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aryaryxoxo · 2 months ago

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Six Times You and Bakugou Couldn't Escape Each Other (and One Time You Really Couldn't) #katsuki bakugou x fem!reader ⤷ Every year, without fail, your families book at the same resort at the same time—for six years straight. And every year, like clockwork, you and Bakugou Katsuki somehow manage to ruin each other’s vacation. (5k)

Warning: grammar, idk ajsdnkada

Year one

“Sweetheart, slow down!” your father called out behind you as you bolted down the hallway, suitcase wheels clattering noisily behind you. You could hardly contain your excitement for the week ahead. Your parents had promised a stay at a luxurious five-star resort—complete with museums, slides, swimming pools, nature for sight seeing and more. To your ten-year-old mind, it sounded like paradise.

You fumbled eagerly with the hotel room keycard your mother handed you earlier, finally managing to swipe it through the door scanner. With a satisfying click, the door opened, and you stepped inside—eyes widening in awe.

The room was huge. The soft scent of linen and the faint hum of air conditioning greeted you as you took in the two queen-sized beds. One was obviously meant for you, and the other is for your parents, though everyone knew you'd end up sleeping with them anyway. Still, your parents had asked for an extra bed, hoping to make you feel a little more independent.

“Mama! There’s a huge balcony!” you squealed, climbing up on a nearby chair to peek out at the view.

“Be careful, my dear,” your mother warned gently as she came over and scooped you into her arms, holding you securely so you could see better. The sun bathed the surrounding trees in golden light, and below, the pool sparkled like a jewel.

“Dear look, we have a neighbor,” she murmured, pointing to the balcony beside yours.

Later, you busied yourself by placing Mr. Strawberry—your beloved stuffed bear—on the bed near the large window. You carefully unpacked his accessories from your bag: a pair of sunglasses, a pink dress (because Mr. Strawberry didn’t care about colors), and a plastic toy ice cream cone.

“What else did I bring?” you muttered, burying your head into the small backpack to make sure you hadn’t missed anything.

When you finally pulled your head out, you froze.

Standing in front of you, gripping Mr. Strawberry by the neck with a suspicious glare, was a blond boy around your age. His red eyes were narrowed into a deadly squint, locked onto you like laser. You blinked. He blinked back—menacingly.

“Can you give him back to me?” you asked, arms stretched out, trying to sound calm despite the twitch in your eye. “No,” the blond menace replied, with all the audacity in the world.

You took a deep breath. Maybe he didn’t hear you right. “Please give me back.” He looked you dead in the eyes, held the bear tighter, and said, “No. Again.”

Without thinking, you launched yourself forward, diving to rescue Mr. Strawberry from the clutches of the foul beast.

“What are you doing?!” you screeched, tugging at your bear’s paw.

“Why are you in our room?!” he snapped, yanking back.

“This is our room, you jerk!”

“You’re the jerk!”

Kid logic took over, and the war began.

"You murderer!" you cried, grabbing a fistful of his spiky hair and yanking it like your life depended on it.

"OW! You psycho!" he bellowed, still holding Mr. Strawberry hostage.

That was the moment your parents burst out of the bathroom, faces frozen in horror. There you were, their sweet little child, with a death grip on some blonde boy’s hair, while he clutched your teddy bear like it was a hostage negotiation gone wrong.

“KATSUKI! We haven’t even checked into the room and you're already causing trouble!” a voice shouted from the doorway.

All eyes turned to the new arrival—a wild-eyed blonde woman, her fiery stare nearly identical to the boy’s. She stormed over, grabbed the boy—Katsuki—by the collar, yanked the bear from his arms, and gently handed it back to you with a tight, apologetic smile.

“I’m very sorry,” she said with a deep, frantic bow, still hugging her son tightly as he kicked and protested in her grip. “I hope my son didn’t hurt your daughter.”

“Why are you apologizing?! That brat started it!” Bakugou barked, twisting in her arms.

“What brat!?” you snapped, hugging Mr. Strawberry tightly to your chest as you locked eyes with the demon child in a full-on death glare challenge.

“We’re also sorry. I hope our daughter didn’t hurt your son,” your parents added politely, bowing back.

You turned toward them with a look of sheer betrayal.

“What?! He started it! He wanted Mr. Strawberry to die! He was gripping him by the neck!” you defended with the sincerity of someone reporting a serious crime.

“Hah! That’s a stupid name for a teddy bear,” Bakugou muttered, sticking out his tongue and pulling a face.

His mother quickly slapped her hand over his mouth and hissed, “Shut it.”

Your father knelt down in front of you, his expression calm and soft. “Sweetheart, I know how protective you are of Mr. Strawberry, but you could have really hurt him. I don’t think Mr. Strawberry would’ve wanted that.”

That made you pause. You looked down at Mr. Strawberry, then up at the boy who had just been silenced by his mother. His mouth was finally free, and he looked like he had more dumb things to say.

“If he apologizes for hurting Mr. Strawberry,” you said solemnly, “then I’ll apologize too.”

“Hah! As if I will—!”

“Katsuki.” His mother’s tone was deadly.

“...Fine! Sorry!” he spat.

You gave a slow, dramatic nod. “Fine. Sorry too.”

And thus, a truce was declared.

“Again, my deepest apologies,” the woman said, rubbing her temple with a sigh. “The receptionist gave us the wrong keys”

She turned to your parents, offering a strained smile. “I’m Mitsuki Bakugou, by the way.” She reached out to shake their hands with her right hand while still trying to wrangle the wild animal with the other.

She finally set him down when a man’s voice called out from behind her.

“Honey, I finally got the keys!”

A man with slightly tousled brownish hair stepped into view, holding up a new keycard triumphantly. The demon child—aka Katsuki Bakugou—immediately ran over and latched onto the man’s leg like a clingy goblin.

Mitsuki grabbed the card from his hand as he introduced himself as the husband and father. You blinked. This gentle, quiet-looking man was the father of that tiny demon? You couldn’t quite figure out how that made sense. But then again, his mother was currently throwing daggers with her eyes at her own son. Maybe chaos just ran in the bloodline.

“Looks like we’re next to each other,” she said with a small smile, glancing between your families.

That statement made both you and Katsuki whip your heads around to glare at each other.

This vacation was doomed.

Year two

“I’m so excited!” you muttered to yourself, practically bouncing on your heels. Today was the day—you were finally going to ride the big slide. The one that twisted around the resort’s water park. It was so cool, you had to climb three flights of stairs before you even began.

You hurried up the stairs, clutching the wet rail, already picturing yourself screaming with joy on the way down. But just as you reached the second floor, an aggravatingly familiar voice echoed behind you.

“I’m faster than you, idiot!”

That kid. The one from last year. Bakugou Katsuki, aka the bane of your last year vacation’s existence, was charging up the stairs like his life depended on it.

Was it stupid to race up three flights of slippery stairs, where one wrong step could lead to a full-on cartoon-style head trauma? Absolutely.

Did that stop you?

Not a chance. He ruined your vacation last year (both of you had spent the entire week glaring at each other across hallways, pool chairs, and buffet lines until the day you left).

You took off after him, determined not to let the blond gremlin beat you. The two of you reached the top at the same time, immediately breaking into a loud argument over who touched the top step first.

“I clearly beat you!”

“No way, I saw your foot slip, loser!”

The poor lifeguard attendant looked at you both with all the exhaustion of someone who did not get paid enough for this. After one long glance, she pointed toward the exit.

“You’re both too little for the slide.”

You stared in horror. Bakugou’s face contorted with the rage of a thousand suns.

“What?! That’s stupid! I can ride it! Height doesn’t even matter! I’m ready! I’ve got reflexes and everything!”

The worker sighed, looking you both over with an exhausted expression. “Kid,” she said, pointing directly at Bakugou, “you’re standing on your tiptoes right now.”

Bakugou shot her a death glare, but she didn't flinch.

“And,” she continued, barely hiding the exhaustion in her voice, “you need to be fifteen years old to slide down”

“I’m fifteen!” you insist, trying to convince the lifeguard. You widen your eyes, putting on your best puppy-dog look. Well it doesn’t work because both of you ended up sulking at the bottom of the slide five minutes later—soaked, grumpy, and somehow even more determined to ruin each other’s day.

“This is your fault!” Bakugou snapped, crossing his arms and practically vibrating with rage.

“Huh?! Be grateful we didn’t end up banned from the slide because of your ego! Demon child!” you shot back, pointing at him like he was the cause of global warming.

Bakugou, clearly offended. “What did you just call me?!” He lets out a loud tch and sparks begin crackling from his palms—tiny bursts of frustration lighting up like firecrackers.

And of course, not to be outdone, you activated your own quirk—just enough to make your point.

“Kids,” the lifeguard said, suddenly appearing between you like a divine referee, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “Please don’t use your quirks. There are children running around. And frankly, you’re the loudest ones here.”

You both instantly looked away, muttering complaints under your breath. But the battle was far from over.

Year three

You tried not to be paranoid—really, you did. This was supposed to be a good week. You were at your favorite resort, the sun was shining, and everything should’ve been perfect.

Should’ve.

But how could you truly enjoy it when a certain gremlin with anger issues kept popping up every year to ruin your peace?

Not this time, you told yourself. This year, you were going to have a good time. No explosions. No arguments. No Katsuki Bakugou.

That’s why you begged your mother to sign up for the museum tour being held on the other side of the resort. A quiet, educational day. Some mother-daughter bonding. And besides, the odds are in your favor. Day three of your trip and you still haven’t seen him.

“My dear, are you okay?” your mother asked, noticing the way your head kept whipping side to side.

You were scanning the crowd like a wartime soldier, just to be sure there were no signs of blond chaos. You hated to admit it, but every time you spotted someone with spiky blond hair, your soul briefly left your body and rage came in.

Even back home in the United States, you found yourself flinching at the sight of blond, spiky hair in public. He lived in Japan, for crying out loud.

And yet, every time you spotted someone who even remotely resembled him, your fight-or-flight kicked in like clockwork.

“And this,” the tour guide said cheerfully, pointing to a glass display, “is a fossil discovered along the shores of this very resort!”

You leaned in, relaxing just a bit—until the guide looked past the crowd and said:

“Oh! You must be Ms. Bakugou! Please, please, join the tour. You’re not late.”

No.

No, no, no.

Why.

You turned slowly, clinging to your last sliver of hope that maybe it was just his mom. Maybe she came alone this year. Maybe the universe had some mercy.

But no. Because right there, next to her, stood him. And of course, he was already looking directly at you like he knew this would happen.

You whipped your head back around.

Don’t look again. Don’t look again. Don’t—

You looked again.

And he smirked.

He only muttered two words.

“Mr. Strawberry”

That was it. Just two words.

Oh, you were going to go berserk on a 12-year-old.

Year four

If you asked Bakugou if he loved the beach, he’d tell you he hated it more than losing a fight—because at least that, he could control. He could train harder, fight smarter, blast his way to a win. But the beach? The beach had sand that was somehow always stuck in his shoes, sunburn on his neck, and screaming kids with no sense of personal space.

He’d take a sparring match over this hell they called the beach any day.

And yet, every summer, without fail, his parents dragged him back to the same resort.

He'd complain, scowl, and threaten to blow up the welcome banner—again. But deep down? There was something about this place that kept him from actually going nuclear.

Something he refused to admit even existed.

And right now, that something was in front of him, on the balcony beside his own. Glaring while holding that ridiculous plushie with the equally ridiculous name Mr. Strawberry. It’s so absurd, so laughable, that Bakugou could hardly hold back a snort every time he thought about it. He’d even catch himself smirking in class sometimes, thinking about how seriously you’d defend that stupid bear.

“I guess satan couldn’t reach me so he sent you,” You remarked with a mocking grin, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Bakugou stared at you blankly, his expression the epitome of unamused. “What did you just say?”

You turned to leave, done with his obnoxious presence. But before you could take a step away, Bakugou's eyes flicked over to the water gun resting on the railing beside him. His gaze narrowed, and a dangerous smirk played on his lips.

“Oh, you think you can walk away without paying for that?” he muttered to himself, his fingers tightening around the handle of the water gun. With one swift motion, he aimed it directly at you.

The cold blast of water hits you square in the back, instantly drenching your pajama and sending a chill through your spine.

You whipped around, face flushed with irritation. “What the hell, Bakugou?!”

He was grinning now, pure smugness plastered across his face. “Satan said you needed a bath.”

You looked at him, seething with frustration, your hand already reaching for something you could use in return. And then it clicked. His stupid mistake.

You grabbed the water gun sitting by your side, fully aware that a little bit of payback was in order. You aimed it at him, squeezing the trigger with satisfaction as the cold stream of water hit his chest.

“Guess you needed one too,” you shot back, a smirk forming on your face now.

Bakugou's eyes flared with irritation, and for a moment, it seemed like he might retaliate with a blast of his quirk. But there was something about the way the water gun had soaked him that made him pause, a little part of him enjoying this.

Damn it. He cursed silently, but deep down, he knew that this—whatever this is—had become a weird part of his vacation routine.

And that’s when it hit him: The universe must really hate him. For the past four years, he’d been stuck in the same resort, rooming next to you year after year. Always just a balcony away. Always.

It was like the universe wanted him to deal with you. And Mr. Strawberry.

And for a moment, the stupid thought flickered in his mind: This summer wouldn’t feel right without it.

“Tch, whatever," Bakugou grumbled, wiping his face with his hand. "This is so stupid."

Year five

“Mom, you know I hate hiking, right?” you groaned as you trudged behind your parents up the hill.

“Dear, I thought you wanted to be a pro-hero?” your mother chirped back. “You need stamina training! And fresh air!”

“Lots of fresh air,” your dad added, already taking a dramatic picture of the tree line like it was the cover of a nature documentary. “This resort just keeps getting better. Look at this view! Million-dollar scenery!”

You did admit—it was beautiful. Rolling green hills, birds chirping, a breeze cool enough to keep your sweat from sticking. Still.

“Great, can we go back now?” you asked, eyes hopeful. Desperate.

Your mother shot you a look. “That’s a terrible mindset, young lady.”

And then—because the universe is an evil, evil thing—a familiar voice spoke up behind you.

“I see you’ve finally taken a liking to hiking, huh?”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Masaru Bakugou. Which could only mean…

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath. Why not ruin the day completely.

Sure enough, stomping beside his parents, wearing a scowl that could peel bark off a tree, was none other than him. Bakugou Katsuki. He grew around a few inches in height since last year but still the same temper, same explosive aura of annoyance. But this time… he locked eyes with you and groaned like it physically hurt.

“Oh, come on,” he hissed.

Well, at least you could agree on one thing: neither of you wanted to be here.

“How about we all hike up there?” Mitsuki grinned, already locking arms with your mother like they had been best friends since forever.

“Sure!” your mom beamed, and just like that, both sets of parents began their cheerful ascent, chatting like this hike wasn’t a death sentence.

You and Bakugou trailed behind at a very safe distance from each other—until, of course, that peace was destroyed.

“That’s a robin,” you said, pointing to a small bird on a branch.

“No, it’s not. That’s a sparrow, dumbass.”

You stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Excuse me? Sparrows don’t have red chests. It’s a robin.”

“Tch. As if you know anything about birds. You think everything small and fluffy is a robin.”

“Well at least I know what a robin looks like! I did a birdwatching project in 3rd grade!”

“Yeah? Must’ve failed it.”

You were both now full-on bickering, flailing your arms and pointing at birds, while the rest of the group climbed steadily ahead. Neither of you noticed that in the middle of your feathery fight, you'd veered off the main trail.

“I hope that robin poops on your head,” you snapped.

“I hope it’s a hawk and it carries you off,” he shot back.

By the time you both paused for air, the trail was gone… and so were your parents.

“We’re not that far off the trail… right?” you asked, trying—really trying—not to sound as nervous as you felt. The trees looked taller now. The shadows, longer. Even the birds were quiet.

Bakugou glanced up at the sky. “The sun’s about to set.”

You followed his gaze and swallowed. The golden light was fading fast, dipping low behind the mountains. Your stomach twisted.

There was something in his eyes—not panic exactly, but awareness. A shift in the air. Seriousness that Bakugou never had when he was arguing with you. That made your chest tighten.

“…So, we’re just a little lost,” you tried again.

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked around, jaw tight. “We’ll find the trail. Just stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you snapped.

You were definitely freaking out.

Bakugou exhaled sharply, adjusting the backpack slung over one shoulder. “Come on. Just stick close.”

“…You’re not gonna leave me if we get chased by a bear, right?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he muttered, “Only if you slow me down.”

But you caught it—the faintest smirk. And weirdly, you felt just a little less lost.

It’s been what—minutes? Hours? Days? Years? You don’t know. What you do know is you both still haven’t found the trail.

“Eat,” Bakugou said, tossing a granola bar your way. “You need energy.”

You unwrapped the bar slowly, staring at it as if it might somehow give you the answers you were desperately searching for. “I’m sorry,” you said in a defeated voice, your words barely above a whisper as you took a small bite.

Bakugou didn’t look up, focused on his own bar. “For what?”

“If I didn’t argue with you, we probably wouldn’t be here... lost,” you mumbled, the guilt in your chest gnawing at you.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the ground in front of him. “Don’t be stupid. It takes two people to end up in a heated argument. Don’t take the blame.”

“Wow, so mature, Bakugou,” you replied, chuckling.

Bakugou exhaled sharply, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, I take it back. It’s your fault.”

You laughed, but before you could reply, Bakugou added, almost as an afterthought, “Next time, don’t follow idiots into the woods. Especially if the idiot’s me.”

And for some reason... that sounded a lot like, “I’m glad you were with me.”

Then you both hear it—the unmistakable sound of voices, distant at first, but growing louder with every passing second. Your heart jumps into your throat as you realize it’s bakugou’s and your parents calling your names.

You finally see them—your parents, rushing toward you through the trees. The sight of them, the sound of their voices. As soon as they reach you, they envelop you in a tight, desperate hug. You can feel their tears soaking into your shirt, but you don’t mind. You cling to them just as tightly, your own tears falling freely.

“Oh my god, we were so scared!” your mother sobs, not letting go, her arms shaking around you.

“Never do that again, sweetheart,” your father chokes out, voice thick with emotion.

But despite the comfort of your parents’ embrace, your eyes instinctively dart to the side. You catch a glimpse of the Bakugou, standing just off to the side. His parents are also hugging him tightly, but it’s Bakugou you’re watching. He’s looking at you, his face unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes are focused solely on you.

Year Six

This was stupid.

Bakugou wasn’t a wimp. He wasn’t some crybaby extra scared of a dumb water slide. He was fifteen years old, damn it. A certified teenager. Practically a man.

He’d been waiting for this. Every summer, he’d glare at the height requirement sign, fists clenched, promising next year would be his year. And now it was. He finally hit the mark. He could go on the biggest, fastest, craziest ride in the whole resort.

So why did it suddenly look... bigger than he remembered?

Bakugou stared at the dark tunnel of the slide. You couldn’t see what was inside. Couldn’t see where the turns were, or how steep the drops got. All you could hear was the echo of rushing water—and the occasional shriek of someone halfway down.

It bugged him more than he wanted to admit.

Because he liked knowing what was coming. He liked control. Strategy. Knowing where to aim, how to move, what to blast. But this? This was just blind falling.

His feet didn’t move.

“You coming or what?”

Of course you were here.

Why didn’t he think of that?

Of course the universe would punish him further by making you the one to witness him scream like a toddler over a dumb slide.

“You scared of a little splash?” you asked with a grin, arms crossed as you stood by the stairs.

“Shut up,” he snapped automatically.

But you noticed it—the way he hesitated, his fists clenched a little tighter than usual. Yeah. He was scared.

Six years of knowing Bakugou—well, “knowing” was a strong word. You only saw him every summer, and most of those memories involved glaring matches, passive-aggressive sabotage, and possibly a near-death pool float incident. Still, you knew enough to read the signs.

“How about I go first?” you offered, stretching your arms like this was some kind of heroic sacrifice. “If I survive, then you’re definitely gonna survive too.”

“Tch. Why the hell would that mean anything?”

“Because I’m better than you,” you said, stepping beside him. “So if I make it out alive, there’s hope for you.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

You looked at the slide—tall, winding, dark. Then back at him. And for once, you didn’t tease. You didn’t joke. You just said quietly, “It’s not as scary as it looks. You just gotta trust the ride. Trust yourself.”

Then you pushed off, disappearing into the tunnel with a splash and a laugh that echoed after you.

Bakugou stood there, blinking.

He could hear your scream echoing through the slide tunnel—a mix of thrill and victory—and not two minutes later, he spotted your small figure from below. You were dripping wet, grinning up at him like you just conquered the world. Then you threw him the biggest thumbs-up he’d ever seen.

And something about that—your smile, your faith in him, the way you waited—did something weird to his chest. Tight, warm, unfamiliar.

He gritted his teeth, steeling himself. Alright. He could do this.

He stepped up to the edge, heart pounding. This is stupid, he reminded himself one last time. Then, he closed his eyes and took a long breath. When he opened them again, he dove forward.

Instantly, he was swallowed by speed. Flashes of color streaked past, water rushing around him, tugging him down, spinning him through twists and turns. But instead of panic—he felt it.

Freedom.

He was flying, gliding, laughing without meaning to. And for once, he wasn't thinking about winning or training or looking tough.

He was just having fun.

By the time he shot out of the slide with a splash, blinking water from his eyes, he saw you waiting with crossed arms and a smug look.

“You survived,” you said.

He snorted, pushing his wet hair back. “Told you I wasn’t scared.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

But the smile you gave him? That was real. And this time, he didn’t look away.

“Do you want to go down the slide again?” you asked, eyes still sparkling from the adrenaline.

Bakugou glanced at the sky, then toward the resort. “We need to go. Check-out’s at eleven.”

“Oh.” You muttered, trying to hide your disappointment. “Right…”

But then, as always, you bounced back with a grin. “Then see you next year. Whoever slides down the most times wins.”

Bakugou scoffed, pushing himself up the pool, grabbing his towel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Tch. Like hell I’m gonna let you win.”

He didn’t want to smile—but yeah, it tugged at the corners of his mouth anyway.

“Better start training, gremlin.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and as he walked towards the elevator, something about that moment lingered.

A promise.

Year Seven – After the Vacation

This is why Bakugou doesn’t do promises.

Because he kept it. Day after day, for that entire week, he waited for you at the bottom of the slide. Arms crossed. Scowl on. Towel slung over his shoulder like he didn’t care.

But he did.

You never came.

His mom said maybe you went to a different resort this year—after all, you were from the United States. “Things change, Katsuki,” she said.

But that didn’t stop the sting. Didn’t stop him from looking for that ridiculous plushie. Or listening for your laugh. Or pretending he didn’t check the pool every morning, just in case.

You didn’t come—and that pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

He could’ve used that time to train. To prepare for the U.A. entrance exam. Not that it mattered—he was going to pass anyway. But still. He wasted time on you.

Now he’s sitting at his new desk, jaw tight, glaring at the front of the classroom as the homeroom teacher, Mr Aizawa flips through the attendance sheet. He doesn't care who his classmates are. Couldn’t care less about some dumb electricity guy or the half-and-half weirdo.

And Deku is here. Great. Just fantastic. He still doesn’t understand how he got a quirk.

His foot tapped impatiently against the floor. And then Mr. Aizawa said—

“Next, we have a student from overseas. Transferred from the U.S. due to exceptional entrance scores.”

The door slid open with a soft click.

Bakugou didn’t look.

He was too busy pretending not to care, arms crossed, scowl perfectly in place. But then he heard it—that voice.

A little breathless. A little out of place. A polite, mumbled “Sorry” to Mr. Aizawa. And then—He had to make sure.

He looked up.

And there you were. Standing in the doorway in a U.A. uniform, bag slung over your shoulder. And then you looked at him.

Eyes squinting. Recognition slowly settling in. Connecting the dots like constellations in the sky.

“…Demon Child.”

The room went dead silent.

Someone coughed. Aizawa blinked. Midoriya looked like he was trying to figure out if this was a villain code name.

But Bakugou?

He’s pissed. Probably.

At you? Maybe. At the universe? Definitely. At the fact that now, for the first time in six years, you’re closer than you’ve ever been before.

But most of all, he’s pissed at himself—because despite everything, despite the hours he spent waiting by that slide like an idiot, despite how you didn’t show.

Seeing you again did something to his chest.

And now? Now you’re stuck in the same hero class.

Fate, apparently, has a damn good sense of humor.

...

A/N: this is inspired by the fact that me and my family went to the same resort every vaca hasjdhajkdha (unfortunately there's no cute guy (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) )

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sakkiichi · 2 years ago

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COVER ME IN SUNSHINE.

Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?

ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.

a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.

Scaramouche is not amused.

Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.

Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.

“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.

“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.

“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”

“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.

He sighs.

“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.

“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.

Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.

“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.

“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.

Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.

“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.

Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.

Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.

Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.

Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.

Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.

✧ ALBEDO

A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.

Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.

Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.

“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.

“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.

The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.

“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”

Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.

Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.

“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.

A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.

“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.

“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.

“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”

“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.

After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.

“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”

His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.

“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.

Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.

Those last two syllables.

His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.

“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.

Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.

“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”

“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.

Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.

When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.

✧ XIAO

“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.

Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.

What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-

“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.

The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.

Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.

You, however, know better.

“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.

The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.

She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?

Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.

“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.

“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.

In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.

“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.

The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.

“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.

His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.

“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.

Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.

The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.

✧ CHILDE

Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.

Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.

The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.

He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.

She must get closer.

Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.

Her plan can be put into action now.

Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.

Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.

Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.

Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.

And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.

Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.

“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.

You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.

“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.

Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.

Then:

“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.

Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.

“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.

No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.

✧ KAEYA

Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.

Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.

Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.

But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.

A couple and their daughter.

“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.

His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.

“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.

“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”

The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.

You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.

“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.

With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.

“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.

“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.

“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.

Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.

Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.

Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.

Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.

Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.

The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.

Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.

“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”

Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.

“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.

Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.

A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.

“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”

The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.

“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.

Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.

“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.

In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.

Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.

The sun is out. The hydro dragon cries no more.

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ticifics · 7 months ago

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Hello author, can i request a part two dor divination? Maybe the vision finally came true and its all just fluffy? Thank youu

𝐫��𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

── james potter x f!reader

summary: “Remember the Divination classes?” James asked suddenly, his voice light, almost as if talking to himself. “Yeah,” you murmured, feeling the memory bring an unexpected warmth to your chest. “She really got that one right.”

tags n warnings: just fluffy - after Hogwarts(married with children), a very cute little Harry. divination

a/n: hey honey, I hope you like it

The night in Godric’s Hollow was calm, the silence only broken by the soft crackling of the fireplace and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. The golden light from the flames cast delicate shadows on the walls and filled the living room with a warm, cozy glow. It was one of those rare and perfect moments where time seemed to slow down, as if the world outside didn’t even exist.

Harry was on the floor, on the plush rug that covered most of the room, surrounded by colorful magical blocks he was trying to stack. He furrowed his brow, his little face serious as his tongue slightly poked out the side of his mouth. The newly built tower collapsed once more, and he let out an annoyed grunt before suddenly getting up.

James was sprawled on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table, watching his son with eyes full of amusement. You were sitting on the floor with Dahlia standing between your hands, propping her tiny arms on yours to keep her balance. She let out squeals of joy every time she managed to take a wobbly step or two before safely falling back onto the rug. Each of her attempts was met with laughter, claps, and kisses on the top of her little head.

“Again, little one, come on,” you encouraged softly, lifting her under her armpits and raising her into the air. Dahlia giggled in her tiny voice, her round cheeks flushed from the effort, her eyes sparkling with pure joy. She looked like a miniature version of you, the features so alike that even James had commented more than once how it threw him off a little.

At that moment, Harry, who was facing away from you, found James’s glasses abandoned on the coffee table. He picked them up carefully, turning them in his little hands as if they were a treasure. Without a second thought, he put them on, the large lenses slipping down his nose.

“Dad!” he called, stumbling over his words as he turned around with a big smile. “Look, now I’m you!”

James’s laughter echoed through the room, that loud and carefree laugh that brightened any place. He threw his head back, his hands covering his face for a moment before he stretched out his arms to Harry.

“Merlin, you look just like me!” James said, his voice full of affection. He scooped his son into his arms, messing up his already wild hair even more. “You just need to try flying on a broomstick and get into trouble, and I’ll have to retire because my legacy will be secured.”

Harry laughed, adjusting the glasses that kept slipping. “I’m going to fly better than you, dad,” he declared with all the confidence in the world, which only made James laugh more.

“Of course you will, Prongslet. That’s the spirit.”

On the other side of the room, you watched the scene with a smile so wide your cheeks ached. Dahlia, now in your lap, stretched her little hands toward her dad and brother, babbling something that sounded like a demand for attention. James looked at her and froze for a second, his smile softening as he watched the little one in your arms.

He stayed silent for too long, his gaze almost absorbed as he studied Dahlia’s face, so identical to his. You noticed the moment and furrowed your brow slightly, your voice soft as you asked,

“What’s wrong? Why the silly look?”

James turned his gaze to you, that silly grin still shining on his lips, and then looked back at his daughter, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her.

“It’s you,” he murmured, his voice so low that it barely reached your ears. “Smaller, cuter, but… it’s you.”

Your heart warmed, melting like butter under the sun. The look of adoration he gave his daughter was the same he reserved for you, and that always affected you in an inexplicable way.

“Careful, James,” you teased, your voice sweet. “She might end up wanting to fly better than you too.”

James chuckled softly, letting Harry slide off his lap as he stood up and walked over to you. He crouched down beside you, his arms extending around both of you.

For a moment, you stayed like that: Dahlia in your lap, Harry playing again with the blocks, and James too close, his presence as comforting as a warm blanket.

“Remember the Divination classes?” he asked suddenly, his voice light, almost as if talking to himself.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Those classes? James, that was years ago.”

He laughed, resting his head on your shoulder while still looking at their daughter, now yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I know. But… I remember her talking about a boy with glasses. Just like his dad.”

His gaze softened as you also looked at Harry, who was now grumbling softly because another block tower had fallen. A boy with his father’s messy hair and huge glasses. It was truly remarkable.

“Yeah,” you murmured, feeling the memory bring an unexpected warmth to your chest. “She really got that one right.”

James turned his face to look at you, his expression so tenderly affectionate that it felt like your heart might leap out of your chest.

“And I also remember saying that I would prefer… a girl,” he continued, his eyes shining softly. “Someone who looked like you.”

The mention caught you off guard, an unexpected wave of emotion rising within you. Your smile was automatic, even though a stubborn tear threatened to fall.

“And here we are,” James murmured, kissing the top of Dahlia’s head as she finally fell asleep in his arms. “Who would’ve thought, huh? It seems like the future really was written. We just took our time seeing it.”

You smiled, one of those smiles that starts slow, spreading across your whole face, as you watched Dahlia’s little closed eyes. His words brought a warm feeling to your chest, mixed with old memories that seemed to come from another life.

“We really did,” you replied, resting your head on James’ shoulder, feeling his familiar warmth. “If it depended on you, we’d have been together since first year.”

James chuckled softly, looking at you with that mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

“I wasn’t wrong, let’s be honest,” he said, with a voice as if declaring a universal truth. “I spent six years trying to prove I was irresistible, but no… you preferred to ignore me. Ignore me, can you believe that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “I’d call it common sense.”

James put on a mock expression of outrage, placing his free hand on his chest as though he’d been struck with an arrow. “Common sense? And when did you decide to lose that?”

“Sometime around sixth year,” you replied, trying not to laugh. “When you became less… unbearable.”

“Unbearable?” He blinked a few times, indignant. “Come on, love, you make it sound like I was the worst of the Marauders. Everyone knows Sirius was the problem.”

“Oh, of course,” you agreed, the tone ironic but playful. “Because Sirius, who by the way is the godfather who spoils the godson the most, didn’t learn from you how to be impossible.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Sirius didn’t learn anything from me. He was born that way.”

You laughed louder but quickly put your hand over your mouth when Dahlia stirred in your lap. James looked down at her lovingly and kissed her forehead again, murmuring a “shhh, it’s all right.”

At that moment, Harry appeared in the room, rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his sweater. His hair was even more tousled than usual, and his oversized glasses— which he had taken earlier— were almost falling off his nose.

“Are you talking about Uncle Sirius again?” he asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

James let out a contained laugh and reached out his free arm to pull Harry in. The boy easily settled onto his lap, snuggling between you and James.

“Of course. We always talk about Uncle Sirius, especially when he’s not around to defend himself,” James replied, smiling at Harry. “It’s the price he pays for being the most impossible of uncles.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes almost closing again with sleep. You ran your fingers softly through his hair, feeling how warm and comfortable he was.

“But he brought chocolate yesterday,” Harry mumbled, his voice muffled against James’ chest.

“And ruined your dinner,” you said, rolling your eyes with a light smile. “Not even Remus can control Sirius when he decides to spoil you two.”

James nodded, amused. “That’s because Remus is a saint. I never understood how he puts up with Sirius even now.”

Harry lifted his head again, his little face scrunched up in curiosity. “But Uncle Remus likes Uncle Sirius.”

“He likes him a lot,” James confirmed, kissing Harry’s forehead, enveloping him in a warm embrace with both arms. “Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius were made for each other, just like your mother and I.”

Harry smiled at you, his little eyes almost closing. “So you’re the same?”

You exchanged a quick glance with James, feeling the warmth spread across your face. He gave you a sweet smile, though full of playful provocation.

“Yes, Harry. But don’t forget to tell your mum I’m more charming than Uncle Sirius, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hold back a laugh. “More charming? James, what else do you want him to say? That you’re irresistible?”

James smiled openly, turning his gaze back to you. “I’d love to hear that again.”

Harry let out a little laugh, though he was already almost asleep again. You shook your head, amused, before looking at James more softly.

“All right,” you murmured, surprising him. “You’re irresistible, James Potter.”

James’ eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe it, before breaking into a slow, passionate smile. “Did you hear that, Harry? Irresistible. Next time Uncle Sirius says something, you defend me, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” Harry whispered, with a sleepy smile before finally closing his eyes.

The silence returned to the room, warmed by the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and the slow breaths of Harry and Dahlia. You rested your head again on James’ shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent and the peace of the moment.

James, for his part, turned his face softly and placed a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you,” he murmured softly, almost like a secret.

You furrowed your brow slightly, your heart beating faster. “For what?”

He smiled against your hair, as though savoring the answer. “For everything. For this. For choosing us. For being… you.”

You closed your eyes, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’d choose you a thousand times.”

James smiled, that special sparkle in his eyes.

“I am irresistible, after all,” he whispered, teasing.

You laughed softly to avoid waking the children. “And unbearable,” you added, looking at him fondly.

James pulled you both closer, smiling ear to ear. “I’ll take both. As long as it comes from you.”

And there, in the warmth of the fire and in each other’s arms, you stayed. A perfect picture of everything you’d ever imagined— a life full of love, laughter, and little miracles that even the best of seers couldn’t have predicted.

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lunasfics · 2 years ago

Text

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it?

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back.

“Good. Nightwing?”

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent.

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for.

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom.

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.”

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.”

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read:

Attempt 1: G6B24

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown)

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass.

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did.

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick.

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind.

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him.

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you.

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file.

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?”

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.”

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?”

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised.

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected.

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up.

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’”

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on.

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.”

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave.

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?”

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry.

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?”

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.”

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well.

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.”

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different.

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first.

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile.

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.”

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.”

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you?

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state.

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.”

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile.

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.”

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.”

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.”

“Wayne.”

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares.

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response.

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.”

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…”

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper.

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.”

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement.

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.”

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you.

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.”

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain.

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.”

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.”

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change.

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over.

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you.

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase.

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first.

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.”

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.”

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own.

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there?

“How?”

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first.

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.”

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.”

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.”

Bruce simply gave a nod.

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all.

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian.

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe.

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest.

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, ��This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!” he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you.

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.”

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?”

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own.

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.”

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her.

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.”

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey.

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.”

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.”

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front.

“This better be good.”

Tim mumbled, “Finally”

“Miss me Timmy?”

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away.

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce.

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.”

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.”

“Holy shit, man.”

“Jason, will you shut up?”

“Never.”

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.”

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.”

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.”

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.”

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.”

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you.

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her.

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit.

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-”

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled.

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.”

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.”

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone.

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.”

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied.

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.”

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.”

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.”

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do.

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered.

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.”

“I want time with her, Bruce.”

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.”

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer.

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?”

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile.

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless.

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.”

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away.

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?”

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.”

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.”

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.”

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–”

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news.

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him.

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated.

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done.

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.”

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.”

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement.

“We’re just buying training clothes.”

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.”

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.”

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site.

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that.

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself.

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself.

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about.

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings.

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere.

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off.

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.”

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.”

He nodded, walking away to change as well.

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill.

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.”

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense.

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.”

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.”

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing.

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine.

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite.

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit.

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying.

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction.

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.”

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?”

You nodded.

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds.

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you.

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner.

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking.

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case.

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor.

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother.

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in.

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there.

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough.

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled.

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal.

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it.

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine.

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow. Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag (I'm not sure why some people's tags didn't work,, I am very sorry, if anyone has suggestions onhow to fix that i'm open to fix them)

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pucksandpower · 11 months ago

Text

Rained Out

Toto Wolff x pregnant!Reader

Summary: a series of unfortunate events pushes Toto’s protective side to the surface

Based on this request

The rain drums steadily against the pavement, creating a shimmering curtain that obscures the bustling Canadian Grand Prix paddock from view. You stand just outside the entrance, one hand resting protectively on your swollen belly, the other clutching your useless paddock pass. The security guard eyes you sympathetically but remains firm.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t let you in if your pass isn’t scanning,” he says, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

You bite your lip, frustration and discomfort warring within you. “Please, I’m Toto Wolff’s wife. I’m sure this is just a technical glitch. If you could just call him-”

The guard shakes his head. “I’ve already radioed in. Mr. Wolff is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed. I’m truly sorry, but rules are rules. You’ll have to wait until we can verify your identity.”

A shiver runs through you as the wind picks up, sending icy droplets cascading down your neck. Your thin jacket, hastily thrown on before leaving the hotel, offers little protection against the elements. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield your unborn child from the chill.

Time crawls by at an agonizing pace. Other team members and officials hurry past, sparing curious glances at the very pregnant woman standing forlornly in the rain. You try Toto’s phone again, willing it to ring.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is likely only thirty minutes, a familiar voice cuts through the monotonous patter of rain.

“Schatz! Oh mein Gott, what are you doing out here?”

Toto appears, his tall frame moving with surprising speed. His eyes are wide with concern as he takes in your bedraggled state.

“The pass ... it wouldn’t scan,” you manage through chattering teeth. “They couldn’t reach you.”

Toto’s face darkens as he turns to the security guard. “How could you leave my pregnant wife standing in this weather? Do you have any idea-”

You place a gentle hand on his arm. “Toto, don’t. He was just doing his job.”

The anger in Toto’s eyes softens as he looks at you, replaced by guilt and worry. He shrugs off his team jacket and wraps it around your shoulders, ushering you quickly through the now-open gate.

“Come, let’s get you inside and dry,” he murmurs, his arm protectively around your waist.

As you enter the relative warmth of the Mercedes garage, the bustle of pre-race preparations momentarily halts. All eyes turn to you and Toto, taking in your drenched appearance.

“Somebody get some towels!” Toto barks, his accent thickening with stress. “And find some dry clothes!”

You lean into him, grateful for his solid presence. “I’m okay, really,” you assure him, though your voice wavers slightly. “Just a bit damp.”

Toto’s eyebrows shoot up. “A bit damp? Liebling, you look like you’ve been swimming in your clothes.”

Despite your discomfort, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I always did want to try synchronized swimming. Though I imagined a pool, not a parking lot.”

Toto’s lips twitch, a reluctant smile breaking through his worry. “Your sense of humor remains intact, I see.”

A team member approaches with a stack of fluffy towels and what appears to be team-issued sweats. Toto takes them with a nod of thanks.

“Can you manage changing by yourself?” He asks quietly. “Or do you need help?”

You consider for a moment. While you’d normally insist on independence, your sodden clothes are clinging uncomfortably, and your fingers feel numb from the cold.

“I ... might need a hand,” you admit sheepishly.

Toto nods, guiding you towards a more private corner of the garage. He helps you peel off the wet layers, his touch gentle and reverent as it skims over your rounded belly.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs as he helps you into the dry clothes. “I should have made sure your pass was working properly. I should have answered my phone.”

You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Hey, none of that. It was just a silly mix-up. No harm done.”

Toto’s brow furrows. “No harm? You were standing in the freezing rain for God knows how long! You could get sick, or the baby-”

“The baby is fine,” you interrupt, placing his large hand on your stomach. As if on cue, there’s a strong kick against his palm. “See? Still doing somersaults in there.”

Some of the tension leaves Toto’s shoulders, but concern still lingers in his eyes. “Still, I want Dr. Müller to check you over, just to be safe.”

You nod, knowing arguing would be pointless. “Alright, if it will make you feel better. But first ...” You glance meaningfully at the bustling garage around you. “Don’t you have a race to prepare for?”

Toto hesitates, clearly torn between his professional duties and his desire to fuss over you. You give him a gentle push.

“Go on. I promise I’ll sit quietly and drink something warm until the doctor arrives.”

He searches your face for a moment, then nods. “Alright. But you call me immediately if you feel even slightly unwell, verstanden?”

“Verstanden,” you echo with a smile. “Now go be the big, scary team principal everyone expects.”

Toto chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, you know that?”

“I had an inkling,” you tease. “Now scoot!”

As Toto reluctantly returns to his duties, you settle into a chair, gratefully accepting a steaming mug of tea from a hovering team member. The garage slowly returns to its normal frenetic pace, though you notice several concerned glances thrown your way.

You’re halfway through your tea when a familiar face appears at your side. Lewis crouches down, his expression a mix of worry and amusement.

“I hear you tried to stage your own wet race out there,” he says with a grin.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “What can I say? I was feeling left out of all the excitement.”

Lewis chuckles, then his face grows more serious. “You alright though? For real?”

You nod, touched by his concern. “I’m fine, truly. Just a bit waterlogged. Though I think Toto might spontaneously combust from worry.”

As if summoned by his name, Toto appears behind Lewis. “Yes, Dr. Müller, thank you for coming on such short notice. She’s right here.”

You shoot Lewis an exasperated look that clearly says ‘see what I mean?’ He responds with a sympathetic pat on your shoulder before rising.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Try not to give the old man a heart attack before the race, yeah?”

Toto scowls playfully at Lewis’ retreating back. “I heard that!”

As Dr. Müller begins her examination, Toto hovers anxiously nearby, his eyes darting between you and the various race preparations happening around the garage.

“Toto,” you call softly. “I can practically hear you thinking from here. What’s wrong?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of stress. “I just ... I can’t stop thinking about you standing out there in the rain. What if something had happened? What if-”

“But nothing did happen,” you interrupt gently. “I’m fine, the baby’s fine. It was just a bit of rain.”

Toto shakes his head. “It’s not just that. I should have been there. I should have made sure you were taken care of. What kind of husband, what kind of father am I going to be if I can’t even-”

“Stop right there,” you say firmly. “You are going to be an amazing father, Toto Wolff. You already are. Do you know how I know?”

He looks at you questioningly.

“Because you care this much,” you explain. “Because even in the middle of one of the biggest race weekends of the year, your first thought is for me and our baby. That’s what matters, not some silly mishap with a security pass.”

Toto’s eyes soften, and he moves to kneel beside you, taking your hand in his. “How did I get so lucky?” He murmurs.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “I ask myself the same thing every day.”

Dr. Müller clears her throat, reminding you both of her presence. “Well, I’m happy to report that both mother and baby are perfectly healthy. No signs of distress or illness from the exposure to the cold.”

The relief on Toto’s face is palpable. “Thank you, Doctor. That’s wonderful news.”

As Dr. Müller packs up her equipment, you turn to Toto with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So, now that we’ve established that I’m not about to melt from a little rain, what do you say we focus on winning this race?”

Toto laughs, the remaining tension finally leaving his body. “Always keeping me on track, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to,” you tease. “Now, go lead your team to victory. Your very pregnant, very proud wife will be cheering you on from right here.”

Toto leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he murmurs. “Both of you.”

As he straightens up, resuming his role as the formidable Mercedes team principal, you can’t help but smile. Come rain or shine, paddock pass or no paddock pass, you know that you and Toto can weather any storm together.

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔒𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔗𝔬𝔬 𝔏𝔞𝔱𝔢

A/N: Okay, so… You ever walk into a room where you were once unwanted, and every head turns because suddenly you’re everything they’re not? Yeah. That’s this chapter. 😌 This one’s for the readers who’ve leveled up in silence. Who were counted out too early, who walked out of the fire looking dangerous instead of damaged. This is [Y/N] stepping back into the space that broke them—and not breaking this time. Let’s be clear: this isn’t a reunion. This is a revelation. Grab your tea. Let’s shake a few foundations.

Thank You @arislia for this Idea!

And I'm sorry for not making this longer because I had this planned (I plan my series in google docs after tumblr deleted my old drafts). These will be shorter BUT, the next series I promise to make it longer!

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 3

You weren’t supposed to stand out. That’s the irony. You had trained yourself to be unseen, unheard, unfelt—because the moment you started to feel, you started to hurt.

But when the League summoned their families to a secure location, the world you built in the shadows was forced into the light.

You arrived alone.

Lois had offered to fly with you. Clark had said they’d wait at the entrance. But you declined. You wanted them to see you walk in under your own power. No crutches. No borrowed names. Just you.

When you stepped through those doors, the reaction was immediate.

The Queens lit up like someone had flipped a switch. Ollie pulled you in for a hug, Thea waved you over, and even Dinah looked proud. Clark’s face softened. Lois’s arm went straight around your shoulder like it belonged there.

And the Batfamily?

They stared.

Not with joy. Not even with confusion.

They stared like you were a ghost. Like they were seeing something they’d buried come back to life and demand retribution.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t greet them. You turned away from them the way they once turned away from you.

Because if they wanted to pretend you never mattered, then they didn’t get to matter now.

Still, their eyes followed you.

And then the meetings started.

The League began dissecting the threat. Hackers. Leakers. Global-scale blackmail. Someone had infiltrated systems that were supposed to be airtight. It wasn’t just about identities anymore. It was about dismantling everything.

You knew how the media would spin it. You knew how Gotham’s elite would react. And most of all, you knew how fear worked when it had the public in a chokehold.

So you spoke.

You laid out a counter-strategy like you’d done it a thousand times. Because you had. In Metropolis. In Star City. Behind the scenes of political campaigns and corporate power moves. You’d sharpened your teeth while the people who threw you away forgot you even had a bite.

The room listened.

Clark deferred to you. Lois backed you. Oliver vouched for you.

Bruce stayed silent.

But you caught the flicker in his expression when the others nodded along. When Diana praised your foresight. When J’onn said you understood humanity better than most.

The others? Dick tried to pretend he wasn’t surprised. Tim’s stare was surgical, dissecting you in real time. Damian looked like he’d bitten glass.

And the new girl? She finally looked at you.

With fear.

You weren’t the quiet reject anymore. You were something else. Something dangerous. Something they didn’t make—and couldn’t control.

Later, in private, Alfred brought you tea. You almost cried at the gesture.

Almost.

He said nothing about the past. Just, “You’ve grown.”

You wanted to scream, I had to.

But you just nodded.

The truth was, they needed you now. And you were going to help. Not because they deserved it.

Because the world did.

And even in the darkest parts of you, that mattered more than revenge.

But they would never forget this version of you.

Not the one they raised.

The one they abandoned.

The one who rose anyway.

𝕭𝖔𝖓𝖚𝖘! (𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙻𝚎𝚏𝚝)

(this is kind of a bonus I thought of while writing...)

It had been late. Quiet.

The kind of quiet that seeped into your bones. The kind of quiet that made your footsteps echo like they didn’t belong.

You were fourteen. Maybe fifteen. You don’t remember the exact age—only the feeling. Raw. Unseen. On the edge of breaking.

Your ribs ached. Your shoulder throbbed. You’d taken a hit meant for Damian—an instinct, not even a choice—and landed hard on a rooftop ledge. Rolled too close to the edge. Limped all the way back. No call of concern. No one on comms. No “Are you okay?” Just silence.

It should’ve earned you a lecture at worst.

Instead, it earned you her.

The new girl.

Barely two weeks in.

Bright. Perfect. Adored.

You limped into the Batcave, helmet tucked under your arm, dried blood crusted over your eyebrow. You expected quiet, maybe concern, maybe just the acknowledgment that you existed.

What you got?

Laughter.

She was in your seat. At the computer. Wearing your gear.

The armor you'd trained in. The one Alfred helped custom-fit after months of trials. The one you’d stitched, cried in, bled into.

And she wore it like it had never belonged to you at all.

Tim leaned over her shoulder, pointing something out on the screen. Damian hovered close behind. Dick was saying something about how “clean” she moved in the field.

And Bruce?

Didn’t even look up.

You stood there, waiting. Expecting. Begging, in that small, desperate way you told yourself you’d outgrown.

Then, finally—his eyes flicked toward you.

And his voice cut through the cave like a scalpel.

“You’re benched. Permanently.”

Just like that. Like a weather report. Like an afterthought. Like you were a dented weapon tossed in a drawer.

You opened your mouth—“But—”—

And then Alfred was there.

With a tray.

Tea and towels. The same ritual. The same script.

But this time, he didn’t meet your eyes.

Not once.

You watched him walk past you like a ghost.

And then—then—came the final blow.

The girl in your gear turned to Bruce, tilting her head with practiced innocence.

“Was I a mistake too?” she asked softly.

A test. You knew it was a test. A way to secure her place. But you didn’t expect the knife that followed.

Bruce didn’t even hesitate.

“No,” he said. “But she was.”

He didn’t mean for you to hear it.

But you did.

And the sound it made in your chest wasn’t a crack. It was a shatter.

You stood there for maybe another full minute.

No one turned. No one asked you to stay. No one noticed the way your fingers curled so tightly around your helmet that the edge dug into your palm and drew blood.

You went to your room. Packed your gear. One piece at a time.

You stood in the center of that tiny space—bland walls, no posters, a bed that had never felt like yours—and realized you’d been living in a house, not a home.

You left the suit on the bed.

Left the tracker on the desk.

Left your voice in the hallway.

And shut the door behind you.

You never opened it again.

A/N: Whew. They called the meeting to fix a crisis—and walked into their biggest one yet: the ghost they buried came back golden, angry, and smarter than all of them combined. And let’s talk about that power shift. She didn’t gloat. She didn’t lash out. She just existed loudly in the place that tried to erase her. And they couldn’t handle it. This wasn’t revenge. This was justice with restraint. Power without apology. Presence that didn’t ask for permission. Next chapter? Let’s make them earn the right to say your name again.

—Your eyes-still-wet, hands-still-shaking, soft-but-spiteful author 🖤💫

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @kneelforloki, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx

Let me know if I missed someone!

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔚𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔰 #batman #neglected reader #x reader #fanfic #batfamily #batfam #batkids #batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere batman #male yandere #yandere #soft yandere #yandere male #yandere obsession #𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔊𝔢𝔪

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hannieoftheyear · 3 months ago

Text

WARNING SIGNAL [J.WW]

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

In a treacherous turn of events, your most recent mission gets tangled with Wonwoo's, the last person you'd want to partner up with.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!fem reader

word count: 26,2k

genre: criminal au, heist au, exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut.

MINORS DON'T INTERACT! YOU'LL BE BLOCKED

content warnings: (read all of them pls, the list is long for a reason): unethical characters, graphic descriptions of violence, vague descriptions of what their "job" is, wonwoo's a menace, betrayal, jealousy, pet names, shitty family dynamics, criminal acts, stalking, spying, manipulation, invasion of privacy (planting microphones, mention of hacking home security cameras), use of fake names, fake identities, stealing, poisoning (not deadly), puke, both wonwoo and mc start fires, use of guns, multiple fight scenes, injuries, blood, murder (implied and explicit), death (not the main characters), happy ending | explicit smut, teasing, manhandling, marking, fingering (f rec.), unprotected penetration (they're stupid, you shouldn't be!), creampie, multiple orgasms.

gentle reminder: this is a fictional work, it doesn't represent how any of the real people mentioned are like in real life

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used

note: i really can't believe i wrote this much off of a 5 minute dream i had a year ago

hope you like this, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!

The woman a few tables from yours sighs loudly. She’s been waiting at this almost empty cafe for over half an hour, but the person she’s expecting shows no signs of life. Her lipstick-stained coffee mug sits empty while she stares at the phone in her hand, annoyed more than anything else. Her curly auburn hair tied in an elegant bun is now a little disheveled compared to when she walked in. She’s dressed way too nicely for this run-down cafe, with high-heels that could trigger your fear of heights and a floor-length scarlet dress, matching her glam makeup that was definitely done by a professional makeup artist. The looks she receives from the cafe staff evidence how out of place she is.

The waiter comes up to her table to get her the check, but she ushers him away as her ringtone echoes across the room. You barely hear the words leaving her lips, but her tired expression and desperate-like body language gives it away.

She rolls her eyes, mad at the person on the other side of the line, and throws a couple of bills on the table, grabbing her big purse tightly as she walks away in a rush. You do the same, in a less showy way, thanking the staff as you step out the door. The sky marvels in a dark shade of azure, the sun setting behind the tall buildings. The wave of people makes it hard to focus, but you see the red hair a few meters ahead and follow it.

People bump into you as you rush past them, and a few shouts are directed your way, but pedestrian education is not a priority right now. The woman steps into a mall without looking back, blocks away from the original meet up place. It’s a gallery-like mall, with very few shops open and even fewer people doing the shopping. Two out of three ceiling lights don’t work, and the AC hums a little too loudly in the hallway, contributing to the eerie atmosphere.

You maintain your distance, close enough to track her movements but far enough so she won’t notice a presence shadowing her. She doesn’t look lost nor appalled, like she knows exactly where the person over the phone told her to go, like it’s not her first time going in there.

When she finally steps into a tattoo shop, your feet direct you to the one just in front, an antique store that’s so empty, it doesn’t even have a cashier on the clock at the moment. The lights are just dim enough so that you’re well hidden from the outside, contrary to the tattoo place, with blinding white led lights that allow you to see every detail of what’s happening inside. The man that opened the glass door for her checks the hallway before closing the door and putting up the closed sign.

From where you stand, behind some old clocks and piles of yellow-paged books, you have a perfect view of the woman’s interaction with the sketchy man. She opens her purse, which she was protecting vigorously at the café, and shows him what’s in it with a smirk. But before he has the chance to sneak his hand in, she hides the bag behind her back and tells him something you can’t quite decipher, but it definitely annoys him.

“Found what you were looking for?”

A voice right behind you triggers your fight response, but the sight of the man behind you causes nothing more than disgust.

“Not with your help, that’s for sure.”

Your eyes roll almost on instinct as you keep surveilling the interaction on the other side of the hallway, trying your best to ignore the annoying presence that’s now by your side.

“I know you don’t need any help.”

It’s unclear whether he means it or not.

“It sure doesn’t look like it.” Your eyes don’t leave your target for a second more, you need more information on this man she’s meeting, but the human of the same specimen behind you is getting on your nerves simply by existing around your personal space. “What are you doing here?”

“Doing my job, what else would I be doing?”

That’s funny.

“So now your job is to keep tabs on me and make sure I don’t screw up?”

“Listen, this might not be easy for you to understand, but not everything I do revolves around you.”

“Really? Then why is it that you followed me here? Enlighten me.”

“Your first mistake is thinking I followed you. I’ve been here for over half an hour.” Your mouth agapes for a second before you realize that you just showed him how surprised you were. “You didn’t see me when you came in? Either I got better or you got worse, don’t know which one I prefer.” The smirk translates clearly through his words.

“I was too focused and didn’t inspect the room, blah blah, I don’t need a lecture, especially not from you.”

You take your second phone and start snapping pictures of the meet up after checking the flash isn’t on.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m doing my job, Wonwoo, Isn’t it obvious?”

You’re usually cautious when saying someone’s name on the job, but you’re tired, enough time dealing with the bullshit he left behind to put up with him any longer.

“No, I’m doing this job.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

You finally turn to him, annoyed, angry, drained. You haven’t seen him in months, and you weren’t planning on ever seeing him again. Not since the damn day he almost got you killed. And this is your very first interaction? Him taking over your assignment? Like hell you’re gonna let him.

“I’m in charge of Elias over there.”

His eyes point to the same tattoo shop, and you don’t even have to look back before the neurons in your brain click. You could be relaxed that he’s not after the same person as you, but that just means your jobs are, once again, intertwined.

“I’m in charge of Cecilia over there.” He understands immediately.

You don’t tell him the real reason you're after Cecilia, and he doesn’t tell you anything about Elias either.

“Well, this is sure gonna be fun.”

“This is not gonna be anything.”

Thinking of working with him again puts a bad taste in your mouth, alerting you that it wouldn’t turn out to be a good choice.

“I have all the info on the man you need, you have all the info on the woman I need, c'mon, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“You don’t have anything I can’t get on my own.”

The white light suddenly turns off, leaving only the few working hallway light bulbs to see into the mall, and both of you turn your heads to the side. The man and the woman split up, heading opposite ways, walking as fast as they could, away from each other, from the mall and from you.

In a rush of getting away from the antique shop, and a new need to do this job better, your feet set to keep following the redhead on her way back, but a hand grabs your wrist as soon as you step foot out the door.

“C’mon baby, don’t get mad at me.” Baby? You haven’t heard that from him in a while.

The cold wall hits your back as Wonwoo puts his hand on the side you almost use to escape. He's too close. But why? The familiar cologne he’s obsessed with is already reaching all your surroundings, and he’s all you can see.

“I know I should’ve asked you before but,” this interaction is getting more and more confusing, and you can only stare at him, puzzled and angry, “Don’t you think that cute elephant statue would look good in our home?”

You almost chuckle before you realize he’s doing a bit. He noticed something's off and is putting up an act to cover for the both of you. His arms hide your faces just perfectly from any prying eyes.

“You can’t just spend ten thousand dollars without telling me!” His face doesn’t change, but a glimmer of satisfaction flashes through his eyes. “What about the money we’re saving for the baby?”

“I already told you! My podcast is about to take off and I’ll be a millionaire in no time! You have to trust me!” A cackle fights to get out, but you quickly overcome it.

“You’ve been saying that for over two years! You have three listeners! And one of them is your mom!”

“She told me she’ll get her knitting friends to listen too, we’re going to be popular with the ladies!”

Wonwoo shifts away from you slightly, that way you’re able to see into the hallway and check if it’s empty already.

“They’re gone.”

Your hand pushes his chest away and he stumbles back with a chuckle. You don’t want to stay and hear what he has to say, and your legs are already walking in the woman’s direction. It’s not in your plans to ever get involved again with Wonwoo, and there’s nothing he could possibly have gathered about that man that you can’t also find out.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you, until you stop walking and force yourself to face him.

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.”

You couldn’t trust him even if you got offered a million dollars, if you were in a desert and he was the only person with a glass of water. That thrill he used to feel when you worked together, that he’s dying to get back, you’re making sure he doesn’t come close to feeling again. It’s unbelievable that he's even offering it so nonchalantly, like all of this wasn’t his fault to begin with.

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts.

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?”

From all the times he tried to apologize before you cut him off completely, this must be the most outrageous one. How could you possibly understand getting betrayed by the one person you trusted the most, who you once thought was the love of your life.

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.”

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do is rat you out right this second.”

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” His brow quirks, like he must think he's being funny

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.”

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.

“Let’s just… see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer so quickly.

If the years of knowing him help you for anything, it’s to realize that under the layers of teasing, he’s desperate for your help. There’s a large probability of him already encountering you over the time passed, but he chose now to get close to you again, to ask for your help, in his own way.

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?”

His smirk grows, knowing what your question means. “That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.”

“Are you being serious?”

It’s hard to trust him, no matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself again.

“Dead serious. I promise.”

A year before.

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting in that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors.

He huffed at her, but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were less and less people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information.

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening.

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated.

“You shouldn’t be here, it’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible to not stand out in that crowd.

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover.

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?”

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here, he’s supposed to be meeting someone.”

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips.

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose.

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.”

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it.

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”

Hidden in the back seat of the car, guarded by the polarized windows, your breath is controlled and eyes are focused as you see into the first-floor window of the house across the street. There stands Cecilia, being very expressive while talking to a person standing just by the sheer curtain, making it impossible for you to see them.

She’s walking back and forth around the room, switching between listening attentively to the other person and giving feedback. Behind her, there’s a large desk filled with incomplete paperwork and empty water bottles, but the particular clean envelope you’ve been observing for days catches your attention. It looks so out of place there.

Cecilia's face lights up as she receives a call and answers it staring happily at the person in front of her. The call ends quickly after, not a lot of talking done, but she looks satisfied with what she heard.

As she grabs the envelope to read the message inside, the other person stands close to her, his face still not visible from your point of view. Taking in account all you have gathered, his height and deep black hair with a fresh undercut, plus what Wonwoo sent you over these past few days, that man most probably is Elias.

Adjusting your position just slightly, you try to get a better look at the envelope that’s now in the hands of your target. You take your phone out, camera settings at the highest possible quality and flash turned off, so you can later analyze every detail. Only a few pictures save on your gallery before they turn the lights off and step out that room into the inside of the house you can’t see.

You can’t help feeling like you’re not the only one outside on the street, but after a quick look around the empty road and sidewalk, nothing seems out of place. The parked cars were all there way before you got here, and not a soul walks on either side. But that warning signal on the back of your mind doesn’t turn off. And it turns out you’re right, because a knock on the window makes you jump.

Wonwoo stands just outside the passenger seat, hands inside his pockets and an insufferable smug expression.

“How the fuck did you find me? This isn’t even my car.”

“I still know all your tactics babe, now would you let me in? We need to talk.” You know it’s not safe for him to stand out there for too long, where anyone could notice him, so you open the door to the back seats of the car and reluctantly let Wonwoo in. “Wait, you didn’t see me? You really don’t know how to look out, don’t you?” You’re sure you can see the inside of your skull from how hard you roll your eyes. He’s so fucking smug about everything, you’d punch him.

“Why did you come here? You could’ve been seen.” If Wonwoo knew where you were, you can only assume he’s been surveilling Elias all day too, and came to Cecilia’s house just after him.

“I wanted to have a little meeting, and they aren’t watching right now.” Great. He’s not going to leave the car anytime soon.

“Fine, what did you want to talk about?” With him, sometimes it's better to accept defeat and do whatever he wants so it ends faster.

“What is it that she has that you’re after?” You haven’t had that conversation, and it's surprising that he’s even bringing it up.

“We aren’t allowed to discuss that and you know it.” You aren’t looking at him, choosing to keep your eyes on the house in case anything happens. There aren’t really rules when it comes to two separate jobs getting involved with one another, but you’ve learned the hard way that it makes things messy.

“There are a lot of things we're doing that we aren’t supposed to.”

“It’s not relevant to the plan.”

“C’mon, why don't you wanna tell me?” You know he’s pouting, because he’s not getting what he wants and to try to convince you, but that doesn’t work anymore.

“Why do you wanna know so badly? Is there something in it for you?”

“We're working together and I’m just curious.”

“Well, like I said, it’s not relevant, and it’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

“You’ve done a lot of things, that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Just drop it will you? You don't see me asking about yours.” For the first time in your life, he actually shuts up when you ask him to.

Finally in silence again, you can watch the house in peace as Wonwoo gets more bored by the second. Cecilia and Elias have been doing god knows what on the back of the house for a while now, but the security cameras she has set up are easily hackable, and if anything happens, you have that last resort.

“How have you been?” Wonwoo doesn’t last and disrupts the silent atmosphere in a matter of minutes.

His lazy try to get on your good side again doesn’t go ignored. But sometimes, you wish he’d do something different, prove that you can actually trust him, not engaging in meaningless talking to make you unconsciously open up.

“I’m busy, Wonwoo.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“Well then, I don’t want to talk to you.” Working alongside Wonwoo is barely something manageable, you’re not about to engage in whatever “friendly” conversation he wishes for.

“Are you seeing someone? Is that why you don’t want to talk to me?” He can’t be serious.

“Sure, that’s why. Not because you fucking ruined my life.” You try to be cold, you try to be dry and not let him get to you, but his nerve is astonishing.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I did it becaus–”

“And how many times do I have to say that I don’t care? You chose to set me up, you chose to betray me. You can’t expect me to be all smiley and nice and talk to you like you’re my friend.”

“I just want to know how you’re doing, it’s good that you’re working again.” You’d kick him out of your car if it wasn’t for the unwanted attention you’d receive.

“You don’t deserve to know anything about my life, not anymore.”

“I know I don't.” A glimpse of something similar to regret flashes through his factions, but there’s no time to question it.

A loud sound and two voices draw your attention back to the house, and you both instinctively crouch on your seat. Cecilia and Elias get into his car and drive away fast, not looking back. But you’re not in a rush to follow them, as the most important information at the moment is currently in your gallery. The pictures you took of the envelope aren’t the best, but if you zoom just a little, you could make out the words.

“Should we follow them?”

“I think I know where they’re going.” He doesn’t respond, but rather looks at you in silence expecting you to tell him everything without asking. You don’t forget to roll your eyes before answering, “Like I told you yesterday, she got this envelope in the mail a few days ago, and has been keeping it safe until your guy got here this morning.”

You show him that you managed to take pictures of it, knowing he’s thinking to himself that they’re blurry as hell. But before he could take a real look, you snatch your phone away.

“So? What does it say?” Wonwoo’s deep voice goes through one ear and out the other. You’re trying to enhance the picture and he only wants to bother you, making a whole show while moving around on the back seat to sit closer to you.

“It’s an invitation to some kind of event, it might be where they’re doing the exchange. Do you think the boss can–”

“Get us an invitation? Yeah, I'm on it.” He’s already grabbing his phone to make the call before you finish talking.

The warning signal reappears at the back of your mind at the interaction. Is Wonwoo calmly going to let the boss know you’re working together again? Does your boss already know? But there’s no way he'd be okay with that. Suddenly, very little makes sense, and the paranoia invades your every thought. But Wonwoo gets his call picked up, and he can't notice you going crazy.

“Invitations,” you make sure to highlight the ‘s’ at the end as you show him the finally enhanced photo, “looks like a week-long fancy thing, hope you have clothes that don’t look like they haven’t been washed in over a week.”

“I fixed my washing machine.” He covers the phone’s microphone to whisper and then continues explaining the details to the event. Something stings deep down. A remainder of how things used to be between you. When you could trust him. When you loved him. When you thought he loved you too.

“That’s good.” No snarky response this time. Only a bigger need for the interaction, and the job, to be over so you can go back to your Wonwoo-less life.

The key turned with a click sound, almost impossible to hear with all the noise that was coming from inside the apartment. Thudding sounds, like a machine stumping on the ground and against the walls, and a string of curses filled your ears as you took the first steps inside. The wired hanger on your hand, heavy with fancy clothes for that night, dropped flat on the couch when you saw the door to the laundry room was open, noises and curses getting louder and louder the closer you got to it. The floor leading to the room was shiny, covered in what seemed to be soapy dirty water.

“Fuck! This fucking machine!”

Wonwoo was kneeling on the floor, pants completely wet and hands scooping foam out of the washing machine as the dryer shook furiously to the rhythm of his curses. A few wet clothing items were scattered around the dirty floor, while the rest hid under all the bubbles Wonwoo fought to get out, even if it seemed that every time he took a scoop out, the mountain of dirty foam only got bigger.

He didn’t hear you come in, helplessly focused on cleaning up as best he could, and getting more and more frustrated in the process. He scrunched his nose in confusion at something, his glasses slipped further down his nose, and his instinct told him to fix them with his foam-covered hand, resulting in a cute boop of bubbles on the tip of his nose.

Your giggle shot his head to look your way, with a pout that almost made you hate the metal artifact causing him trouble. His body relaxed immediately at the sight of you, and he sat down on the floor, completely giving up his task.

“What happened here?” Your words came out mixed with tiny giggles, increasing his pout by 100%. Kneeling on the floor by his side, the dirty water cooled your legs uncomfortably.

“I think I need a new washer.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, laying you down on his lap so you wouldn’t be able to escape when his hand approached your face and left a matching blob of foam on your nose. “Or maybe, you can finally let me move into your apartment and then I won't have any problems.”

“Acting like you weren’t the one who told me ‘We can’t baby, it’s too dangerous’ when I asked!” Your impression of his low voice triggered a smile across Wonwoo’s face, and an irresistible urge to lower his head and connect his lips with yours.

“You’re right, but I was also right.” You didn’t care that he brushed your hair back with his wet fingers, caught up in the look in his eyes as he said those words, warm yet hurt, with thoughts racing through them that couldn’t be vocalized. He was right, you both knew your relationship would never be normal, yet still chose to move forward with it, hoping that your love for each other would be enough.

“Do you have anything clean for tonight?” Ignoring that one aspect of your relationship became the number one rule for you, not ready for what thinking too much about it could result in.

“There’s the black shirt I wore yesterday.” His eyes didn’t leave your face, scanning it as if trying to remember every little detail.

“Babe,” your head tilted against his thigh with judgement, “you fixed your car yesterday.”

“So? The oil is basically the same color as the shirt, you can’t even see it.” He laughed, knowing it wasn’t true.

“Let’s just hope it’s dark inside so no pretentious douchebag from that side of town can notice.” He chuckled at your little rant, and the sound almost made you forget what you were saying.

“I love how mad you get at rich people.” Forgetting the time crunch and the state of the room you were in, Wonwoo flipped you onto the wet floor, his lips quickly taking over yours as he slotted between your legs.

The easiness in which he had you melting for him, not caring about your uncomfortable wet back against the cold floor, was your one and only weakness. There were no problems when your limbs were tangled with his, when his chest flushed against yours and your breathings synchronized.

But the outside world didn’t care about your little bubble, and when a new wave of foam rushed out of the washing machine, you were forced to stop whatever the kiss was growing into. Getting up in between laughs and unplugging the machine, the need to shower outgrew the pounding of your heart.

“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed, you should do the same or we’ll be late.” Your wrist got taken when you started walking away, and Wonwoo twirled you back until you were in his arms again.

“I’m happy to join you if that’s what you’re saying.” Your head fell back with a smile, but before you could reply, his hands tightened on your waist, “It’s to save time!” You both knew it wasn’t true, but you were unable to say no to him, and he was unable to keep his hands off of you for too long.

Doesn’t matter how many you infiltrate, the events that rich people attend only to show off their money will always amaze you.

You've studied the way these people dress, talk, walk, act, everything. And you manage to blend in seamlessly, stepping out of the limousine in your mahogany floor-length dress, the driver’s hand waiting to take yours and help you out, and one of the hotel's staff getting your bag out the trunk. Rich people don’t carry bags, don’t drive their own car, and they especially don’t waste the opportunity to wear their most expensive luxury clothing to any event they’re invited to.

There’s little to no media coverage, not even one camera pointing at the people getting off the cars, weird judging the size of the event and the long list of attendees you were sent earlier, but at least it saves you the effort of disguising and keeping a low profile.

The act starts as soon as both of your feet are on the ground and your rented limousine drives away. Paying no attention to your surroundings, walking as nonchalantly as you can, you follow the obnoxious red carpet laid on the way to the hotel’s entrance. These arrangements can get so corny sometimes.

Inside the reception, at least fifty people are scattered around the entire floor, either sitting on the many expensive looking couches and matching chairs, or walking to their rooms with their personal luggage boy behind them. Not one face surprises you, no one you knew was in the invitation list, and you did background checks on anyone that sounded suspicious. Everyone’s just another millionaire stranger that doesn’t know they’re a piece in your game.

The long reception desk has no line, and the workers behind it seem already bored of everything going on. You take the chance to go up to them and get your room key.

“Good evening mam, how may I help you?” The blonde girl straightens her posture when she sees you walk up to her.

“Hi!” Looking straight into her eyes, she visibly relaxes at your loosened-up demeanor, contrasting to every previous person she’s helped during the day. “Could I just get my room keys? I can’t stand this any longer, I need to go and take a nap.”

No one here is being kind nor nice to them, and that’s the key to getting the staff's trust. Stand out, talk to them like they’re people, and most importantly, don’t portray that obnoxious rich person's personality.

“Of course! Could I get your last name?”

“Roberts, Marissa Roberts, with two ‘s’.” Your fake ID is in your hand, ready for the girl to take, but she ignores it, going straight to look you up in the system.

While she goes to look for your room card through the endless pile of rooms that haven’t checked in yet, a strong presence stands beside you, speaking to the other receptionist. His voice manages to reach your ears even with all the murmur around you.

You don’t want to look at him, turning your head and acknowledging his presence now is too risky. But when the redheaded receptionist goes back to find his room card, leaving you alone at the desk, he’s the one that faces you, giving you no choice but to follow his lead.

“Nice day, huh?” You can’t ignore him, it’ll be weirder if you don’t reply.

“It’s cloudy with a 90% chance of rain.” Trying your best to sound as dry and not interested as possible, you eye him for a split of a second before the receptionist brings back his key. What’s taking so long with yours?

“You staying for the whole charity week?” You know the act he’s trying to put up. Planting the idea that he’s interested in you so it won’t be suspicious when you talk during the different events taking place over the week.

“Yeah,” luckily, you’re interrupted by the blonde receptionist finally bringing your room key, and by an impatient man standing behind Wonwoo, huffing when he doesn’t immediately move, keeping the newly formed line from moving.

“I’ll be seeing you then.” He’s then off with a wink and enchanted sighs from both of the girls behind the desk.

You used to be like them, easily swooned by his natural charm. His deep, teasing voice could make even the meanest and coldest soul fall to their knees. You used to love hearing it, be it in small talk over coffee as you got to know each other, cleverly planning a robbery you were hired to do together, with his arm around your shoulders as he softly talked to drift you to sleep, or whispering dirty nothings in your ear with his body pressed against yours. Now, there was nothing. Even hatred was starting to fade away, leaving nothing but indifference. You don’t care if he’s happy or sad, alive or dead, you only care about finishing the job and moving on with your life.

As you’re being handed your card, the nostalgia for something that can no longer exist rubs off your body, and you see the opportunity to continue the act.

“What room is he staying in?” You try to sound as playful as possible, pretending you were just playing hard to get. Because you’re aware that, not only the receptionists, but also the boy carrying your bag just behind you and probably a few people down the line, heard the whole interaction.

“We can’t disclose the guests’ information.” She seems more friendly now, but it’s better not to push your luck for now.

“Right, sorry yeah, I totally get it. Guess I’ll have to find him tonight.” She chuckles as you walk away, heading for the elevator to go up to the 6th floor.

The room was carefully chosen, on the same floor, same hallway as Cecilia's, but not the one right in front of hers, so you can keep tabs on her without being too obvious. Room 606, just above 506, where Wonwoo's staying, same floor and hallway as his target, just like you.

There’s one hour left before the welcoming toast, the first event of many to come, and where everything begins. The countdown of days until the final night, the charity auction that could potentially change your life.

The hotel’s dining hall is arranged with hundreds of tables, with matching scarlet chairs and big beautiful centerpieces. A theater-like stage catches your attention, with the curtains pulled down as if you were here for a show. But your amazement for the grandness of the place is cut short due to the realization that no one else coming in is giving the room a second look. They’re not surprised, they’re used to these kinds of things, and you have to become one of them.

With short and slow steps, you analyze the room you’ll be spending plenty of time in, remembering any possible hiding spots and ways out, blind spots, and if possible, your target’s favorite tables to hang out at.

In the look for her auburn hair, you see her figure sitting at one of the tables right on the center of the hall, talking with a short-haired woman. Her black bob so perfect that one would think she just cut it before coming down. It seems to be a fairly nice conversation, not a lot of smiling, but there’s not one second where they’re in silence. You’ll do some digging on her once you’re back in your room.

Cecilia has her back turned on the table right by her side, where Elias is sitting, listening to a few old men in dark blue suits. They’re pretending to not know each other, but why? He looks bored, nodding when one of the men looks at him for confirmation, and checking his watch way too often. Either he’s wishing for the conversation to be over, or he’s waiting for something.

Like clockwork, a younger guy, just as tall as Elias but with honey blond hair and thick black rim glasses, approaches his table and asks if he can talk to him privately. More relaxed, Elias apologizes profusely and walks away with the new guy. You don’t see him, but you know Wonwoo is trailing behind them. You’ll ask him about that later, but for now, it’s time for you to do your part.

The one and only rule you’re given when doing these jobs is simple: you can’t engage with your target. You can’t talk to them, maybe a polite nod or a ‘thank you’ if absolutely necessary, according to the interaction, but in no way you can have a conversation with them. You’re given the liberty of planning, you can ask for help if needed, but you must remain a stranger to your target. It seems fairly easy, but there are cases like these, where there’s so much noise not even sitting at a table less than two feet away is close enough for you to hear the conversation. Sometimes using a little loophole is inevitable.

A quick glance at Cecilia’s table provides you with what you need. Her slightly open purse is hanging loosely by her arm, and any time someone passes by and bumps into it, she doesn’t even feel it. As she stands up to go ask for another drink, her fourth one of the night, your opportunity arises.

You get up, grabbing a random empty champagne glass from your table, and start walking with very little balance. Your steps almost intertwine with Cecilia’s, and when you almost trip, you pretend to grab onto her arm and slip a tiny microphone inside her purse. The device looks and works exactly like an airpod, but it’ll send hourly recordings straight to your second phone for 24 hours.

Cecilia barely pays attention to you, and you apologize right after getting up, but she doesn’t even look at you, just continues with her walk and shares a weird look with her friend. No one around you really notices the interaction, and even if they did, they’ll forget by tomorrow.

As you look up from the floor, the first thing you see is Wonwoo, and he raises his eyebrows teasingly when your gazes connect. Your first instinctive reaction is to roll your eyes. You hate to be observed, and even if this is a tactic you’ve done a few times with his knowledge, it feels almost taunting to see him so composed after not having to break the rules to listen to his target.

The bar by the door calls your name, and now that you have a way of spying on Cecilia’s conversations from afar, you let yourself have one singular drink. But the time of peace you thought you could have is interrupted.

“Can I have one of what she’s having?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds dangerously close to you, and when you look to your side, your suspicions are correct, as he’s sitting on the barstool to your right.

You always wondered how he managed to do this job. The key thing is always to blend in, be forgettable, not draw attention, and he does none of those things. Wonwoo is tall and broad and the suits he wears always fit him just right, quickly making him receive lust-filled stares and dreamy sighs, and he walks around leaving a trail of people in awe because of his looks. Tonight is no exception. The woman sitting at the other end of the bar is eyeing him like he’s a piece of candy, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, focusing on you until you make eye contact.

“Cheers.” He lifts the drink the bartender just gave him, not even sparing her one glance, and she walks away to serve other people, disappointed after not getting his attention. You give him a light nod and lift your drink as well in acknowledgment. “So, what brings you here?”

“Aren’t we all here for the same reason?” You speak softly, with a light smirk meant to tease him. He knows you’re forced to follow his lead, but if this is the act he wants to put out, you’re not going to make it that easy.

“I was hoping you’d say for me.” Wonwoo's words actually surprise you, his sultry tone making your stomach turn against your will, like it has countless times before because of him.

“I don’t even know your name.” You chuckle lightly and sip on your drink, to check on your surroundings but also to avoid Wonwoo’s eyes.

“Ryan, Ryan Cohen, pleasure to meet you.” Wonwoo grabs your hand and kisses the top of it.

Surrounded by people who must believe your act, and the combination of alcohol and an empty stomach in your system blurs the lines just a tiny bit. Nothing is letting you react the way you thought it would to him pulling off something like this. The lines are there for a reason, and the act it’s still just that, an act. You won’t forget what he did to you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” from the corner of your eye, you see Cecilia leaving the hall with a man you haven’t seen before, and that new problem rapidly escalates to the top of your priorities, “but unfortunately, I’m calling a night for today. I have important business to do tomorrow.”

“Wait, I didn’t get your name!” He really nails the put together yet slightly desperate persona.

“I’ll see you around.” You only smirk before turning around and disappearing from his sight.

You’re finally able to breathe correctly when you leave the dinner hall. The heavy atmosphere was starting to make you hallucinate things. For a split of a second, you forgot the real reason you were there, and that can’t happen.

To go upstairs, you wait until the elevator where Cecilia and mystery man hopped on closes its doors, and then you go and press the button to go up. It wouldn’t be weird if it was just a hookup, as it's a normal thing to happen at these kinds of cocktail events, but you still should check it out.

The bouncer at the door crossed his arms with a deadly poker face, shaking his head after Wonwoo’s third plea to let him come in.

You knew his obviously dirty clothes weren’t gonna do it. The people in line, all wearing luxury clothing to present themselves as something worthy, looked at him up and down multiple times, judging him and commenting about his horrendous outfit with their friends. Even a few pity looks were thrown your way. People at those types of clubs cared too much about looks, about wearing the perfect expensive outfit for their night out. You looked the part, choosing your bougiest outfit and searching for all the make-up trends at that time, almost as if expecting to be on the VIP list.

Your view was blocked by the security’s broad tall back. Barely inside the club, the loud music was making the walls tremble and the neon lights even reached the street below Wonwoo’s feet.

With your best glittery eyes, you placed your hand on the bouncer’s heavy shoulder, making him turn back slightly. Two whispers after, and a promise to come back with more girl friends, he let Wonwoo in with a huff and a warning.

“What did you say to him?”

Every step forward you took turned the volume of the music up, and Wonwoo had to crouch to whisper in your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him in the crowded club. It felt too intimate for a public place, but that was usual for him.

“Nothing you wanna know.” You giggled as you saw the man you had been following, sitting on a burgundy couch all the way on the back of the club, smoking alone, waiting for Wonwoo's guy.

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re taken, so he doesn’t make any moves on you.” Wonwoo’s hands held the sides of your waist, turning you to the side and bringing your bodies closer. The blue, pink and green lights dancing at the rhythm of the music reflected on his beautiful face, with a serious yet teasing expression as his eyes lightly glared at the back, letting you know he also saw your guy. “Should we dance?”

“Of course! We’re in a club!” There wasn’t much to do besides waiting. You wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying anyway. The most important task was seeing how they interacted with each other, and Wonwoo’s guy seemed to be always late. What harm could be done by having a little fun?

Your hand took his, walking further inside the room enveloped in a newly effervescent tension, looking for the best place to dance and surveil the men on the wine-colored couches. The drunk people surrounding you moved in slow motion, different bodies pressed against one another and dancing with no rhythm, giving you much needed cover. From where you were standing, the faint smell of the cigarette of your target could reach you every few minutes, mixing with the smell of sweat and expensive drinks.

Wonwoo found your waist again, pressing your back against his chest and swaying your bodies from left to right. His lips grazed the side of your ear, letting his breath tickle the side of your face teasingly, and his hands traveled around your body with little shame, blending into the sea of horny couples and sticky bodies making out.

Covered by the darkness of the place, and with the excuse of fitting in, his hips were grinding against your ass, breathing heavily to the random song the dj was playing. Wonwoo’s target walked in, wide eyes as he tensely looked for anything out of place. He seemed paranoid, playing with his hands as he sat in front of the old man. You went unnoticed, as Wonwoo began leaving wet kisses on the side of your neck, and any eyes going over the crowd would just ignore you, like you were just another drunk couple.

The bargaining appeared fairly pacific, a back and forth between the two men, so out in the open it wasn't going to turn violent. And when Wonwoo’s hands pushed your hips harder against his, you couldn’t stop your head from falling back onto his shoulders and letting him do anything he wanted. It was easy to get lost in the feeling of him, your bodies pressed together as you surveilled essentially nothing.

A ripple burst through the packed dance floor. A man pushing groups of people away and not budging in the slightest bumped against Wonwoo, knocking one of his arms off your body. The tall man didn’t look back, and Wonwoo was fuming.

“Just let it go, assholes like that are everywhere.”

You knew Wonwoo didn’t take those things lightly, so as soon as you saw him even thinking of going after the guy, you grabbed his wrist and turned him back your way.

“I wasn't gonna do anything!” Your head tilted to the side, not convinced. “Fine, I was just going to calmly teach him how to say ‘excuse me’.”

“Sure you were.”

His chest relaxed under your palms as you stood on your tiptoes to give him a peck. But the softness of his lips glued you to them longer than you initially expected, and his hands on your back melted into you, keeping you close to him.

“I’m gonna head to the toilet for a sec, don’t go after that security guy.” Your eyes were still closed, chasing his lips as he talked.

“I won’t if you don’t punch that guy.” It was hard letting his hand go as he walked into the sea of people and away from you. But in that moment, maybe it was best to separate before you got too sucked into your bubble.

The bargaining between the two men stayed boring, endless talking about whatever the topics changed into. You sat on the bar, sipping on a cold glass of water, waiting for anything even remotely interesting to happen. From the corner of your eye, the guy that bumped into you caught your attention as he came out of the bathroom, and emergency sirens immediately started blasting at the back of your mind. There was no waiting line, so maybe he didn’t come across Wonwoo, you thought.

But the next exchange you witnessed left you more uncertain than anything else. A bald man you had never seen before walked out of the restroom, Wonwoo following behind him with a noticeable frown. The strange man appeared to be in a rush to get away from him, but Wonwoo grabbed the man’s wrist harshly and turned him to look at him again. Wonwoo’s lips moved fast, saying too much in very little time, and the bad lighting made it harder for you to even try to understand what he was saying. The mystery man gulped hard and nodded with wide eyes, almost like he feared Wonwoo.

Something seemed out of place, but the little voice inside your head told you not to question Wonwoo about it. You forced your eyes away from the interaction to see that both of your targets were getting ready to leave, and you waited until Wonwoo came back while your mind raced, thinking of every possibility of what that could’ve been about. Maybe he would tell you when he sat by your side, maybe it was nothing and you were being paranoid. But a sweet kiss on your cheek was all you got, and an arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you left the bar together, like nothing happened.

A final quick glance inside the club made your stomach drop to the floor as you could’ve sworn you saw, blurred by the frenetic neon lights and the people dancing, the bald man sitting right beside your target, whispering something to him.

Spending an entire night surveilling audio footage from Cecilia’s hook-up wasn’t how you originally planned to spend your first night in the hotel.

In the past days, you’ve learned how frequently she brought different men home, and you should’ve known that this event wasn’t gonna stop her. Good for her, sure, but there is at least 3 hours of unusable footage from your microphone that you have to delete.

Tiredness begins to take over you, barely concentrating on skipping past the recordings to hear if anything strange happened in Cecilia's room, and your eyes beg to be closed. But you can’t rest, not until you know for sure she’s asleep.

The first hourly footage that doesn’t contain any sex noises is delivered to your phone at 4 am, and it’s nothing but calm silence. But your sigh of relief is cut short when a call resonates through the audio, disrupting the quiet room and making you hold your breath. Panic sets in, freezing your entire body as you wait for any other sound, because if no one answers, it means either there’s no one in the room, or worse, something happened to her.

It doesn’t stop, the ringing, as the person calling refuses to give up. The familiar ringtone echoes on your headphones, like it’s too close to the microphone, blocking any other noise from being heard, almost disabling your other senses too. But a simple look around the room lets you realize it’s your phone ringing, and above it all, it’s Wonwoo calling.

“Why are you awake? What do you want?” He manages to find ways to annoy you even before the sun rises.

“I need to tell you something, open the door.”

His serious tone takes you by surprise and makes you jump off your seat. There’s silence on your side on the line while you walk as quietly as possible to your door. A hard but somehow not loud knock on your room door answers your pending question, and leaves you no choice but to let Wonwoo in.

“What the hell?” You end the call as you reluctantly open the door.

“I sent you a thousand messages,” Wonwoo stomps inside your room, passing you by with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“You shouldn’t be here. Did you check the hallway at least?” You peak your head out the door, the calm hallway welcoming you in complete silence, before closing it with care so it doesn’t draw any attention.

“You have to stop ignoring me.” Wonwoo walks over to where your laptop still shows the recordings and shuts it close.

“You’re such a baby, Oh my god. I was doing something and wasn’t checking my phone, it wasn't about you.” His whole body’s tense, his eyes ignoring you and his eyebrows frowning with what could be frustration, fear or even disappointment. “Well? Are you going to tell me whatever you wanted to tell me? Or are you just going to keep strolling around the room like a maniac?” Your arms cross as you sit back on the bed.

Wonwoo huffs, still stomping back and forth like that would help him clear his head, anxious, thinking hard and gathering his many thoughts.

“There’s something wrong with my guy.” He settles on those words, vague but still alarmed.

“Why? Is it about that new guy earlier?” Wonwoo nods, confirming your assumption that he followed them earlier when he and Elias walked away from the table to talk alone.

It’s like he can’t keep still, his hands slightly shaking covering his mouth and making his non-stop ranting come out muffled. Every second it passes, you grow more and more concerned at his state. The only one other time you saw him getting so paranoid about a mission, he turned out to be right, so you’re not about to dismiss him because of your own feelings towards him.

“Ok, calm down, talk to me.” Your hand takes hold of his in one of his laps around the room, and you force him to sit down by your side. It’s dangerous, his body so close to yours, emanating an all too familiar heat, but if that’s what it takes to calm him down and make him concentrate, then you’re gonna take the risk.

“I need to speak with him.” His gaze is trained on the floor, and his right leg shakes anxiously against yours.

“Elias?” He shakes his head at your whisper, “The other guy?” And at that he nods.

“You can’t do that, you know it. It’s too much of a risk.” For him to want to break the one rule he’s insistent about, it can’t be something simple he can’t figure out. Your worries rise with every second he spends in silence. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I… don’t know.” Wonwoo grabs his head and crouches until his forehead touches his knees. “When I heard both of them talk earlier, it sounded like they were speaking in some kind of code. I swear nothing they said made sense.”

“Maybe they’ve known each other for a long time.”

“That’s the thing, I have no idea who that other guy is.” He lifts his head from the top of his legs, but still refuses to look at you. “As soon as the cocktail night finished, I went up to my room to try to find anything about him, but there’s nothing. I couldn’t find anything.”

That definitely sounds wrong. Someone that close to a target should always be easy to investigate, and knowing Wonwoo does intricate background checks on everyone, it’s not good. But you can’t let him see you panic, he needs you to be the voice of reason.

“You can figure it out, it could mean nothing.”

“I can do it if I speak with him.” Wonwoo’s not listening to you, too desperate to think clearly, and it just makes you more worried.

“Think about it first, please, don’t do anything stupid.” You place your hand softly on his knee, going against every rule you’ve set for yourself, only thinking of calming Wonwoo down.

The silence is deafening. If you listen closely, you might even be able to hear every thought racing through Wonwoo’s brain. His teeth claw on his bottom lip, tinted with blood red as he rips more skin off, and you don’t know what else to say to calm him down. False positivity would force him to push you away again, and now that you two are in this together, that can’t happen.

“You can.” He simply says as his leg finally stops shaking. “You can talk to him.”

To say that you’re frozen in place would be an understatement. A part of you, one hidden at the very back of your mind, naturally wants to help him, like you always did without question. But the rational part of your brain, the one that hasn’t been the same since everything happened, screams at you to leave him to figure it out on his own.

“I– I don’t kn–”

“Please,” His hand grabbing yours makes you unable to continue talking, “I know you don’t trust me, and I know I don’t deserve it, but, fuck, please, trust me on this.”

“Wonwoo, I– I shouldn’t.” Words are becoming more and more difficult to think about as his worried eyes begin piercing through you. It’s hard to tell him no, even if your whole body is yelling at you to do so.

“Look, I’m trying here, I– I’m not hiding it from you or trying to solve it on my own when you’re involved too, please.” You knew this closeness was dangerous for you, your hands between his as his face pleads for you, and your heart pounds against your chest asking you to consider it.

“Do you even know what you need from him?” His body visibly relaxes at your question, knowing you too well.

“Anything. Even his favorite color could help.” His gaze softens, a look in his eyes that you were never able to resist. After all that’s happened, his effect on you is still untouched, alive and well even after you tried to bury it deep inside you.

“It’s too risky Wonwoo, I don’t know if I can.” You’ve already said yes at this point. You know it. He knows it. It’s pointless to still deny it out loud. “We’ve never done this before.”

“I can do something for you too, anything to keep you from owing me.” His voice sounds sure. Too sure.

“You sound like you already have a plan.” You slip your hand out of his embrace with force, crossing your arms again. “You came here for this.”

“What?” There’s genuine confusion on his face.

“And to think I almost believed you, fuck, I’m so stupid.” That last part was a mumble more to yourself than for him to hear. “I can’t believe I almost fell for it.”

“Wait, no, I–”

“I’m not gonna let you use me again.” You interrupt whatever excuse he was about to give you. “You came here, pretending to be stressed and panicking, making me worry about you, all to manipulate me into doing your dirty work! Unbelievable.”

“Hold on, that’s not why I came.” You’ve stood up some time in between your accusation, and he follows you, grabbing you by the shoulders to force you to look at him. “I promise.”

“Then why? Why would you offer to do something for me too?” It makes no sense in your head. “You just sound like you already had a plan thought out, like you knew what you came for.”

“I just remembered the girl Cecilia was talking to earlier and thought maybe you needed information on her.” You frown, not convinced, and he notices, reading you perfectly. “I didn’t come here with that purpose, I swear.”

“So, you just came here because…”

“You’ve always helped me clear my mind.” He replies calmly, not a hint of anything close to a lie in his tone.

You hate it. You hate him. It’s too easy for him to make you lower the walls you’ve been trying so hard to put up. He always finds the right words to say, the thing you need to hear. You should’ve known it was going to happen. One singular moment alone with him and you’re done for. Pathetic.

“Stop lying.” Your voice comes out weak, defeated. All the emotions you spent so much time trying to bury, fighting to be the cold person you used to be before him, all of them springing out of their hiding simultaneously, weakening you in his eyes.

“I’m not.” His voice so low makes you aware of the closeness of his body again. His rough hands haven’t let go of your arms, keeping you still in front of him. Your gaze points down at his chest, ignoring his obvious intentions to make you look him in the eyes. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“I can’t trust you.” There’s so much hurt in the way words come out of you. Hurt that both of you know has nothing to do with what he’s asking, or with this mission. Hurt that Wonwoo knows it's because of him, and he’ll spend years and years trying to mend, if you let him.

“I don’t want to hide anything from you.” As he steps back, his arms away from your quivering body, air can finally escape from your lungs. “Ask me anything.”

From all the questions you’ve harbored over time, the many whys that kept you up every night, the hows that made your skin crawl and never allowed you to be at peace, you’re incapable of asking him the most important one. Reliving that night is out of the question, and when the real issue lies within the current mission, your mouth takes the lead and asks without your brain’s permission.

“Does the boss know we’re working together?”

That day in front of Cecilia’s house has been at the back of your mind for days. The way he so casually asked for two invitations like it was of no importance reappearing every time you allowed yourself to follow his lead.

“Yes.” Wonwoo answers quickly. But you’re not surprised at that fact.

“And he’s okay with it? I know he doesn’t like me much.”

It doesn’t make sense that he would allow it, let alone send you to an event where you’re gonna interact way more than on a normal mission.

“He wasn’t, but I explained to him that it was important to me.”

Important to him. At that, every previous question evaporates from your mind, creating more current ones. Did he know you were after Cecilia? There’s no way he could. Did he tell him after your encounter at the mall?

“Why is it important to you?”

“Because...” Wonwoo hesitates, thinking carefully about the wording for his confession, “I’m not doing this anymore. After this mission, I’m going away for good. I don’t want this life anymore, I’m done.”

Speechless. That’s the only way to describe the state Wonwoo has left you in once again. But only a part of it seems to get stuck in your mind.

“Where will you go?”

You always knew he didn’t like that life. He got stuck in it by accident, with no way out. Sure, he took it seriously, he followed the rules and always did his job right. But he hated it. Hated to steal things for the rich, to be a pawn in someone else’s game. Hated having to always be in hiding, not being able to live a fulfilling life with you.

A heavy weight sits on your heart, a feeling resurfacing from deep within you, but not unknown. Purposely avoiding him is different from knowing you’ll never see him again. A part of you will always miss him, miss the comfort you felt being with him.

“I don’t know, just away from here.” He doesn’t sound hurt, but his voice is low, like his words hold another meaning. Here. Away from the city, away from the life he despised, away from the memories of you.

“You told him you wanted to work with me?” The mental question escapes your lips without your consent, outing your inner thoughts.

“I didn’t know we’d bump into each other, but once we found out, I called him.”

“So, what’s the catch? There’s no way he’d take that risk without asking something from you too.”

Wonwoo sighs, maybe sad, maybe disappointed, maybe ready to be over with the conversation. “I just need to do this right, then I’m done.”

“That’s it?” It’s hard to believe that a man that hires people like you to do his dirty work and steal expensive stuff for his sketchy clients can let go of his best employee that easily.

“It’s a hard job, and if I can’t do it, he’ll never allow me to leave.” At one point, Wonwoo stopped looking at you, and you’re afraid you’ve pressed too far.

“If I know something about you, is that no job is hard for you.” You almost chuckle at the idea of him fumbling a job, even a joke about his betrayal tingles at the tip of your tongue, but the familiarity of your words hits you hard, knocking the easy atmosphere out of you.

His hand sneaks into one of his pockets, and your fight instinct kicks in again, not ready to face whatever he could possibly show you. But all that comes out in his hand is another phone, one you’ve never seen before, different from the one he used to call you earlier.

“Here.” Your reflexes work faster than your brain when Wonwoo throws the cellphone to you. “Every detail you want to know, with all my research about them, is in there. You can look through it, see it for yourself.”

“You want me to go over your entire mission? Are you sure?”

This is not like the details you’ve been sharing prior to this event, that was only what the other needed. This is different. This is the whole investigation, the entire plan to find his objective and reach his goal. This kind of information is explicitly forbidden to share with anyone, but he’s putting it at risk to gain your trust back.

“I need your help, please. I can’t do this if you don’t trust what I’m saying.”

It takes a minute of silence for you to consider what to do next.

“Then,” from where you stand, your computer is right behind you, light enough for you to grab with one hand, “look through mine. It’s the only folder saved.”

It’s a silent agreement, implicating that you do want to work with him one last time, to help him get out. You try to ignore the sting in your heart, ignore that you still care, and focus on the missions to take your mind off of it.

“I can’t ask you that.” He takes your laptop in his hands, but doesn’t open it, even after you signal him to do so.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Wonwoo sits on your bed, still reluctant to open the computer. “You were right, I barely have info on the woman she was with, only her name and a few other things. We can help each other, but only if we know exactly what we're doing.”

Wonwoo only nods with a tight smile, understanding even what you don’t voice out.

The candle flame danced at the center of the table, illuminating Wonwoo’s face in the poorly-lighted but expensive restaurant while you waited for the food you ordered. The gold-colored light created a romantic layer that contrasted with the purpose you had set for the dinner experience.

Wonwoo thought you were here to simply observe your targets’ last meeting before the buying, in addition to having a nice meal, but you had made your personal mission to find out what business he had done the other night at the club. That tall man with a frightened expression haunted your every dream, always turning into nightmares with different outcomes. And not even waking up helped your distress, as you’d open your eyes to find yourself tangled between the arms of the protagonist of said nightmares.

Wonwoo wasn’t acting weird per se, but that only made your worries worse. There was a chance that you were wrong, that your mind was playing games with you. And you wanted to believe it with your whole heart, no matter how small it was. But the paranoia never seemed to end, and it got worse with each day that passed that Wonwoo acted like nothing happened, living his life normally with you, hugging and kissing you like he wasn’t hiding anything.

As he sat in front of you, telling you about his day, his back faced where both of your targets were ordering. The waiter spoke comfortably with the old man, you knew he was a regular at that restaurant, and the younger guy trembled slightly, as if afraid of the man sitting in front of him. Wonwoo didn’t seem to care to see the interaction, and didn’t ask you questions about it either, assuming you would’ve told him if something happened. Your eyes were stationed on the two men, but your mind was elsewhere, scheming a way to get information out of your boyfriend without being suspicious.

“Babe?” His questioning voice almost took you out of character.

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.” He smiled, taking no notice of the rollercoaster of thoughts that was going through your mind. “What were you saying?”

“Who? One of his guys?” His face showed a glimpse of worry, and you debated whether he didn’t want to show emotion in the public place, or if he faked his worry so as to not let you doubt him.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like not trusting him. It was eating you from the inside, overthinking about his every move, his every action. You didn’t want to do it. But something at the back of your mind was non stop shouting that something was wrong, giving you no chance but to listen to it.

“It was…” Wonwoo's eyes followed the way your lips moved with the words, innocently anticipating your answer. “I just thought I saw that guy from the other night.”

You had him where you wanted him. Eyes wide, hands gripping the sides of the table as he contemplated the options.

“Which one? It was a crowded night babe.” Wonwoo tried to sound nonchalant. In his eyes, you had no reason to doubt him.

“That guy that bumped into us, remember?” You pretended to think about that night, like you didn’t go over it in your head countless times, hand on your chin and eyes up to the ceiling as a tiny smile appeared on your face, “you wanna know something funny? I saw him getting out of the bathroom just before you did! I remember fearing you’d done something to him in there.”

Trap set, you hoped to make him react in any way, but he remained with a poker face, not daring to explain the situation, but not telling you the truth either.

“Oh, it’s good I didn’t see him then.” Wonwoo chuckled as the waiter finally brought your food and set it on the table, digging into his full plate while your trust shattered in a million pieces. “What an asshole!”

“Yeah.”

What more could you have said? Wonwoo was clearly avoiding the subject, eating like a mad man and purposely not looking you in the eyes, and the mission was about to end anyway. The stolen painting your target was selling to Wonwoo’s was already on the way to the abandoned building he always used for his deals, and you intended to steal it before they even arranged their last meeting to finalize the buying and deliver it.

Maybe that guy was a part of Wonwoo’s mission that he didn’t tell you about, and maybe after you both finished your jobs he’d go back to normal, and you could trust him again. Maybe this time your instinct was wrong. Maybe.

After the tenth bored nod, the seventh ‘oh wow’ and the fourth ‘that’s crazy’, you’re beginning to understand why all these rich people tend to get piss drunk to get through these kinds of events. Every conversation is identical, the topics, the reactions, the answers, the counter-arguments, nothing ever changes.

It’s been two days since that night with Wonwoo, where you agreed to get close to each other’s targets’ friends and essentially broke every implicit rule of the job. Two nights since you’ve opened up to each other for one last time. Two nights since you, once again, went against the exact thing you declared you were never going to do again. And a day before the auction where you planned to carry out the robbery.

Being honest about your missions gave you the amount of reassurance you needed to work with Wonwoo again. What he failed to do last time, not letting you in and not letting you help him, Wonwoo was making sure he didn’t make the same mistakes. And it feels better to work this way. Trusting him, at least with a mission as important as the one he has, is easier now.

Easier than fake laughing for the tenth time in twenty minutes for sure.

Elias’ friend sits right across the table, equally as bored as you and showing false interest in the conversation the old men hold. But he stays around them every night regardless, listening to the white-haired men complain about their spouses and showing off their yearly earnings.

They don’t ask him any questions, and he doesn’t offer anything to the conversation either. You’ve noticed he has some kind of nervous tick, where every two or three minutes he’ll sigh and sit back, brush his blond hair to the side with his hand, look around the room and then go back to pretending to pay attention. Weirdly, his eyes never stray your way, even if you’re directly in front of him and watching his every move.

The opportunity to personally approach him arises when he opens his mouth for the first time in the night to excuse himself to the bar. Not a glance is spared his way as the table keeps talking, and a few seconds later you do the same. The rich men care more about you leaving than Elias’ friend, but you take three steps away from the table and they're back to their discussion about stock pricing.

Wonwoo, a few tables back, glances your way and nods just barely, only for you to catch. Due to your previous agreement establishing that the targets remain off limits, he hasn’t approached Sophie, Cecilia’s friend, yet, since the two women are seemingly inseparable.

The blond man chooses to sit on a barstool on the least illuminated corner of the empty bar, far away from the door. Elias should be in his mid-twenties, according to Wonwoo’s information, so you can only assume his friend is close to that age too, but he looks a lot younger in your eyes, and he orders a vodka cola with a side of fries, further fortifying that impression.

“What do you recommend?” You ask him as you sit down on the stool next to his, taking him by surprise.

“Me?” His tone wavers between shocked and bothered that someone’s speaking to him, but you don’t really care which one it really is.

“Yes, you.” You giggle lightly, placing your chin on the palm of your hand to seem charmed by him. “Do you have any drink recommendations?”

“Oh I-, I don’t drink often, I wouldn’t know.” He stutters and avoids your eyes.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” You tell the tired bartender, even if you despise vodka with a passion. “So, what’s a handsome man like doing here all alone?”

“Those people can get very tiring,” he answers with a serious tone, but a faint blush appears on his ears at your bluntness, “you heard how they are.”

“Oh, so you noticed me there?” Your flirty persona disappears for a second in slight shock, as you haven’t caught his eyes on you once during the past nights.

“Of course I did.” Even after his admission, his eyes continue staring as his already half empty glass. “You’re hard to miss.”

“I don’t know if I want to take that as a compliment, but I will.” Quite the opposite, your intention is to be invisible. “I’m not used to receiving much attention.” You chew on the plastic straw the bartender gives you with your drink, making dreamy eyes at Elias’ friend.

“Well, you caught mine.” As shy as he may appear, he’s being rather forward with his statements now.

“What I haven’t caught is your name.” If he’s truly interested in you, then your plan begins, and you intend to acquire as much information as possible. “I’m Marissa.”

“I’m Lucas.” Amused, he replies as he stretches his hand to shake yours.

“So, Lucas, what do you do? What brings you to this boring, old rich people event.” A little of your real personality is always good to show when you’re pretending to be someone else. Even if they don’t realize, people have something close to a sixth sense when it comes to strangers, and if you seem to be even a little bit stiff and made up, they’ll unconsciously realize something’s not right with you.

Lucas chuckles at your undisguised disgust, “I work for one of those rich old men, but he doesn’t like coming here, so it’s my job to make face and buy him whatever artifact he wants on a whim.”

Hopefully, the microphone you previously set inside your bra hasn’t moved and is recording everything Lucas’ saying in case you forget any details. Wonwoo would never let you live if you forget even the tiniest thing.

“That sounds awful.” You decide on a short empathetic response, hoping he’ll keep talking without you asking many questions.

“And what brings you here? You don’t seem to like these kinds of spaces much.” He doesn’t take his eyes off yours as he understands your silence the opposite way.

“My parents like to come here, but they’re out of town. They asked me to buy one of the paintings for their new home.” You repeat the personal story you created the previous night with Wonwoo.

“I see. So, neither of us are particularly thrilled to be here.”

“It’s more fun now that I finally found someone interesting to talk to.” You sip from the vile glass of distilled alcohol, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to lower his guard down.

“You don’t know anyone here?” He questions, intrigued by you.

“No, but maybe that’s a good thing.” You pretend to look around, eyes finding Wonwoo in a flirty exchange with Sophie. “What about you? Besides those men back at the table.”

“Actually, my sister’s here as well, but I haven’t seen her tonight. She always scurries away when the chance comes.” He looks around the room to catch a glimpse of her, but it’s pointless. “And now that she dyed her hair, I can never find her.”

Like a lightbulb just lit up over your head, the terrible realization of who you’re talking to hits you painfully. “I totally get her.” You snicker back and take another sip of the now more tempting drink.

You want, no, you need to ask more about his family, find out what you don’t already know, but you throw that thought away the second it comes. It’ll be too obvious, and you can’t afford for him to ask those same questions back.

“So, what are you taking back for the boss?” Is the question you settle for.

“He wanted the-” Lucas begins answering, but before can tell you that key information, Elias appears by your side, grabbing him by the arm and muttering something close to ‘we have to talk’.

Lucas sends you an apologetic smile as he leaves the bartender a tip under the drink he didn't touch. You barely hear him saying goodbye to you, as Elias forces him to follow his lead and leave you behind.

You’re left perplexed on your seat, jaw on the floor and eyes scattering trying to find if Wonwoo had the chance to see what just happened. At least Elias didn’t even spare you a glance, and you had no time to even think of saying a word to him.

How could you have missed it? You researched her entire life, since the day she was born up until the day you first started shadowing her. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this job makes any sense.

Across the room, still at the same table, Cecilia’s friend has moved her chair closer to Wonwoo’s and is tracing lines down his arm as she talks to him. Of course, he can’t avoid that every woman he interacts with throws herself at him. At least it works.

His eyes find yours just in time, and you tilt your head towards the door. You don’t expect him to follow you. That’s not why you told him you were leaving. But as the elevator doors begin to close, his right foot appears in their way and they open back up again, revealing his tall figure and worried face.

“Did something happen?” He stands too close to your side, his hand not even bothering to click the button to his floor.

“Got some disturbing information before He showed up and took the boy away from me.” The four walls surrounding you suffocate you. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

“I was about to leave myself when I saw you.” Wonwoo straightens his posture, eyes on the doors opening on your floor. “I got everything I needed.”

“Sure thing.” You sound unconvinced, and it’s no wonder he realizes it too. “Well, text me what you got later.”

“You looked cozy with him.” His voice trails behind you. “A little young for you.”

You scoff, back still directed at him as you try to get your damn door to open. “Good night, Wonwoo.”

“I bet he was drinking something only teenagers like. Maybe vodka? Judging by the face you made when you took the first sip.” He doesn’t relent, and for some reason, your door opens but you stay there.

“Were you actually doing your job? Or were you too busy inspecting my conversation?” Your body turns to face him, too easily annoyed by him even if you know that’s what he wants.

“Just watching from afar in case you needed help.” You know he’s staying put as a silent beg for you to spill your information.

“Well, I didn’t.” You don’t even get to step half a foot inside your room before he’s closing the door in your face, leaving you stranded on the hallway, trapped between the wall and his body.

“C’mon, don’t make me force it out of you. Tell me what you got.” His tone is stern, clearly done with your avoiding technique.

“Fine! Fine, but you can’t panic.” You say, but the one panicking is you as your eyes scan the hallway back and forth, again and again.

“I can be calm, only if you tell me what the fuck happened.” He definitely saw what happened with Elias.

“They’re siblings.” The beat of silence is louder than your thoughts. “The boy is Cecilia's brother.” Your final whisper draws the color out of Wonwoo’s face.

“You’re kidding me. You have to be fucking kidding me.” You’re lucky most people are still at the event downstairs, because if not, Wonwoo’s shouts would’ve never gone by unnoticed.

“You have to calm down.” You try to get closer to him, but he starts pacing around the hall, just like the other night in your room. “Let’s just get inside.”

“What did he say?” Wonwoo’s not listening to you. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He told me he was here filling in for his boss, and I asked if he knew anyone here.” He won’t calm down until the pieces start making sense in his mind, so you fill him in, in the lowest tone possible. “He said his sister always comes to these things, but that she keeps leaving before the night's over.” Every bit of information you utter just gets him madder. “And that she recently dyed her hair.”

“How did you not know this before?” He doesn’t doubt you, but the mission.

“I don’t know!” You’re more focused on hearing any minimal sound on your floor. If anyone finds the two of you in this state, you’re fucked. “There weren’t any papers that said she had other family. You saw everything I had.”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Wonwoo wonders out loud, but the both of you know it’s too specific for it to be a coincidence. You don’t answer him, your doubtful look being enough.

“You’re sure she has what I need.” A nod is all you give him. “And I can’t just get it from her and be done.” You know he’s thinking out loud to himself, but you still shake your head.

The USB has to be in Elias’ hands when Wonwoo’s time to steal it comes. They can’t know something’s missing before you get what you need.

“Fuck. Okay." With that, Wonwoo finally stops pacing around. “This is too messy, and if something’s wrong, I don’t want to be here when shit happens. Tomorrow, we do our jobs and we're out of here.”

Wonwoo stands still before you, waiting for something more than just a securing nod from you.

“Yeah. We’ll be extra careful.” Is all you can say.

His last words echo in your mind. ‘And we're out of here.’ After tonight, you probably won’t see him again. Ever. You’ve been living without him for months, learning what it’s like to wake up with his side of the bed cold. Some days, you still wake up thinking you’ll find him fast asleep on the couch, his dirty clothes scattered on the floor because he came home late and didn’t want to wake you up. You’ve been trying to live with that hurt, but at least, you knew he was still out there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The words blurt out of you without your brain’s consent, and Wonwoo stops in his tracks, barely a few steps away from you.

He turns around, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out why you’re still there. “If by ‘okay’ you mean that I’ll go back to my room and not be able to sleep, then yes, I’m okay.”

“I don’t want you to get unnecessarily worried.” As you keep talking, he slowly begins taking steps closer to you. “You just focus on what you have to do, I’ll deal with them.”

Wonwoo smirks. He smirks so cockily you regret it instantly. He stands in front of you, too close, but you can’t back away, not when he traps you against the wall again.

“Careful honey, you’re starting to sound like you’re worried about me.” You don’t know how he does it. How he turns a stressful situation into a moment to tease you in an instant.

“I’m just trying to help you. Don’t get your hopes up, Wonwoo.” You should be trying to get out of his trap, but you don’t.

The ping of the elevator echoes through the hall, alerting the both of you, but you stay put. His broad back covers you perfectly from every angle, and whoever will walk past you would simply mistake you for another pair of strangers in a steamy situation. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Pointy steps get closer to round the corner where you’re both obviously too close for it to be something else. Wonwoo pretends to whisper on the side of your face. Breathy nonsense as his lips graze your ear, one arm on your side caging you in even more. You don’t breathe, as if the air between your bodies just became toxic.

You’ve been in similar situations countless times, and it always ended the same. Your brain knows this is different, that it’s just a tactic to go unnoticed. But your body doesn’t. Your stomach tingles with something you know too well, the back of your neck filled with goosebumps following your tummy’s lead.

As the unknown person walks past you, quickening their pace as they realize what you two seem to be doing, you finally relax.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, get away from me.” His chest doesn’t budge at your push. “You’re so fucking annoying. Fine, I’ll stop worrying about your job.”

“Sure, you try that.” The corner of his mouth is still lifted. If only there was a way to wipe it off his face. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He walks away with his hands inside his pockets, and your body finally responds to the signals from your brain and opens the door.

Your fingers trace the edge of your ear where his lips touched, hearing his footsteps get further away, but not turning to look at him. That would mean he won.

You should’ve known something was wrong. The second you arrived at the location with Wonwoo, following his target into the abandoned building where yours kept the stolen art pieces, it should’ve been obvious.

The plan was simple. Park an unmarked truck just outside, grab the pieces while your subject’s sentinel’s terrorized Wonwoo’s target –the usual technique to make the clients scared they’re not receiving what they paid for, and then drive away as fast as you could to deliver them to your boss. A plan similar to tons of previous one’s you’ve done together.

Everything was carefully planned over the few weeks you spent surveilling the targets. Even if your trust on Wonwoo was faltering, you’d never let your worries come in the way of yours and his safety. He had to trust you’d know in which room of the thousands in the empty building they could’ve been keeping the stolen art, and you had to trust him to deal with any security you might encounter on the way.

When there wasn’t any sign of life on the blocks around the building, you should’ve known.

When it was too easy to get inside and climb the stairs to find the rooms, you should’ve known.

When the way down with the heavy paintings was too clear of any people, you should’ve known.

When Wonwoo closed the back of the truck and got in with no suspicions, you should’ve known.

The walk from the back of the truck to the passenger seat was so close, you didn’t think to look around in case anyone was there. Why would you? You hadn’t encountered anyone up until that point, and it was nearly over, there was almost no chance.

The metal blade pushing against your throat the second you began walking away from the truck was that 0,0001% chance.

“Back away now.” A low, unfamiliar voice ordered you. You couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream for help. You only had your other senses to rely on.

You walked back slowly, forcing the man to walk back with you, pressing your back against his torso. He felt strong, taller than you, the knife against the vein on your neck was recently sharpened. But if the job had taught you something, it was to never give up, even if the chances seemed slim. Your attacker may have taken you by surprise, he may have been bigger and more muscular than you, but in that moment, to his demise, your need to punch men was skyrocketing.

Elbowing him straight on the nose, his arms let go of you in shock, screaming in pain as he stumbled back. You didn’t have time to focus on the drops of blood you felt dripping down your neck.

His bald head stood out over his blood covered face and the suit he was wearing for some reason. Of course you remembered him. With the way you saw him every night when you tried to sleep, he was basically burned to the back of your eyes. You could recognize him from miles away. The man Wonwoo had talked to behind your back that night in the club.

In the second it took him to stop bitching about his nose and look up, you began stomping his way, your fist in the air ready to give him another bruise to remember you by.

The crack sound reached your ears before you felt the pain shooting up your arm. The guy’s head flew to the side at your punch, breaking at least one of your fingers in the process. A bearable pain compared to what the situation meant.

Your eyes fell on the knife laying on the ground just steps away from you at the same time as him. And he was faster. You felt the pain on the back of your left leg before you realized what was happening. He slashed your calf with the dirty blade, and was getting up to finish the job. But you were never a runner.

With quick reflexes, you successfully avoided the first few punches he threw your way, managing to tire him out to get in a few punches to his ribs. Somehow, the pain coming from your every limb was overshadowed by the anger you felt. In that moment, that man could have shot you, and you would’ve still found it in you to keep fighting. Because no one was coming to rescue you. That fact became more evident after the scream of pain you let out at your broken hand. In that moment, something you should’ve stood by your whole life sank in. You only had yourself.

A ringtone came from somewhere on the floor around where you were standing, and the bald man’s eyes widened in the search for it. He stood on guard, searching for the phone but ready if you wanted to throw another punch. But before you had time to look for it yourself and smash it on his shiny head, an engine starting caught your full attention.

From behind you, the truck where you knew for a fact Wonwoo was sitting in rumbled as the key tried to start it. There it was, the confirmation of everything you’d been trying to convince yourself it wasn’t possible. The sound of your heart breaking might’ve been even louder than the engine as the driver changed gears.

Your eyes connected with Wonwoo’s on the passenger seat, as your target drove them away at light speed. It was a millisecond, where his eyes took notice of your beaten-up state, the dirt building up on your face and dry drops of blood on your arms, not physically defeated, but disappointed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw your aggressor cowardly running away, his phone in one hand and his other hand holding the side of his torso you made sure would hurt for at least weeks. But you were petrified in place, unmoving as the truck disappeared into the horizon.

The man you always imagined fighting by your side, who you thought would have your back even on the toughest times and who allegedly saw a future with you, who now set you up for a trap, watching from the sidelines as you got injured fighting for your life, driving off with your alleged target.

And with them, the little hope you had left.

Your hand cramps over the door handle. It’s been wrapped around it for minutes, waiting for your brain’s signal to turn it to the side and step out of your room. But the nervousness building up inside your stomach is becoming more unbearable by the second, rendering you incapable of continuing with your day. It’s a new type of feeling, one you never thought you’d feel on the job. Nervous? About stealing some random piece of jewelry from a rich woman? If Wonwoo could see you, you’re sure he’d have his fair share of laughs.

Many things could go wrong. Details tend to scramble on the job, and getting creative with new ideas the second something happens is a key part of it. But the probability of a few mishaps happening never left you immobile like this before. The little chance, however small, that either your job or Wonwoo’s carries something deeper within rushes a cold wave through your veins.

No job ever is truly easy, of course there are bumps on the road for everything, but when the future of someone you care for depends on it, it holds a different kind of weight. There never was this much at stake, at least to your knowledge.

You weren’t supposed to get this involved. Even the details Wonwoo shared before you got essentially locked up in the fancy hotel seemed too much for you. And now, it’s a given that as soon as either of your targets realize their missing item, you’ll both be in trouble. The relationship between your targets made you hoard even more responsibility than before. You couldn’t make a single mistake without taking Wonwoo down with you.

It’s a noise on the hallway that takes you out of the trance, a door slamming shut that sounds too precise to be a coincidence, but once you finally leave your room, it’s impossible for it to have been anything more than that. The empty corridor sends chills down your spine, a slight bad feeling you’ve been fighting to get rid of all morning.

The way down the elevator becomes a movie theater to visualize the entire plan. Every room, every move, every possible alternative, every single detail runs laps around your brain as you try not to look stressed to the few people going down with you to the final event.

The automatic doors open, and the packed bottom floor welcomes you full of murmur and the fanciest gowns and suits you’ve seen yet. Stabilizing your breath, avoiding looking around the room too much, you walk out, weary of the people around you and going straight to an empty place to sit after grabbing your sign for the auction.

Sitting on a row at the back and right at the edge of the chair arrangement makes everything easier. You won’t bother anyone by standing up, drawing the minimum attention possible, and you can surveil from behind everyone, just in case.

As the lights dim on the crowd, and the presenter steps on the stage to begin his speech to introduce each piece getting auctioned tonight, the time to wait has come.

Cecilia sits close to the very first row, with her friend, whose name you learned is Sophie, sitting to her right as expected. The most difficult part will be getting close to Cecilia without her personal sidekick in the way. The only time you saw her alone all these past days, was when she flirted with different men.

Surely, she'll go to the restroom alone right? But what's the only way she could leave her purse unattended for you to quickly snatch, grab what you need, and return without her noticing. The answer, you've thought about all week. But you can’t move forward with anything until you get Wonwoo's text saying he's finished.

You haven’t laid eyes on him yet, which means he definitely saw you.

Both of you agreed that telling each other your plans to get the theft done was a bad idea. You have to take every precaution possible, and the less people know your plan, no one in this case, the better.

Piece by piece gets auctioned quickly, the staff wasting as little time as possible. Nothing really draws your attention, most of the works are contemporary art, which is not really your favorite, but Marissa on the other hand, she came here for one of the paintings.

It’s dark so the people can concentrate on the auction properly, but there’s enough light for you to recognize Elias standing up and leaving the dance-hall turned stage. Wherever he’s going, you’re sure Wonwoo’s trailing after him. When Cecilia stands up a minute later and goes after him, you’re certain their exchange is happening.

You wait patiently for Wonwoo’s text, seeing ugly painting after painting pass, but none of them are decent enough for you to spend money you don’t have on it. The numbers people shout for these art pieces is ridiculous, not because they aren’t pretty, art is subjective after all, but because these people are spending so much money on things that’ll just collect dust in their second mansion they only visit once a year. Rich people and their money.

Like a sign from the universe, Cecilia materializes at the giant door once again, returning to her seat just as your second phone vibrates inside your dress’ pocket.

Ryan: The flan has been eaten.

A cackle almost slips out of you before you get a hold of yourself.

You: Smooth? Ryan: Could’ve been better, maybe with a little more caramel.

You don’t understand what that’s code for, but at least he’s done. It’s your turn now, before any of them realize Elias doesn't have the USB in his possession anymore.

After winning the bid for the least bad looking painting there, you take your chance to sneak off, standing up and crouching as you walk over to the bar. It's the perfect cover: going to do all the paperwork and transfers after winning a bid. Given the odd chance that someone noticed you, it won’t be weird if you disappear for long.

“Hey! Can I ask you something?” You approach the bartender, the same one who’s been working all those previous nights.

“What can I help you with?” If your tactics worked, this part should be easy.

“Do you happen to know that woman’s usual drink order?” As discreetly as possible, you point to Cecilia. “I was talking with her earlier, and she said I could sit with her during the auction, but I don’t want to show up empty handed.”

The bartender giggles lightly, nodding at your request before turning back and making the drink. With her back blocking your line of sight, it’s impossible to see exactly what the cocktail is, but hopefully it’s not the most expensive one.

Applause erupts in the crowd behind you. Just like clockwork.

“Here’s the drink, mam.” She sets the pinkest cocktail you’ve ever seen in front of you. “It’d be $40.” She smiles so politely you manage not to choke on your spit at the ridiculous price. At this point, she could be scamming you and you wouldn't care.

After rummaging through your bag to find $50 and a tiny pill you threw in there, you hand the bill out to her with a smile and the empty feeling of your wallet. At least you’ll get a lot more money back after the job’s finished.

While the bartender’s focused on fetching your change, you drop the quickly dissolving pill on Cecilia’s drink. Just something for her stomach to be a little upset and trigger a trip to the restroom.

“You know what? Keep the change, sweetie.” The old people's nickname slips out of you, but you’re walking away before even registering her reaction.

With the overpriced, and probably way too sweet drink, in your hand, you approach a now standing Cecilia as she talks with a group of older women. A few feet away from them, you spot the man she hooked up the first night there.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies,” you sneak in between their bodies, getting a few weird looks, and lightly touch Cecilia’s arm to get her attention, “but that man over there told me to get you this drink.” You point to him after giggling, and leave the group right after she takes it.

Would what you did be considered rule breaking? It was absolutely necessary! In reality, no one’s going to remember you after tonight. They never think about strangers for over a few minutes, except probably to talk shit behind their back.

It's not long before your little secret starts taking effect, so you don’t waste any more time, head to the restroom and lock yourself inside the middle stall. One would think bathrooms at these kinds of things would be fancy, spacious and luscious, but out of the five stalls, the two closer to the entrance are “on repair”, there’s no toilet paper in any of them, and it smells like those toilets behind the locked doors haven’t been cleaned in weeks. Luckily, you don’t have to submit yourself to wait there much longer.

Minutes after you escape the crowded hall, the echo of a pair of stilettos rushing on the hallway towards the bathroom pierces through the tension you built up alone.

The door slams open, and the known body stumbles against one of the available stalls, falling limp on the ground as her purse falls next to her. It’s open all the way, ready to be raided by you.

As Cecilia starts puking nonstop, it’s easy to ignore the smell and sneak your hand under the tall opening under the stall wall. You’re in a time crunch, and another echo of someone, definitely Cecilia’s friend, sprinting to the bathroom pumps up the adrenaline as you look as fast as you can.

The heavy gold chain is easy to feel with your fingertips, sitting at the bottom of Cecilia’s bag. You don’t question why she threw such a significant necklace into her purse like that, not even nicely kept in a box, as she also did that with the USB she traded with Elias. At least she made the job easier.

As stealthily as possible, you retrieve the emerald gem along with the chain. No wonder the necklace is being so obsessively looked for. Apart from the price the clients are willing to pay for it, its beauty could create rows of people lining up just to catch a glimpse of it, the green stone matches perfectly with the gold.

You shove your hand away from inside the bag and hide as best as possible in your stall, just as Sophie runs inside the toilet to help her friend. But they can’t know someone else is there with them, because they’ll instantly know when you took the necklace once they find out.

Stepping on top of the toilet seat, trying to make no noise even if they probably won’t be able to concentrate on anything other than Cecilia, you breathe shallowly, waiting for them to leave once and for all.

If it wasn’t for the little time you gave her to put food in her stomach, you’d be standing there, over a dirty toilet, for at least an hour, but Cecilia’s a woman that doesn’t want to miss out on any party. It takes her less than two minutes to recover and clean herself up looking in the mirror over the sink, and they’re both out of the restroom in a flash, as if they were never there.

After waiting until you hear no noise in the hallway, you know you have to get away from there before anyone catches up to the plan and realizes where exactly the necklace was taken. There’s a little more time to get away from the hotel, after you and Wonwoo get your things.

Wonwoo.

Should you update him? Tell him everything went okay?

He is technically done. He got what he needed and let you know, there was nothing more he had to do. And Wonwoo never liked staying on the job more time than necessary, so he probably left already.

Since the elevator’s too risky, climbing six floors up the stairs is your best option. A little exercise never killed anyone.

It’s a hard task, but you manage and finally reach the floor in which your room’s patiently waiting to be packed away. Your lungs struggle to let air inside, and as you enter your hallway, the figure standing against your door takes the little air you managed to inhale all the way out again.

Wonwoo’s resting his back against the door to your room, with his phone in his hand, probably playing a stupid game. A storm of different thoughts rain over your head, unsure on how to feel at the sight of him. Annoyance? Relief? Sadness?

“What are you still doing here? I thought you would’ve left by now.” Your voice snaps his head your way, and he quickly slips the phone into his pocket to give you his full attention.

“I wanted to wait until you were done.” He hesitates to raise his voice, but interrupts you before you reply. “Just in case.”

You walk almost robotically as you get closer to him, not knowing what to do, how to act. Is he here to say his final goodbye? Do you even want him to?

“Well, It went well.”A sigh of relief leaves his lips, and as he looks down, ready to leave you alone like you asked so many times, it dawns on you. “You can tell your uncle that you're done. And to go fuck himself.”

Your joke relaxes the both of you, laughing lightly at your stupid, but very real, declaration full of resentment. Wonwoo knows you mean it. You never hid your dislike for his family, like they never hid their hatred towards you.

“Believe me, I have much more to say than that.”

The tension in Wonwoo’s face visibly goes away as you both laugh again, a little louder this time. Neither of you aims to get away from the other, atmosphere unexpectedly comfortable.

When he locks eyes with you, smiles still there but fading as the moment passes and a new one emerges, you don’t avert your gaze. When he takes a step in your direction, you don’t back away. And when he cups the side of your face and lowers his until your lips touch, you let him.

The familiar feeling of his lips against yours envelops you all around. For a second, blood runs warmer through your veins, the weight on your shoulders flies away, and you’re somewhere where nothing else matters other than him and you.

But before his hands creep up your body and compel you to make a bad decision, you pull back.

Your top lip’s still tingling when Wonwoo apologizes. “I shouldn't have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you?” It doesn’t come out as irritated as you thought you wanted it to. Your lowered guard must be playing games with your mind.

“I… just wanted to. For one last time.” His quiet voice and shoulders hanging low contrast with his eyes, looking at you like he doesn't regret it one bit.

“W-well, you can't do that.” No matter how nice he’s able to make you feel, what he did is unforgettable. Even if it’s your body’s instinct to react to his touch. “I didn’t forgive you.”

Wonwoo stays silent, his stare leaving your eyes and concentrating on the floor below. Your remainder drew the line between you two again, the one that shouldn’t have gotten blurred in the first place.

As your hand wraps around the door handle slowly, hesitant like so many hours before, the air behind you tenses, and Wonwoo speaks up before you even have the chance of leaving him there.

“I didn’t want to do it.”

His tone full of regret makes you stop in your tracks. He’s not talking about the kiss, but rather that damned day, But you’re tired of hearing those words.

“You told me that. Several times.” How can he think that’ll fix the damage? “But it doesn’t change anything. You still did it.” Anger bleeds through your cold tone, reliving the thousands of times you had the same conversation.

“If you knew why I had to do it, you’d get it.” He sighs with his reply, but his frustration makes no sense to you. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” In the past, the only times you were mad enough to demand an explanation, he always avoided telling you why. Why he tricked you and left you to fight alone. “Nothing’s gonna change if you leave me out of the loop.”

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to figure out what to say. Can’t he just tell you the truth? After tonight, you’ll never see him again. He’ll leave for good to find a better life. He’ll leave you behind, alone with that uncertainty forever haunting you. From your point of view, it’s the best time to enlighten you about that night.

“It was to protect you.” His hesitation makes it hard to believe him.

“I didn’t feel very protected.” You don't know why you're still hearing him out. You should be on your way home, memories of him wiped clean and money getting sent to your account.

“I can't just-”

“You can't what? You made a deal behind my back and betrayed me!” Admittedly, you're getting angrier than you should. You should've risen above it by now, but he's making it too hard.

“Can we get inside to talk?” Wonwoo's wide eyes scan the hallway carefully, like he's just becoming aware that you're still in public.

Do you need an explanation that badly that you're willing to be inside an enclosed room with him again? Your uncontrollable feelings haven't been trustworthy lately, but if you want closure, it may be the only way.

With a sigh and the wall around your heart falling apart, you walk into your room with Wonwoo following behind you.

“Talk.” The dry atmosphere is suffocating, a need for everything to be over growing with every second Wonwoo stays silent. “And fast, because I don't have much patience left with you.”

“I don’t blame you for hating me.” He starts, and any thought you had vanishes into thin air. “I even hate myself for it, but I don’t regret it.”

“How can you say that?” Hearing those words come out of his mouth shouldn’t feel like a punch in the gut, and you hate it. You shouldn’t have allowed him in. “Whoa, just, why don’t you just leave? I gotta pack and leave this godforsaken place.”

Wonwoo grabs your arm and prevents you from turning your back on him.

“They knew you were after Albert.” Albert, the stolen paintings man you were following at the time.

You freeze in place, but you’re unable to react while the words float around your head trying to make sense.

“That’s impossible.” You don’t sound nearly as dismissive as you should.

“They knew someone was going to steal from him, it was a set up for whoever it was.” There’s nothing in Wonwoo’s revelation that points to it being a lie, and it throws off everything you believed about that day. “They were going to torture the truth out of you. Find out who you work for.”

“But how?” You’re always careful, always follow the rules, always make sure to blend in the background. Never, in all the years you’ve been doing this, were you discovered. If they knew, someone must’ve snitched on your boss’ client.

“I don’t know, but the boss forced me to make a deal with him and pretend to help him out.” By the way Wonwoo pronounces ‘boss’, you know his uncle pulled the family card.

He lets you think in silence, waiting for whatever you choose to do with the new information.

On one hand, you don’t doubt he’s telling the truth about the deal. On the other hand, you can’t think of the reasoning behind why Wonwoo refused to tell you this the thousands of times he had the chance to. Or why he didn’t talk to you at the time to plan something together.

“Did he tell you not to help me?” How could his family only come up with a plan where you were the one who ended up with the short end of the stick? They made you believe it was your fault, didn’t call you for months after your recovery. It doesn’t make any sense.

“He said it could risk our entire family.” Ouch.

It’s no surprise that his family doesn’t consider you part of them. They never did. And you didn’t expect them to. But hearing the sentiment come out of Wonwoo’s mouth stings.

“I fought them until the last day.” Wonwoo continues, sensing that you need more details about his stance. “They made sure I had no other choice.”

You know what that means. Of course they threatened him. It was always blood over anything else until he refused to fulfill their whims, then, it stopped mattering that Wonwoo was blood too. You’ve seen it happen first hand, just not with you on the receiving end.

“I hate your fucking family.” You settle on saying. Nothing he’s never heard before, but something to imply you understand him, in a way. After all, regardless of the time you spent apart, you were by his side through most of the horrible things he had to do for them.

Wonwoo exhales deeply, a barely there smile at your acknowledgement.

“I’m glad you can finally get out.” You continue, letting your care for him show through your words.

“Me too.” His body relaxes, suddenly much closer to you than before. “I’m gonna miss you.”

The warmth radiating from him envelops you, so familiar and intimate, and your body instantly lightens despite the rush you’re both supposed to be in. And as he tilts his head down to look into your eyes, gaze soft after his seemingly small but heartfelt confession, you can’t avoid the ache in your heart anymore.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” You realize out loud, the hurt in your voice opening a cascade of repressed feelings, clouding your eyes with tears.

When Wonwoo’s arms wrap around you at the sight of your crumbling form, you don’t stop him as he holds you close to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat against your ear, overpowering the sudden change of air in your room, you decide to let go. You don’t cry, but instead let yourself be comforted by him, by his steady breath and strong arms tight around you.

You’ve been surviving without him, trying to mend the hole in your heart and with no way to get closure, with your memories of him stained by the sight of his face watching you from the truck as it drove away. But surviving isn’t living.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo’s words reverberate down his chest. “For everything.”

Even if both of you know an apology won’t fix the rift he caused in your relationship, you let yourself live in that moment. Not survive, but live the moment with him in your arms.

His chest rising and falling against your ear fades everything around you, leaving only you and him alone in the world. Maybe you're waiting for him to let go, or maybe you know he's waiting for you and you refuse to say goodbye, but neither of you dare to let go of the other, enjoying the comfort you once knew so well. How many times have you woken up in a cold sweat, wishing he was laying behind you on the bed, ready to hug you back to sleep, and now you have it.

As if he could hear your doubt, Wonwoo lets go of his grip, setting you free from his tight embrace, but you stay there, standing in front of him without any other thought. The poor lighting from the bedside lamp you always forget to turn off does no justice to Wonwoo’s features as he looks at you up and down.

It's unclear who crosses the line into the other's personal space first. And this time, when his plush lips mold against yours, you don’t control yourself, you don’t put a stop to his movements.

The ghost of his touch you’ve been failing to escape from, back with more passion, glueing you together.

Naturally as ever, Wonwoo wraps his arms around you once again, now to help you on your tiptoes to be even closer. A sigh escapes you as your chests press against one another, and your hands cup his jaw to kiss him harder.

His tongue traces the outline of your lower lip, and the months you spent deprived of him open the way for you to give into him. You let his tongue roll over yours as he deepens the kiss the way it has you melting against him. A whimper draws out of you, and his hunger for you physically arises.

You don’t waste any time, sneaking your hands under the fancy clothes that fit him too well, feeling the tense of his muscles directly. With the pad of his fingers, he starts slipping down the string of your dress down your shoulders, leaving a fiery trail under his touch.

Between the mess of clothes flying away and the tangled limbs looking to feel the other’s bare skin, the world outside the four walls surrounding you stops mattering as you stumble back and fall on the bed. Wonwoo’s hips fit where your legs meet, seeking for your touch everywhere he can.

The weight of his bare chest on yours causes a chain reaction inside you. He's always had a toned body to drool for, but being under him again, feeling all the new muscle he gained while away from you, it’s not long before he has you softly moaning into his mouth, grinding his hips against yours with something more than just lust.

“Are we really doing this?” He gasps, detaching his mouth from you to look at your reaction.

You shouldn’t. It's wrong from every angle possible. Crying on your ex's shoulder and then making out with him? That was the first strike. Having sex with your ex? Wrong again. Having sex when you should be escaping after stealing two valuable and expensive pieces of jewelry and information? So, very wrong. But doing something right has rarely been a part of your life.

You could get sentimental, say that right in that moment, every molecule in your body was screaming asking for him to make you his. But what ultimately comes out of you is, “don’t talk, or I’ll regret it.”

Wonwoo doesn't seem fazed by your retaliation and just nods, making you chase his mouth as he starts leaving kisses up your jaw. His warm breath against your neck mixed with his barely clothed groin stroking your core slowly has you swallowing hard, waiting for his next move. Why hasn't he taken off his underwear yet?

“You never complained about my talking before.” His voice, ten times lower than before, takes your ear by surprise.

“We're in a rush, Wonwoo.” His name comes out half a moan as his hands travel down to where your centers meet.

Your reactions widen the smirk you're just now realizing is plastered on his face, lowering his head down while his eyes tease yours from above your stomach.

“This one's new.” He notes, hooking his fingers on the strings of your panties as he starts slipping them off you, leaving you now completely bare and at his mercy.

“Had people to impress.” You lie, hoping to rile him up enough that he stops teasing you.

Before you have the chance to react, the tear of the fabric reaches your ears. He ripped them off. “Now no one else will ever see them.”

“Fuck!” Getting more turned on by his jealousy just escalated to the top of the list of things that shouldn’t be happening.

The big bed in the center of your room has more than enough space for you both, but Wonwoo shows off his strength by dragging you to the edge, sinking to his knees on the soft carpet on the floor to face your center properly.

With his hands groping their way up your thighs, his eyes savoring the view of your wet core, and your speeding heartbeat with anticipation, you're instantly under his spell, gasping at every touch he decides to give.

Playing with you has always been a favorite of his. Quickie or not, he always found the time to have you whimpering and begging for him.

Feeling his fingers softly tracing your lower lips, spreading the arousal he caused all around your most sensitive zone, not holding back on touching you where you most need him, but not applying enough pressure. He’s driving you crazy.

“You're so wet baby.” He's so entranced you realize he's not looking for an answer. “And it's all for me.”

In one of his endless rounds on your too needy core, you stop his fingers right at the center. You claw at his hands, and his hazy stare, mesmerized by his work with your wetness, finds its way to yours, eyes dark with lust, urging him to do something once and for all.

“I’m enjoying my time down here.” His eyes get lost again, but the teasing smirk growing on his face tells you everything.

“We don’t have time,” but oh how you wish you did, “Wonwoo, don’t p–”

Your inner walls spread apart as he plunges two fingers into you, successfully shutting you up. Your insides welcome him, wrapping around his familiar digits seeking for more, sucking him further inside until his knuckles get covered in the wetness messily spread in your lips.

Wonwoo knows when to curl his fingers to make you scream. When to twist, turn and retract his hand to have you whimpering for more. And your body gives him every reaction he needs to fuel his ego.

“See how needy you are for me?” He groans as he rises from the ground, towering over you, not forgetting to thrust his hand into you so deliberately hard you can’t even mumble a response. “No one could make you feel this good.”

“N-no,” his eyes darken at your broken response, “you’re the only one.”

And it’s true. No matter how many times you tried, no one ever touched you like Wonwoo did. No one cared about finding and stroking each spot you loved and focused on your pleasure. Hell, not even you understand how Wonwoo so easily finds his way inside you.

“I can’t believe I spent so much time away from you.” You rake your nails down his back, lowering his torso down until he’s pressed against you again, his fingers hitting hard inside you as he moans in your ear, loving how your walls tighten around him. “I’m gonna make you mine again.”

“I already am.” You’re saying everything that comes to mind, your filter long gone by now. “Wonwoo, I’m cl-”

The sentence gets cut short, a desperate moan echoing across the room as Wonwoo gets his other hand to work, playing with your clit as your walls quiver against his menacing fingers.

“Relax, baby.” His length pokes against your inner thigh, rock hard and ready for you to play with, but your brain can’t take another order. “I know.”

Everything combines and combusts at the flick of his finger against your clit. And he doesn’t stop. His hands thrusts hard inside you, your trembling legs and spasming walls losing control as he extends your orgasm to his liking.

“Fuck, baby.” He stops moving his hand, letting you ride out your orgasm as he marvels at the sight. You shouldn’t blush at his words, especially when he can feel your walls clamp and know the effect he has on you. “I didn’t know you missed me that much.”

You don’t give any of you time to figure out anything, sneaking your hand between your bodies and getting hold of his hard length trying to peek out of his boxers. Wonwoo graces you with a sweet groan, hips twitching against your hand, showing you how much he needs you too.

When he slides his hands off your warmth, you don’t waste any time and rush to get his damn underwear off. After thinking you’ll never get to have him again, you can’t wait to, for one last time.

He catches on to your eagerness, taking both your thighs in his hands to drag you even closer to the edge of the bed, spreading them apart so your entrance’s finally close to his erection. The shock at the remainder of his size is almost embarrassing, proudly standing against his abs. You’re staring in awe, and Wonwoo loves it.

He stands proudly before you, letting you eye him up and down, all while allowing his eyes to wander on your body too. “Good to know you still like what you see.”

“Shut up.” You chuckle as you wiggle down the last centimeter to line up with his length, your desire for him stronger than your need to preserve your ego.

It’s dirty, the way Wonwoo drags his fingers through your lips to collect your arousal before pumping himself. You know he notices the new wave of arousal at his touch, but he doesn’t tease.

As he leans down, his tip entering you slowly, neither of you care about the long groans you let out. He looks for your eyes as he caresses the side of your face, holding his body weight with his other shoulder planted by your side.

Your walls welcome him in as he splits you in half slowly, letting you feel every vein dragging along your walls. He bottoms out almost softly, grazing your deepest parts before snapping his hips back.

But he doesn't let the feeling of emptiness take over you, starting a pace of slow grinds and quickly sliding out that has your eyes rolling back, your nails digging in the flesh of his shoulders.

You want to squeeze your eyes shut, let the feeling of him filling you up take over you, but you can’t take your eyes off him. With his face so close, soft features analysing yours contrasting with the way your hips snap together, you’re compelled to watch only him.

Every thrust pushes him deeper and deeper, as if he was trying to mark you as his forever. Your legs barely wrap around his waist, going limp as you feel your orgasm approaching fast, quivering with every snap of his hips.

“Fuck, baby, you're trapping me.” You can feel how his pounding grows stronger with every passing second, your walls clamping hard around his giving him a hard task.

Still sensitive from his fingers, your body feels on fire. Wonwoo’s hands roam freely anywhere they want, fondling your tits and pinching your nipples until you scream, or holding your hips tight when he hits that spot inside you that has you shaking. Every touch of his feels raw on your skin, as if even the barest scratch of his nails can have you seeing stars.

“You were made for me.” Somehow, you manage to register his mumble as his hands travel down your body, holding onto your thighs for dear life as he accelerates his pace.

Marking your thighs with the shape of his hands has always been a favorite of his, and you don’t care that you’ll feel his grasp on you for the next few days.

The bed squeaks under you, the force of Wonwoo’s thrusts and your body bouncing on top of it making it shift, but the downstairs guests are not a priority for either of you.

Wonwoo’s hand lets go of one of your legs, falling limp to the side, as he begins circling his digits around your swollen clit. Your throat itches as you scream at his touch, shock and pleasure merging into one and dismantling any wish you had to be quiet, if there even was one.

Without warning, electricity flows from his body to yours, your second orgasm shattering in a million moans and curses Wonwoo fucks you through. Every limb on your body trembles as his pistoning girth stutters its pace inside you at your tightening walls.

His pulsing cock alerts you of his nearing orgasm, but he regains composure after you lost control, thrusting inside you with force again and chasing his own high as you quiver around him.

You’re drunk on him. His touch, his scent, his sounds are all you care about. Everywhere, everything is him. His cock reaches so deep inside you even your breathing’s being choked up with each pound.

Wonwoo holds himself up caging you in between his arms, his body failing as ropes of white coat your walls. The sweet chant of his groans so close to your ears does nothing to calm you down, your insides squeezing every last drop of his cum.

But even if he's done himself, he's not done with you.

After he slides out of you, with so much care you wouldn't think he was just splitting you in half a minute ago, you use all your remaining strength to keep your legs open for him. You know he loves to see his seed seeping out of you, like a work of art finally finished.

You stay there, his mesmerized eyes on your dripping core while you regulate your breathing to normal.

“Wonwoo…” Your half moan manages to draw his attention, and the look you give him is enough for him to stand up and fetch something to clean you up.

He's always been so gentle with you, cleaning up his mess and wrapping his arms around you after.

“I'm never going to forget you.” He whispers to your ear, with your back pressed against his heaving chest. Your naked bodies stick to each other like magnets, incapable of coming apart.

You know you should get up and leave the hotel as soon as possible, but leaving means also letting go of him. His arms cage you in between them as if he didn't want to leave either.

“Let's stay here a minute.” You mumble, half asleep as his warmth envelops you once again.

His family didn’t approve of his relationship with you. They never did. But Wonwoo didn't care about their opinions. Hell, he didn't even care about the “family business” everyone was so passionate about.

Wonwoo fought his entire adolescence to be left out of that life, for his uncle to let him live his life away from the constant danger. A highschool kid had no business joining armed robberies or stalking people to collect data. But he had no other place to go, and they provided food and shelter but made sure to let him know it wasn’t for free, even for family.

“Blood over anything else.” They'd say when he refused to join in on a job when they were “training” him. He couldn't argue with anyone, so he started looking for their approval. Maybe that way, they'd let him have more freedom.

When he met you, the new ninja one of his aunts managed to recruit, he was instantly under your spell. You helped him find his own ways to do the jobs, allowed him to set his own rules. And that just made him grow colder and colder with his family, until all he cared about was you. You helped him find the little freedom the job allowed to exist. The one his family tried so hard to bury.

When Wonwoo saw his uncle’s name on the caller ID the night he knew you were staking out your next target, a chill ran down his spine. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“If they don’t know who it is, then I can help her! Why would I take that man’s side? Just let me tell her!” He screamed to the phone, but the man on the other side wasn’t listening.

The plan was already sealed, and they just needed a pawn to carry it out. And who was more perfect than Wonwoo? Making him pay because of his resentment to his family, making you hate him so you'd leave him alone for once. It was all they always wanted.

Excuse after excuse was thrown his way. Reason after reason why the plan was the way it was and why he had to be the one to do it. Something about the importance of family, or whatever they said.

But he didn't care that those men were trying to find out his uncle's identity, it didn't even matter if they found out about his own identity. What finally made him care was you. If he didn't obey, you'd fall into the trap, and you'd be dead. Because of his family. Because of him.

So, he agreed. Knowing he'd never be able to tell you the truth. Knowing you'd hate him for the rest of his life. But at least, he could protect you.

That's why, that first night, he showed up at the empty bar with a distraction, so no one would realize you were the one stalking the underground art dealer.

That's why he made sure you'd fit right in at the fancy bar, contrasting with his dirty out of place clothes. He had to make the deal that night, but you couldn't look like you were together. He had to make sure you looked like a girl he swooned right there, another drunk person who happened to be there on the wrong night.

On your last date night, Wonwoo knew something was off. He realized you caught on to something. Because of yourself you did. Wonwoo couldn't lie to your face even if millions of dollars were promised to him.

But what could've he done? The deal was up and running, there was no backing down. He had to go on with it with the excuse that it was to save you.

And he did save you. From death at least.

Wonwoo's heart broke that day, in the passenger seat of that filthy truck, with your target rambling on about his deals and his gratefulness to him, all while his right hand tried to kick your ass. Stupid men didn't know everything was part of a plan.

The sight of your eyes as you watched him drive away got burned in the back of his eyelids like a curse. Forever haunting him.

With his family off his back, he tried reaching out to you. He found you again and again, and begged for your forgiveness like a stray dog, but you wouldn't hear him. And after weeks of trying, he really understood.

You were done with him. The one that showed him hope left. Because of him.

Your body jolts awake, hazy mind as your surroundings harshly begin to make sense. You have no idea when you fell asleep, or how much time passed since, but you can’t concentrate on finding out with all the noise.

So much noise.

Your ringtone. Your second phone’s ringtone. Wonwoo’s ringtone. The hotel’s phone. Everything’s ringing at the same time.

Wonwoo’s body shifts next to yours, stirring in the bed until his arm wraps around your bare waist, holding you closer to him like it’s his second nature. It takes a second longer for your body to react to everything going on.

“Wonwoo, something’s happening. Answer your phone.” You grab his hands closed tight around you in an intent to shake both your bodies and wake him up. A low hum is what you get as an answer.

It pains you to drag yourself out of the warm bed, away from Wonwoo’s firm grip you so longed for. But it’s impossible to enjoy the recent developments if the incessant buzzing next to your ear doesn’t stop.

Not much time could’ve passed since you two fell asleep, as the dark night sky is still in its full glory. It wasn’t the best decision to let each other’s warmths drift you to sleep right after you’ve finished a job.

As soon as you locate your phone and click the screen to accept the call, one of your boss’ bodyguards yells in your ear.

“You have to get out of there! Now!” The next mumbles that come out of his mouth, you barely register as your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, his phone in his hand, probably hearing an identical order.

Every call disconnects after both of you tell your respective caller that you’re on your way. The messy room and your naked bodies tell otherwise.

For a second, you’re both frozen in place, listening closely for any suspicious sounds alerting you of any incoming danger. The silence is relieving for a second before you’re rushing to find your not fancy clothes scattered around the room.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, takes his time putting on every single clothing item.

By the time you’ve got dressed and grabbed your essentials so you can fly out of there, he’s barely put on his fancy pants he wore for the event and is buttoning up his shirt one by one.

“What are you waiting for? You have to go!” You can't comprehend why he's wasting the little time he has to finally escape and live his life as he always wanted, to… stare at you?

“Come with me.” He finally opens his mouth, hands dropping to his sides as he rounds the bed to stand in front of you.

“What?” Your question comes out as an incredulous chuckle.

“Run away with me! I'm being serious.” He takes your hands between his, like a promise, and leaves you speechless.

“I– Wh– You're crazy, Wonwoo, I can't.” You force yourself to take a step away from him, the only way you can think clearly.

“This is our chance! Don't you see it?” He screams in your face, smiling like a mad man.

“We got caught and you think that your family, who already hates me enough, is going to let me go?” You reason, but Wonwoo's now more focused on pacing around the room to try to make sense of everything.

“Exactly.” He clearly stopped listening to you at some point. “We got caught, which means my deal’s off. And I'm not going back.”

“If you still have the USB, wouldn’t he consider it?” As soon as you end your question, you know it’s pointless. Your boss is not exactly known for having mercy.

Wonwoo simply stares at you, eyes slightly closed and head tilted, another sign that it doesn’t work like that.

“Okay, I get it, don’t look at me like that.” You avoid his teasing eyes, trying to focus on grabbing your most important things and escape for once. “You’re still crazy.”

“Come with me,” stands in front of you and holds the sides of your face between his hands, “we’ll be out of the country before they can find us.”

The warmness in his gaze melts you right along with it. But what he’s asking is a much more meaningful commitment than just leaving the hotel with him. It’s a petition about how you’ll spend the rest of your life.

Maybe a fleeting life, never settling in a place before having to escape again, wouldn’t be so bad, if it’s with him. It was his family that got in between you two, and with them out of the equation, he’s still him, and you’re still you.

“Okay.” Your faces are so close he even hears your whisper.

A big smile grows on his face, beating the confusion as it drifts away, realizing that you just agreed with him. “Really?”

“Yes! I’ll go with you.” Wonwoo takes the chance to kiss you again, but as much as you don’t want him to let go, there’s a more pressing issue. “But we need to go right now.”

In the second it takes you to open your eyes after he disconnects your lips, you find him nodding as he collects the few things he still had scattered on the floor. Taking a look around, you realize there’s not enough time to clean up and pretend you were never there. You could grab your computer and phone, leaving no trace of the investigation you did on your target, but to whoever you’re running from, anything you leave behind will serve as clues.

“Do you have a lighter?” Wonwoo asks as he walks to the door, as if he read your mind.

“Yes… are you saying what I think you are?” It’s something you’ve done before. And the best way to get rid of unwanted evidence.

“Give me a few minutes to grab my stuff from my room, then we’ll light them both on fire.” He probably thought of that plan as soon as he answered the call. “Let’s meet downstairs.”

“Be careful, please.” If you blow your room up in flames before he’s out of his, he’ll be in trouble. “And quick.”

“I love it when you worry about me." The door’s barely open behind him, but there’s a lot more noise than when you two woke up. “Whatever happens, you just escape. I’ll find you.”

With that, Wonwoo runs out of the room, heading for the stairs at light speed. Your lips dry out as the seconds pass, fearing what could happen during the next few minutes, but you can’t be dramatic, there’s no time.

Behind you, the mess of your room awaits to be turned to ash. The bottles of alcohol inside the mini fridge you never touched call your name, ready to be burst against the carpeted floor and enlightened. But before doing anything, you need to decide what you can live without.

Your bags full of clothes are meaningless. Besides a black sweatshirt you quickly throw over your shoulders to cover yourself downstairs, no piece of fabric is worth risking your life. Changing into more comfortable clothes is out of the question, as you’ll draw more attention by not looking like everyone else at the event.

Outside the door, the beginning of a commotion makes itself known. It’s not on your floor, yet, but in any second it will be. Wonwoo comes to mind, a floor below you, closer to the sound of at least 10 men ready to hunt you down. The best thing you can do for him is create a distraction.

The one thing you realistically need is your primary phone, so you secure it in a small bag along with the emerald necklace. Any other device would just slow you down.

The fridge’s full of different types of alcohol, so you pop open every bottle there is and dump the liquid on the carpet, the bed, the curtains, and especially on the computer you’re forced to leave behind. It reeks so much of booze you feel dizzy until your nostrils get used to the smell.

As you stumble back and slam your door open for the last time, the faint screams of people downstairs alerts you that your warning was much more deep than your brain decided to understand.

Are you getting out of there because you wasted time sleeping with Wonwoo instead of escaping and your targets found out they were robbed? If that was the case, then you must’ve done a terrible job at hiding yourself from them. But that’s nearly impossible. Too many coincidences you have no time to think of.

You find the small lighter in your bag and flick the switch to see the orange flame erupt before your eyes. Good, it works, you’re not dead yet.

Throwing the ignitor across the room and down to the wet floor is easy. Running away from it with the heat coming right behind you isn't. The room explodes in flames just when you reach the stairs, suspiciously empty taking in account the mess you can hear from downstairs.

Step after step down, the floor below yours is too clear of smoke for your liking. Did Wonwoo not get the chance to do it? You don’t worry about that for long, but the answer might be worse.

Whines of pain echo through the hallway as you take the last steps down to Wonwoo’s floor. At least four different voices reach your ears hiding behind the wall. It’s like a vintage radio show, punch sounds repeatedly get through over the fire alarm and the screaming on the floors below. You could merge with all the people running away, pass as another scared guest, clueless as to what was happening.

Only your heart can’t allow you to leave without seeing what was happening to Wonwoo. His groans of pain are nowhere near as many as the other guys attacking him, but it’s a matter of time before they overwhelm him.

A peek over the wall confirms all you’ve been listening to. Wonwoo’s room door was left open, but there’s no fire coming out of it. One guy’s already on the floor, unconscious against the wall with blood coming out of his lower lip. The other two have your backs facing you, taking turns attacking Wonwoo, but miserably failing.

You can’t take your eyes off the fight, one guy trying to recover from Wonwoo’s punches while the other swings and fails to land his fist on Wonwoo’s ribs. Like a scene out of a movie, he beats the two men until they’re laying on the floor, screaming in pain, incapable of getting up. But it is never as easy as it seems.

A new wave of three men make their way from the other hallway, tasked to finish what the first guys started. Wonwoo, not taken by surprise, with his bruised knuckles and bleeding eyebrow, is already ready for another fight.

When the new men realize the lifeless state of their fellow hired butchers, they stomp towards Wonwoo, who’s throwing the lighter into his room.

While one of them runs to check on the body closer to your hide spot, the other two begin throwing punches at Wonwoo, these ones managing to hit him more times, but not without receiving more in retaliation. Thud punches and broken bones are all you can hear, but you’ve hidden again, in case the man closer to you realizes Wownwoo had company all this time.

It’s the explosion that startles you out of the staircase.

The grey smoke covers the farthest part of the hallway, covering the two hitmen he was fighting, both injured on the floor, holding onto different parts of their bodies either the explosion or Wonwoo broke.

Your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, and he manages to tilt his chin forward, the only way he can plead for you to escape, just before the last man stands up and faces him. Everything happens too fast.

You’re about to turn around and keep going down the stairs just like Wonwoo told you to do when you hear it. A gunshot.

Then, a second freezes in time. Your head turns just when the body falls dead on the ground, revealing Wonwoo just behind him with a splatter of blood staining his face, and the gun in his hand still pointed ahead, blowing smoke. Your eyes connect again, a realization of what he did and you witnessed.

But time's not frozen, and one of the guys that was hiding behind the grey smoke follows Wonwoo's stare and sprints your way, just at the same time as the other one appears behind Wonwoo and wraps his arm around his neck.

You’re trained for this, to be thinking on your feet in case something unforeseen happens. The red fire extinguisher stands out on the side of the stairs you just went down from. Pretending to run up to escape from the man running your way, you snatch the extinguisher out of its place and blow the white smoke right in his face, disorienting him enough to swing the heavy metal right onto his hairless skull.

Before any more men appear out of nowhere, you jump over the railing and run downstairs, hoping Wonwoo’s strong enough to pull through the deadly mix of smoke.

Pushing through the big crowd formed on the bottom floor, you feel more in danger surrounded by all the guests and their judging eyes waiting to figure out if you're the one causing the mess to rat you out. Even if everyone is panicking, talking to each other trying to find out what happened and no one’s really looking at you. In all the chaos, no one looks at other people's dirty and messy clothes to analyze if they fit in.

Almost five whole minutes pass until the entrance door appears in your sight, surrounded by news anchors and their big cameras shooting to catch everything they can. Everyone closer to the door is either more preoccupied with being on live TV, or ready to run off the event and to a safe place.

Trying your best to avoid the cameras, hiding your face behind the hood of your sweatshirt and using men’s big bodies to cover the rest of you, the hotel front door gets closer and closer with each step. From the corner of your eye, a few feet to your right, you recognize at least four men that work for Wonwoo’s family, looking around trying to recognize faces in the crowd, so you run off in the opposite direction.

A black fence you didn’t perceive that first night at the hotel obstructs your view of the street, but a glimpse of a black hoodie similar to yours catches your attention running around the corner. You can’t hesitate, with the cameras going around and the surveillance team looking for you, escaping right that second is the only option.

You follow the figure without another thought, walking as fast as you can but trying not to get noticed, and see him getting inside a car you’ve never seen before and start the engine. From where you’re hiding, you can’t be seen from inside the car. But the car never drives off, like it’s waiting for someone.

“I thought you’d never come.” Wonwoo says as you pull the handle to open the passenger door.

With the engine running, Wonwoo changes the manual gear and drives the car away from the poorly lighted alleyway.

“They were coming after me too, I had no other choice.” Your smile reveals your little lie, and he returns it as he interlocks your fingers together. “How did you know I was going to see you?”

From a distance, you can hear the fire siren arriving at the hotel, but you’re far enough that worrying about it is useless. All the mess, the robbery, the people chasing after you, it’s all gone. Already blocks away, the city lights and clear streets are like a breath of fresh air, the first minute of your new beginning with him. You’re both free. Finally.

“I told you I’d find you.”

note: i can't believe this is finally done!! thank you so so so much for reading, and to all the people who've been waiting since i posted the teaser months aho, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

don't be shy and leave your thoughts! come yap in my inbox!

#wonwoo au #keopihausnet #kvanity #svthub #seventeen au #wonwoo angst #wonwoo smut #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #svt au #svt angst #svt smut #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #wonwoo imagine #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #ema.library

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 4 months ago

Note

Speaking of how the heroes are chosen, the temp system might be one of the worst writing choices the writers ever made. I mean I get it, permanent heroes would require the show to have continuity and it makes for yet another parallel with Gabriel, but it just ends up being another one of those instances of the show trying to have its cake and eat it too, like. The new heroes eat up screen time that could've gone to the OG duo, but they also don't get to be heroes in their own right and are essentially Ladybug's Pokemon. It makes both people who liked the duo and people who like team-based shows unhappy for no real benefit.

It's also just a massive security risk. Fu says that it's dangerous for the Miraculous to be out in the open, but it's actually way less risky to put the Miraculous in circulation, because then Hawk Moth has to retrieve them by defeating every hero individually, which is a lot more effort. Keeping them all in one place and distributing them one at a time like this means Hawk Moth only has to figure out who's in charge of the distributing and follow that person right to the Miracle Box. Ferrying the Miraculous for every battle also creates more opportunities to lose them, which is how Queen Bee ended up happening.

Looking back, the problems of just about every season finale past S1 can be traced back to this system. It's almost like the writers are trying to set Marinette up to fail.

Ladybug's Pokemon

I love that phrasing! I've just called them her powerups, but this paints a much clearer picture of what I mean. They're not her autonomous teammates who feel vital to the story. They're her cute little friends who do whatever she says. All she has to do is pick which ones she wants for today's battle.

Fu says that it's dangerous for the Miraculous to be out in the open, but it's actually way less risky to put the Miraculous in circulation, because then Hawk Moth has to retrieve them by defeating every hero individually, which is a lot more effort.

Ferrying the Miraculous for every battle... creates more opportunities to lose them, which is how Queen Bee ended up happening.

These are two of my biggest issue with the temp heroes as a general concept. Fetching them every battle gives Gabriel endless chances to find out the temp heroes identities and/or where the guardian is hiding. I don't know why the show acts like the problem was Ladybug forgetting to detransform in Heart Hunter:

Ladybug: Master Fu, I need your help! Master Fu: (sees Ladybug, gasps) This costume is very cute, miss, but is it really fitting in this place? Ladybug: (gasps) I forgot to transform back. (Looks arounds enters the center of the merry-go-round trying to remain unseen) I haven't been followed Master, I'm sure of it.

Nathalie would have been able to track Ladybug either way. At least this way Marinette's identity stayed a secret!

It would make infinitely more sense for Fu to be the one to hand out the miraculous to the temp heroes for two reasons. The first one was laid out above. Having him or some other support character do it is the best way to keep his identity a secret. You should not have Ladybug leaving battles to do it. That's too easy to track because the villains know where she's going to be when she goes running off for help.

The other reason is because it's asinine to have Ladybug run off every time they face a major threat. Think about that logic for a second.

Ladybug: This akuma is too hard for us to fight as a duo! Chat Noir, you stay here and fight this super hard akuma alone while I go get reinforcements. I'll be back in half an hour or so. Chat Noir: Wait, what? How am I supposed to- Ladybug: Have fun! Don't die! Bye!

How did that never backfire on them? I get temp heroes being temp for a few fights, but they should have all been given their miraculous full time ages ago.

#pandaofsecrets #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #lore discussion

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ginnsbaker · 3 months ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (21 - The Autumn Singes)

Chapter Summary: It was very childlike—how she went about her day doing the most innocent things. And yet—

You couldn’t stop thinking about how she felt pressed against you. How soft her lips were when you kissed them. How wet she’d been that night, soaked from the rain and from wanting you. Since moving to Scotland, neither of you had brought it up—not once. And every time you thought about circling back to that moment, you realized you still couldn’t find the right time. Sometimes the memory of it felt like a distant dream, and you were left questioning whether it really happened or not.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: First time, fluff, smut

A/N: Things finally align for Wanda and Y/N. More importantly, smut is back. But it's so tender and loving and sappy so be warned! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The first thing you did when you and Wanda arrived in Scotland was clean up the small, nondescript apartment Natasha had directed you to. It smelled of dust and damp wood, and the wallpaper peeled at the corners, stained with colors you’d rather not think too hard about. But underneath it all, the bones were solid. Sturdy. It was something to build on.

Most of all, it was yours now.

Yours and Wanda’s.

As you scrubbed the counters and unpacked the meager belongings you brought with you, you told her the truth. Natasha had helped you acquire a new identity, complete with forged documents, a thin but convincing backstory, and a job that surprisingly appealed to you. You couldn’t help but smile when you told Wanda it was the job of your dreams—and how it was also a chance to start fresh, doing something that mattered to you. And, because Natasha never did things halfway, she’d also arranged for a second job offer. One you’d held out to Wanda, despite knowing she probably wouldn’t take it.

She didn’t. Wanda had looked at you, her lips quirking in that soft, amused way she had when she wanted to be polite. “I’ll figure it out on my own,” she said, leaning against the counter, watching you work. She’d always had this way of saying no without making it feel like rejection, like her refusal wasn’t about you at all.

You glanced at her, pausing to wipe your hands on a towel. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not glamorous, but it’s something.”

She smiled faintly. “I’ve been careful with my money. And besides,” she added, her voice breezy but not dismissive, “I’ve survived worse.”

Wanda was careful with her money, you learned quickly. Frugal, almost to a fault. Where you had your savings tied up in an account you couldn’t even access without some bureaucratic headache, Wanda had cash. Actual, physical cash—small bills tucked into an envelope she kept in a knapsack. You’d teased her about it once, back when things between you were still easy and new. She’d shrugged and said, “Pietro and I didn’t keep bank accounts back then. Force of habit, I guess.”

There had been instances when you’ve been short on money, and well, you always found some bills tucked in your socks every now and then.

—

Your first day as a security officer at the library began with a shirt that sat stiff on your shoulders and a badge so heavy it tugged awkwardly at the fabric where it was pinned. The library itself was grand but weathered—arched windows, polished wooden counters, and a faint smell of old paper and mildew that you’ve always found comforting.

You spent the morning being introduced to everyone: the head librarian, a stern but kind woman named Marion; two younger assistants, Callum and Fiona, who proudly professed their caffeine addictions and carried them around like marks of pride; and a janitor named Angus.

It surprised you how easily they folded you into their world. Callum and Fiona took you out for lunch that day, leading you to the Subway shop down the street. You almost said no and thought of some excuse about needing to check the perimeter, but something about the way she said, “Come on, it’s tradition,” made you cave. You sat awkwardly at the corner of their little table, your new uniform chafing against your skin, wondering if they could smell the fraud on you. But they didn’t. They talked about books, weekend plans, and the eccentric patrons who frequented the library.

It was bittersweet—the way they welcomed you without hesitation, without suspicion. They didn’t know who you really were. They had no idea you’d saved the world more times than you could count on both hands—or that you’d taken lives in the process. They didn’t know your face was plastered across Interpol’s most-wanted list, with a bounty large enough to make anyone who recognized you instantly rich.

You reminded yourself of that constantly. This wasn’t permanent. You weren’t supposed to get attached. But somehow, lunch became routine. Three of you, sometimes four, depending on who could slip away from their duties.

It was a fragile little slice of normal, and you couldn’t help but hold onto it, even if you knew it wasn’t yours to keep.

��

Wanda, on the other hand, moved at her own pace.

She wasn’t working—not officially—and at first, it bothered you. Not because you thought she should be working, but because you weren’t sure if she was acquainting herself with a new town and a new identity just fine.

To you, it looked like she was doing nothing. But that wasn’t fair judgement. Wanda filled her days in her own subdued way.

You’d asked her once, while she stirred something on the stove, what she did all day. She’d shrugged without looking at you. “I walk. I try new cafés. I watch people.”

“Watch people?” you asked, curious.

“People tell stories without saying anything. You just have to pay attention.”

Sometimes she went to museums, or sat in parks with a sketchbook you didn’t know she had until one day it was casually left open on the coffee table—a half-finished drawing of a tree, delicate lines forming branches that reached out like arms.

And then there was the TV. Wanda didn’t watch mindlessly; she absorbed. Old sitcoms, cooking shows, documentaries about things you knew she already understood. You’d catch her staring at the screen sometimes, eyes glassy, like she was somewhere else entirely.

Back at the compound, she rarely had time for movie marathons. You figured it was partly because Vision probably discouraged it, and partly because the constant training and meetings left everyone too exhausted by day’s end.

It was very childlike—how she went about her day doing the most innocent things.

And yet—

Sometimes the memory of it felt like a distant dream, and you were left questioning whether it really happened or not.

—

You got your first pay today—a thin envelope instead of a digital deposit—and it brought this unexpected rush of pride. It wasn’t even a tenth of what you used to rake in from Stark Industries, but somehow it felt more gratifying.

On your way home from work, you made a quick stop at a takeout place. You’d been craving greasy noodles and sticky-sweet dumplings all day, thinking about sharing them with Wanda. But you wanted something more to celebrate with, and you took your time wandering around town for a clue.

It wasn’t until you were riding the subway, head leaning against the cold metal pole, your first paycheck stuffed—and a little forgotten—in your pocket, that you started to feel… stupid. You’d been walking around for over an hour, takeout cooling in your hands, looking for something to celebrate this milestone and coming up empty.

You were close to giving up when you heard it.

Music.

At the far end of the car, three musicians had set up—an older man with a violin, a woman with a cello balanced delicately between her knees, and a teenager, maybe seventeen, strumming a guitar with steady hands. They weren’t playing anything you recognized, but it was something slow and aching, and it made you close your eyes as you let yourself sink into it.

That’s when the image of Wanda’s hands hovering over strings, her brow furrowed in concentration, the soft tilt of her head when she found the sound she was looking for, came to you. You’d never told her how much you liked hearing her play back at the compound.

By the time the subway screeched into your stop, the idea was fully formed. You hopped off the train, take-out bag swinging at your side, and made a beeline for the nearest pawn shop you could find.

—

Wanda opened the door before you even had a chance to fish out your keys, her face breaking into a smile so wide it almost made you worry.

“You’re home!” she exclaimed, breathless and a little flushed. She wore an oversized dress shirt that skimmed just above her knees—normally paired with sweatpants, but tonight her creamy legs were bare for you to admire.

You swallowed dryly and instinctively hid the gift you’d bought for her behind your back. You hadn’t expected her to greet you like this—she was usually curled up on the couch with her feet tucked beneath her, engrossed in Modern Family, her latest obsession from last week.

She bounced on her toes, practically glowing. “I have news,” she said, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. There was a glimmer in her eyes—like she’d been holding onto this all day, just waiting for you to walk through the door.

You nudged the door shut behind you. “What is it?”

She bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile but failing adorably. “I found something I want to do. Well… it’s not exactly a job—more like volunteer work.” Her voice wavered between pride and nerves. “At a foster home. I checked it out this morning. I start next week.”

A grin broke across your face before you could stop it. “Wanda, that’s amazing!”

Without even thinking, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her in. It happened so fast that you weren’t sure she’d welcome the sudden embrace, but her arms came around you just as tightly. You felt her breathe you in, and a small shiver ran through you. For a while you both just stood there, holding each other with your eyes closed.

That’s when you remembered the present you left outside. Carefully, you pulled away, an excited grin lighting up your face. “Oh! I almost forgot,” you said, moving back to the hallway to retrieve your gift.

Wanda blinked, confused—until her gaze landed on the guitar case. Her eyes widened. “Wait—what…”

You popped the latches and opened the case with a flourish, revealing a glossy, warm-toned acoustic guitar. “Ta-da!”

She lifted a hand to her mouth. “Wha—Y-You didn’t have to—this must’ve cost a fortune!”

You shrugged, grinning. “I absolutely had to,” you said, throwing her a playful wink. “First paycheck.”

Wanda looked from you to the guitar, her eyes glassy with emotion. “You’re too much,” she whispered, fingers brushing the strings. “This is... perfect. Thank you.”

You lifted the guitar from its case and handed it toward her. “Come on, let’s see how you look with it.”

She laughed as you guided her to the couch, placing the guitar strap over her shoulder. It didn’t matter if she knew only two chords or none at all—she'd learn them again, now that she had the means to do so.

“I still can’t believe this,” she murmured, settling her fingers on the fretboard and plucking at the strings.

“You’re going to do great with this,” you said, settling beside her. “And you’re going to be amazing at the foster home. Those kids are going to love hearing you play.”

Wanda laughed. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Play something for me?” you asked, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees.

She glanced over at you, head tilted, a soft smile on her lips. “You sure you don’t mind if I play my favorite?”

You shook your head, eager. “Not at all. I’d love to hear it.”

She seemed thoughtful for a moment, then began to play a melody that made your breath catch. It only took a few seconds for you to recognize it—the Sokovian lullaby she used to sing late in the night when she thought everyone else had gone to sleep. You’d heard her hum it to herself every once in a while, sometimes so quietly you weren’t sure she even realized she was doing it.

The melody she was making was so beautiful, but when her voice joined the guitar, you were enchanted for good.

We’ve been waiting for you

'tie mi t͡ʃaˈjaɫəm

Now you are here

ˈʃiɪdeŋ ˈti e ˈʃte

More perfect than I imagined

ˈdrage wo t͡sto ˈmisliɫəm

Our house is now a home (our house is now a nest)

ˈdom naʃ ˈʃiɪdeŋ ˈgnieʒdo

No matter where you go

bez veˈdeɪ̆ doˈkude ˈjit͡ʃiʃ

Sunlight shines on you

ˈʃiʒa ˈsunt͡so nad tiˈe

When she dragged out the final note to its ending, you clapped, a broad grin spreading across your face, and Wanda’s cheeks reddened.

This girl really was amazing—in every sense.

“It’s not much,” she whispered bashfully.

You swallowed the rush of reverence rising in your chest. “It’s everything,” you murmured, voice thick. “I think it might be my favorite now, too.”

Your applause faded as you noticed the way Wanda was staring at you—intently, unblinking, her green eyes darkening with an intent that made your pulse thump against your rib cage. You opened your mouth, the start of a question on your lips—“Wanda, what’s—”

Before you could finish, she carefully set the guitar on the floor beside her, and then—

And then she launched herself at you.

You barely had time to react as she straddled your hips, her legs on either side of your hips, pressing you back into the cushions. The momentum of her body made your head spin, and any question you had died on your lips as her mouth crashed onto yours.

She kissed you like she couldn’t get close enough, like she was starved for contact. You tried to match her pace, but it was near impossible—her urgency was overwhelming. Your hands found her waist, gripping the soft fabric of her shirt as you let yourself get lost in the taste and feel of her.

A small sound escaped you when her fingers went to the buttons of your uniform, fumbling but dead-set on getting them undone. One by one, she tugged them loose until your shirt hung open, exposing the rise and fall of your chest beneath a black bra.

You caught on quickly, your hands dropping to your belt, fingers trembling slightly as the task suddenly felt far more complicated than it should have. Any focus you had shattered when her mouth found your neck, her teeth sinking into your skin before her tongue followed, soothing the sting.

“Wanda—”

She pulled back just enough to yank her own shirt over her head, and your breath caught in your throat—she wasn’t wearing a bra. The sight of her bare skin sent heat flooding through your veins, and then, in a heartbeat, she was leaning in again, her mouth finding yours with that same consuming hunger.

You broke away from her lips just long enough to tilt your head down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across her chest. A soft groan slipped from Wanda’s lips, and you felt her tug insistently at the ponytail keeping your hair tied back. The band snapped under her fingers—or maybe under a subtle flick of her power—and suddenly your hair was free. She ran her nails over your scalp, scratching gently as you placed a wet kiss over the swell of her breast.

“God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” you breathed, trailing your lips up to the sensitive peak of her nipple. You dragged your tongue across it, earning a sharp gasp from her. “You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, voice thick with want.

She let out a breathy laugh, her hands tightening in your hair as you drew a hard nipple into your mouth, sucking softly. The taste and feel of her made your head spin, and you lost yourself in the sensation for a moment, swirling your tongue around the bud.

“Oh God…” she moaned helplessly. “You too, you’re so…”

Wanda’s sentence ended in a needy whine. You switched to her other breast, giving it the same slow, deliberate attention, sucking softly as you let your palm caress the one you’d just left. Wanda’s lips parted on another helpless sound, and you couldn’t help but smile around the warm skin in your mouth.

Her impatience soon got the better of her. “Off,” she demanded, pushing at the waistband of your pants. “These… off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you breathed, trying to move your hands to the fly of your trousers. But before you could start, you felt a shimmer of Wanda’s power surge around you. With her magic, she unclasped your belt and pushed your pants down your thighs in one swift motion.

A surprised laugh caught in your throat. “Show-off,” you smirked, but there was no mistaking how grateful you were for her ability to make things happen quickly. You wriggled your hips, kicking your pants off the rest of the way. Wanda’s eyes never left you, dark and hungry as she watched every awkward shuffle, every moment of clothing leaving your body.

Wanda’s hands slid up your shoulders and found the clasp of your bra, fingers fumbling only for a second before snapping it free. She tossed the garment somewhere behind you, too impatient to care where it landed. A fresh rush of heat bloomed on her cheeks as she let her gaze linger on your bare chest, and she reached out to touch you almost reverently.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, noticing the awe in her eyes and the hesitant way her hands cupped you.

She swallowed, nodding once. “I—I’ve never actually been with a woman before…”

You smiled at her and guided her palms against your breasts, covering her hands with your own so she could feel how you liked to be touched. Your breaths grew shallow and ragged when Wanda’s warm fingers brushed over your taut nipples. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, watching your reactions as she tried different pressures and strokes.

“You’re making me feel good,” you managed to whisper between soft gasps. “So fucking good.”

Wanda’s cheeks burned deeper at the praise, but she didn’t look away. Emboldened, she kneaded your flesh in slow circles, and each pass of her palm sent a fresh wave of wetness between your legs.

Your own impatience stirred, drawing you to the junction of her thighs. You pushed her panties to the side, and your fingertips traced her slick heat. A low groan escaped you at how soaked she was—she practically pulsed under your touch, swollen and undeniably turned on. The fabric of her panties was ruined, dampness seeping through in the most delicious way.

And then you remembered her confession from weeks ago—she’d never truly come. The thought sent your heart racing, but you fought the urge to ask more questions this time. You didn’t want to make this a test or some sort of milestone. This moment was for her, on her terms, however it played out.

“Let me take care of you, okay?” you murmured, brushing a thumb gently along her jaw.

She gave a shaky nod, her eyes fluttering shut. You gently took Wanda’s hands off your body, shifting your grip to guide her onto the couch. She followed your cue, sitting down with a slight tremor in her legs, her breath already coming in short, uneven bursts. Her cheeks were flushed, and she kept her knees pressed together, almost like she was trying to make herself smaller under your gaze.

You took a deep breath as you slipped off the couch and knelt on the floor between her legs—only you were still high enough that you were at her eye level, able to see the nervous excitement crossing her face. She swallowed hard, then let out a shaky exhale, unclasping her hands where they’d been gripping each other in her lap.

“Hey,” you said softly, sliding your palms along the outsides of her thighs. “Is this okay?”

“I…” Her voice wavered, and she forced herself to meet your eyes. “I trust you,” she finished softly.

Those three words meant everything to you—maybe even more than the other three words Wanda hadn’t said back. Words you weren’t expecting her to say, not anytime soon, maybe not ever. You loved her, and whether or not she loved you in return didn’t change that. Loving her felt like a privilege, something rare and fleeting, and it was enough. More than enough.

Wanda nodded, swallowing hard, then loosened her legs so you could settle closer. With careful hands, you reached for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of her damp panties. You felt her muscles tense, then slowly relax as she lifted her hips just enough to help you. Bit by bit, you slid her underwear down, revealing soft, warm skin beneath. The garment peeled away, clinging for a second where it was soaked, before slipping past her knees and down to her ankles.

“It’s alright if you want to stop, or slow down,” you reminded her, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, your nails pressing in just a little more than necessary.

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered.

That was all you needed. Leaning in, you placed a soft kiss on her mons pubis, feeling her shiver at the contact. You moved slowly, pressing a trail of gentle kisses lower, letting her adjust to each new inch of intimacy. Wanda exhaled a trembling sigh, her hands bunching up the couch cushion on either side as she braced herself.

You kissed every inch of skin in your path, taking your time with her body as you made your way closer to her center. Wanda’s breathing grew more erratic, her thighs trembling under your touch. When you reached her most intimate place, you couldn’t help but pause, taking her in.

Just above her clit, a neat patch of hair framed her perfectly, her clit already engorged and peeking shyly out from beneath its hood. You couldn’t help but smile—she was so beautiful, so vulnerable, letting you see her this way. You brushed your nose lightly across her vulva, pressing a soft kiss nearby as her breath caught. “So stunning…” you murmured against her skin.

Below a whisper, you added a single word—“Mine”. It was possessive, a fleeting slip of thought that you couldn’t hold back, even if you never intended for her to hear it. Wanda seemed completely unaware, lost in the slow rise and fall of her own breathing. She parted her legs a bit more, silent permission for you to continue.

Gently, you began to massage the area around her pussy, your fingers moving in slow, soothing circles to help relax her muscles while simultaneously teasing her.

When she opened her mouth to ask, voice trembling with anxious need, “What’s taking you so long?” you finally dived in and gave her a tentative lick, starting from her entrance and dragging your tongue slowly up to her clit.

Wanda’s whole body jolted, and she let out a sharp, unrestrained curse. “Fuck!”

You repeated the motion, slower this time, savoring her shudder and gasp. Her hands gripped the cushions as your tongue explored her—deep, then up to her clit.

Her thighs twitched against your shoulders, your name falling from her lips in a broken moan. Encouraged, you let your tongue move lazily, caressing her in slow, deliberate strokes. It wasn’t long before Wanda began to move on her own, hips rolling, pressing herself against your mouth—chasing every bit of pleasure, fucking herself onto your tongue.

You pressed a hand against her lower belly to keep her grounded, your fingers splaying across her skin as you worked her with your mouth. Each time your tongue dipped into her entrance, you felt her pulse around you, her arousal so obvious in the way she grew wetter with every movement.

“Y/N—Y/N….” She kept calling your name in broken syllables.

Soon enough, Wanda's movements grew more desperate. Her hands, which had been clutching the cushions for support, moved to your head. Fingers threaded through your hair, tangling and pulling gently at first, then with increasing firmness. It was clear she was finding her rhythm, her own way of expressing what felt good, what she needed more of.

You didn’t resist. Instead, you surrendered to her, letting her guide you. Wanda’s hips rolled with purpose now, pressing herself against your mouth. The pressure of her hand on your head left you still, no longer moving on your own. Her clit throbbed against your tongue, and you adjusted subtly, letting the flat of your tongue glide over her sensitive bundle of nerves each time her hips surged forward.

“Y/N…” she gasped, her voice heavy with need. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. You dug your hands into her hips, holding her steady as she fucked your face with abandon, her moans turning into cries that bordered on incoherent.

Wanda’s movements became more erratic, driven by a strange, swelling pressure that coiled in her lower belly. You sensed her confusion when she stiffened, her hips momentarily faltering.

“I—” she managed, voice shaky, “something’s—”

Wanda looked almost scared, and you’ve rarely seen her afraid.

“What’s wrong?” you murmured against her, worried you’ve done something she didn’t like. You kept the stimulation on her clit, massaging it in rough circles with your fingers.

She shook her head, her brows knitting together. “It’s tight,” she admitted. “In my stomach. It feels like… like it’s going to—

You could tell she was right at the edge of truly losing control, so you decided to help tip her over. You replaced your fingers with your mouth once more, sucking softly on her sensitive bud, and then, with careful intent, you eased a finger into her soaked entrance—just one at first, letting her body adjust.

“You’re close,” you said, before blowing over her clit in relief and excitement that she’s about to come—and you’re the first to get her there. “Just let it happen.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered, biting her lip, her hands hovering restlessly near her stomach as if she could stop it from happening.

“You’re safe,” you promised in between licks while curling your finger inside of her. “I’ve got you, okay? Let it happen. I’ll be right here.”

“Y/N,” she whimpered, her voice high-pitched and shaky. “I—I think I’m…”

“You are,” you affirmed gently. “You’re about to come, baby, come for me.”

Her hips jerked spasmodically, and you could feel her clench around your finger. With a few more deliberate strokes, focusing on the rhythm that had her moaning loudest, you felt her body suddenly tighten in a drawn-out moment of suspense.

And then, with a long, keening wail, Wanda finally let go.

She sobbed your name as her orgasm overtook her, her body tensing and releasing in time with the rippling pleasure. It was raw, overwhelming, and utterly beautiful, and you couldn’t look away as she experienced it for the first time.

The fervor in her eyes melted into awe and disbelief, as if she were unsure she’d actually reached the peak she’d been chasing. She let out a disbelieving laugh, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Oh god… I can’t believe I…”

You gently took your finger out, continuing to stroke her softly with your tongue as you helped her ride out the tail end of her orgasm, her body shuddering with each aftershock. But as the last wave of pleasure rolled through her, Wanda whimpered and tried to push your head away, squirming under your mouth. You relented, pressing one last kiss against her inner thigh before sliding up onto the couch.

A grin tugged at your lips as you climbed over her, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. She was still catching her breath, her flushed skin tempting you again. You placed a hand at her waist and urged her to lie back fully on the cushions, legs tangling together until you were hovering above her.

Leaning closer, your face inches from hers, you smirked. “So… was that to your satisfaction, Maximoff?”

Wanda’s cheeks turned impossibly red, her lips parting in shock before she let out a breathless laugh. She reached up, her fingers grazing your cheek before resting on the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touched.

“You’re very good,” she whispered softly.

An amused laugh escaped you. “Comes with experience,” you teased, wiggling your eyebrows dramatically—though not without a certain smugness.

Instantly, you noticed how Wanda’s face changed. A shadow of something like annoyance passed over her features, and for a brief moment, her eye twitched in an unmistakable display of jealousy. It was almost too cute that it had you bursting into a breathy laugh, earning a small frown from her.

“Oh, don’t laugh,” she huffed, swatting at your shoulder. “You say that like you’ve… you know, done this with a bunch of people.”

You snorted. “A bunch? Hardly.” You hesitated, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Besides… I’m out of practice. I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”

“Really?” she murmured, eyes searching yours for the truth.

“Really,” you said, your tone serious—though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. Because honestly, the moment Wanda entered your life, no one else even registered. Down bad didn’t begin to cover it.

Wanda shifted slightly beneath you, her knee coming into contact accidentally with your soaked underwear. That’s when she realized that the past several minutes had been all about her, and a flush crept up her neck.

“You haven’t…” she began.

You noticed the faint droop of her eyelids, the way her head tilted slightly forward, almost resting against your shoulder. “Wanda,” you said, caressing her cheek in a way that coaxed her further into her exhaustion. “You’re tired.”

She blinked, like she was trying to push through it. “No, I—”

“You should get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, fingertips resting just below your ear. “You could’ve—” Her cheeks pinked. “I mean, I’m not the only one who should feel good tonight.”

“Hey,” you cooed, “it’s alright. There will be another time… right?” The last word lifted slightly—turning it into a question. You didn’t want to assume anything. For all you knew, this could’ve been a one-time thing. The last thing you wanted was to trap her in expectation.

She gave a heavy-lidded smile and nodded. “I was looking forward to it,” she murmured, then, a beat later, she looked into your eyes with a quiet determination as she added, “I love you, Y/N…”

The world stopped for a second, the moment stretching into something infinite. Then you pressed your lips together, exhaling slowly. “You love me,” you said at last—not a question, but a statement.

A certainty.

“And you love me too?”

It was almost ridiculous that she had to ask—but you’re more than happy to give the answer. “I do.”

414 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 1 year ago

Text

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

��Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

#heh . how r we feeling citizens!!!! :O #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader

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incognit0slut · 2 years ago

Text

MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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marydoyouwrite · 3 months ago

Text

Back to Me

PAIRING: idol!Jaehyun x militarygeneral!Reader

GENRE: smut, angst

SUMMARY: The youngest and first female military chief is embroiled in a dating scandal. While she isn't willing to put his rumored beau at risk, the man is a willing participant, only if she would allow him.

WARNINGS: overstimulation, Jaehyun has a bulge kink, pussy eating, it gets messy at the end there's mentions of blood and violence, my military terms for sure aren't accurate so please read with a grain of salt! <3

enjoy!

8.5k word count

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Breaking News: South Korea's Youngest and First Female Military Intelligence Chief Finally Has a Beau?

Seoul, South Korea — In a surprising turn of events, South Korea's youngest and first female Military Intelligence Chief, General YN Park, who has captivated the nation with her unprecedented rise in the military, is reportedly no longer flying solo.

General YN, just 36 years old, broke multiple glass ceilings when she assumed the top position in South Korea's National Intelligence Service (NIS) last year. Known for her unparalleled strategic mind, her dedication to national security, and her stoic public persona, the news of her newfound relationship has caught everyone off guard.

Despite the intense scrutiny and pressure associated with her high-profile role, the General has managed to keep her private life out of the public eye until now. Rumors about a mystery beau have been swirling for weeks due to surfaced photos with a man whom other sources say to closely resemble NCT 127’s member, Jung Jaehyun.

Although no one has confirmed the identity of the man in the photos, some have pointed out that he appears to be familiar with the General’s close-knit circle.

"We’ve never seen General Park in this kind of casual setting before," said Han Min-seok, a military analyst and former intelligence officer. "It’s a rare glimpse into her personal life, and it’s sparked a lot of curiosity. Given her high profile and position, the idea of her having someone close to her is, frankly, surprising, and people are eager to know more."

Despite the media frenzy, neither the General’s office nor the Ministry of National Defense have issued any statements about the photos. Sources close to the General have been tight-lipped, and her team has refused to answer questions about her personal life. However, some insiders suggest that Park has always maintained a strict separation between her career and her personal matters.

For now, speculation remains rampant. Public reactions have been mixed, with some expressing support for the General’s right to a private life, while others are questioning the potential impact of her relationship—whatever its nature—on her leadership role. General Park’s legacy as a trailblazer for women in the military, particularly in her groundbreaking position, may be complicated if her personal life begins to overshadow her professional achievements.

One thing is certain: South Koreans are watching closely, and the mystery of General Park’s private life seems poised to captivate the nation in the days to come.

As the story develops, stay tuned for more updates on this intriguing, and increasingly personal, story.

—-----

After reading the news article, you gave the tablet back to your chief of staff. "I don't know what you want me to do about this, Yujin, but I have an audience with the President tonight."

Yujin looks at you incredulously. "Exactly my point. You don’t think he’s going to grill you on this?"

You sift through the mountain of files on your desk and let your eyes linger on the names of the people that kidnapped eight south-koreans, including the of the National Assembly’s current speaker, all in exchange for ransom and request for extradition of their Russian mafia leader. The case has been a real headache and you want nothing but to make sure you get everyone out of this chaos unscathed.

"No, because we have a high profile kidnapping case to solve."

“You say that but the president has never missed an opportunity to inquire about your romantic stints! So can you please let me do my job and tell me if any of these are true?”

It was your turn to look at Yujin incredulously. "There's nothing. It was just dinner as friends."

"Are you sure? Because we're releasing a denial on this and you can't make me retract this next month even if I have to resign!"

And just when you're about to answer Yujin, your cell phone goes off and her eyes go big at the name it displays. She snatches your phone before you can and answers it and puts it on speaker mode. "Speak." Yujin mouths.

You roll your eyes. "Jaehyun, Yujin is listening in."

"What the fuck, YN."

"Yujin, language." Jaehyun laughs from the other line while Yujin is seething.

You allow yourself to sit down. You also massage your temples because of how Yujin is acting at the whole thing. She’s always been efficient at being Chief of Staff ever since you took the position as Chief of Military Intelligence three years ago and while you love her persistence and attention to detail, you don’t like it when you’re the subject of it.

"So I'm guessing you've read the articles."

"Jaehyun, are you two dating?!"

"Jae, don't mind Yujin, I already told her we aren’t and she's going to put that out."

"Wait! I wanted to talk to you about that."

"About what?"

"I was just thinking... I wouldn't mind if you said we were dating."

"What the fuck?"

"YN language."

You scoffed and blurted, "Jaehyun, we aren't dating."

You stand up from your seat and approach the window in your office overlooking the city. Your mind is racing at Jaehyun’s words mulling over what to do about it. You want to swat his soul out of his body for the irresponsibility of just saying whatever he wants. But then it’s Jaehyun, he really does say whatever he wants.

—Beginning—

You recall how you two met. 6 years ago in New York, coming from a scalding session with your then superior, you went straight to a bar of the hotel where you were staying. You were there as part of an activity under South Korea and US’ visiting forces agreement and you had a blunder earlier that day for being provoked by a US Military Officer. You clearly let his provocation get to you so you got a good scolding from your superior. “You are above and better than that,” was what he repeatedly said. And although you’re already used to the heat of military work, you still need to blow off steam for your mental health.

“One old fashioned.”

You put your head down as you wait for the bartender to finish preparing your drink. You feel the shift on the seat next to you but you don’t put your head up. You’re too focused on blowing off steam.

“Can I get a Whiskey?” At the same time the person next to you orders, your drink is ready. You lift your head to take a sip of your drink and you just stare off into space. No thoughts, just head empty.

“Ma’am?” You turn at the sound of your native language and see two pairs of innocent looking eyes stare at you expectantly. You knit your eyebrows and surveyed his whole face and decided he looked vaguely familiar to you. You can’t decide whether his face is familiar because he looks like a model for magazines or because you’ve already seen him somewhere.

“I’m sorry, I’m Jaehyun and I’ve already done my military service in Korea. I sometimes see you at events and during our training. You’re 1st Lt. YN, ma’am.” That’s why he looks familiar. You probably crossed paths more than once.

“It’s Captain now, but yeah, YN. Sorry, Jaehyun, is it?”

“Yes, Captain. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I didn’t expect to cross paths with you here. Are you vacationing?”

You’re wary about sharing too much information but for some reason, the way he talks, his body language, and the slight redness in his ears, puts you at ease. So you engage, a little bit.

“I’m here for work. You?”

“I’m also here for work. Would you mind if I joined you a bit longer?”

You stared at Jaehyun and noted that your instincts and senses aren’t on heightened alert like how it usually does in the presence of a stranger. You don’t sense a hint of malice in his presence and somehow he radiates a certain kind of warmth. How he does it, you don’t know but you decide to just humor yourself.

That night, when you decided it was time to rest, you realized you had a great time. Jaehyun was a conversationalist with a tinge of naughtiness just bubbling beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. You suppose he can’t show his full self yet. Not in front of his once superior, you get that. But even with his restraint, he managed to get more than a laugh or two out of you. Once or twice, his fingers brushed with yours. And more than thrice, you saw his line of sight align with your lips. Nothing escaped you.

If anything impressed you out of the whole exchange, it was him asking for your number. He rubbed the back of his neck while asking if he could get in touch with you sometimes when you’re back in South Korea. “Although of course, I don’t expect you to. You’re the busiest!” He added.

You wanted to give him credit. You’ve talked with many men that had their intentions laid down in the open and while you’re flattered by their respect and interest, no one ever dared to ask for your number when it was time to say goodbye. But Jaehyun did. So you don’t make it hard for him and gave him your number.

You bid your farewells but you remained in touch. You eventually discovered what he does for work and was even more impressed at his talent and charisma. Needless to say, both of you remained friends with all the benefits of it, including great sex.

And god, only thinking about sex with Jaehyun is enough to make your toes curl. He was a great person and an even better fuck. No one can make you cry and beg on your knees apart from him. So you never met anyone anymore. Only he can satisfy the itch you get every once in a while. Only he can make you submit wholeheartedly.

But despite all the passionate nights, never did it progress to something more. Especially not when you were appointed Chief of Military Intelligence three years after you met. There was a quiet acknowledgment that both your professions came first above all else.

And for your part, you could never put his life at risk. You know you were pushing it when you selfishly chose to keep him in your life. To call him when you need a little reprieve from everything. Just the possibility of your enemies targeting Jaehyun for his connection with you is enough to send your stomach spinning. And your enemies are not few. With the bold decisions that had to be made for the safety of the nation, angry people are at your left and right. You vowed to never put the people you care for in a position of danger. Especially not Jaehyun.

You snapped back into reality and addressed Yujin. “Anyway, deny it. We’re not dating. I’m no longer discussing this.”

—One—

“Jaehyun and I are dating,” the way the words rolled off your tongue was more of a question rather than a statement. You chastised yourself because did you really have to end up using this card just to get what you want? In your defense, you’re backed against the wall with no other remedy but to appeal to emotion.

“Come again? Are you two really?” The President is eyeing you very intensely trying to figure out if you were just bluffing. You did a quick look at Yujin and saw her mouth hanging open. “YN, if you’re making this up, you know I’ll see through your bluff,” he adds.

You stand up from where you’re seated, take the Whiskey you’ve been offered a while ago, and maintain eye contact with the President. If there’s anyone who’s best at bluffing, it better be you.

“Mr. President, I tell you I want to do this mission myself but you tell me you worry I won’t be back alive. I tell you I will and that not a single South Korean will die on that night, you tell me you needed assurance. And since my love for this country doesn’t seem enough to convince you that I have the willpower of a bull to pull this off, I’m telling you that I will be back because someone I love is waiting for me. And I can’t bear to disappoint that man.”

The President stares at you, studies you, and you know your sincerity came across. Of course you and Jaehyun aren’t dating. But there wasn’t a single lie on the things you said just now. It’s not normal for the Chief to be the person on the ground doing the mission. But this time, you weighed the risks and you can’t bear having someone else do it. The potential of dying leans more towards dying versus not dying. And while you trust your subordinates, this is something you have to take.

So you weren’t lying. It’s true that you can’t bear the thought of sadness and grief taking over Jaehyun’s handsome face. Not when you’ve never even talked about feelings. You’re going to make it back alive from that mission no matter what it takes.

“Okay,” the President sighs in defeat. “But I need a run down of the plan. I need my general back and make it so until your last limb.”

You gave the President a curt nod, “On my last fucking limb,” You gave a salute to the President and walked out of the conference room. Behind you is a quiet Yujin.

“You’re mad,”

“Of course not. Why would I be mad? We just released an article denying everything about YOU and JAEHYUN dating only for you to confirm it before the President. That’s not something to be mad about.”

You stop in your tracks and turn to face your seething Chief of Staff, “This mission is the most important to me right now.” Yujin seems to soften at the sound of your gentle tone. “And so is going back alive because Jaehyun and I aren’t dating, yet. And I want us to.”

Yujin’s eyes go big at your revelation and she understandfully nods. “Now, let’s plan this mission good,” As you walk towards your office, you send a text message to the person who has no idea what he was pulled into.

Are you free tonight?

—Two—

1 message

Ma’am General: Are you free tonight?

Jaehyun smiles at your message knowing that the only reason you’re sending this is because you want to meet up. And he very much wants to, too. Before he gets to respond, he’s interrupted by Johnny, “You guys down for some drinks after practice?”

“Uh, I’ll pass.” And Johnny chuckles at his quick response, knowing full well why he’s not coming. He sees Doyoung whip his head in his direction. “Jaehyun, are you meeting YN again?! I swear to god, you just had articles about you today!”

He winces at Doyoung’s scolding. It’s mild to say that the management was pissed. They were blindsided, how could they not be pissed. They learned about his “closeness” with you through the news and if that wasn’t enough, an official statement was released confirming that the two of you are in fact not dating. Talk about a whiplash. So he’s not surprised why Doyoung is feeling so sensitive.

“Ya, hyung, give Jaehyun hyung a break,” Haechan butts in. “We’re kinda too grown for this now. I think Jaehyun hyung’s age is the right age to get into dating scandals.” The youngest one winks at his direction and Jaehyun laughs at his cheekiness.

“Thanks Haechan, but I don’t mind. I did kinda blindside everyone. But Doyoung hyung, that should be General YN for all of us.”

Doyoung just sighs and continues with practicing choreo for the group’s upcoming tour. He’ll console the older member later when he’s less angry. He knows Doyoung is coming from good intentions but Jaehyun won’t dare comfort him while he’s in his feels.

“You know he’s just worried right?” Taeyong comes from behind him while fixing his shoes.

“Of course, dating scandals are never good for idols and their groups,” he replied knowingly.

“No, that’s not why,” Jaehyun turns to Taeyong, a bit confused. “The General? Never doubted you could pull a woman like that but shit, that’s some dangerous waters. You’re aware how many enemies she has, right? Especially with some controversial decisions she made, I bet there’s a long list of people targeting her.”

Jaehyun knew. Of course he did. But someone verbalizing it like this just sends a shiver down his spine. His stomach churns at the thought of powerful people putting a big red target on your head. And what’s worse is he’s not in the most ideal position to ensure you’re always safe.

“So Doyoung is just worried because people close to the General also become targets by default and not because he thinks this is affecting the group. Besides, Haechan’s right, it's about time we got involved in dating scandals,” you snicker at the last bit.

Taeyong taps your shoulder and you’re left to your thoughts. But as how he has approached it ever since, he doesn’t dwell on it too much because nothing good is going to come out of that trail of thought.

Technically speaking, you and him aren’t dating. But Jaehyun knows its just a matter of communication. He’s confident where he stands in your life if your moans and late night calls are any indicator of it. But apart from those things, your subtle way of caring always touched his heart. And if that’s all you can give him, he’ll take it.

When am I never? Should I pick you up?

Jaehyun sends you a reply and walks to where his stuff is to start fixing. He finishes packing and bids the team farewell, “See you tomorrow!”

He’s going to take a good shower before meeting you. By how this day went, he’s guessing you’re going to want to melt into a hug immediately and just the thought of it puts a smile on his face. No one knows that side of you. Not even Yujin who has been with you for the longest time since your early years in the military. Only he gets to witness the soft, whiny, and sweet side of the nation’s steelhearted General.

Ma’am General calling…

“Ma’am? Something wrong?” Ma’am has become a pet name between the two of you. He loves how the endearment annoys you just a little bit. So when you respond without any snark, Jaehyun’s a bit worried.

“Nothing wrong. Just… I kinda can’t go anywhere without my security right now. Is it going to be a bother if you went to my place instead? I have something to tell you.”

“YN, of course not. I’m just going to take a shower and head straight to where you are. Also, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep. Just a lot of things. But I’ll tell you everything later,” you blow out a long frustrated sigh on the other line. “I’m gonna need a year’s worth of sleep after everything.”

“You need coffee, got it.”

“Shit, you’re good. That got me horny,” he chuckles and shakes his head. This is another side of you that has made him fall so hard. “See you in a bit, YN. I’ll be quick.”

—Three—

The door to your house opens and it reveals a very fresh, very newly showered, Jung Jaehyun. In his left hand is the coffee he promised you. While you want to jump him, you restrain yourself because you’re about to deliver him some news that will probably wipe the dimply-grin he has off his face.

“I want to hug you but I’m gross and you’re newly showered,” you’re slumped on your sofa and you look at the uniform you’re still wearing. Your boots are still on and your hair is for sure a mess after wearing your beret the whole day. You don’t even want to try and smell yourself.

“You in your uniform never fail to give me a hard on, YN,” you scoff at the man who went straight to where your boots are to remove them from your feet. “You and your kinks,” you retorted.

You stare at Jaehyun who is currently untying the lace of your boots. He removes the left boot and the right and as he successfully removes both your socks, he massages your feet a little bit. Just enough to relax your soles. This man, who also must have had an equally exhausting day, went straight to give you a foot massage.

“How does a hot bath sound?”

“To be honest, heavenly,” Jaehyun lifts his head to look at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let me prepare one for you.” You mumble a small and shy okay before Jaehyun stands and goes upstairs, probably to your room to prepare the warm bath.

You fidget your toes as you wait for him to come back. These things that Jaehyun is doing for you are more than just fruits of friendship, you’re sure of it. But there’s an ongoing war in your mind that holds you back. You worry he’ll resent you one day for failing to protect him both from physical and emotional harm and you can’t live with the possibility. But you want him so much since the first night you met that it’s killing you inside.

“YN, think we can get you undressed while the tub is being filled with water.”

“Yeap, okay,” you start to get up but Jaehyun stops you. So you just look at him confused. “Let me take you up.” You don’t protest his proposition as he carries you like a child in his arms. He’s carried you way too many times already to be flustered at the gesture. Hell, his tongue even tasted every inch of your skin. But even as you convince yourself that it’s not a big deal, your face betrays you. And when Jaehyun looks at you, he notices the warmth spreading on your cheeks and all of a sudden, he feels warm, too.

Jaehyun sets you down on the bed and goes to the bath probably to check if the tub’s been filled and the water is just right. Just a few moments and Jaehyun is back with you. He unbuttons your top and hangs it up in your dresser. He unzips and peels off your pants next until you’re only in your underwear. He gives you a nice kiss on the cheeks as he removes your bra. His hands trail to your hips and the lace of your panty is just between his fingers for a second too long before he pulls it down. And now you’re fully naked in front of him. You see the up and down of his throat but in the years you’ve known him, you know he absolutely won’t make a move unless he’s done making you comfortable.

Jaehyun carries you to the bath and settles you gently into the tub. You sigh at the contact of warm water, it’s like all the worries and stress dissipate with the steam. Jaehyun puts some shampoo into your scalp scrubber and he starts massaging your head with it.

“That feels so good,” you groan with so much relief.

“So good you can relax?”

“Absolutely.”

There was comfortable silence afterwards. You just stare at Jaehyun and his busy hands cleaning your hair and then lathering soap on your body giving your tense muscles some good massage here and there.

“I have to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, I’m listening,” he responds as he scoops some water in his hands to wash away some soap that got too close to your eye.

“I told the President we’re dating,” Jaehyun looks at you with parted lips.

“But you said -”

“I know, but,” you sigh before continuing, “something came up.”

“Hey, what’s up?” Jaehyun asks carefully, probably being cautious about not pressuring you into divulging details you can’t share, another thing that you appreciate about him the most.

“There’s this mission we’re preparing for. And based on my assessment, I think it’s best for me to be personally involved in it,” Jaehyun slowly nods in understanding.

“But how does that relate to you telling the President that we’re dating? But just so you know, totally not mad about it. I like it, actually.” You roll your eyes at the cheeky smile that Jaehyun whipped up. And you flicked some water towards his face when he kept raising his eyebrows.

“The President thinks it's a dangerous mission and that he could lose his Chief from it. HE doesn’t believe my love for this country is a strong enough force to push my will to live and make sure I return safe, so,” you pause and look Jaehyun in the eye, “I told him, I’m dating you. That I will be back no matter what because someone I love is waiting for me and I can’t bear to disappoint that man.”

Somewhere along your sentence, you whispered a word or two, probably the part where you professed your love for him was a decibel more fit for your K9s at work.

Jaehyun cupped your right cheek, his thumb gently grazing over your cheekbones. With this, you’re forced to look at his eyes which held emotions you couldn't fully understand. There’s warmth, and love, and then worry, and overall softness to his gaze that makes you weak.

And then, his lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, as if the world itself might break if he moved too quickly. It was so gentle, almost hesitant, but it was everything. Very different from all the kisses you’ve shared so far. All the longing, all the moments they had both kept hidden, poured into that single, quiet kiss.

The kiss deepened, his tongue begging access to your mouth, and all of a sudden nothing mattered. Jaehyun’s lips were insistent now, as though he was trying to pour all the things he couldn’t say into this one perfect, imperfect moment. When he breaks the kiss, you’re panting.

“Wow,” you breathed out between Jaehyun’s quick pecks after that breath-taking kiss.

“So what I heard is that you’re about to go into a very dangerous mission that could potentially kill you,”

“What the hell -”

“And that you will be back because you love me.”

“Uh, yes. That’s what I said.”

“Fuck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. It’s just that my mind is on a marathon right now. I love you, too, you must have known that for -”

“You love me, too?”

“Come on, YN, you can’t honestly believe I’d stick this long if I didn’t love you. And really, bubble baths on a weekday at midnight? Love is the only explanation for my willingness. You’re telling me you really didn’t know?” Jaehyun exclaims with a hint of offense. But the truth is you’ve known about it for a very long time. In the quietness and the loudness of your friendship, you’ve known about his love for you ever since it started to bloom.

“No, I know…” you mumble.

“Good girl. So as I was saying,” he blows out a long sigh, “I love you so much, but I’m so fucking worried thinking about what you just shared.”

“Why? Don’t trust me?”

“Of course I do, you can deadass exterminate a whole mafia by yourself.”

“Good, so don’t worry because like I said, I don’t want to disappoint this man who’s waiting for me.” you said to pacify him before reaching out to him for another quick kiss.

“Mm, YN, you know how I think you’re the strongest person in the whole world. But this worry I have is something I can’t help. So while trusting you, I will also worry about you,”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer quietly. You can’t help but agree because you feel the same. While you trust yourself to protect him from any and all pain at all costs, you also can’t help but worry you’re going to be the greatest heartache he’s ever going to have, whether it's your fault or fate’s.

“When is this mission happening?”

“In three days’ time.”

“Shit.” You look at his face and see that there’s a million thoughts racing inside his head. You caress his face hoping it would calm and comfort him little.

“Not too much time, huh?”

“Yeah,”

“We should start fucking to reach quota, then,” you laughed too hard at Jaehyun’s attempt to make things lighter.

“I agree, you should get started.”

Without a beat, Jaehyun is carrying you out of the tub and onto the sink that had a towel laid down.

“Gotta dry your hair first,” He takes another towel and starts patting your hair dry. “But not too dry, if you don’t mind because your confession got me hard so fast.” You giggle at his silliness and just let him do whatever.

When your hair is no longer dripping wet, he sets the towel aside and looks at you from head to toe. He takes a strand of your hair away from your face before settling his fingers on the side of your neck.

“So pretty like this,” he peppers your neck with kisses, his lips travelling down south to your chest. His hands settle on your hips, “So pretty and all mine.”

His kisses trail down to your breasts, then to your stomach, then just above your slit. He gives you one last hungry look before he gives your pussy one long lick and wraps his mouth around your clit. The warmth of his mouth makes you throw your head back. His right hand gives your hip a squeeze before he brings his fingers to your core, inserting two digits at once, giving you a delicious stretch. All the while his left hand is stationary on your hip, making sure you remain where he wants you to be.

He curls his fingers to press on the sensitive spot inside you, “Fuck,” is your only response. Jaehyun is a starved man by the way he sucks at your bud. He’s desperate to taste and drink you up. By the way his mouth and fingers are going, you know he doesn’t have to wait any longer.

Jaehyun moves his left hand to the inside of your thighs to spread your legs even wider, to give him more access. Jaehyun eats you out with more vigor and more speed in his fingers. You let your hands grip on his hair, your eyes rolling at the sinful feeling of his tongue and lips.

“J-Jae, please!” you scream as you feel your stomach tightening. Jaehyun knows you’re close, so he guides you into that orgasm by stuffing another finger inside of you. This does the trick. You moan his name as you come undone. He removes his fingers from your core only to use both his hands to spread you open so he can lick you dry and clean. You get sensitive from his continuous lapping so you try to push his head away from your core.

But Jaehyun is feral, “Not yet baby girl. Gonna make sure I get every last drop of you.”

And you know better than to argue. So you just let your hand rest on his shoulder as you allow him to drink you to his heart’s content. Once he’s done, you’ve become a panting, shaking mess. No strength in your legs and no single thought in your head.

“Thank you, baby. Shall we move to the bed?” you don’t answer and just wave your hands at him, signalling he can do whatever he wants. And Jaehyun is more than happy to oblige. He carries you and throws you on the bed with too much excitement.

“Jaehyun!”

“Sorry, baby, you got me all worked up.” Without another word, he dives to where you are. His mouth quickly found its way to your right nipple, his next target. His left hand massaging and toying with your other breast. Without stopping his ministrations, he uses his free hand to pull his shirt off his body. Only when he needed to pull it over his head did he let go of your nipple. As he does, he tosses his clothing to the side and removes his jeans revealing his familiar yet still always mouth-watering cock. Jaehyun is a sculpture from the gods. Not only is his face and physique perfect, but his cock is, too. He is both long and thick that you always feel the stretch for days after every heated session.

The sight gets you excited that you get up on your knees.

“Baby girl wants to suck me? Pleasure me with that beautiful mouth of yours?” you nod as you move closer to him. You take his cock in your hands and play with the tip for a bit before taking him fully in your mouth.

“Fucking hell,” Jaehyun groans, “Pretty general, taking me in so good.” This encourages you to take him deeper in your throat. The feeling makes Jaehyun knit his brows and grab your hair in his hands. He pulls your hair, sending a pleasurable pain to your scalp. He guides you to take him even deeper, making you gag in response. Some drool escapes from the side of your mouth and the intrusion in your throat makes your eyes tear up.

Jaehyun wipes the drool on the side of your lips, “Want to see you cry only for my cock.” Jaehyun takes control of the pace and fucks your mouth with so much passion. You put your hands on his thigh for support, but his length accomplishes the picture he wants to see. It’s always a welcome challenge blowing Jaehyun, but the deed always brings you to tears. And there’s something about your tears that riles Jaehyun up every time.

Seeing you look up at him crying and obediently and willingly taking him in your mouth, sends Jaehyun over the edge. “Gonna take my load like a good girl?” You nod at him as he groans and takes a few more thrusts. You gently tap his thigh encouragingly to signal him to let go. Your encouragement seems to do the thing because one more thrust and his delicious cum fills the walls of your mouth, some coming out from both sides of your lips. But as you are a good girl, you swallow everything, and even lick his cock clean. If he wants to get every last drop of you, you feel the same, too. As you continue to lick him, Jaehyun lifts your chin with his finger. He dips down to kiss you, licking your lips in the process. “Don’t you think we’re done.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” you respond with a raspy voice and he smiles at you as he guides you back down the bed. His fingers ghost over your core. Sucking Jaehyun had you dripping wet. “Still wet and ready for me?”

“Always. Still hard and ready for me?”

“That goes without saying. Now spread those legs for me nicely, baby.”

You obey his command. Jaehyun situates himself between your legs and teases your entrance with the tip of his cock that is still very much hard and proud. It’s as if he didn’t cum just a few seconds ago.

Jaehyun tries to be a patient man but the truth of the matter is that he can never be. Especially not when you look so beautiful with your hair spread out around you, your forehead glistening with some sweat, and your cheeks stained with fresh tears. So he stops holding back and bottoms out inside of you in one quick thrust.

You shout his name at the sudden penetration. The stretch is an addicting kind of pain.

“Sorry, baby, this pussy is driving me crazy. I’m gonna move now, yeah?” You nod at Jaehyun, eager to feel more of him. He thrusts out half way before ramming back inside of you. You feel his tip hit a spot inside of you that makes you arch your back. The friction of his length against your walls as he continuously pounds into you is an exhilarating experience.

Jaehyun brings his fingers to your core. Using his thumb and forefinger, he pinches your clit sending your mind into haywire.

“W-Wait!” you try to plead your case. By the looks of it, Jaehyun isn’t cumming anytime soon yet. If he continues to play with you like this, he’ll draw out another orgasm from you and you don’t think you can hold out. But Jaehyun is relentless. He only raises an eyebrow at your failed attempt to beg.

“No waiting, baby. Be a good girl for me and take what I give you,” he warns in a low voice. Jaehyun takes one of your legs and puts it over his shoulder to reach a deeper spot inside of you. You whimper at the change of pace, your fingers scratching his back, your other hand gripping at his hair.

Jaehyun takes your hand that’s gripping his hair and puts it over the part of your stomach that bulges with his every thrust, “Look how good you’re taking me,” he praises. He presses your hand down on your bulging stomach, adding both pain and pleasure to your body.

You suck in some air. At this point you’re breathless. Nothing but sinful sounds come out of your mouth. Your moans become higher in pitch by the moment, calling out Jaehyun’s name as if it will pull him out of the trance he’s in. It doesn’t.

His fingers are back to work on your clit, abusing it, determined to make you climax one more time. And Jaehyun succeeds. A powerful wave hits you and you almost black out. You feel every part of you shake. There’s a ring in your ear brought by the ridiculous high. But as you predicted, Jaehyun isn’t done. He continues to savor the feeling of you convulsing around him.

“Jaehyun please, need you to cum,” you beg in between labored breaths. Jaehyun manhandles you to switch your positions. Now you’re on top of him but he’s the one moving your hips up and down his cock, using you as he pleases. The new position allows you to feel his fullness even more.

“Wanna come with you on top, ma’am,” he declares.

Jaehyun will be the death of you. He guides your hips up and down at a monstrous pace. For every movement, your clit brushes against his base and its maddening. He reaches out to grab your head for a kiss, “Gonna cum.”

“P-Please, fill me with your cum.”

And he did not have to be told again, with one more thrust, Jaehyun came undone inside of you. You feel the warmth of his seed spreading inside of you. You slump your head against his chest without moving your hips. You’re spent.

Jaehyun caresses your hair and you feel him plant a kiss on top of your head.

“You’re a dream.”

You can’t find the energy to move so you just lay there motionless, Jaehyun’s cock still inside of you. Meanwhile, Jaehyun rubs your hips, giving it subtle massages, before slowly slipping out of you. He changes your position to let you lay down. He adjusts your pillows and when he’s certain you’re comfortable, he gets up to get a warm towelette. Gently, he wipes the inside of your thighs clean.

All the while, your eyes are shut, too tired to open them up. But when you feel the bed shift beside you, you open your eyes to find a smiley Jaehyun staring at you.

“You have my heart, YN, so please come back to me.”

You smiled at Jaehyun and reached out to cup his cheek, “I’ll be back.”

–Four–

The plan was to be a trojan horse.

True to the validated tip your office has received through a trusted mole, the kidnappers plan to abduct additional personalities to elevate the power they hold in negotiations. The targets have been identified to be the Jung sisters, daughters of South Korea’s top real estate developer, and both college students at Yonsei University.

The group behind the kidnappings planned to abduct the Jung sisters during their ride back home from school. And that’s where you and your partner, Lt. Gen. Jennie, came into play. Both of you took the place of the Jung sisters to infiltrate the devils’ quarters.

Now you’re here, finally leading everyone out of the building they were trapped in for months. The execution of the rescue was almost perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Once you were abducted, you created a map of the place in your mind. Even while being blindfolded, you focused on the bits of information you can gather without eyesight. Before your eyes were covered, you noted that each of the three kidnappers carried a pistol-type handgun. And as you entered an establishment, you counted your steps and remembered every turn you took. You amplified your senses and noted every change in smell, floor feel, and temperature. You’re at a disadvantage. Entering the criminals’ den without so much as a knife is a suicide mission, as Yujin said. But you swore on your neck nobody is going to die on your watch. Not even yourself.

Your mole said there were a total of 12 armed men in the establishment, each taking turns in guarding the main room and the exit and entrance points. The plan was to separate and then meet up. Through this plan, you can confuse and eliminate more armed men before reaching the exit of the building. Jennie took 4 of the victims with her to take a different route going to the exit while you took the other 4.

You finally reunited with Jennie and her group and confirmed that you’ve each wounded 5 people, leaving you with just 2 more active hurdles.

“It’s going to be okay, we’re almost out of here,” you comfort the hysterical group. Everyone is afraid and desperate to go back to their families.

But just when you’re almost out in the open, 4 armed men are closing in on you. Two were chasing you from behind, and two were coming from the front. You wanted to shout profanities because two additional unaccounted armed criminals are going to make it harder to complete the rescue of a group of scared individuals. But you held yourself back realizing your panic will only make everyone else panic.

You can’t afford to get closed in on. The odds of sustaining injuries and fatalities are going to shoot up, especially in the face of desperate malefactors.

“Jennie, run behind everyone and fire the flare signal once you’re all out!”

Jennie looks at you in horror as your instructions dawn on her. You’re basically asking her to leave you alone.

“Don’t fucking hesitate lieutenant! That’s an order!”

“Y-Yes, ma’am! Everyone, follow me!”

Leaving you alone is the only choice. You’re going to hold the kidnappers off. As Jennie and the whole group continue to run, you stop on your tracks and face the angry men. You fire two shots, successfully wounding one of them. You have to weaken them as much as you can. Even with years of experience fighting wars, your strength is no match against 4 towering men with guns in their hands. But your resolve is the best there is.

You disarm the first man that charges at you, twisting his arm behind his back, and hitting the part of his neck with the base of your gun. The force renders the man down and unconscious. The next person charges at you with a knife which you quickly take from him. You thrust the knife deep into his thigh and butt his head twice. Once with your own head and another with the gun in your hand.

Someone grapples you from behind and you struggle out of his hold. You take the knife out from the former’s thigh and try to reach the next one using the blade, to no avail. The man creates sufficient space between the two of you as he takes out a dagger of his own. He charges at you but as you try to charge at him too, the other conscious kidnapper pulls your leg, rendering you flat on the ground.

The other takes his chance and stabs your leg with the dagger. You scream in anguish as you kick the second man in the face with your better leg. You take a rock beside you and smash it to the side of his head. When you see him trying to reach out for a nearby gun, you smash his hand, too.

With one last person conscious, you will yourself to stand up despite the burn on your leg. You drop your gun and pull the dagger from your leg. You decided the dagger is going to be the weapon that helps you end this madness. With obvious rage in his eyes, the man runs at you with closed fists. You examine him, he has no weapon but his hands.

Once he reaches you, he gains an advantage with his height. He grabs you by the hips and topples you to the ground. You groan in pain at the impact on the back of your head. He takes the same rock you held earlier and bashes it against your temple. He takes the dagger from your hand and aims it at your gut. The blade comes in contact with your skin until you feel the burn ripping through your flesh.

“Fuck!”

You stop his hands but not fast enough to prevent a puncture. The blade continues to dig into you. You feel weak and your adrenaline is dissipating. Maybe it’s because of the comfort knowing that Jennie has brought the group to safety. She fired the flare sending the signal to the team on standby a few meters away for rescue. Your mission is done and you’re sure you won’t immediately die from a slitted gut. You’ll bleed out for a few hours first, if this man on top of you won’t rampage and inflict several more stab wounds. But nonetheless, everyone’s safe.

You have my heart, YN, so please come back to me.

“Jaehyun!” Shit, everyone’s safe except you. You promised not to disappoint the man. So with one last surge of strength, you butt his head with yours and push him away from you. He lets go of the dagger, leaving it in you. You know better than to pull it out so you run to one of his colleagues and search his body for another weapon you can use. And you weren’t disappointed. You find a pistol and aim it at your last enemy.

He was charging at you and this was your last chance. So with Jaehyun’s words echoing in your thoughts, you pulled the trigger hitting the criminal right in the middle of his eyes. You don’t watch him crash down because you started coughing out some blood.

“General!”

From a near distance, you see some people running to you. You make out Jennie’s face as the one running in front. Your legs give up on you and you fall to the ground. But Jennie is already there to get you.

“General! Medic’s here, please stay awake!”

You signal Jennie to come closer to you to whisper your greatest concern at the moment. Jennie obliges and listens to what you have to say intently. You whispered what you had to say before the responders surrounded you and tended to you. You’re whisked away from Jennie’s arms and into the ambulance.

You see flashes of light and everything around you is in chaos. But you couldn’t care less. Not when Jaehyun was the last face in your mind as you blacked out.

–Final–

After 86 harrowing days in captivity, the eight individuals kidnapped by a Russian-led mafia syndicate have finally been reunited with their families, all thanks to the unwavering courage of General YN Park and Lt. General Jennie Kim, who bravely undertook the perilous mission alone.

National Assembly Speaker Minseok Kim has expressed profound gratitude toward General Park and her team, especially as he is reunited with his daughter, one of the victims in this case.

The surviving members of the syndicate have been handed over to the authorities for further investigation and due process.

However, General Park remains under care at Seoul National Hospital, where she is receiving treatment for serious injuries sustained during the mission. Prior to being transported to the hospital, the General was seen whispering something to Lt. General Kim. When asked about the General’s last words before receiving medical attention, Lt. General Kim revealed, “The General asked me to tell the doctor to minimize the scarring of her wounds—she has a beach trip planned next month.”

Jaehyun humorlessly laughs at the conclusion of the news. Only you can think about a beach trip while being in the face of death.

However, despite the light hearted news, his legs take quick and huge strides to where your hospital room is. He didn’t bother taking the back entrance, the front entrance will bring him faster to you. He knows photos of him and news about the two of you will fill the papers and broadcasts tomorrow, but he didn’t care. His thoughts are fully on you. His heart is about to give up on him and all he wants is to see and hold you.

He reaches the floor where you are and as expected, it’s filled with security. You don’t see Yujin anywhere to help you get inside. But its okay, you gave him something that will get him to you.

“Woah, what’s this?”

“This is my seal. I’ve requested three of these from the bureau. The other two are with my parents and this one is for you. When you need me, you show this to any of my subordinates and they’ll bring me to you no matter what. Whether I’m in a meeting or in another country fighting a war, they’ll bring me to you. Use this any time.”

Jaehyun reaches out from his pocket and shows your seal to the first two soldiers guarding the area. Recognition dawns on their faces and they let him in. The others lead you to your room and as he opens the door, there you are lying down peacefully on the bed.

He walks to where you are and sits on the side of your bed. He takes your hand in his and gives it a longing kiss. He plays with your fingers and brushes some loose strands of your hair away from your face.

And as if you sense his presence, you slowly open your eyes. Jaehyun’s eyes widen at your consciousness and tries to get up to get a nurse. But you held on to his finger and whispered with all your strength, “I-I came back.”

You catch a glimpse of a tear rolling down his cheek before he plants a long chaste kiss on your lips, “Yes,” he chokes, “Yes, you did, baby. Thank you for coming back to me.”

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