients and colleagues when he wants to win them over, with their uni friends when he was trying to mediate a dispute between them, with Marin when she was pushing herself too hard toward the end. But he’s never used it with Val before, until now. He thinks it’s full of charm and confidence and take-charge-ness. But what it feels like right now is patronizing. It’s the first time Val fucking hates the sound of his voice.

There’s a twinge in her neck she’s not sure the cause of as she whips her head around. “Don’t give me that tone.”

Matty physically recoils, blinking stupidly back at her. “I don’t know -“ He looks down at the bed before standing, moving to the chair in the room, maybe to put more distance between them, escape the scene of the crime.

“Yea you do!”

“Look, I’m confused too but…” But she isn’t. Confused that is. She may not be on board with all her actions over the last several hours, but in this moment, she is in full control of how she feels.

Angry, that’s how Val feels. Angry at herself for being an idiot cliche who slept with her boss. Beyond annoyed at him for not just leaving her the fuck alone to languish on Richard’s team all those months ago. Furious with whatever early Roman asshole invented wine in the first place, with its inhibition-altering goodness. And don’t even get her started on Marianne, who landed them in this joint-room trope predicament in the first place. Yep, her shit list is growing by the minute. She would have NEVER done this at home. Never. She needs to get back - to her bed, to her routine, to her goddamn sanity. Oh, she is clear on her emotions alright.

“Oh, I’m not. I know what this was, no need to explain it.” Sheets and pillows are flying now as the search continues for her earring. “Listen, we can’t miss our flight and I need to find my earring. I can’t lose it, it’s—“

“Marin’s, I know.”

“Of course you do.” She’s looking in the mini fridge now, which she knows is ridiculous, but she just has to keep moving. “Obviously, you’d remember your girlfriend’s ear—“

Matty’s chair scrapes against the floor with a harsh sound, drawing Val’s eyes over to his body. Bad idea, as he sits up abruptly and leans forward. “Listen, I don’t know what you heard about us.” Us. The word hits her like a visceral gut punch, a dull ache radiating out from her chest. It’s one thing to think it and another thing altogether to hear it. Her worn patience snaps, she can’t sit here with the smell of sex still lingering in the air and think of them. She just can’t. “It’s not what you th—“

“Aaah, got it!” Fuck, thank god. Her shirt she can do without but there was no way Val was leaving without that earring. She readies to flee, gathering her bag and looking around for her key card… before it settles on her that she’s in her room. She can’t leave, at least not without looking even more erratic than she feels. Plus, they really need to get a fucking move on to the airport and he’s still shuffling by the bed in just his pants.

She pauses, back turned to him as she speaks. “Listen” she repeats - it’s what her mum would refer to as a verbal tick, “umm, I’m going to hop in the shower, we’ve really got to go and I’m sure you have to pack and—” she’s moving toward the bathroom now, and the blessed door that will put a much-needed barrier between them so she can wash his scent off, and catch her breath and think. Something she clearly wasn’t doing last night. “And I forgot to pick up one last bag of coffee for my neighbor so I’m gonna run to that place down the square. I’ll just meet you at the gate.” The last part is thrown over her shoulder as she slams the door shut, not broaching any argument. She presses her back to the door, holding her breath, hanging on to her resolve by a thread. After eighteen seconds (her youth swim training finally came in handy), she hears the rustling of his clothes, the click of the lock, and then nothing. The sound that she makes as she finally takes a deep breath sounds like relief, and yet it doesn’t feel like it.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When they land, Val is off the plane like a shot, power walking through border control, not looking back. She implores every God she’s ever heard of - she even throws Dumbledore in there for good measure - that her suitcase is already waiting for her at baggage claim, assisting her quick getaway from the walking reminder in a wrinkled black suit and raybans somewhere behind her. But she must have exhausted all her luck between rounds two and three last night because the conveyer belt hasn’t even started moving yet (fucking Heathrow). He catches up to her a few minutes later, which is unfortunate because she was hoping to not see him until sometime next month. Maybe year. Decade. Never? She knows she’s being childish but at least now her mood matches her actions. Her boss! Her sister’s something. Her friend.

The look he levels her with is heavy with impatience. Oh, he’s waiting for her to say something? Fat chance, talking to him is what got her into this mess in the first place. Val talked herself right out of her senses and into his bed. Her bed. A bed. Speaking of, she wants to get to hers so she can crawl into it and die. “Where the hell are these bags?!” Mumbling to herself as a hideous green paisley suitcase makes a full go around the luggage turn style again before Matty seems to get fed up with their verbal game of chicken, taking a deep breath and letting a long sigh preview his words. “Well I guess I’ll sta-“

“Matty?” A high-pitched voice calls from somewhere behind them. Saved! Maybe there’s some magic left for her after all.

He whirls around to the voice, which is attached to a striking woman who Val does not recognize. Probably an enterprising networker from the conference. Now’s her chance to back away, book it to the other end of the carousel. Hell, maybe she should just abandon the bag, she can always come back and get it later. Having decided on letting present Val off the hook and leaving future Val to deal with the postponed chat with Matt, she turns to leave - when the woman steps into (invades is more like it from where Val’s standing) Matty’s personal space, confidentially, almost intimately. Val is glued to the spot, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Cheryl…hi, what are you - it’s nice to - aah” He awkwardly goes to hug the woman but they get tangled as they lean in, barely manage a weird half hug, half cheek kiss. Awkward is not a trait she’s used to seeing on him, and it really doesn’t suit.

Val doesn’t know if it’s years of computational science training or the hours of true crime documentaries she’s devoured but something has her mind whirring, interest piqued, collecting data on this new person. Tall, brunette, well dressed, older (she can’t be more than Matty’s age but Val is feeling petty all of a sudden).

“So that’s why you’ve been so hard to reach lately. Long trip?” Cheryl’s eyes dart towards her and then back to Matty, clearly content to not make Val’s acquaintance. She’s toe to toe with Matty now, which Val knows from no more legitimate source than Cosmo is a sign that they’re clearly comfortable in each other’s personal space. Physical space. Val doesn’t like where this is going but can’t seem to look away.

“Ehm no, just Rome. Conference.” He clears his throat into his fist and begins rocking on his heels in a way she’s never seen him do before. Who the fuck is this woman? “You?”

“Showcase in Sweden,” Cheryl says as if this explains everything. It doesn’t, not nearly enough. Be more specific Cheryl, you’re not giving me a lot to work with here! “But I’m home for a few weeks. We should…ummm…get together again, last time was… fun.” She punctuates the last part, dragging a manicured nail down Matty’s chest. Val knows later (once she’s home and showered and slept and sane again) she’ll admire Cheryl’s boldness, wish they were friends so she could ask her how she seems to manage more confidence in that one finger than Val seems to have in her whole body.

For his part, Matty does finally step back - or maybe he just loses his equilibrium in the presence of Miss Congeniality (she can’t help it) - and collides with Val, startling as if noticing her for the first time. And in this moment, the data set is complete - she doesn’t need to gather any more information to come to her conclusion - they’ve fucked. Recent enough that Cheryl doesn’t hesitate in initiating contact. Intimate contact that had him seemingly forgetting all about Val. The woman he slept with last night!

Keep moving.

Before he can move to introduce her or address her or do anything with her, she spots her bag, lunges for it, and leaves without another word.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Keep moving.

There’s a Diet Coke stain on Val’s sweater, a general stale smell in the air that she’s pretty sure is coming from her, and she’s stiff and sore in areas she hasn’t been in a while. But she can’t go home. Because home has the couch where they sat till her head ached and back screamed, pulling and fixing data and railing against their colleagues for fucking up. It’s got the blanket she’d caught him wiping his eyes on as they watched Manchester By the Sea together. And the fucking grease stain on the edge of her carpet that he didn’t think she knew about from the pizza he’d dropped on it. (She might have to burn that rug, or sell it.) And the old journal tucked away in her closet filled with her thoughts of him that show just how stupid she’d been for him and for how long.

So no, Val doesn’t go home. When the cab driver asks where to, she rattles off the first place that comes to mind, dragging her suitcase behind her out of the backseat and into the cinema. The obviously-stoned teenager behind the counter doesn’t bat an eye when she asks him for one ticket to the “least fucking romantic thing you’ve got going here,” punching a few buttons before spitting out a stub and receipt for the latest installment in the Saw franchise. But not even gore and guts can keep her mind from drifting. The torture on screen ramps up - Val wants to picture Matty groaning in agony as she tortures him for all the shit he’s put her through today but all her mind can seem to conjure are his moans of pleasure.

She’s pictured him between her thighs so many times that she’s probably imagined every move he’s making tonight, from the moment he started trailing his lips down past her breasts. The way his mouth licks at each of her ribs as he slinks down her body seems familiar. And Val knows that she’s pictured him licking his bottom lip the way he does now as he slides her panties to the side with his finger. But all of these fantasies, she realizes now, have been devoid of the single hottest thing she could never imagine. His sounds. Because the gutteral groan that escapes him as he licks into her for the first time is like nothing she’s ever heard before. It must have surprised him too because he pauses after that first taste, resting his forehead against her pelvis, heavy pants tickling her skin. Val’s hands instinctively find his hair, raking through it, fingertips massaging the top of his head. She’s a little uncertain why he paused but she can’t help but stop and appreciate the intimacy of this moment, something new for them even after all their years of knowing each other.

“Christ,” he mutters, rolling his head slightly back and forth as he plants lazy kisses wherever his mouth lands, seemingly unhurried. But not knowing what he’s thinking begins to make her anxious. Was there something wrong? She’d waxed recently (not that it mattered and fuck him if he thought it did)…right? Yes, yes definitely. Maybe it wasn’t his thing, had she pushed him to do it? Oh god, was she the problem?

Her hand slid from his hair to his jaw, trying to coax him back up her body. She gasps at the quick snatch of her wrist, firm but gentle, his large hand encircling her wrist easily. He slides her other one alongside it, pinning both of her wrists in place easily on her left side.

“I just….you don’t have to….listen, just come up and we’ll…”

“Val?”

“Yea?”

“You are the fucking best thing I’ve ever tasted. Now stop thinking and let me enjoy it.”

She walks out halfway through the movie, her fickle mind unable to give into the distraction for long. There’s a cafe right next to the theater and Val ignores the annoyed glances she gets for hogging a table meant for two. But she needs room for her baggage. ‘Fitting’, she thinks.

She’s on her second latte and third episode of Derry Girls when her mum calls. Normally, she’d put her off until she’s in a better mood to chat, has more energy to pretend. One of the hazards of having a psychoanalyst for a mother is that every interaction can feel like a session, unable to avoid her trained instincts. But she’d already dodged her calls twice and Val is certain that even though her mother knows she was traveling with Matty (her mother was so relieved when Val said Matty was going, you’d have thought he was a 6’5 bodyguard instead of a 5’10 casual exerciser), if she doesn’t pick up a third time Gwen will start to panic. After what her mother’s been through, she tries not to blame her.

When Gwen asks how the trip went, Val picks her words carefully, trying to muster believable excitement behind it. “Good!”

“Really? It doesn’t sound good?” Clearly, her acting needs work.

“No, it was.” She tries again, hoping the raised octaves in her voice would make up for the lack of it in her mood.

“You and Matty were in Rome for a week and it was only good? I find that hard to believe.”

And she doesn’t know if it’s the sudden softness in her mothers’ usually firm voice or her own jet lag but Val feels the dam crack and break easier than it has in years. And it’s not a dainty crack either, where a tear slides down her cheek accompanied by one of those cute hiccups. No, Val is not a cute crier, never has been. It’s full on sobs, her splotchy face screwed up and her attempts to breath turning into snot-logged guffaws. She’s word vomiting her train-wrecked thoughts to her mother, trying to hide her teary face behind her crumpled napkin. The guy at the table next to her - some young college kid who probably hasn’t lived long enough to make the idiotic mistake of wanting someone you can’t have - tries to appear casual as he side-eyes her, giving her increasingly dirty looks before he slides his laptop and book off the table and jogs out of the place. ‘Yea kid, run so you don’t have to see what your life will look like in ten years,’ she thinks, reaching for the unused napkin on his table and blowing her nose loudly.

Val spares her the more salacious details but knows Gwen gets the gist. Silence follows, for so long that Val pulls her phone out of her bag to check the connection is still good.

“He calls me every year, you know.” Her mother’s voice is soft, vulnerable.

Of all the things she expected her mother to say, this was not it. “Who? Matty?!”

“Yesss darling, Matty. Every year around the anniversary.” Val rolls her eyes, of course he would. He couldn’t just make it easy for her and be a dickhead she shouldn’t have feelings for. Her mother’s voice is still flooding her earbuds “…started out with a card the first year but then he missed the second one and called all flustered from some party boat…in Ibiza, I think.” Gwen’s laugh is another thing that Val doesn’t hear that much of, wishes she heard it more. “Said he was rubbish with anything analogue and asked if I wouldn’t mind if he called from then on.”

Val grips her napkin, busying herself with shredding it into pieces. “He always asks about you. Bless him, probably thought he was being so coy, but it was obvious that he was digging for info on you.”

“Me?” The shrillness in her voice attracts a glare from the guy who’s taken over the recently-vacated table. She glares right back. She can be hysterical if she wants to here, it isn’t a bloody library.

“Don’t sound so surprised. Of course, you. Who else?” There’s rustling on the other end, the unmistakable whimper of her parent’s golden retriever as he scratches at the back door, desperate to go out. Val is suddenly homesick in a way she hadn’t been in over a decade. “I thought you all had something going at school before…”

“No, mum.” Val interrupts before that thought can even fully form, can’t take hearing someone else verbalize it. “It was him and Marin…”

The sharp bark of laughter cuts her off. “Marin? No darling, definitely not.”

The confidence with which her mother says this should make Val feel better, someone outside of her own thoughts refuting her worst nightmare. But instead, her hackles rise, instantly petulant at being so easily dismissed. Her next words are biting.

“Well, I was there so I think I would know.”

“You certainly know a lot.” Great, her mother’s passive voice. It’s a reliable tool for de-escalation, but all it seems to do for Val is piss her off more.

“Well, how would you know? You weren’t here!“ She hates how easily she reverts to sounding like a child with her mum.

“Because she told me things.” The unlike you goes unsaid.

“I-“

“Honey, you’ve always kept things close to the vest. Ever since you were little.” Her mother anticipates her defensiveness “It’s ok, it’s just your nature. But it wasn’t the same for your sister. She told me eeeeeverything. Including the fact that she was asexual.”

Val’s cheeks flame in the way they always did whenever either of her parents even said the word sex. “Wait, what?”

“Yes darling.” She says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, I-“

“Honestly Val, it’s perfectly normal, some people just aren’t driven by carnal ins-“ At that word, Val is transported back to the mortifying moment she’d asked her mother the definition of carnal at the ripe old age of 7, having come across it while trying to read one of her Nan’s trashy paperbacks with Fabio on the cover. Her dad had been livid but her mum had simply sat Val down and explained the birds and the bees. Val had never asked for a clarification on another word since.

She’d very much like to not relive that whole ordeal now, or ever again. “Mum, I know what asexual means. I just, well…” Val pauses, biting her lip in contemplation unsure of what it is that confuses her about the finding. Her sister was allowed to keep things for herself. Val had obviously never told Marin about her feelings for Matty. Thou can covet thy sister’s boyfriend as long as you don’t tell anyone…that’s how the commandment went, right? But this, this was news that would have changed Val’s whole world that first year of uni. Maybe her whole life. And she’d kept it from her! Just because Val didn’t have a right to be angry doesn’t mean she wasn’t anyway .“I guess I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.”

“Oh bug, I think she would have. If she had had the time.” Gwen’s voice goes soft again in the way she only gets when talking about Marin. Or her own parents. Val hates making her mum sad.

“Well, good to know, I guess. Still doesn’t mean he didn’t fancy her.” The sigh on the other end of the line

“Honey, this isn’t really about your sister, is it? It’s about you. I mean, it’s fine to be guarded.” ‘Well, thanks for your permission mum.’ “But if you like someone, sometimes you, well, you’ve got to go out on a limb. Do something that you can’t walk back.”

“Uh uh Val, eyes on me baby,” Matty’s thumb taps at her hairline, bringing her eyes back to his. “There she is, that’s my girl.” His smile is so soft, so incongruous with the harsh snap of his hips moments before. He dips his head, nose nuzzling hers as his lips skim over her Cupid’s bow. “I want to see you.”

Well, she’d definitely done that.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The elevator dings as it arrives at her floor, Val’s mind barely registering it as she stares at the hideous bargain carpet that covers every inch of her building. Two days ago, her Mum’s revelations would have had her spinning. But today, they just make her more tired. Tired of trying to decipher what it all meant - every word, every action. Tired of carrying around hope for all these years, foolish, unfounded hope. Hope could be heavy and she’d been carrying it since an early age, when Hollywood had filled her brain with stories of men who gave the smallest crumbs of affection and the women who devoured them like they were full feasts, never giving up and somehow always getting the guy. Beauty and the Beast, My Best Friends Wedding, Jerry Maguire, Bridget Jones’, Sleepless in Seattle. And those were just a few of her favorites growing up. But what those movies didn’t show was the nights filled with insomnia, the self-doubt, the second guessing yourself, the exhaustion that comes with taking every interaction with someone you would die to have - literally every single second together - and reliving it over and over again looking for the seIcret subtexts that would reveal how he felt about you. Wondering, confused, if it was love or if you weren’t just mistaking kindness for care.

Well, Val was officially giving up. Throwing in the towel. She couldn’t do it any more. She was no Hollywood heroine, she was just a mere woman, and she was tired. Of burying her feelings under shy smiles, then friendship, then a night with him that had only made the idea of friendship impossible. Of wondering if she was wasting time pining for someone when she didn’t even know how he felt. I mean, clearly he was attracted to her but just because he wanted her didn’t mean he wanted to be with her; just because he wasn’t in love with Marin didn’t mean that he was in love with Val. Contrary to how she sometimes acted, she knew she was not the only person of interest on the planet and he could have anyone he wanted.

And that was all just the personal anxiety. She hadn’t even begun to process how stupid this all was for her professionally.

As she makes the turn down her hallway, her eyes are drawn to a body, slumped in front of the door to her apartment. Asleep? Dead? Several particularly grim facts about stalkers and serial killers flash through her mind before she clocks the curls, the scuffed shoes, the pack of cigarettes lying next to him he’d clearly taken out to smoke before he must have realized where he was. On instinct, hope rises in her chest before she slaps her palm over her heart, holding it at bay. No, that was enough of that.

She kicks at his shoe, startling him for the second time that day. “How long have you been here?”

He doesn’t respond as he clambers to his feet, eyes dragging to his suitcase as if to highlight the obvious answer.

“Ok, other question. What are you doing here?” It comes out breathier than intended but she is genuinely surprised. Thought he’d be off somewhere with that troll Cheryl (she is not proud of how her feminism utterly abandons her in this moment). That she’d at least have a few well-timed sick days to prepare before seeing him again.

“I’m uh…” The toe of his brogues scrape at the floor .Whatever he wants to say, it’s enough to make him anxious. Which is enough to make Val want to avoid it at all costs.

Summoning her self-preservation, she cuts him off. “Listen, maybe we should do this when we’ve both-“

“Goddamnit Val, for once, please shut up!” His voice explodes in the small space, her gaze immediately going over her shoulder to her neighbor’s door. The last thing she needs right now is a noise complaint. Matty itches at the skin around his throat, as if raising his voice at her is as foreign to do as it was to receive. “I’m sorry, I’m sor- I just, I can’t risk any confusion here. Just need to get this out. Need you to listen. For once.” The attempt at a joke lands with a thud.

“When I’ve tried to get this out…and, I, just, it gets fucked every time.” His breath is noticeably shaky, hands on his hips as he gazes at the floor. “And I’m sick of, well I’m not sick of trying cause I’ll do that, not afraid…but I’m sick of the…if only I’d been clearer, got it out faster….in that pub, and I just, can’t take it any more…”

She’s about to tell him she’s not following when he seems to gather that for himself, head lifting to meet her eyes. She’s never been great at eye contact, always hates how put on the spot she feels by it. On instinct, Val glances away, over his shoulder, somewhere safer. A blurred hand lifts in her periphery, hovering near her face but not touching it, until her gaze turns back to his. Reminding her of the eye contact he’d insisted on the night before, as he went down on her, as he slid into her, as she came on his cock and as she’d fallen asleep.

“Val, I’m crazy about you. Have been for years… and before you say it, Marin and I weren’t anything. Or nothing like you think… I loved her, sure. But not in the way I do you…”

Val’s heard the phrase about the world going sideways before but she’d never really appreciated what it meant until now. She swears her body actually tilts sideways until it feels like the handle of her suitcase is the only thing keeping her upright. And with her equilibrium goes her ability to think straight.

“From the moment I met you when you had just got accepted, there was just something… and then you were dating that prick Roger from the cricket team.” God, Val hadn’t thought of him in ages. She’d been using him, trying to get under him to get over Matty. “…kicking myself that I’d just assumed there’d be time, like you wouldn’t just get snatched up by someone—“

The sleep deprivation seems to pick that very moment to redouble its efforts - she can’t think fast enough to respond. To buy herself time, she vomits out the first thought in her head. “Why didn’t you say something? Back then?”

“What? Rock up to you on the first day ‘Hey Val, d’you remember me? From that one weekend we hung out? Will you please go out with me? Oh, let me help you unpack, show you how shitty the beds are...’” He scoffs, she fucking hates that. “C’mon, I’d like to think I’m better than that…”

Her eyes look away, not willing to admit he’s right.

“I don’t know if you remember that night…in the pub—“ He stops, the effort of self-editing written all over his face. “What the fuck am I—Of course, I know you remember, like, the shittiest night of your life but I meant right before, when you and I were— “

She’s not intentionally tuning him out but her brain is now unhinged, skipping around and ahead, trying to determine what conclusion he’s coming to. Because the truth is, even if he’s telling the truth (she knows he has no reason to lie about this but she still can’t comprehend this monumental fact that he’s liked her for, it sounds like, almost as long as she’s liked him...) she still can’t have him. Because as the personal anxiety begins to ebb in the face of his declaration, the professional anxiety seeps in to take its place. She knows how this would go. She trusts Matty, of course she does (even after all these years, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else). But in her experience, shit like this - a relationship with a coworker - doesn’t stay quiet, no matter how hard two people try. Someone catches her glance at him differently, he says her name a certain way and suddenly it’s all anyone can talk about. The rumor mill must be fed, anything to make the mundane office more interesting, the hours less boring. It’s not that she blames them, has even joined in in her weaker moments, feeling slightly gross as she listened to the latest gossip, just wanting to be part of the inner circle, to be included. But she’s seen what it does to women, it’s always the women that pay.

“So, you can choose not to give this a shot, but it won’t be because of some bullshit misunderstanding you have about me and Marin.” There’s that tone again, like he’s confident in the case he made, assured of its persuasiveness. But once again, he’s underestimated her.

“Marin isn’t the reason.” It’s clear that’s not what he was expecting her to say, he’s caught off guard, eyes flitting back and forth between hers as if trying to scan them. “Well, not entirely. Matty, you’re my boss…”

“I’m well aware, trust me. We can handle it. Or I can.” Her eyeroll is instinctual at this point, honed from years of listening to men brush away her valid concerns as if they were so obviously not an issue that it’s idiotic that she’d even been thinking about it. “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re tog—“

“No, it does… matter, that is… Cause this won’t be a problem for you, but for me it will be. A big one. My reputation, my career. People will think I slept my way into every job opportunity from here on out…” Val crosses her arms in front of her chest to stop wringing of her hands.

Matty is shifting his weight from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with the way the conversation has veered off course. “No, they won’t… and if they do, I’d immediately address it. We’d report them! I’m not really a nobody here, y’know.”

“Oh great, I can hear people now. ‘There goes Matty, taking Val ‘under his wing’” the air quotes aren’t really needed with the sarcasm laced in her voice but it’s important to her he knows how much that idea offends her. “I fucking hate that phrase.”

The smell of his cologne tingles as he takes a step closer, that confidence back in his voice. “Listen, I’m not stupid enough to think that it’d be totally fair, or that there isn’t stuff we have to work out—" (he says stuff as though the problem was (is) a small glitch in the code and not a huge attack on her entire system, her career) “—but I am falling in love with you… I want to do that with you. Want to do everything with you,” he chuckles softly, peering into her eyes, “And I think you do too, or at least I would hope so.”

Her resolve is crumbling, she needs him to go away, leave her so she can fall apart in peace. “No.”

“No?” Matty rakes his hands through his hair, interlocking his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing in a way that Val can’t help but find hot.

“Matty, I…I am just…I can’t…I’ve worked too hard for everything I’m accomplishing now for it to be credited to you. It would kill me to have people think that.” She hates thinking out loud but her trusty brain-to-mouth filter is failing her right now. Thankfully, he fills in the gaps for her. “It’s not worth the risk—“ The words are said carelessly but she can’t stuff them back in.

“No, I think what you mean is I’m not worth the risk” He says, and on his face she can read all the hurt her simple denial has inflicted. She wishes he would understand, that he would just listen and see it from her perspective because when she puts it all down on paper…well— the cons outweigh the pros, and her lists have rarely ever failed her. What if they don’t work out? What if after all this time pining for each other, they go on a couple of dates and realize they’ve made a mistake? It’s not like they can walk this back. Data isn’t subjective, it’s objective, it’s rational, reliable. Everything that they are not right now. She’s about to summarize it for him, a task which would be made easier if she had time to write it out, organize it.

Her thoughts feel scattered. “I’m not saying—” but it doesn’t matter that she’s not organized because she doesn’t get far.

“Got it,” he cuts her off, voice suddenly gruff and cold. “I’m an idiot. Thought last night meant you were still mooning over me the way you used to—jokes on me, I guess.” It’s been a while since she’s seen him like this, wounded animal cruelly lashing out at a perceived attack. This Matty is an unpleasant addition.

“Oh, fuck off, sounds like you were pining right back. Not that you kept your bed cold waiting though, did you? Fucking Cheryl and…”

“Cheryl?! God you’re unbelievable” His bag slaps against his thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder violently. “Cheryl is nothing. She was a one night stand—“

“—so was I!” They are screaming now and Val is almost surprised that the landlord hasn’t already been called.

Val doesn’t have time to see his reaction before he moves past her to the elevator. “Your words, not mine” He bypasses the elevator altogether, slamming the door to the stairwell open and disappearing into it.

When she’s finally in her apartment, suitcase sprawled open in her living room and temporary bed made on her couch, she lets it wash over her. All the emotions she has kept in a vice like grip since the second her feet hit the floor this morning, or rather till her feet landed in the heap of denim where Matty’s jeans had landed the night before. Val wants to be proud of herself for cutting it off, not feeding the beast (figuratively or literally) but what she really feels is regret.

#run don’t walk fic rec #matty healy fanfiction #1975 fanfic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy

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