#use different language. if you want to refer to light skin tones then say. light skinned

[jackienautism]

the next time someone forgets that japanese characters are also non white is the time i start murdering people i’m not kidding

anyway whitewashing goes beyond making skin tone lighter. it’s erasing a characters name, their non white facial features, etc. like. you know how many times i’ve seen japanese characters from like anime or some shit drawn white in a “realistic” style? lighter skinned non white characters are STILL whitewashed

don’t get me wrong, like i’ve talked abt many times before, colorism is always a problem. it will ALWAYS be a problem, and i’m not trying to undermine that by referencing lighter skinned non white people. but good christ you people are so stupid

[laligraves]

say you're sorry

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2k summary: You ask Father Miller for forgiveness. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, mean!Joel, power imbalance (since Joel is a priest), some proofreading, reader has hair that Joel can grab, no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, daddy kink, references to catholicism, oral (m! receiving), some gagging, spanking, lap sitting/riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some very light cum eating

a/n: this is a different priest joel and a different reader from my other priest fic :)

His office is big, airy, smelling of incense and cologne. Theology books and bibles in a few different languages are organized on the wooden shelves. A cross complete with a sorrowful looking Jesus hangs on the wall behind his desk. 

“These figs are divine,” Father Miller groans, “your mother gave me some cuttins’ but I’ve never been able to grow a tree myself.” 

He bites into the fruit and moans at the splash of sweet juice that soaks his tongue. 

“Here, take a bite,” he offers. 

His hands tighten in your hair and he pulls your mouth away from his spit-covered cock. You whimper at the loss but he shushes you with a stern bite, and you quickly comply.  

“Reminds me of somethin’ else that’s sweet,” he whispers as he watches your throat move in a swallow. 

“Please, daddy,” you moan, “I wasn’t done.” 

Father Miller gives you a soft pat on your cheek, trailing his fingers down to tug at the rosary that hangs between your breasts, before pushing your head back onto his cock. 

He spreads his knees wider in his desk chair. 

“What a beautiful way to ask for forgiveness. Figs and your mouth on my cock.” 

If his big dick wasn’t in your mouth, you’d cringe from embarrassment. Your own selfish and jealous actions led to his disappointment and your need to ask for forgiveness. 

“Envy is a sin. You choose to have these emotions and these moments of insecurities,” Father Miller murmurs in that tone that makes you squeeze your thighs. 

“When those thoughts begin, it’s your responsibility to come to confession. You have to talk to me so I can help.”

Father Miller does it again, yanking you back from his cock and tilting up your chin with his finger.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

“Ye–yes–” 

“Repeat it to me,” he interrupts. 

“I need to–to ask you for help when I’m feeling jealous,” you choke out. 

His hand tightens in your hair and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth. You gag, tears pooling on your waterline from the burn in your throat. 

“Good girl.” 

You want to run your hands down his strong thighs and feel the clench of his muscles, but they’re bound behind your back with your soaked panties. Aside from the rosary, the panties around your wrists are the only clothes you wear. 

You massage your tongue on the thick vein that spans underneath his cock. Spit dribbles down your chin as he begins to move your head up and down. 

“Fuck, just like that, honey,” he groans. “Got such a perfect mouth.”

You moan at the praise. Honey, the name he’s reserved just for you. Even at bible study on Wednesdays and at Mass on Sundays, he’ll call you honey, no matter who's around. 

“Those other women who come here, they seek advice. I can’t turn them away.” 

You let the tears fall from your eyes, partly from the cock spearing down your throat and also from the fact that he’s right. It’s his responsibility to listen to his congregation. 

Even if you know the women stare at him with dreamy eyes and fantasize about his broad shoulders, Father Miller must give them individual attention. 

He clenches his teeth the moment your nose hits the curly hair at his base. You swallow and fight through the burn, sucking at the salty taste of his skin. You clench your thighs again, hoping for any type of stimulation. 

“Aww,” he coos, “what does my poor little sinner need?” 

You whimper on his cock, wanting to move your head away so you can tell him how much you want him, but his hand keeps you in place.

“Nothin’ to say?” he mocks, “You don’t want me to eat your little cunt, honey? Make you cum on my tongue? Just want to keep suckin’ daddy’s cock?” 

Slick drips from your pussy. Mean, mean, mean, you chant in your head. You’re sure you look like a pathetic mess; shivering and crying hard enough to ruin your makeup. 

Father Miller laughs and wipes the tears from your eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” 

You’re roughly pushed off, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his dick. You continue to sob as he yanks you up by your arms and bends you over his desk.  

“I said enough,” he snaps, landing a hard spank to your ass. “I won’t repeat myself.” 

Your shiver as your tits make contact with the cool surface of the desk. The rosary presses to your chest, indenting the soft skin.

“Such a beautiful cunt for a sinner,” he whispers. 

His hands massage your ass and he pulls apart your cheeks to stare at the puffy mess between your thighs. You try to move out of his grasp, embarrassed at how he can see every delicate inch of you, but he spanks you again. 

“Can’t seem to stay still,” he growls, “after everythin’ you’ve done, you still wanna disappoint me?” 

“N–no, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ll–I’ll stay still.” 

His leather shoe pushes on your ankle and you spread your thighs wide. He runs the tip of his length up your slit, ghosting over your sensitive button. You push your hips back and try to sink onto his cock, but he presses down on your lower back to keep you still. 

“Little sinner,” Father Miller scolds, “instead of trusting me, you accuse me of sleeping with other women. After the oath I gave to this church?” 

“I was wrong! I’m sorry,” you cry, hot tears rolling down and landing on the desk. 

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you repent. Count f’me.” 

He moves slightly to the side and uses a large hand to spank you hard on your right cheek. You yelp, immediately choking out a one before feeling his hand massage your other. 

You push up on your tiptoes, presenting your ass to him, hungry for his touch. He starts off soft, slow, squeezing the plump curve of your ass. His palm lands harsher and you welcome the sting of each slap, pushing back into him, heart beating faster with each number. 

Once he gets to fifteen, he lands it right on your pussy. You push up on the desk in surprise and try to beg for more, daddy, please–I’m so close. 

“No more, baby,” he coos, “did so well with your spankin’.” 

“Please, daddy,” you whimper, “please give me your cock. Please fuck me.” 

His hand tugs on your hair and he makes you stand to your full height. 

“This is punishment, honey,” he whispers in your ear, “you’re gonna have to work for my forgiveness.” 

You’re not sure what else he could possibly make you do but he spins you around and you watch as he sits down in his desk chair. 

“C’mere,” he growls. 

His hands wrap around your waist and you're pulled into his lap. You’re unbalanced, still unable to use your hands but he reaches around you to keep you steady.

With his other hand, he teases the fat tip to your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride me. Maybe after I’ll forgive ya’.” 

“Yes, yes,” you chant, slowly sinking down on his cock. 

His strong hands slide to grip your waist and his fingers dig into your soft skin. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling with blurry eyes, your teeth digging into your bottom lip with each inch that’s stuffed inside of you. 

“That’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “take my cock, take it.” 

You can’t speak, can’t ask for more from your daddy. The angle is new, something you two have never tried before, a stretch that makes you dizzy and the air in your throat stutter. 

He helps you with the last few inches, praising you for having such a perfect cunt, feel so good wrapped around me–made just for me, honey. 

Father Miller gives you time to adjust, kissing your chin, nipping your neck, running his lips over the rosary that sways between your breasts. 

His tongue lashes over your nipples and he sucks as much of your tit as he can get, into his mouth. He’s mean, leaving indents of his teeth on your skin. It’s exactly what you want–what you need. 

He knows right when it’ll become too rough, too much for you, and he’ll kiss, swipe his tongue over the hurt, rain praises on your skin. 

The both of you fit awkwardly on the big chair but you make it work, digging your knees into the leather and bracketing his thighs to grind slowly in his lap.

“Look so pretty on my cock, honey.” 

He’s taken you from behind, bent over his desk with your hands clawing at the wood. He’s taken you in the tiny confessional, your body folded in half while he stares into your eyes as he finishes inside of you. 

Not like this, though. Not with your hands behind your back and his on your waist, helping you bounce and grind on him. 

You tremble in his hold, feel each kiss of his fat cockhead to the syrupy end of you. 

“Ne–need to c–cum,” you choke out, remembering you can use more than just whines and whimpers to talk. 

His cheeks are red, his hair is in disarray, and you notice sweat on his neck, peppering along his clerical collar. His thighs shift underneath you and he plants his feet more firmly on the ground. 

“Wantcha’ to cum on my cock,” he demands. 

Father Miller uses you like a toy, moving your body how he wants it, burning the memory of his cock into your pussy. His lips find yours in a sloppy kiss when you tilt forward, almost falling from how fast he’s using you. 

He’s so big, buried deep in your pussy, splitting you open. Your clit brushes on the curly hair at his base with each rock of his hips and you're there–cumming on Father Miller’s cock, opening your mouth in a silent scream while you shake in his hold. 

You soak his cock and the front of his dress pants with your slick. He’s groaning at each pulse and flutter of your pussy. Take it so well, honey he murmurs around your nipple. Milkin' my cock, baby. 

He moves you up once, twice, and keeps you pressed to him, spilling his seed in your cunt. Without even trying it knocks another orgasm from you, just as you were coming down from the first. 

Father Miller bites at your mouth, bringing up his hand to squeeze your neck and accept his kisses. His cock twitches slightly inside of you as he spills, marking you deep. 

He yanks off your panties and you immediately move your hands into his hair, tugging through the strands and pressing your body even closer to his. Your breathless, shivering in his hold from the two orgasms that were shocked out of your body. 

Just as quickly as it happens, he pushes you off of his lap. You land in a limp heap on the floor, eye level to his soaked cock. It’s covered in the both of you. 

“Give it a kiss, and say you’re sorry.” 

You happily follow his command, pressing a kiss to the tip, licking away the stickiness from your lips and give him a I’m so sorry, daddy. 

He smiles at you before reaching to take the rosary off from your neck and placing it in your hands. You stare up in confusion and watch as he rises to his full height. 

“Now, I want you to kneel here,” he says, grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging your naked body right in front of the cross, “and do two Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” 

Your thighs shake from the exertion but you do as he says and kneel in perfect form. You bow your head in prayer and begin, hearing him zip up his dress pants and walk out of his office. His cum slowly drips out of your swollen pussy and onto the hardwood floor. 

[themarshmallownerd]

New Chapter: A Lazarus Drug

Link: Chapter 3

Previous: Chapter 2

First: Chapter 1 (AO3)

A/N: Big content warning in this chapter for a graphic depiction of a panic attack. Also, minor warnings for generalized paranoia and a very very vague reference to Nat's home life with her shitty dad. Also warnings for being mean to Lottie, because I personally find that upsetting :(

Preview: Just like the morning of Jackie’s return, she was now hearing things, as well. And just like that morning, it was Laura Lee she heard. Whispering her name over and over, becoming more insistent the more Lottie ignored her. 

“Lottie…Lottie!”

There was a slight difference in the way her voice sounded this time. On this morning, there was a clear tremor to it. Less like someone in mourning, and more…nervous. Agitated in a way that Lottie hadn’t heard from her late friend since the first night after the plane crash, when Laura Lee confessed, on the brink of tears, that she believed God was punishing her for something really bad she had done. 

Lottie could hardly stomach the thought of her friend so distressed. Especially like this, where Lottie couldn’t console her. 

“Stop it,” Lottie muttered, bringing both hands up to shield her ears. Whether she was pleading with herself not to listen or with whatever was causing that voice—be it whatever entity was in the Wilderness with them or simply her own fucked-up brain—she still wasn’t entirely sure. “Stop, please…”

“Lottie…listen to me!”

The girl whimpered, feeling her chest tighten with guilt for actively trying to ignore her friend’s pleas. 

It’s not her! It’s not Laura Lee! Laura Lee is dead!

Jackie was dead, too.

Jackie…

Jackie was awake at this hour, too. Jackie was always awake lately.

At the moment, the former team captain was sitting up right in front of the fireplace, watching the feeble flames there writhe in place. An echo of the dull yellow light shone in her wide, blank eyes. 

As she lowered her hands from her head, Lottie realized she could hear Jackie whispering, just like Laura Lee was. 

Except Jackie’s words were in French. 

“C’est la fin de tout. Ils sont tous morts. Sang pour sang. La fin de tout.”

“Jackie?” Lottie interrupted quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Jackie didn’t seem upset, by any means. But Lottie had some…personal experience with such a state. She still vividly remembered when she was the one spouting ominous words in a language they were barely learning back in high school. She remembered the confusion when she finally came to, and how everyone around her regarded her with pure fear. 

However, Jackie didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Her gaze turned to Lottie, as impassive as it always was. The light from the fireplace glowed in the corners of her eyes, setting the whites of her scleras ablaze. Coupled with the complexion of her skin, still waxen even after days of Shauna’s care, she looked like something from an entirely different plane of existence. Like a fictional character in an oil painting. Like the ghost the other girls treated her as. 

“How much do you hear, Lottie?” she asked. Her tone was perfectly casual, no longer at a whisper. As though this was an everyday conversation between her and Lottie, and they weren’t surrounded by the quiet, sleeping bodies of their teammates all around them. 

Lottie’s brow furrowed, not understanding the question. “What?”

Jackie’s head tilted to the side. She did that sometimes, when faced with questions like whether she wanted a blanket or her share of the food. As though she couldn’t quite grasp why anyone would need such things. 

This time, however, her head tilted the other way. Slower, more calculated than any of those other times. Less in non-understanding, and more like a sign of challenge. “Which of us are you going to listen to?” 

“I…I don’t know what…”

Lottie trailed off, distracted by something peeking out at the very edges of her recent memory. The things Laura Lee had been saying to her. 

Lottie, listen to me!

Did Jackie…did Jackie know what Lottie was hearing in her head? Lottie hadn’t told anyone about the first time she heard Laura Lee’s voice in her ear. There wasn’t anyone who could have planted the idea in Jackie’s head that it could be happening again, now. 

How did she know?

Laura Lee is dead.

Jackie was dead, too.

Jackie spoke again. “Do you think a ghost can save you?”

“I…” Lottie shifted in her seat, fully facing the other girl with tentative intrigue. “Are you…do you know if Laura Lee is still—?”

There was a slight groan from the other side of the room. Someone else was being jolted awake by a disturbing dream. 

It was enough to distract Lottie for the moment. Her eyes shot over to the person, finding Travis stirring against his spot on the floor. If he was awake, he was definitely going to stay awake so that he could start the day looking for his brother in the woods. Which meant the morning no longer belonged to just Lottie and Jackie. 

When the former looked again, Jackie was no longer looking at her. The latter’s face was turned back towards the fireplace, watching the low flames with the same impassive expression she’d had when Lottie first woke up. It was like their exchange had never happened. 

[mercy-burning]

She’s An Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer discovers that Reader has a rather promiscuous personality behind closed doors, and he can’t help but give into her. Category: SMUT (18+), (there’s a lil fluff at the end, but it’s mostly filth lol) Warnings: Language, heavy flirting and sexual tension, female/male-receiving oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, innocence kink (kinda?), breeding kink, dirty talk Word Count: 10.8k

***EDITED: 7/23/2021***

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, guys! This is my entry for @willowrose99 ‘s 1-Year Writing Challenge Celebration! My prompts were: Only Angel by Harry Styles (fun fact, this is my favorite Harry song! And the notes/texts that Reader sends to Spencer are lines from the song), stealing clothes, and the dialogue “You know, I kinda like it when you call me -pet name-” I hope you all enjoy it! I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!!!

Also! Little fun fact: sex and metaphors/references to religion is like... my favorite thing in the whole world, so I made a tiny playlist for you to give a listen if you’re interested! If you have song recs so I can add them, please let me know! I’m always on the lookout for new stuff :) Enjoy!!

***

He didn't think much of it the first day she started working at the BAU. If anything, Spencer was glad that they had an intern— someone who could share some of their responsibilities without completely changing the dynamic of the work. She even became part of their family, going out with them after cases, attending every workplace gathering, whether it be a wedding for a co-worker they didn't see often, one of Rossi's dinner parties, or Henry's birthday party.

It wasn't until they were setting up for the BAU office Halloween party that he noticed something was... different.

Y/N and Spencer were put on decorating duty while everyone else brought food and music, and whatever else. They stopped by extra early to set up, meaning they would be there together, alone, for at least two hours before anyone showed up.

Normally that wouldn't have been anything to worry about, but Y/N showed up in costume, and it completely threw him for a loop.

Now, he wasn't one to really care whether or not people used Halloween as an outlet to dress like sexy nurses or cheerleaders or whatever else. Sure, he'd rather go with something on the scary side, something with a creepy mask or intricate makeup, but in the end the holiday was everyone's to enjoy how they wanted to. And one way or the other, he never saw anyone in a sexy Halloween costume and found himself tempted by them in the slightest. In fact, it was rare that he ever saw anyone in one at all.

So, when Y/N slowed up to the office wearing a very skin-tight, tiny schoolgirl costume, and his heart leapt out of his chest, mouth going dry and blood running hot at the sight of her?

He was a goner.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him, dropping the large bag she was carrying to run over and give him a hug, which he shakily returned, trying to snap out of his daze. Suddenly he felt a little underdressed, not wearing his costume yet, and truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to wear one at all now, fearful that she'd think it was too immature.

Even more frightening than the holiday itself was the fact that Spencer found himself caring about what Y/N would think of his costume when a minute ago it hadn't even crossed his mind.

He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly before she released him from her hug, hoping to expel his fear and remember that she was his friend and she'd never actually say anything bad about his costume. Not that that'd even mattered in the first place. It shouldn't have mattered, right?

God, pull yourself together! She's just a pretty girl dressed in a suggestive costume, it's nothing you haven't seen before...

Though, he wasn't even sure he could call her a pretty girl right then.

Because when she pulled away from him, talking about some of the decorations she brought, he had ample opportunity to get a good look at her costume up close. And she wasn't pretty. She was downright sexy, all legs protruding underneath a short plaid skirt and adorning shiny black heels, curly hair tumbling down her shoulders in pigtails. Her shirt was so low, most of the buttons undone to reveal a black lacy bra underneath. She wore a pair of glasses that sat cutely on the tip of her nose and minimal makeup, the only noticeable thing being bright red lip color.

That wasn't what was different, though.

Sure, she'd never worn anything that scandalous around work or even on nights out, but it wasn't the fact that she'd done so now that felt strange. No, it was the way she looked up at him, her head hung low and her eyes looking up through eyelashes. When she got excited to tell him something, she pitched her voice higher. And often times, she'd put herself in compromising positions, and it seemed like it was on purpose.

At one point she stood right in front of him trying to hang a streamer on a beam she was most certainly not tall enough to reach. Her arms stretched high, all fabric on her body rising up and exposing more skin. Spencer quickly tried to avoid any problems, offering to help so she wouldn't hurt herself, first of all, but also so that he wouldn't find himself staring too long when he shouldn't have been staring at all.

The whole time they were decorating, she found excuses to drop things and pick them up, to stumble and hold onto his arm for steadiness, to accidentally brush past him... And that's what was so different about her.

He didn't want to assume she'd been drinking before coming to the office, and if he'd known any better he wouldn't have assumed it in the first place. But that was the one and only thing that crossed his mind that could have been the answer to her strange behavior, despite the lack of alcohol on her breath. (The only reason he knew her breath didn't smell of alcohol was because at one point, she hugged him again and pulled back to look in his eyes, brushing stray curls from his face and telling him they did a good job finishing up the room they'd been working on.)

Now they were in the conference room, and Spencer was hanging streamers as Y/N sat in one of the chairs, wheeled back to the middle of the room so she could observe everything. Well... observe Spencer was more correct. At least that's what he figured, anyway. It was like he could feel her eyes burning into the back of him. Or maybe he was just still unable to get over the fact that she and her stupidly hot costume had had that big of an effect on him.

He stood down from the chair and asked Y/N to hand him more tape, refusing to look at her.

"Spence, are you alright?" she asked sweetly, rolling her chair over to the table so she could reach the tape. The innocent concern in her voice had that same suspicious tone to it that wouldn't leave him alone, like it was nagging him and calling to him... begging to confront her.

He flicked his gaze down to meet hers for the briefest of seconds before looking back at the table. "N—Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She picked up the tape and toyed with it between her fingers, which were manicured a light pink color. He couldn't help but stare at them. "You seem a little... on edge."

With a swallow, an attempt to bring moisture back to his throat, Spencer shook his head. "I'm... No, I'm sure. Everything's fine."

Y/N sighed. "Well, I've been working with you profilers for some time now, and... I think I can tell when you're lying. Was it... something I did?"

There she went again, her voice high and soft. Innocent. Like she was in character.

Spencer looked at her face again, and then immediately he regretted it. She was half pouting at him, doe-eyed and head tilted to expose her neck. He swallowed again, trying to figure her out while also figuring out what to say.

"No," is what he settled on, audibly nervous.

She could tell, too, because he thought he saw her smirk for just a split second. But then it was gone, replaced once again by her pout. "Oh... Good. Because I thought for a second that you didn't like my costume."

She obviously had to be up to something, right? Was she... flirting with him? And more importantly, did he want her to flirt with him? He'd never really thought about Y/N in that context before, but she was single, beautiful, and... well, truthfully that's all he really knew about her. They'd been friends for about a year now, and he couldn't put together one single thought about her other than the stuttering, muddled confusion over the fact that she was in a sexy Halloween costume and most likely openly flirting with him.

What was that Emily said once about his IQ dropping in the presence of a pretty woman?

Y/N had rendered him utterly thoughtless.

And speechless, too, apparently, because he stood there, staring at her without saying a single word.

"Spencer," she called out softly, almost like a lullaby. Her chair rolled back, away from the table to give him a better view of her legs as she un-crossed them and very slightly opened her knees. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

As if he wasn't already practically burning inside-out since the moment she arrived at the office, now his blood ran hot, and he was suddenly very uncomfortably warm. "U—Um, y—yes, you're... You're beautiful, y—your costume... It's nice, it looks nice on you."

Her pout slowly turned into a smile as she patted her knees. "Thank you... I wore it just for you, you know."

Is this some sort of bizarre dream? he wondered, his knees almost buckling at her words, their tone, and the meaning of it all.

"Y—You did?" he whispered brokenly.

"Mnmm," she drawled as her fingers toyed with themselves. "You teach, right?"

"Sometimes."

Y/N hummed and nodded, her legs still closed enough that he couldn't see anything... extra promiscuous. "You know, I bet you have quite a few students who find you attractive... Tell me, do any of them dress like this?"

She leaned back in the chair and started to run her hands slowly up the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. "Do they ever... Sit in the front row and... spread their legs just enough for you to see the pretty panties they picked out... just for you..."

By now her hands were resting on the inside of her thighs, her legs spread in exactly the way she'd described. He couldn't help himself. There she was, offering herself to him, and in his line of vision was the faintest glimpse of baby pink fabric that matched the color of her fingernails.

He didn't even know how to verbally respond. By now he was sure his face was beet red, and his palms were sweating so badly and struggling to keep him upright as he leaned forward on the table. Ah, the table— the only thing separating him from her, a fact which he wasn't quite sure if he was thankful for or not.

The spell she had around her broke when her phone rang. And just like that, it was like she was... herself again. At least, the 'herself' Spencer had always known. She sat up and walked over to the other side of the room to grab her phone from her bag, reading the screen as he struggled to catch his breath.

"It's Penelope. She has a costume emergency I have to help with. Are you good putting the rest of these up?"

"U—Um, yeah. Yeah, go."

Y/N smiled and grabbed her bag, thanking him as she walked past and left him behind.

He heard her call back as her figure was etching itself into his brain, ready to remain there until the end of time. "Can't wait to see your costume!"

***

Luke and Tara were having a conversation that he was supposed to be paying attention to, but Spencer's mind was still occupied by Y/N and her... outward display of sensuality.

Her voice was echoing in his brain, replaying over and over how she'd dressed up for him. And the longer he tried to wrap his brain around everything, the more he wound up confused. Where had her forwardness even come from? Had she been actively interested in him this whole time and he just hadn't seen it until now? A possibility, but why had she chosen to go to that extreme rather than just tell him the truth? Maybe she'd just found being overtly sexual an easier tactic than others?

Or maybe, in the end, she was just messing with him. Even though Derek had moved away, it was entirely possible that he'd somehow concocted one of his ridiculous pranks and roped Y/N into helping him since he wasn't around to do it himself. A smart move, though it was highly unlikely.

Spencer just didn't know what to do. Depending on how the rest of the night went, he was probably just going to have to muster up the courage to ask her what her intentions were. And depending on what she says, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted from their relationship... Did she want just sex? Did he want just sex? Did she want to go out with him? Is that something he would want as well?

He was just about to mull it over when Penelope's boisterous laugh sounded from the other side of the room. Spencer looked up, eager to see if Y/N was with her, since she'd been called away on a costume emergency. Penelope was dressed as a devil, red sparkly horns on her red-streaked, curled hair. She was dressed head-to-toe in a red dress and shoes that felt very much like her, with feathers and sequins, and her makeup was also red and black and absolutely glittery.

And sure enough, behind her stood the woman who'd been occupying Spencer's mind for the past hour and a half. Though, she wasn't dressed as a schoolgirl anymore.

He found himself swearing under his breath as he took her in, shimmering where she stood, dressed in all white.

She was an angel.

An actual angel. Her hair fell loose around her, accessorized with a headband with a golden halo attached to it. Her dress was still pretty form-fitting, though nowhere near as scandalous as her previous outfit. It was long and flowed out at the bottom until it hit the floor, a ring of gold at the hem. The sleeves were also long and bell-bottomed, accented with gold at the end.

And from where Spencer stood, even that far away, he noticed the glitter that surrounded her eyes, gold to compliment the color on her dress. Her lips were still bright red, and her glasses were gone. And the wings... As small as they were—most likely to keep from taking up too much space—they stood out in any crowd, purely white and outlined in gold, just like the rest of her outfit.

Why had she changed? Did... she actually change at all? Had he truly only imagined their encounter hours ago?

"Any... specific angels crossing your mind?" Spencer heard Luke say, punctuated with a pat on the shoulder.

He blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"Y/N... She makes a pretty good angel, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, I—I guess so."

Luke and Tara laughed, obviously amused by all of this. But they hadn't seen her earlier. They hadn't been there to witness her seducing him and acting like she'd done it a million times over. They didn't know what she was doing to him, inhabiting every corner of his brain and driving him mad trying to figure it all out.

But it wasn't uncommon for his friends to tease him about the female attention he got sometimes. And when it was obvious that he was flustered, they kept the friendly teasing going. And every time, he settled on leaving it alone, because he knew it would pass and he wouldn't have to worry about it again, at least until the next woman hit on him in public.

And Y/N? She worked with them. As long as she was in his head, he was afraid he'd never stop being flustered in her presence.

So he had to know. He had to talk to her and see what was going on, no matter how awkward it might get.

For now though, it was Halloween, and he was going to spend the night with his friends while doing the very rare amount of drinking and the more frequent amount of laughter.

The night didn't come without a few looks in Y/N's direction, though. She never came up to him directly, though a few times he'd catch her looking at him. And each time, she'd wave and continue on her merry way, laughing with Emily or doing some silly dance with Penelope in their coupling costumes.

Honestly, if earlier hadn't happened, he would have thought nothing of it. She was being completely normal. Happy, friendly... Simply Y/N, as he'd known her for the past year and a half.

He just finished saying goodbye to JJ, who was leaving early to go trick-or-treating with her kids, when she finally approached him. At the sight of her getting closer, her otherworldliness making his blood go warm again, he tried to compose himself. After all, there was no way she'd do anything sensual in public like this, right?

"I didn't get a chance to compliment you on your costume yet," she said brightly, her voice not carrying that higher tone from before. "You make a very believable zombie."

He looked down at his tattered clothes, a small laugh escaping him. "Thank you... It's no high-level makeup job, but I tried my best."

When he looked back up to her, the shimmer of her makeup basked her in a glow that made it incredibly hard to breathe. She really was pretty. Still sexy, of course, but in an understated way this time.

And he couldn't help but bring up the difference. "You... changed."

Something sparkled in her eyes then, giving them a devious glint that inherently contradicted her costume, and the mere implications of that made him tremble, especially as she said, "Mhm... I figured the schoolgirl costume was a little too inappropriate for the workplace. And besides... I did say I wore it just... for you..."

So he hadn't imagined the whole thing... On the one hand he was relieved to know he wasn't freaking out over something that hadn't actually happened. But... on the other, what did that leave him with?

It left him with a woman who was standing in front of him, dressed like an angel while giving him all sorts of devilish feelings.

Once again she'd rendered him speechless, though now his thoughts were filled with images of those pretty, glimmering eyes above him, watching as he worshipped her between her legs... Of her hands twisted in his hair as he showed her just how much he wanted her, to show her how beautiful she was.

Those thoughts were interrupted when she got closer, toying with a stray curl that stuck out from his head. She twirled it around her finger and looked up at him, doe-eyed again as she purred, "Happy Halloween, Doctor Reid."

She was gone too quickly, whisked away by the throes of an office holiday party that, one way or another, served as the beginning to a long, tempestuous affair.

***

In the weeks that followed, Spencer went about his days as normally as he could, focusing on work, and getting ready for another month of teaching, where he'd be away from his friends and, therefore, also away from Y/N.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be away from her... Yet, after constant flirting with no direction other than his dreams filling with filthy images of the two of them together and no actual outlet for it, he figured a break would do him some good. Of course, he wasn't sure what would await him when he came back—if she'd forget about all of it and give up or if she'd come at him stronger than before.

It was his final day before leave, and so naturally, Y/N had to make it hard on him. He was sure that's what she was doing.

Since it was getting colder, she strayed away from skirts, though occasionally she would show up to work in a longer dress or a shirt that hugged her in all the right places, especially on the days that he would be working with her more. She had the BAU's schedules on hand always, so she had to be using that as a way to get to him.

On those days, she often used her higher pitch when she spoke to him, and her eyes were always adventurous— they wandered over every part of his body and sometimes quickly blinked away when he caught her, accompanying an embarrassed smile. (Though, Spencer was convinced she really was absolutely not embarrassed.)

Other times she pulled the "Oops, I dropped something," trick, and "You know, it's almost Winter but it's still so warm in here, don't you think?" followed by a stretch of her body as she slowly put her hair up or dragged it over her shoulder. 

His plan was to wait until he got back from leave, assess their situation from there after he'd cleared his head for a while, and then talk to her about what the hell was going on. Though the thought of confronting her scared him a little, he knew he couldn't let this go on any longer without some sort of conversation about what was next... What it all meant. It would drive him crazy otherwise.

With all the sensual, suggestive looks and actions she was throwing at him, though, it was a wonder he hadn't gotten to that point already.

As if she'd figured this out—because of course she would have found a way to get into his brain and know what he was thinking and feeling before he could even do so himself—Y/N stood by a storage closet with a clipboard. She pretended to write things down, when in reality she was looking up at him every so often, biting her lip and crossing her legs where she stood. She looked utterly desperate for something, almost like it was painful for her to be deprived of whatever it was she was looking for.

Spencer had a sneaking suspicion he knew what that was. And the thought sent a wave of electricity through his veins. All day she'd been going extra hard in attempts to catch his attention, and since it was his final day before leaving for a month, he knew that had to be the reason why.

If catching his attention was her goal, she'd definitely succeeded.

Across the room, and across a small sea of co-workers who were head-down, going through paperwork, he caught her eye and waited, his fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out to her. She tilted her head to the side and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, staring back at him like she was in a daydream.

And sure enough, she was standing underneath a light, one singular beam that sat atop her head like a halo and bathed her in a soft glow.

Even without the costume, she was an angel... For a moment Spencer wondered if maybe she'd planed on it all from the start— making her move by dressing like an angel on Halloween for one night and then finding any way on purpose to replicate that presence without actually dressing up again. Was it a way to mess with his head, to make him believe that she was calling to him? That she would... save him somehow?

He had to know what she was doing.

So he gave in and stood up, his eyes keeping contact with hers as he got closer and closer. Before he could get to her, though, she winked and then turned around, entering the storage closet and disappearing before his eyes. Still, he followed her, desperately hoping that's what she wanted.

And with a silent prayer that felt ironic as he thought it, Spencer opened the door and entered the adventure that awaited him. Whether it would be heavenly or otherwise he wasn't sure, but either way he was ready to confront it.

Y/N had turned on a desk lamp, its orange glow the only source of light in an otherwise pitch-black space. She leaned back against a table, still standing with her legs crossed over each other, hands bracing themselves on the tabletop. "How's it going, Doctor Reid?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost immediately after she greeted him. Now that he was alone with her, away from unassuming eyes, he exhaled and visibly showed his confusion through pleading eyes. "Please, I need to know what you're doing..."

He barely saw the contours of her face through dim lighting as she smiled. "What do you mean?"

"Y/N... Don't do that." He took a step closer, even though the quick beating of his heart signaled that it might have been a dangerous move. "Tell me..."

"Isn't it obvious?" she cooed, her hands coming out to toy with the hem of her frilly skirt.

As he looked down at it, he had to wonder if there really was a God out there, some higher being that sent this angel down to destroy him. How else did it stand to happen that even though it was nearing the end of November, the one day it was warm enough for Y/N not to freeze while wearing a skirt was the final day he had before leaving for a whole moth?—Before it was inevitably snowy and she wouldn't have the luxury to tease him with her skin?

She must have caught his lingering gaze on her legs, because she laughed softly, spreading them to stand a bit further apart while her fingers very lightly pushed the fabric of her skirt up. "I've been trying to get your attention ever since I got here... But you never seemed to notice. So I figured... Why not be a little more... forthcoming..."

"Y—You could have... said something," he whispered, forcing himself to look at her face. But as he was learning, he couldn't look at any part of her without his whole body going up in flames. 

By now she was walking closer to him, small, languid steps that perfectly showcased how her body could move. "Well... Truth is, I was scared... Every time I tried to talk to you, I got really nervous..." Her voice was demure, apologetic almost... Embarrassed. But it had to have just been part of the allure, right? Part of her show? "You're just so... intimidating."

Spencer swallowed, a small laugh coming from him as he tried not to collapse at her closeness. "I'm... I'm really not..."

But she laughed, finally close enough to reach out and grab his tie, which is what she did. She held the fabric in her hands for a few seconds before letting it drop, bringing her pointer finger to gently trace patterns on his chest. "Not in a mean way, silly... You're... incredibly smart, and you're good at your job... You're always so nice to everyone... And I bet you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

He found himself trembling under her touch again as she brought her hand down to meet his. She leaned up to nudge his chin with her nose as she moved his hand to the inside of her thigh. It was only the slightest of touches, nothing rushed or passionate about it. In fact, Y/N seemed more taken with the idea of using her touch to draw everything out— to make him pine for it, lose all semblance of sanity until he finally gave in and did whatever he wanted to her.

"Don't you wanna know what it feels like to touch me?" she whispered, her breath hot on his neck. Meanwhile her hand guided his own farther up her skirt, until he felt her skin getting warmer and warmer with each millimeter. His throat was dry, breath shaky as he fluttered his eyes closed and embraced the moment, embraced the guidance... "To feel how wet you make me?"

His heart practically leapt out of his chest once his hand was finally met with said wetness. Her panties were damp and oh so warm, and he couldn't stop the whine that left his throat as she pressed his fingers hard into her against the fabric. Her fingers covered his like a glove, guiding them in small circles over her clothed clit as she sighed into his neck.

"You feel that?" she asked, nuzzling into his skin. "That's what you do to me, Doctor.  From the moment I saw you, I knew you'd ruin me..."

He breathed a laugh then, finding it utterly ironic how that's how she felt. She could have just been toying with him, but there was enough longing and desperation in her voice to let him know she really meant it. She'd been waiting for him to come along and whisk her away...

So that's what he was going to do.

Spencer removed his hand from her then, walking them over to the table and pulling her right to him by gripping the waistband of her panties and keeping her still. The gasp she let out fueled him in a way that would have wrecked him if the job hadn't already been done. As he looked down at her, her body was basked in the soft orange luminescence of the desk lamp, a sight that aesthetically added to his desire and farther fueled the heat that had been accumulating in his veins, waiting to be released.

"Is that what you want, angel?" he breathed, the words even taking him by surprise. His sexual experience was far from non-existent, but it was limited enough that he'd never acted this feral before. Never had a partner ever had this strong of a hold on him, so tight that he found it a struggle to breathe. Add on the fact that he wanted to embrace that struggle if it meant being this way with her, and you had a man who was completely unraveling under the allure of one single woman until she ultimately brought forth his demise. "You want me to ruin you?"

Though he was giving in, like he assumed she wanted in the first place, Y/N hummed, tilting her head again and blinking up at him. "You know, I kinda like it when you call me angel..."

Spencer gripped the fabric tighter, and she whined. "Is it what you want?" In other words, Do you want this? 

Y/N nodded, and then he crashed his lips with hers as he tugged at her panties and let them drop to the floor in a pool around her feet. She flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself into him more, allowing his tongue to part her lips and explore her with liveliness. She was more than welcome to embracing it, verbally giving him praises in the form of whimpers and physical ones in the form of her hips rolling forward to get more friction.

As one of his hands found purchase under one of her thighs, he thought back to Halloween night, and how he'd imagined his head between her legs. The memory had his entire body tensing with pleasure, and without a second thought, he pulled away and dropped to his knees, looking up at her with what he hoped was the purest form of desire.

He looked up at her, admiring the way her face looked in the dim light, as he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder. Still keeping eye contact, he tilted his head and kissed the inside of her leg. But eventually he let his focus lean to immersing himself in her pleasure, tearing his eyes away from hers and completely shifting his head to face her leg. His lips trailed upwards, taking his time to remember the taste and the feel of her soft skin. 

The higher he got, the heavier her breathing became, and it wasn't long before he fully had his head under her skirt. She tried to move the fabric so she could see him, but he gripped her wrists and pinned them at her sides, eliciting a laugh from her that quickly turned into a whimper once he brushed his nose over where she ached for him.

Without being able to stop himself, Spencer inhaled, breathing her in and letting out a shaky breath as he inched closer and involuntarily closed his eyes, completely wrapped up in her like he'd never felt before. He was intoxicated by her, even more so when his mouth finally made contact with her dripping cunt.

Feeling her shudder above him was almost as heavenly as the way she tasted, sweet and bitter and oh so delectable. He'd never craved anything more than her in that moment, his tongue lapping her up and making a point to taste all of her. He explored and worshipped and praised her just how he'd imagined he would, though now that it was actually happening and he'd really had a taste of her, he wasn't sure he could ever go back.

Not that he wanted to. Especially as she whined and rolled her hips against his face, seeking more pleasure as she tried to be quiet in the closet.

Spencer, though he knew the importance of keeping it quiet right then, couldn't say he was the same way. Since his head was hiked up her skirt, and his sounds were muffled by her skin, he was as loud as he wanted to be, groaning into her and mumbling praises in between while catching his breath. He reveled in the feeling of her wetness coating the lower half of his face and the sounds that both pairs of her lips were providing. It truly was better than any symphony or choir he'd ever heard, and if he could spend the rest of his life down there, worshipping at her altar and giving her everything she desired, he would have.

But they were at work, and if they were gone too long, it would get suspicious.

So, as much as he wanted to draw out her pleasure—and by association, his own—he focused on getting her to her peak, flicking his tongue out over her clit and letting her hips rock forward to get her exactly where she wanted to be.

He knew she was about to come when she stopped whining and whimpering altogether, the leg she had draped over his shoulder curling and tightening around him to keep herself steady.

His tongue was relentless, keeping at what it was doing while Spencer imagined what her face must have looked like. Were her eyes rolling to the back of her head or were they squeezed tight? And her mouth— was it hanging open? Was her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she attempted to keep herself from yelling out? And as her hands struggled in his grasp, trying to escape most likely in favor of gripping his hair, he imagined them tied up above her head, attached to his bedframe as he took his time, drawing out every little sound she could have possibly made until she was just as unraveled as he was.

And then her grip loosened all around him, a whiny sigh escaping from her mouth, and Spencer reluctantly drew himself away from her. He dropped her leg from his shoulder and licked at his lips, tasting as much of her as he could before he had to return to work. And then, when he was moving to remove his head from under her skirt, he caught sight of her panties on the ground, picking them up and sliding the garment lightly up along her leg as he stood.

The only thing was, he wasn't putting them back on her.

No, they hung loose between his fingers as they tickled the inside of her legs, and when he finally stood tall enough to tower over her again, he got as close as he could to her, bringing the fabric up between her legs, right where he'd just been, and pressed them firmly to her sensitive pussy.

"Time to clean you up, angel," he whispered, swiping his hand forward and doing exactly that. Y/N whined against his mouth, faintly tasting herself on his lips as he cleaned her.

He kissed her then, gently, removing his hand from under her skirt and depositing the damp fabric right into his pocket.

If Spencer hadn't known already that he was done for, he would have figured it out right then, when he pulled back far enough to see the high, blissed out look in her pretty eyes. She blinked at him and sighed, telling him one final thing before she pushed past him and walked out into the office with no underwear and half-wobbly legs.

"I miss you already, Doctor..."

***

He missed her, too.

The month-long leave was supposed to assist in letting him clear his head, but the longer he was away from her, the more it drove him mad. Occasionally he'd still taste the sweet tanginess of her on his tongue, and no amount of coffee could rinse it out. Sometimes he'd be grading papers and daydream about hearing her whimper out his name as he took care of her.

It didn't help that she also sent him texts, little things that would have sounded innocent to anyone else but had a way more promiscuous meaning to the both of them. They mostly involved the discussion of angels, of course, as she left him with a quote or a song lyric, and other days with a fact about a specific angel.

Today, the morning before classes started, she sent him, She's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see... Spencer didn't know what it meant, what it was referencing, but it was innocent enough that he didn't think anything of it until lunch rolled around and he checked his phone to see another text.

...When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. All day, even as he was trying to distract himself by lecturing, all he could see in his mind was Y/N. Sometimes with her angel costume on, but mostly with nothing on, her body fitting into his like a puzzle piece as she sighed out his name like a prayer.

And to think, he had one more week until he would see her again.

But then he was looking through his students' quizzes, small sheets of paper with some terminology and matching definitions they needed to pair together. Since there were only about five minutes left until the class was over, he let his students spend the rest of the time how they chose, not really in the mood to burn himself out speaking when he knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped and said something about Y/N that he shouldn't.

The next quiz he grabbed was folded in half, unusual, but he opened it and was looking to go about his merry way regardless. But then he saw a post-it note right in the middle of the paper, reading She's an angel, my only angel, and punctuated with a pair of red lips.

The first thing he did was drop the pen that was in his hand. Not like he did it on purpose, though, he was pretty sure all joint and muscle function was lost upon reading the handwriting he knew so well, and a reference that only she could make.

And then he looked up, eyes scanning the sea of students to find her. She had to have been there, right? A few of the students found it odd that he was just looking through all of them, but all he was worried about was finding her.

And there she was.

Y/N had tucked herself all the way in the back, her eyes locked directly onto him. She winked then, when she knew she had his attention, and all Spencer could think about was how it must have been another dream. Her texts from earlier had gotten to him more than usual, and because of it, he was seeing her everywhere, seeing what he wanted to see.

Even though he wanted to keep looking at her, to try and figure out if she was really there or if she was just a figment of his devilish mind, he didn't want anyone to catch him. To anyone else it would look like he might have been staring at another student, and with the lust he knew was definitely swimming in them, the last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble like that.

So, to his dismay and reluctance, he slipped the note into the drawer beside him and quietly finished grading, even though he was longing to see how else he could let Y/N destroy him.

Even as the bell rang and everyone filtered out, Spencer kept his head low, refusing to look up until everyone was gone and only one person remained.

The quieter it got, the harder he could feel his heart beating. And then the only thing that cut through the silence was that unmistakable, angelic high pitch that would surely never fail to bring him to his knees.

"Did you get my note, Doctor?"

Only then did he allow himself to look up, and when he did, seeing her closer to him than she'd been in almost a month now, it was like the stars aligned. "Yes," he whispered, getting out of his seat and walking around the desk to be as close to her as possible.

She laughed and met him in the middle, nearly trapping him between herself and the desk. Her hands reached out to grab at his suit jacket and he wished that she'd touch him somewhere else. Anywhere else, just to feel the soft warmth of her skin.

"And my texts?" she cooed, taking another step and actually trapping him between her body and his desk.

"Y—Yeah, I got them."

"Oh, good. I've been thinking a lot about how you left me..." She slid her hands then, under his jacket and across his stomach until they reached his waist. "The second I got in my car to go home, you were already on your way here... And I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing with my panties..."

They were currently back in his hotel room, in the drawer and laying atop of his own clothes, a vision that had him reeling, wondering if she was wearing any now. So he asked. "Are... Um..."

Well, he tried to ask, anyway.

Y/N caught on, though, beaming at him as her hands removed herself from him and slipped up her skirt. "You wanna see the pair I'm wearing now?"

"Y/N... There's... Someone could come in, I..."

She clucked her tongue. "Oh, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble, don't worry. I'll just... Give you a quick peek."

She didn't wait for him to respond, lifting the hem of the skirt and stepping back so he could see the front of her underwear, which were white and printed with black cursive lettering.

Angel.

As soon as he exhaled, loud and obviously very turned on at the sight in front of him, she dropped the skirt and smiled. "You like them? I needed to buy a new pair since you felt the need to steal my others..."

Spencer really didn't know what to say. All he knew was that his body was on fire, and the tightening of his pants was extremely dangerous since he had another class in a half hour and there wasn't enough time to take care of it unless they did something right now. And even then, they were in a public area with hardly anywhere to go. His best bet would be to go to the bathroom and be as inconspicuous as possible to take care of it himself. Or, Y/N needed to leave immediately so he could settle down and just let it go away on its own.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have a hard time denying her of anything.

Which was why he didn't stop her when she sunk to her knees.

As she undid his belt, looking up at him  with sparkling eyes, she spoke to him. "Honestly, I had every intention to just make out with you a little, just enough to satiate myself until I can see you again next week, but... Well, I'm wearing lipstick, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

He'd made out with a woman before, who'd worn lipstick, and surprisingly it was pretty easy to remove, so he knew she had to have been lying as some part of a bigger scheme, but... he couldn't quite figure out what that was. Obviously she had plans to take care of his erection for him, so why make up the story?

But then she kept talking, only slightly pulling down his pants and palming him through his underwear. "And then I thought about how pretty you'd look covered in lipstick kisses, and, well... It's always good to start somewhere, don't you think?"

Oh...

His stomach did flips when she traced his dick through the fabric covering it, gently with her middle finger. And then, looking into his eyes from below, she pulled it out and slowly stroked it with her hand, a low hum coming from her throat. "Mmm, I can't wait to mark up this pretty cock..."

That's when he lost all semblance of control, a strained groan falling from his lips, coming from the great depths of his chest, just from her words alone. And she took that moment to lean forward and press the gentlest of kisses to the base of his dick. She held her lips there for a second or wo before removing them and moving just a little higher, her eyes never leaving his face.

Her kisses trailed higher and higher, centimeter by centimeter until she reached his tip, where she ever so slightly flicked her tongue over the slit at the top, tasting his precum. And then gave him one final kiss—one final red mark.

The temptation to grab her hair and hold her there while he fucked her throat was strong, but as he looked down at her, she was examining her handiwork with a seductive hunger that made him realize that no matter how strong his urges got, she would always be the one in charge. Even if she acted all innocent and submissive, she was the one who held the key to his sexual desires, and therefore she was the only one who had the ability to unlock them.

So, he contained himself as she looked up at him, winked, and quickly tucked his hard dick back into the confines of his pants.

And when she stood up, she leaned up to his cheek and pressed another kiss there, leaving behind a red mark and all all his sanity with it, quickly turning away before he could catch her.

"See you later, Doctor," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.

Spencer let out a long, unsteady breath, debating on whether or not he should take care of his situation in the bathroom or right there in the classroom, behind his desk and into the trash can underneath it while he still had ample time to do so.

He sat in the chair about a minute later, his hand moving furiously under the desk as he breathed out hushed whispers of her name.

***

No matter how badly he wanted more alcohol in his system, he wasn't going to allow it. After one drink he was already starting to feel the affects, veins buzzing right along with the low hum of the music from inside. The single streetlight above him provided only the dimmest of lights as he took deep breaths in and out, focusing on the bitter cold from the December air and the soft pelting of snowflakes upon the skin of his cheeks.

Y/N's touch still burned him, right along his inner thigh where her hand had firmly rested while they and the rest of their friends ate dinner at the bar. All night so far, she'd been teasing him to no end, whether it was a brush of her hand against his crotch or a tiny kiss on the shoulder when no one was looking.

How no one had figured them out yet was a mystery.

Spencer rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm when he felt it. She was behind him.

"You've been out here for a while, Spence, is everything okay?" Even when she wasn't speaking to him in her angelic higher pitch, he still felt like succumbing to the sound her voice regardless.

He turned around to face her, and sighed. It figured that even surrounded by a street that was covered in brown-tainted snow, she wouldn't have let it taint her beauty. He was convinced that no matter where she was or what she looked like, she'd always be perfect— capable of knocking the breath out of him every time he looked at her. "Honestly, you've been driving me crazy."

"Oh," she said, her eyes slightly shifting to the ground. "Maybe I... did take it too far, I... I'm sorry." The slight tinge of embarrassment and maybe regret that filtered through her voice nearly ran him to the ground— How could she ever believe that he would feel overwhelmed by her? Sure, to some extent, he was extremely overwhelmed by her, but it was never a negative thing.

"Oh, angel, that's not what I meant," he explained softly, taking a few steps towards her.

She lifted her head, eyes doe-eyed and sparkling, though not as they usually were. This time they were swimming in a softness that made him yearn for her even more. "What?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm absolutely mesmerized by you... Y/N..." Spencer brought a hand to lightly caress her face, and when she leaned into his touch it made him so warm he thought it would melt all of the snow. "I can't get you out of my head, and I... I don't know if I ever want to. I mean that."

"Y—You're not... weirded out or anything?" she asked softly. "That I just... sprung all my feelings and my lust out onto you all at once? B—Because I know it was sudden, and I came on really strong so fast, I just... I thought you liked it, and so I just kept going, but really I should have stopped and... I don't know, asked if you were okay with it..."

He'd seen this softness in her before— When she watched over JJ's kids in the office sometimes, and when she helped Penelope set the table for their 'family dinners'. Every time, on the rare occasion that she actually went on cases with them, when she helped JJ comfort the families who'd lost their loved ones, he saw it. And even through all the lust, that sweetness in her soul was what truly made her an angel. Even though the lust is all he'd been swimming in since Halloween, deep down he really knew that it was only a small part of who she really was.

So, he said to her, "Y/N, I'm enchanted by all of you. I don't... I don't know what happened to make you want to come on strong to me, but... I'm glad you did. Believe me when I say, there is nothing about you that would scare me away."

He didn't know how she was feeling, but she practically visibly melted at his words, right in front of him. "You really mean that?"

With a smile, Spencer stepped even closer and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. "Of course I mean it, my angel."

She laughed then, her hands wrapping themselves over his waist. "Your angel, huh?"

"Mhm... If you'd like to be..."

Y/N leaned up and pressed her lips to his in answer, firmly and with all the sweetness she had nestled inside her soul.

But the longer they stood there outside the bar, kisses growing warmer and hungrier with each passing second, Spencer realized that he didn't want her sweetness any longer, not tonight anyway. He cradled her face in his hands, feeling the fire in his veins come alive when she whined into his mouth and willed herself closer.

Before he could say fuck it and decide to take her right there outside, he pulled away, still needing her but not entirely willing to get themselves caught for public indecency.

Y/N spoke before he got a chance to, her higher pitch coming back and almost bringing him to his knees.

"What do you say you take your angel home and show her a good time?"

***

She didn't even get a chance to close the door to his apartment before he was on her, his hands tugging at her coat to get it off.

It was a frenzy, at least while they were stripping. Jackets and boots and scarves were strewn across the entryway and leading into the living room, until each of them only had two layers: their regular clothes and what they wore underneath. And that's when they finally allowed themselves the luxury of wrapping their limbs around each other.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he grabbed ahold of her ass to keep her steady. For added support, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him the whole way to his bedroom, but not without a few stumbles. Either way, they were so quite literally wrapped up in each other that the imperfections didn't matter.

Like she could ever come with imperfections... Spencer thought as he set her down, immediately bringing his hands to the back of her dress.

Meanwhile she unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling around so much that he thought she might choose to rip it open, and selfishly he wished she would have. But she got it open without tearing any buttons, and the fabric slid easily off his shoulders at the same time her dress slid off her own.

He was going to kiss her again, but once he caught a glimpse of what she'd been hiding under her dress, there was nothing he could physically do but rake his eyes over her figure and pray for forgiveness for all the devilish things he wanted to do to her.

It was a white set, all lace that was detailed to look like feathers as it hugged every curve of her body perfectly. She wore a set of garters that attached to the panties, which he was pretty sure were crotch-less and outlined in a pretty gold shimmer.

"I knew you'd like it," Y/N drawled sweetly. The pure innocence that dripped from her tongue would have thoroughly wrecked him had her appearance already not taken care of that. And she seemed to understand how immobile he'd become at the sight of her, because she moved of her own accord, gliding over to him and reaching her hand out to undo his belt. "I'm gonna take your silence as a good sign..."

"You're stunning," he breathed, just barely, and she gave him a smile through softly biting her bottom lip.

"You're too good to me..." Her hands pushed down his loosened slacks and waited until they fell to the floor. And then she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and leaned into his neck. "And I think your kindness deserves a reward..."

Her lips gently pressed to his neck before she dropped to her knees once again, and as she descended, her hands and his underwear did the same, leaving him completely bare and open for her to do whatever she wanted. No matter how badly he longed to throw her on the bed and get to showing her just how much she'd inhabited his every fiber of being, he didn't dare stop her as her tongue darted out and licked a featherlight line along the length of his hard cock.

He let out a sigh and twitched at her touch, a feat that must have pleased her, because she smiled and hummed happily as she repeated her action. Only, this time her tongue was more firm on him— not teasing anymore, but it brought him to damnation all the same.

And then she fully wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, slowly gliding herself down until he hit the back of her throat.

The sound he made was inhuman.

She wasted no time then, bobbing her head at a steady rhythm and moaning around him as she did so. It didn't take long for saliva to start gathering above her chin and dripping down onto the exposed area of her breasts, just above her bra. Occasionally she would hold him at the back of her throat and choke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and the sight of his little angel happily crying with his dick in her mouth sent Spencer into a tailspin.

But as tempting as it was to paint the back of her throat white, he knew he'd prefer to take that action to a more interesting place. So he pulled away from her and breathed out, "Please, not yet..."

He looked down at her as she smiled, wetness coating her skin in the form of tears on cheeks and saliva on breasts. Her hands rested at the tops of her thighs, even as she stood up and blinked a final stream of tears down her left cheek. "Why, is there somewhere else you'd rather fill me up?"

"Please," was all he said, his breathing labored as he imagined what she would feel like.

Thankfully she seemed to take mercy on him— Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed, where she laid him down at the headboard and straddled his thighs. "As much as I love spreading my legs for you, I think I'd much rather take a ride..."

"Anything you want," he told her, his eyes traveling up the length of her body as she got comfortable. She was, in fact, wearing crotch-less panties, and the feeling that coursed through him at the sight of her glistening pussy in decent lighting (AKA when he wasn't under her skirt in a storage closet) sent him straight to Hell all over again.

He sighed out as she played with herself, gliding her fingers delicately along the planes of her body, from her thighs to her clit, and eventually she gripped his dick to line it up, lifting her hips above him.

"Are you ready?" she asked gently, rolling her hips to slick him up with her arousal.

"Always ready for you, angel..."

The pet name sprung her into action. She sunk down slowly onto him, and he willed his eyes to stay open so he could watch as her mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back into her head as she moaned out deliciously. He let out a groan himself, the feeling of her tightly wrapping around him like velvet almost too much to handle.

"Ohhh, you fill me up so good," Y/N sighed, gently grinding her hips in slow circles as she finally had all of him inside her. "Just like I knew you would..."

Everything she was doing, between the gradual increase of the speed at which her hips rolled and the way she looked down at him with pure desire, had Spencer wondering what he'd ever done without her. What had he known before knowing the feeling of her nails gently digging into the skin of his stomach as she rode him, before knowing the sound of his name falling from her lips in a whisper? It couldn't have been anything good, because as far as he was concerned, she was as good as it would ever get.

But at some point it felt like he needed to take more. She was giving him her body, offering it to him like the most precious gift she had to offer, and yet he wanted to tear into it and leave nothing behind except her voice, calling out his name into the heavens above. He longed to give her something in return, something that would leave her just as ruined as she'd left him.

And, as always, she could tell.

Y/N laughed seductively as she leaned down, her hips still rocking into his. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his before she spoke. "Everything alright, baby?"

All he could do was let out a broken moan as she clenched around him on every upstroke.

"Aww... You want more? Huh, you wanna lay me down and give it to me good? Show your little angel what it feels like to be fucked so good she can't even speak?"

"Don't... tempt me," he was finally able to choke out, and she laughed.

"Aww, come on... Show me what you got..."

Spencer wasn't sure when he actually did it, but one second she was nipping at his bottom lip, challenging him to take control, and the next he was on top of her, her legs spread as wide as they could possibly get as he rocked his hips into her at a deep, bruising force.

She laughed amusedly through whimpers of pleasure, her hands spreading out at her sides like wings as he gave her everything he had. Looking down at her, head thrown back and hair fanned around her head like some sort of angelic crown, he soaked it all in and wondered if this was what Heaven was— the feeling of her succumbing to his lust, the sight of her lost in the throes of weeks of pent-up sexual tension that never entirely got released, the sound of her near-incoherently whining at how good he was...

If it wasn't Heaven, it was surely something pretty damn close.

He was almost there, tension stretching out inside the pit of his stomach, when Y/N grabbed one of his hands and brought it to her lower belly. He felt himself slamming into her at full force every time, the small bump against his hand bringing him further along the road of release.

"You feel that?" she whined, keeping his hand there. "You know what that means, don't you?"

It could have meant a lot of things, but his brain was too far gone, lost in in the fog of pleasure to even begin to think about what it was. But then she answered for him, and it was just about the hottest thing he'd ever heard come from her mouth.

"It means I'm all yours... to do whatever you want with... to fill me up with your cum as much as you want... maybe turn your little angel into a mommy..."

With a loud, guttural groan, Spencer held himself still, deep inside her, and gave her every last drop, his hand remained pressed firmly to her stomach. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel his cum spilling out and filling her to the brim through the barrier. She pulsed and came around him at the same time, warmth spreading between the two of them like a drop of water would soak through fabric, until it completely enveloped them like a heavy blanket.

And then they'd given everything, their bodies clinging to each other for dear life as they settled into the gentle aftermath of such a heavy feeling of ardor. Their breaths slowed and their lips explored each other tenderly, hands doing the same until, finally, they felt themselves drifting off.

***

Spencer dreamt of Heaven that night, glimpses of a future he'd always longed for with other people, but that he would get to spend with her.

A wedding dress, white, but haloed by a gold fog as the woman wearing it glided along the aisle and made her way to him.

A house, small, but fenced in and just perfect enough for the two of them and the baby that was on the way.

A picnic table, damp, but drying out in the sun as it gradually became littered with plates of birthday cake and a little candle that was shaped into the number 3.

A woman, old, but beaming as she showed a photo album to her multitudes of grandchildren, telling them stories about the wonderful life she lived with her husband who always called her Angel.

And when he woke up, seeing that old woman as she was now, sleeping in his bed as the sun beamed through the curtains and basked her in a heavenly light, he knew what Heaven really was.

It was her.

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[insurrection-if]

First I would like to say I'm super interested in your IF and I'm looking foward to the demo 😊.

Next I wanted to say I ready you Hispanic heritage post and the gasp I made when I saw you said you were part El Salvadoran. My family is from El Salvador too and I relate. My parents immigrated to the states. I regret not learning more Spanish and about my family's culture when i was younger. My father always spoke to us in English so we could integrate easier but my mom always pushed for us to learn Spanish so we could communicate with our family. So my brother's and I can speak Spanish but not fluently and we have been teased by family for how we speak. At the same time my older brother was ridiculed in elementry by not just his classmates but the techers as well since he knew more Spanish than English. I flet like I didn't really have a place I felt like i was too american to be spanish but to spanish to be american if that makes sense. It took some time but I've learned to respect and love where my family came from and even of my Spanish isn't perfect I love being able to communicate with others in Spanish.

Sorry for the long winded ask seeing your post made me happy 😊 I'm glad you can find pride in being Hispanic.

( ´ ∀ ` )ﾉ Thank you so much for sharing your experiences with me! Ah, and I'm so happy to hear that you've been able to connect more with your Salvadoran heritage! My paternal family immigrated households from El Salvador gradually (my grandma specifically immigrated while notably pregnant with my dad, some time after my grandpa, aunt, and uncle had immigrated as well) leading up to and during the civil war. Many are still Residents to this day rather than full-citizens, a fact I didn't learn until high school when my mom announced my Uncle's citizenship (which I naively assumed him to have already due to his former career in the Marines).

My mother's side is more blurry on immigration. My grandpa immigrated at age 5 from Chihuahua. (Got his first job in the US at 8, set to retire next year which will be first time he hasn't been actively employed in one-to-two jobs since then!). Funny Story: During the process, US officials legally changed his middle name to his first name because his original name was "too hard to pronounce". His parents allowed it to keep the process smooth, the language barrier made it hard to argue (or fully understand what was happening until it was done), and because they figured it would make his life in America easier. Now, instead of Arturo, he's Enrique! (He gets a big laugh out of that!)

My maternal grandma's parents are unclear: her father immigrated from a ranch in Jalisco for reasons unknown (not beyond gossip worthy of a soap opera, haha!) and her mother's birthplace is assumed(?) to be Colorado for reasons no one can provide though its an affirmed certainty that she was Mexican-American (according to everyone who knew her).

I absolutely relate to the too-American yet too-Spanish sentiment! In California, my friends teased me for being the “whitest” Latina they’d ever known yet in Oregon I was told that “no one could ever mistake you for a white girl” (alongside non-verbal reference to my complexion, twice, from two different people!). Very mixed signals in the two environments overall! I recognize though that it’s a lot harder for my siblings considering how much colorism is thrown at them.

This all becomes way more long-winded on my own part from here on out, so I'll place a cut for those uninterested!

My siblings, being considerably light-skinned to more olive-toned (unlike me), have been bullied or slighted since they don’t speak Spanish and don’t inhabit common stereotypes / traits / behaviors certain classmates expect (? the rationale befuddles me)— all combining into their peers sometimes not “believing” their Hispanic heritage. My youngest sister had a group of girls all insist she was Irish for months while calling her a liar (to the point of her crying when she came home), my other younger sister has been repeatedly mistaken for Korean / Romanian / Filipina / white (and "shamed" for trying to seem "more ethnic than she is" and enacting "cultural appropriation" by some that thought her white non-Hispanic), and my brother has been mistaken for Chinese-American and white. Such misconceptions are not always negative - they can lead to a good laugh, really! - but the aggressiveness that some people respond with when corrected is just baffling to me!

(I, myself, have been spared from such incidents other than a rare couple of assumptions of me being Indian-American - one occasion being from an Indian vendor in Italy who got such a laugh out learning that I'm actually Mexican-American - since that's the more common / known label I used compared to Salvadoran-Mexican-American - he allowed me to receive a free item! It's a treasured bracelet for me to this day.) I once even had a paternal first cousin of mine (a light-skinned man and an English-speaker only as well) express that he was envious of my older sister and me because our comparatively brown skin and dark hair made our Hispanic heritage undeniable. It was a comment I never expected from him!

It’s incredibly jarring how differently my siblings and I have been treated as Hispanics by a handful of non-Hispanic peers as they are asked to “prove” themselves more than I have ever been asked to simply because of our surface-level appearances!

Anyways, aha, my parents initially raised my older sister and I as bilingual, a time of vague memories (specifically my recollection that the word "water" sounded and felt disgusting compared to the prettiness of "agua", haha!), but upon our enrollment in school my dad underwent a hard 180 degree shift by enforcing an English-only household. (He had considerably unfortunate experiences learning English in his Los Angeles public school at a time where his family had been solely Spanish-speakers, and it seems that a lot of that past became projected onto us). I remember my dad responding to my childhood requests to learn Spanish with warnings we would seem "dirty" or "stupid". In contrast, I also recall him praising me for speaking like the "white kids" at my school since it made me sound "intelligent" and "like I had money", similar to his "white bosses" whose jobs I could "grow up to have" with my English skills.

My older relatives spoke to us only in English if they had some fluency (insisting that they needed us "for the practice") or relied on relatives as translators. My siblings and paternal first cousins, except one (the youngest of us all), are the only younger generation members to be monolingual English speakers on both sides. It's come with considerable teasing here as well. The most cutting teases came from my school peers though. (；´∀｀) (I once made a friend fall out of her chair in a laughing fit because of how I pronounced "Cardenas". The humiliation made me want to sink into the floor, haha!)

I absolutely understand that in-between sensation of American and Latin American. Sometimes, I feel more like a tourist among my own relatives rather than a part of the greater whole. I encounter some aspect of my culture in the streets and feel like an outsider looking-in despite it all being a reflection of my childhood. I remember my Salvadoran grandpa beginning a story to me with "The Americans . . ." followed by a pause. It was then he pointed to me with a smile and the correction, " You Americans . . ." I never expected that to hurt me as it did as I felt so distanced from him, othered from who he is.

University, an environment where I truly felt like an ethnic minority for the first time in my life, really sent me into a reflective period about what it meant to be Hispanic, what truly defines someone as bearing this identity until it is so diluted that it can no longer be grasped: and I'm still contemplating the answers! It's likely to be a lifelong journey for me as I assume it is for countless others, Hispanic or not, to define my heritage and the ways I am to embody it, whether that be through rituals, values, language, actions, celebrations, connections, beliefs, or whatever more.

Anywho, it's all gotten so much better in the present! My Spanish comprehension has improved so significantly, though I often feel like a poser as I work on my pronunciation. I am by no means anywhere near fluent, not even proficient I would say, but the language that made as much linguistic sense as pretty instruments to me as a child has become something I can overhear and understand! Baby steps will keep me going along!

My dad has also become much more insistent about our cultural pride as Salvadorans, Mexicans, and Americans in equal parts. My parents like to uphold the concluding quote of my big sister's very first All About Me essay in sixth grade as our household motto: "50% Mexican, 50% Salvadoran, 100% American". In other words, though my siblings and I are American born-and-raised, it's important to remember the two halves that form the whole of our roots and support network as a family. All three aspects are an overlap rather than a divide, a filter rather than an opposed image of who we should and can be. d(･∀･○)

Apologies for the rant! It all kind of slipped out from me as it tends to do, and it's all quite messy as a result! I'll end my word vomit here as I hope not to have caused too much of a headache if anyone reached this far, haha!

[mminttae]

Clandestine | 02

-> Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x reader

-> Genre : tattoo!artist Jungkook, mafia! JJK,mafia au, bloody!missions, slight violence, got secrets they can't tell, angst, romance, Jungkook's part time job is flirting, sad (backstory), Y/N is strong!

-> Summary : who would have known that just doing a part time job at a night club would lead you to the tattoo artist Jeon Jungkook's messed up world. One letter related to the secret comes out of your mouth you'll be laying in Jungkook's arms but alive or not, that's not guaranteed...

-> Word Count : 4.286 K ( A/N: I’m increasing words )

-> T/W body language, killing, curse words and intimacy are included in the story (you may read if you're comfortable with these)

Part : 2

<< previous chap

.・゜-: ✧ :-playlist -: ✧ :-゜・．

Jungkook's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. Even if me saying that line didn't flatten him enough I knew the nickname did as it always have been doing. It was clearly visible that he didn't expect me to be this bold suddenly. But he being himself smirked after a couple of seconds as his hand snaked up to grab my wrist pulling me more closer "Sure princess.. Do you want to go to the trip now? " His tongue rolling over his bottom lip as his piercing doe eyes holding so many thoughts looked at my lips then to my eyes.

"I don't want to interrupt but the trip has to be postponed "Jimin interferes in the moment, his eyes narrowed and only looking at me as if scared that the younger guy would throw him out if he locked eyes with his. Making a 'tch' sound Jungkook raises his eyebrows at Jimin in a manner that reads he's asking why postpone. I yeet his hand which was holding my wrist and get off from the table clearing my throat while fixing the skirt and apron. Jungkook clearly disappointed for not being able to hear my answer gets up from the seat while putting the black leather jacket around his shoulders. Jimin and Taehyung following him gets up too grabbing their bags. Jungkook walked up to me while fixing his bangs with his index finger.

"Gotta go princess a client's waiting" Nodding I proceeded to walk away but I could hear Jungkook saying with a sad dramatic tone. "Atleast act that you don't want me to go". I'm afraid I won't be able to because I myself don't know what this client of yours gonna do if you don't go on time. Is the person waiting even a client or not? Knitting my eyebrows I look back only to meet with strangers taking up the seat. The three tall mesmerizing men with inks on their body not to be seen anywhere. I don't know what's going on in that foolish yet extremely clever brain of yours but...

Be careful Mr. Artbook..

End of YOUR POV

Mid summer yet the night breeze is able to run shivers down your spine. Not a single soul in sight.

10 at night maybe the shopkeepers closed down the shutters and went to bed. Not many shops here in this area to even begin with. The only workshop's bell which rings here is the Jeon's Tattoo corner which has been ringing from the morning today , seemed to have stopped in the evening but now making its sound again. "Argh I should really break down this bell "

With an annoyed expression the black haired guy opens the drawers searching for a fresh towel. The tall man who just entered the shop walked past the desk table, turning the door knob and allowing himself inside the cozy room. His loud footsteps on the wooden floor telling Jungkook that the guest has arrived.

"Where were you? I waited here for five minutes then went inside the nearby plant store to kill time"

Taking off the long coat the tall silver haired guy walks up to the chair positioned in the middle of the room beside the various tools. "Sorry hyung, Taehyung and Jimin wanted a new tattoo so went to hear out their designs"

Jungkook says, eyebrows knitted while he fishes out the stencil of the beautiful clematis he has drawn beforehand of the leader's arrival. Smiling to himself he walks up to the seated boss whose like a big brother to him, he puts the stencil aside. Taking out a black rubber band from his pocket he takes his hair and ties it up to a small ponytail before taking out a drawer full of tattoo needles and inks. "Heard that Yoongi started boxing classes with you"

The older male speaks as his lip corners slowly moves upwards. Jungkook giving out a laugh says, "Yea Yoongi hyung be moving like a turtle. "

The thought of his hyung boxing and whining that it's hard is enough to make the little one giggle. Taking out a small wooden stool with one hand as the other one was holding the tattoo gun, Jungkook sits himself beside the strong looking man who rolls up his shirt's sleeves revealing all the different type of arts and words of different languages tattooed on his arm.

"Need chewing gum?"

The younger one asks at the thought that it might hurt but the older one replies plainly that he's fine after all his skin had been coming in contact with this gun for a long time now. Jungkook nods before resting the needle on the free space on the top of the man's biceps before starting to draw on it, the awestrucking clematis. "Was thinking of getting a lip piercing but not being able to get it cuz of the adults in the house"

The man says while his dimples makes visits to his cheeks.

"The exact same reason why am postponing on getting an eyebrow piercing"

Jungkook replies as he carefully moves the tattoo gun sideways on the man's bicep.

"So when are you planning on telling your sister?"

He asks as the silver haired guy closes his eyes once realizing what Jungkook meant.

"When the time's right.. "

He replies, slowly opening his eyes his gaze meeting the ceiling.

"But first we need to pinpoint Mr. Choi's location"

Replying with a small and quiet yes Jungkook draws the details on the flower carefully.

"Seokjin has been checking the cctvs regularly and the only thing he found was the black hyundai stopping at a night club at exactly 7pm every Tuesday and Wednesday"

"What's the night club's name? "

Jungkook asks as he draws on the small leaves.

"Hell's night club"

With just the mention of the night club's name Jungkook's hand stops moving as his eyes widened. "Isn't that the club you often visit with the others? "

The silver haired man asks making Jungkook quietly nod his head. If the most feared mafia in the country slash his team's biggest rival had been going to the exact same club at the exact same time as his how come he never saw the familiar old man's face? He thought.

What kind of person does the man disguise him as that even Jimin who encountered him multiple times doesn't notice. "You should be careful and try to see your clients faces carefully and see if they match that old fart's face or not"

Jungkook humming a response continued on giving the clematis it's final touch. Finishing the tattoo he removes the gun making the silver haired man sit up straight and fix his shirt.

"You know what to do right?"

Jungkook asks referring to putting on Vaseline ointment on the tattoo and stuffs. The older guy nods while fetching his coat. "I'll get going then. Thanks for the tattoo kook"

Jungkook simply nods his mind stuck in a different topic. Putting the equipments away and tidying up the towels as the older guy leaves the shop and disappears into the darkness of the night in the empty alleyway, Jungkook couldn't help but think about what you were up to. His mind stitching up different negative thoughts together.

"If Mr. Choi is really going to that club then he must have seen Y/N always talking to us..... What if he does something to her? " Jungkook asks to himself and the next thing he does is take his bag, turn off the lights, lock the doors and run off to meet you.

• -

"I'll be off then"

Bowing politely you take hold of the two big disposable bags and huff out a breathe when you realize how heavy both of them were. Kicking the back staff door with your leg open the first thing you see is Jeon Jungkook leaning on the wall infront. His hair tied up in a small ponytail, a bag hung around his shoulder and inked hands resting inside his jeans pockets. His eyes falls on your hands holding the disposable garbage bags, sighing he walks up to you.

"I thought your job was to serve and take orders not bring out garbages" You looked down at the bags in your hands while saying, "I was coming out anyways it's no biggie"

You flashed him a small smile but his eyes looked worried and his face tensed. You wondered what happened but didn't dare to ask thinking that he will only answer with 'none of your business' . Yes Jeon Jungkook unknowingly says harsh things without thinking when he's tensed. Jungkook takes the garbage bags from your hands and put it beside the door when his eyes lands on your right hand which was bandaged. His eyes widen and he quickly took your right hand examining it while asking

"How did this happen? Are you okay? "

Embarrassed you put your hand away from his warm ones and answer while smiling, not making eye contact

"It's okay I'm fine these kind of injuries are meant to happen if you work in a bar." Jungkook not convinced took your hand again now keeping it infront of him not letting you pull it back. His eyebrows knitted . "You were totally fine this evening tell me what happened". Chewing on your bottom lip you look down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

"Y/N tell me what happened.." Jungkook says once again this time his voice laced with concern as his hands caressed your hair. You were actually a bit taken aback at how the always dominant voice of Jungkook is making its way to you in a concerned and soft way.

"A drunk guy harshly pulled my hand wanting me to sit beside him but I fought back and he suddenly let go of me making me loose my balance at hit the edge of the glass table behind and that's how I got this"

You say while looking at your bandaged hand which was now resting in jungkook's warm palm. He softly held your injured hand and lower down a bit to meet your height. Looking at your eyes he said

"Tell me who did this. Tell me who did this to you I'm gonna fucking kill him"

In a calm soft voice but the last part obviously didn't come out in a soft way. You laughed and pushed him a bit away from you. "It's okay am fine don't overreact he was drunk" But Jungkook not buying the answer walked closer to you and again with a serious tone asked you . "Tell me how he looked like"

Knowing that he won't let go of the topic unless you give him a proper answer you sigh, rolling your eyes while describing the drunk man you happened to meet inside the club. "He had small eyes , a sharp nose and dark stubble on his face and.." You trailed off thinking what else did the man have but Jungkook interrupted asking in a quick manner

"Did he have any sort of tattoo on his wrist? " Replaying the moment inside your head you widen your eyes a bit and nod your head, "Yea he did.. Was that a crown? A crown maybe"

Exactly knowing who that drunk man you encountered was Jungkook's chest sank at the thought that the old man touched you with his dirty hands. Gulping down the saliva that formed in his mouth he without thinking pulled you to his chest engulfing you in a hug. He wasn't sure why he felt like protecting you but he wanted to . He wasn't supposed to feel this way now that he set his mind on the plan his brain made up on the way here but..he did. He wanted to make sure you were safe.

Widening your eyes at how Jungkook suddenly hugged you, your mind went blank. There's no doubt in how fast your heart was beating. To be honest to yourself you were actually frightened when that man tried touching you in an ill manner but now being in Jungkook's arms you felt safe. You felt safe when he was around. Jungkook's arms around you got tighter as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

So this is how you gonna play it Mr. Choi

He thinks.

•-

Flashback 5 weeks back

Stretching your arms you give out a small yawn before grabbing the books from the table and making your way out of the auditorium. Walking while looking at your  surroundings you didn't notice the tall man standing infront of you. Too immersed in the same old paintings hanging on the walls you hit something hard making the copies and books in your hands fall down. Without looking up at the person you bumped into you quickly said 'sorry' while kneeling down to pick up your supplies. The tall gentleman kneeled down too helping you with picking up your stationerys. You got up, the man following you soon. This time facing the guy properly as both of you made eye contact you were about to say thank you when your voice abruptly decided to not come out.

The man had soft long black hair .The kind of hair you would want to play with all day. His baby doe eyes staring at you, his lips parted. The oversized hoodie he was wearing made him the grizzly huggable bear image more.

As your eyes scanned him from head to toe, your lips a bit parted, the guy not being able to control his laughter at how cute you looked when your eyes went big as if you saw something really interesting and you'd like to study that thing more, he gave out small giggles making you quickly close your mouth and look at him. Noticing how every students in tha hall were staring at both of you, you shifted your weight from one leg to another leg uncomfortably. But the guy's Adorable bunny smile didn't go out of your notice. His eyes wrinkled as he tilted his face and asked you softly

"You okay? "

Blinking couple of times you nodded your head making him shyly scratch his nape and mumble 'thank god'. Your lips automatically curved up when your eyes landed on the ID card hung around his neck

"Jeon Jungkook"

Once realization hit you that you were now standing infront of your college's hearthrob while looking like a whole mess which you didn't care about that much until you bumped into him, your cheeks got tinted in a light blush. Pulling your lips in you tilted your head a bit to the side making your baby hairs fall over your face.

"Hey kook!"

A loud deep voice entered the ears of the people standing in the hall making them turn their heads to the two seniors waving their hands at Jungkook's direction, a big wide smile plastered know their face. Jungkook takes out his bracelet covered wrist from his pocket and waves at them. Jimin running towards us and wrapping his arm around the tall guy's shoulders he notices me and flashes me a smile

"Hey Y/N"

Waving your sweater paw at him as a hey you smiled. You met Jimin and Taehyung a couple of times before in some group works with seniors. You not really interested in gossips of the college noticed just a few days ago that Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are the well known hot trio of this college.

"Y/N.."

Jungkook repeats your name to himself before looking at you once again , smiling while saying

"Sweet name"

His sweet honey voice saying your name was enough to melt you. If it was any other guy right now you would have simply said thank you for helping you pick up the books and walk away without saying anything but surprisingly Jeon Jungkook made you stop. "I'm hungry didn't have breakfast this morning" Taehyung whines while holding his tummy earning a slap on his head from Jimin. "we are going for lunch wanna join us? "

Jungkook asks you making you widen your eyes at the sudden invitation and Jungkook earning some smirks from the seniors beside him, Jimin elbowing his arm while wiggling his eyebrows. Jungkook simply rolled his eyes at his hyungs before looking at you for a reply. You glancing at your silver wrist watch said "I would love to but I should get going. I have some stuffs to do"

Jungkook quietly nods his head before flashing you a smile.

Is he always smiling?

You thought noticing that he had been smiling since the moment both of you met. "Y/N's always studying hard"

Taehyung says earning a nod from Jimin making you shyly scratch your nape.

The Brunnete haired approached you giving you a pat on your shoulder before saying "Study well but don't forget to have lunch okay? "

You flashed him a smile while nodding. Jungkook waving his hands at you as a 'bye' walked past you with the two boys. You looked back at three of them noticing that two of them were wearing hoodies and one of them were wearing full sleeved tees.

It's so hot these days why are they wearing hoodies on top of tees?

Shaking your head you quickened your pace and quickly got out of the college grounds. Walking to the bus stand while looking around at the cozy coffee shops on the streets you keep glancing at your watch from time to time to make sure that you're going on time or not.

Now here's a secret about you that no one knows

You're a student at an art college but you are also a student at a law school. Your father runs the family business of electronics. Yes the electronics company ranking the second best in the country out of all the other electronic companies, which he wants to hand over to your big brother after he retires. Your mother always wanted a child of her to be a sculptor. Borning late in the family with the talent of art you were forced to study this subject whereas you were interested in prosecution, catching criminals and stuffs. What you were most interested in were being a mafia or an assassin but you gave up on those dreams and decided to study law. Your parents only giving their all attention and care to their first born, didn't care about you that much. The only thing they wanted from you was becoming a great sculptor and bringing praise to your family.

After nights of confusion and judgement you decided to study in the law school that you got admitted, secretly with the money your grandparents left you. Your grandparents left some money for you and your brother before passing away and thankfully they were enough to pay for your study books expenses. But maintaining time for your law school as well as the art school was hard but you managed to make time after dropping off from some extra courses of the art college without telling your parents. But it was hectic. Your college hours starts from 7 am. And you have classes till 9am then a break at 9:15 am to 10:30 due to dropping off from some extra class. Your law classes starts from 9:30 so during the break you quickly leave the grounds and head off to the law classes. Then you return to the art college at 10:20 when it's a break at your law school. Then once again when it's a lunch break at the art school you head off to the law school while munching on some snacks, obviously not getting time to have proper lunch. And when it comes to events you had to make up excuses at the law school for not attending as your parents would obviously not skip their daughter's presentations.

It would be more hectic from today cuz you just applied to a job at a night club. There's a course for learning shooting at the law school but you don't have enough money to pay for that so it's time to earn some money.

•••

Stretching your arms while getting up from the seat you had been sitting on straight for 2 hours, you give a yawn before taking out a scrunchie and putting your hair up. All the classes for the day are done. Putting the back pack around your shoulder you bow at the teacher before leaving the school premises. Walking inside the bus and sitting on one of the seat you take out your phone and start typing to your mother , 'Mom I'll be late tonight as I got some extra lessons. Don't worry for me and you don't have to send car I'll come by bus'

"No one's gonna worry about me though"

You say to yourself while letting out a small laugh and looking out at the window. Everything vanishing from your sight at a fast pace as the vehicle picks up its speed upon seeing the empty road. Some of the street lights flickering due to not being fixed for several days now. You take out the 'guideline' paper of the bar you're gonna work in from backpack, going through the structure of the building in your mind and remembering all the rules explained to you yesterday when you went to apply for the job. This night club only seemed to be safe for you to work in now. By safe means you would have no worries of the common students who spends time in bars and clubs to see you. If anyone recognizes you then it's game over. Plus the pay is high too.

The phone screen lighting up as a notification popped up you unlocked the phone before seeing from whom the text is from.

Bro: heard you're coming late at night should I pick you up from the way while coming home?

"Geez already told him?"

You say to yourself once realizing that your mom told your brother to pick up but your brother being nice asked if you want to be picked up first or not. Smiling at his text before typing your reply It's ok you don't have to come. The office is far away from my college anyways. Get home safely.

Waiting for a few minutes to see his reply which you didn't get you turned off your phone and put it inside your bag. Looking out from the window thinking why he didn't reply when he saw your text whereas usually he would try to come pick you up, being the 'protective' brother. You got down from the bus as soon as the bus came to its stop. You walked for a few more minutes from the bus stop till arriving at your destination.

Hell's night club

•••

It's been only five minutes of you serving drinks but you're already tired. How can a human body and mind work for 13 hours straight without any rest. You did mess up some tables a couple of times for which you were now getting a scolding from the manager. You looking down bowing slightly while your hands in front of you.

"Miss Lee Y/N did you properly see the table numbers today? "

The old man asks to which you nod. "Then why are you messing up? " He asks in a raised voice making you flinch and quickly mumble a sorry. You lift your head up a bit to see the old man sighing while pinching his forehead, clearly visible that he's angry. "I'm letting you go as this is your first time don't make mistakes anymore"

He says making you bow and say

"Thank you"

He looked around trying to see if any waitresses are free. Sighing at how there's no one free without counting you he gave you a look before handing you a tray of various kinds of drinks. "Take this to table no. 14. And  do not  make any mistakes. They are regulars here I don't want them gone" Nodding at him you set off to find this table no. 14 . Noticing how your skirt got up a bit you tried pulling the skirt a bit down with one hand as the other one was holding the tray, you quickly withdraw your hand without fixing the skirt upon seeing the tray tremble in one hand. Quickly holding the tray in place and scanning if any drinks were spilled, you sigh in relief. You looked back to only lock eyes with the manager . He staring straight at you with his cold eyes. You gave a small awkward smile and walked towards table 14.

The table no. 14 seemed to be surrounded by many big men. All had some sort of tattoos on them. A familiar man sitting in the middle holding a pen and scribbling something on a notebook. His inked arms full on display as the silver earrings were still being able to shine despite the dullness in the scene. His long bangs falling before his eyes not letting anyone see the face beneath it.

You quietly approached the table and when you raised your eyes from the ground to the man sitting in the middle, your legs automatic came to a halt and your breath hitched.

Jeon Jungkook right there was sitting. The table in front occupied with various weapons and him sitting like a whole five course meal, fingers playing with the dangly earrings

This is totally not what I expected

[pinkczennie]

Strip Tease | Ten (m)

Requested by: @unknown5tar​ (Thank you for being patient with me and ngl I was really nervous while writing this because I really hope you like this! I couldn’t help but add some smut cuz ya kno LOL and I’m such a sucker for enemies/friends to lovers au) 

Summary: Ten is a fucking tease.

Pairings: best friend!Ten x female reader

Genre: best friends to lovers!au, suggestive, smut

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst (breakup), sexually explicit content, mature language 

You and Ten first met at the start of university. You were both dance majors, so you would often see each other in class and on campus in the same department buildings. You had a lot in common with Ten, such as a similar sense of humor, being excellent dancers, and an appreciation for art. Along the way, the friendship gradually went from just friends to best friends, developing into a teasing friendship that was borderline flirting, but it was always just playful. 

Once you both graduated university, you both applied to work at the same dance studio and got hired to teach classes there together. Ten teaches b-boying and you teach hip hop. By day, you and Ten were both dance instructors at a dance studio. By night, you were both dancers at a popular club. 

The club was widely known for their good-looking waiters and talented dancers. Ten was one of the very few male dancers at the club so he garnered many female customers and even some male customers. He even has some regulars that would come every so often on a weekend night to see Ten dance because the male would occasionally come up with choreographies to make his performances more different and unique. 

His performances were quite a sight, to say the least. On Halloween night, he dressed up as a devil and danced, what he calls his piece, “devils”, where he bent his body backwards in a demonic way that left the audience gasping. He sure knew how to move his body in ways unimaginable. His stunning visuals adds to it as well because many have tried to hit on him before. 

One night, as you both are heading to the club, Ten informs you that has a new choreographed performance that he is going to unveil tonight, so you tell him that you’ll be in the audience watching. That night, instead of sitting in the waiting room with the other dancers like you usually do, you sat towards the front of the stage, so you got front row seats to see Ten’s new piece. 

The audience erupted into loud cheers when the DJ announced that Ten will be the next performer.

Loud upbeat R&B music began blasting on the stereos and bright colorful LED lights flash the room as Ten’s figure suddenly emerges from the red, silk curtains and all the female customers began to cheer loudly. He was wearing a black leather jacket that was zipped up all the way, along with matching black jeans and a belt. 

Ten makes his way to the center and sways his body to the music. Nobody knew what to expect from the dancer’s performance today, so your eyes widen when you see him start to slowly unbuckle his belt with one hand. He takes his time removing the belt from his waist before tossing it to the sidelines once it’s off. 

Next, he unzips his leather jacket at a snail’s pace to reveal that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath the jacket and practically everyone’s jaw drops. After teasing the audience with parts of his exposed skin, he begins to sensually take off the jacket at a teasingly slow pace. The jacket begins to slip from his shoulders and then his biceps. Once it’s completely off his body, he spots you in the front row of the stage and discards his jacket by throwing it into your hands, knowing you’ll keep it safe for him. You see the flying jacket coming your way and you quickly catch it with both hands. 

The audience hollers and whistles at the dancer’s exposed upper body. He was toned and there was body oil rubbed all over his stomach, accentuating the lines of his abs. 

Ten lays on his back against the floor and thrusts up into the air, causing the audience to roar and paper bills come flying his way on stage. He slides against the floor on his knees and picks up the money, bringing the bills in between his fingers and stuffing it into his jean pockets.

Once the song is over, the dancer sends a wink to the audience and all the women swoon. You included. 

You were honestly really surprised by his performance, in a good way. Your mouth was hanging open during the entire performance, but your lips were sticking up into a smile because that was absolutely amazing. You’ve seen the way Ten moves, but you’ve never seen him do that before.

Once the song is over, the lights dim down and the stage becomes dark. You quickly rush back to the dancer’s waiting room, where Ten probably left to once his performance was over. You barge open the door and look around and spot Ten by the corner taking out all the money from his pockets that he received during the performance and putting it into his wallet. It’s thick with cash.

“Holy shit. That performance was incredible, Ten!” you praise as you make your way over to Ten. 

“Go on,” he encourages, basing in the glory of your praise. “I know, it was amazing.”

“The thing you did with your belt and jacket-”

He chuckles, “It’s called strip teasing. I was working on it in private for a few days.”

“You have to teach me how to strip tease!” you excitedly say while handing his jacket back to him. “Maybe I could use it for one of my performances too.”

Ten takes his jacket back. “Sure, I’ll teach you on our day off.”

“You’re the best,” you say as you link arms with him.

Once all the performances were over, it was time for the club to close for the night, or day since they opened until 4 in the morning, so after cleaning up the place, you and Ten both headed home together.

You and Ten were living together and rented a place that was relatively close to both the workplaces so it would be an easier commute. Plus, it was nice getting to live with a good friend. Ten even adopted two cats, named Louis and Leon, which you did not oppose because it was nice to have pets in the house. 

The next day, you both didn’t have any work so it was a good time for Ten to teach you how to strip tease. You sport some comfortable dance wear like a loose, cropped t-shirt and shorts while Ten is in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. The living room couches are pushed back and the coffee table is temporarily moved to the kitchen so there was enough dance space. 

“Strip teasing is pretty easy, to be honest. All you have to do is slowly undress in a sexy way,” Ten states. “Let’s start off doing something simple and easy. Can you go grab a jacket of yours and put it on?”

You nod and rush off to your room to retrieve a jacket as instructed.

While you left to do as told, Ten searches on his Spotify for some fitting music and starts to play some upbeat R&B music from his playlist to set the mood. After setting it to the highest volume level, he takes a seat on the couch with the phone placed to his side and gets comfortable on the furniture. 

Soon, you emerge from your room with a light blue denim jean jacket on. 

“First, you want to start off with a sexy dance,” Ten instructs. “Just feel yourself with the music.”

You nod and, thankfully, it was a song you frequently listen to, so it was pretty easy to think of a simple choreography for it on the spot. You throw in some body rolls and slowly run your hands down your body from your chest to your waist down to your ass as you sway your hips, all while keeping eye contact with Ten. 

You and Ten are both comfortable with each other so it’s not awkward to make eye contact like that. Besides, it’s good practice to get rid of shyness since you’re both dancers so facial expression is very important.  

“Yes! Look at you feeling yourself like that,” Ten compliments with a proud smile to hype you up. 

You get a little bold as you do a slut drop, where you squat down quickly and immediately pop back up, when the beat drops, throw your ass back, twerk, and even strut over to Ten to take a seat on his lap while your legs rest bent on the sofa. 

He looks up at you with a raised eyebrow and one side of his lips curled up to a smirk while you smile innocently at him. 

“What’s next?” you innocently ask.  

“Next, slowly take off your jacket,” Ten replies, emphasizing the word ‘slowly’.

You take hold of your jacket and begin to strip it off of your body at a snail’s pace, revealing your shoulders and then your arms. Once the jacket is off of your body, you discard it to the other side of the couch. 

“How was that?” you ask.

“Very sexy,” Ten praises with a nod. “Especially when you sat on my lap like that.”

“What can I say? I have a great teacher,” you compliment back. 

“I know. I’m amazing,” he boasts and you playfully slap his arm for letting your compliment feed his ego. Ten winces from the hit but laughs and wraps his arms around your waist. “But you already got the basics of how to strip tease down. We can watch some tutorials from other professional dancers that I used for reference if you want.” 

“Sure,” you nod.

“Alright, now get off of my lap.” Ten playfully smacks your butt and you giggle as you remove yourself from his lap.

Ten gets up from the couch and walks into his room to retrieve his laptop.

As you wait for him, you check on your phone to see you received a notification. It was a text message from your boyfriend.

Boyfriend: I miss you. Are you free today for dinner and movies at my place?

You smile widely as you rapidly type a reply back to him. 

You: Of course! I’m in the middle of something right now and I’ll need to change and get ready afterwards so give me a couple of hours? 

Boyfriend: Sure thing! Can’t wait to see you later <3 

You: I’ll text you when I’m on my way! See you in a bit <3

“Hey, can we end this in an hour or so?” you ask Ten when he emerges from his room with a laptop tucked in his arm.

“Sure. Did something come up?” 

“Yeah, I’m going to see Taeyong in a bit,” you reply as you continue to text Taeyong. 

You and Taeyong first met at a party during your last year in university and took an interest in each other. After exchanging numbers, chatting over the phone, and a few dates, you and Taeyong have been together for almost a year now. 

“Oh, I see,” Ten nods as he sits on the couch, opening his laptop to pull up the reference videos he bookmarked.  

After watching a few videos on Ten’s laptop for references on how to strip tease by other dancers, you decided it was enough for the day. You changed clothes, texted Taeyong that you are on your way, and headed out to his place. You knock on his apartment door when you arrive and wait for a few seconds before you hear footsteps approaching the door. Taeyong opens the door and smiles upon seeing your face.

“Hey, babe,” he greets, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hi, bubu,” you smile with your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Hungry? I already ordered the pizza for us. I got us your favorite toppings.”

“Yes! You’re the best,” you say and plant a kiss on his cheek.

Taeyong guides you inside his place and the pizza is already set up on the coffee table along with a movie ready on the television screen. 

After devouring the pizza, you and Taeyong continued to watch the remainder of the movie. Some time during the movie, one thing leads to another and next thing you know, the movie is long forgotten about as you fall onto Taeyong’s bed with his lips on yours and his body on top of yours. Your hands are wrapped around his neck to pull him in closer while his hands roam around your waist.  

As you continue to kiss, an idea pops into your head when you feel Taeyong’s fingers wrapped around your shirt, trying to strip you of your clothing but you remove his hands from your shirt. Taeyong removes himself from your lips, worried because of your actions, but you shush him by switching the positions so Taeyong is now laying on the bed and you are hovering over him instead. The movie begins to play sensual music in the background, which was a perfect chance for you to slowly remove your own shirt, teasing your boyfriend with only peaks of your skin.

Taeyong can feel his dick, still in his boxers, slowly harden as he watches you give him a show. Once your shirt is off and tossed to the other side of the bed, Taeyong marvels at your lacy, pink bra.

“Wow, you look so hot doing that. Who taught you how to strip tease like that?” Taeyong smirks as he stares lustfully at your half naked body.

“Ten taught me.” You reply as you bring your hands behind your back to begin unhooking your bra.

“Wait- Ten?” Taeyong’s eyebrows knit together. 

You suddenly stop your actions and your smile slowly drops when you notice the shift in the atmosphere. Taeyong almost seemed...upset at the fact that Ten was the one who taught you how to strip tease.

“Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?” You get off from his body and sit to the side of his bed.

Taeyong sighs, avoiding eye contact with you. He always suspected that there was something going on between you two, but he took your word for it when you said Ten was just a good friend. Taeyong trusts you, he really does, so he tried not to show his jealousy. However, he was always worried knowing that you two live together and how close you two were, so this new fact caused him to snap.

“Y/n, what would you do if I asked you to stop being friends with Ten?”

Your eyes widen at Taeyong’s question. “Taeyong...I can’t just stop being friends with Ten. He’s my best friend.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Taeyong fires back.

You pause. 

Ten is your best friend, so to suddenly be asked to end your friendship with him for your significant other was so shocking that you were left speechless. You really did not want to lose Ten, so who should you choose? You don’t know because you don’t want to make the wrong decision.

Taeyong sighs at your silence. “Y/n...I think we should break up.”

Your eyes widen and you feel your heart drop as you stare at your boyfriend in shock. 

“I’m really sorry, y/n. I love you, I really do. But...I don’t think I can be with someone who has another man in her heart. You two are too close for comfort and I can’t help but think that there’s something going between you two, especially since you can’t-or won't- stop being friends with him for me,” Taeyong explains.

You didn’t respond back because you were at a loss for words. Is it really that wrong for a woman to have a comfortable friendship with another man that isn’t her significant other?

After redressing in awkward silence, you trudge back home, feeling numb from the breakup and your brain keeps repeating Taeyong’s words. 

When you arrived home and opened the door, Ten was there in the living room, laying on the couch while scrolling through his phone. He looks up to see you staring at him in silence by the door and immediately jumps up from the couch to approach you when he notices the tears on your face as you stare at him with wet eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice laced with concern as he cups your face and gently wipes away your tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “Why are you crying?”

You wanted to just push Taeyong’s words aside for the night because all you wanted was someone to comfort you right now, so you wrap your arms around Ten’s body and shove your face into his neck.

“Taeyong broke up with me,” you confess.

“What?” You hear him shout, a vibration ringing through his chest. “Why?”

“I-I don’t want to talk about it right now. Can you just...please hold me?” you plead with a cracked voice.

“Of course. I got you,” Ten says as he brings you into a tighter embrace. 

You’ll tell him what happened once you’re ready. 

That night, Ten laid in your bed beside you with a thick blanket thrown over your bodies for warmth while you quietly sob your eyes out. He strokes comforting circles on your back. 

Eventually, you stop crying as tiredness overtakes your body. You glance up to see that Ten’s eyes were closed and his movements have stopped, meaning he probably fell asleep without you noticing. It was pretty late right now, considering it felt like hours since you were crying, so you don’t blame him for drifting off to sleep. 

Taeyong’s words today kept ringing in your head as you continue to stare at Ten’s facial features, like the mole under his left eye and then his long eyelashes. You must admit that Ten is a very attractive person, but who wouldn’t think that?

Taeyong is right about being very close because you and Ten are practically cuddling on your bed. 

You bring Ten into a tight embrace and fall asleep with your limbs wrapped around his body and your face tucked into his chest. You’re glad you still have him by your side. 

The next morning, you woke up with swollen eyes from all the crying last night and Ten was no longer by your side in bed. The smell of food and a sizzling sound lingers in the air, which you assume means that he probably woke up before you did to cook breakfast. 

You lightly trudge your feet to the kitchen, the sound of your slippers sliding against the hardwood floor echoing in the hallway. You see Ten in a yellow apron scooping the cooked food from the pan onto two plates with a spatula.

“Morning,” Ten greets with a smile when he spots your awakened figure. “I woke up earlier to make us some breakfast before we go to work later. Come sit down and eat with me.”

You walk into the kitchen and take a seat on the kitchen counter right in front of the plate that Ten just loaded with food. 

Your heart softens. Despite being your sassy best friend, he knew when to be sweet and thoughtful whenever you were having a bad day. 

“Are you okay to go to work today or do you want to call in sick to have the day off?” Ten worriedly asks.

You shake your head. “I’m okay. I can go to work today.” 

Besides, it was better to distract your mind temporarily with work instead of staying home and wallowing in sorrow. You pick up your fork and start to dig into the breakfast Ten prepared for you. 

“Thanks, Ten,” you smile, grateful for having such a great friend. 

“You can thank me with a kiss,” he jokes as he points his index finger to his extended cheek.

You snort and roll your eyes at him before smacking his arm and you both break out into laughter, which lightens up the mood.

You go through your day with a heavy heart, but you’re thankful that Ten doesn’t ask about what happened yesterday. You do want to tell him, someday, but just not today.

---

A few months have passed since the breakup and you’re back to your usual self again. You still never spoke to Ten about the incident with Taeyong, but you’re not sure if he’s forgotten about it or not. Nothing has changed between you and Ten, your friendship being stronger than ever. You acted the same but you felt weird around Ten now.

The atmosphere felt...different.

You’re not sure if you’re just imagining things but you think Ten is teasing you more than before. There were more lingering touches that sent electricity jolting through your body and sexual jokes thrown every here and there that left you slightly flustered. 

It’s probably because of what Taeyong said to you that night that has been making you more hyper aware of Ten’s actions. 

Of course you still let him do it and try your best to not let it visibly show that it affected you in any way because that’s just how Ten always has been. 

Like just the other day, Ten finished his dance lessons for the day but stayed behind and waited for you to finish so you two could go back home together. You would be done soon, so he decided to kill some time by practicing his choreography. 

Once your last session was over, you packed up your stuff and headed to Ten’s dance room which was right next door. Music was blasting in the studio and when the door opens you are greeted with Ten dancing shirtless. He was wearing a cap to capture his hair and his upper body was covered in sweat.

You didn’t say anything because you assumed he noticed you enter the room but wanted to finish before stopping, so you didn’t want to interrupt and just stared at Ten while he danced. The way his body moves around so quickly during the song was very alluring that you couldn’t look away from his captivating performance.

“Enjoying the view?” he smirks. 

“No, you just seemed focused so I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

“Really? Because my eyes are up here.” He brings out his index finger and middle finger to point each finger at each of his eyes and then points each extended finger at each of your eyes.

You swat his fingers away. “You wish I was staring at you like that.”

“I’m just kidding, baby,” he chuckles before wrapping an arm around your neck.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty!” you squeal as you squirm away from his hold.

“You’re sweaty too. Come here,” he says and chases you around the room with his arms wide open and you run away while screaming.

He manages to trap you against the wall with your head in between his arm and you catch his eyes, staring down at you. 

You gulp at the small distance between your bodies because Ten was just mere inches away from your face. You see him leaning his face closer to yours and you await his next move as you feel your heart beating against your ribcage. Is he really going to kiss you right now in the middle of the dance room where anyone could come in at any moment? However, you don’t make any movements to run away, waiting for what’s to come next.

“Gotcha,” he whispers and pulls away with a chuckle. “Let’s go home. I’m hungry.”

Well you weren’t expecting that at all. Thankfully, he has his back towards you while he goes to retrieve his bag or else he would have seen your face slowly heating up.

And there was another time, where you were doing the laundry by folding your clean clothes on the living room couch. Suddenly, Ten emerges from his room and you see him walking over to you from the corner of your eye. 

“Wow, you wear some racy underwear,” you hear Ten say.

You look up and gasp with wide eyes because you see your black lace panties dangling from his fingers.

“Ten, don’t look at that!” you shout, embarrassed. 

You get up to snatch your article of clothing out of his hands but he’s quick and lifts it higher in the air so it is out of your reach.

“Give it back!” You jump with your arm extended, trying to reach for your panties.

“Try to come get it then,” Ten mocks.

Curse him for using his height against you even though he’s just a bit taller than you. 

You frown as you get on your tip-toes to reach for it but Ten continues to back up. However, Ten wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings and ends up backing up so far that the back of his leg hits the couch, so the male falls backwards and you fall along with him.

“Oof.” With eyes closed, Ten lands backwards on the couch while your body falls on top of Ten’s. 

You get up on your arms and look down to see the position you two were in: Ten under you while you were on top of him. No words were spoken as you stay still in your awkward spots with wide eyes staring at each other.

“Oh, was this your plan all along?” he cheekily grins. “How naughty.”

You whack his chest and quickly grab your underwear back from Ten with burning cheeks.

---

Ten has been teasing you way too much lately so you decide it’s time to get back at him by playing fire with fire.

You look at yourself in the mirror and grin. Currently, you were wearing one of Ten’s t-shirts that you managed to snatch from his closet when you snuck into his room one day while he was in the bathroom.

It was a bit big on you, but you liked it because it smelled like Ten and he will for sure notice it’s his because it’s one of his favorites.

You weren’t wearing anything underneath, except a bra and matching pair of panties which were covered by the oversized shirt. 

From behind your closed door, you hear him outside in the living room playing with one of the cats, because he was cooing at the cat to get his attention so you decided it was time to spring into action.

You exit your room and notice from the corner of your eye that he was sitting on the couch with his attention on Leon. You pretend to grab a drink from the kitchen, making sure your presence was noticed by humming a song. 

“Hey, have you seen my-” you hear him say but you pretend to be searching for something in the fridge.

“Uh, is that my shirt?” he asks.

“Hm?” You blinked innocently at him.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he states, pointing at you.

“Oh is it? I didn’t notice,” you look down at the shirt and shrug.

Ten gets up from the living room couch and makes his way over to you as Leon skimmers away. He places an outstretched arm onto the fridge and the other one on his hip. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“I like it. It’s comfortable.”

“Take it off,” he demands.

“Pervert,” you gasp, covering your chest with your arms.

“You’re the one prancing in here with no pants on and wearing my shirt,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me in just a shirt and no pants,” you retort.

“Not in my shirt though,” he raises an eyebrow at you. “Give it back.”

You lean in close to his face and say, “make me.”

You weren’t sure what to expect to happen next but the next thing you know is that he’s throwing you over his shoulder and walking away from the kitchen and into his room. He uses his foot to close the door shut and flips you onto his bed. 

Honestly, you were pretty surprised by everything that just happened right now so your heart is pounding when he removes you from his shoulder and you land on the mattress. 

Ten hovers over your body and peers down at you with his hands by your head and his legs trapping yours. You suddenly lost all that confidence you had to tease Ten back, because right now you feel intimidated by his gaze and slightly turned on?

Suddenly, Ten brings his hands to your sides and begins tickling you. You erupt into a fit of laughter and squirm as you try to get out of his hold.

“Ten, stop! Ah!” you squeal in between laughs. “You know I’m ticklish!”

“Are you going to give me back my shirt?”

“Yes! Okay, I’ll give it back!” 

Ten stops tickling you and you continue to lay in his bed while trying to catch your breath. You are both still a giggling mess but once you’ve calmed down you just stare up at Ten who was still on top of you by the way.

“I’ll go change now and give it back to you,” you state meekly, your eyes avoiding his.

“Nah, you can keep it. Besides, you look cute in my clothes,” he winks and gets off of you.

Well so much for teasing Ten this time because he made you flustered in the end. You think it’s best to not tease Ten because it looks like you won’t be able to win against him in this game.

---

You and Ten were invited to a mutual friend’s birthday party held at the birthday boy’s house, so you both make your way over to the party after work. When you knock on the door, you and Ten are greeted by the birthday boy, Kun, as he gestures for you both to come inside. There were quite a few people there already, so you both mingle with some friends you know at the party while taking a couple of shorts. 

After a while, you excuse yourself from the conversation to go to the kitchen to grab some food, when suddenly you hear a male voice calling your name.

“Y/nnnn!” You turn your head to the source of the voice and see Donghyuck running towards you with open arms, along with Mark trailing behind him. 

An oof leaves your mouth when the younger male’s body collides against yours into a bone crushing hug, knocking the air out of your lungs. 

“I missed you, y/n,” Donghyuck coos. 

“I missed you too, Donghyuck. Hi, Mark.” 

“Hey, how have you been? I saw that you and Taeyong aren’t together anymore because you deleted all his photos from your Instagram,” Mark says as Donghyuck releases you from his hold. 

“Yeah, I’m fine now,” you reply.

“Did you guys break up because of Ten?” Donghyuck asks, leaning in his body towards yours.

Your brows knit together at Donghyuck’s question. “How...did you know?”

“Seriously? I can’t believe I got it right,” Donghyuck laughs, “But it was pretty obvious.”

You lean against the wall and cross your arms with a raised eyebrow. “How so? Explain.”

“I always thought there was something going on between you and Ten. Almost everyone did,” The male states. “He would always flirt with you and was super touchy like you’re a couple. I can’t tell if he’s trying to get with you or fuck you.” 

Your eyes widen and you even turn to Mark for confirmation and he nods in return, indicating that he agrees with Donghyuck’s statement.

“Well, now that you and Taeyong aren’t together anymore, are you going to do something about the tension between you and Ten?” Mark asks.

Honestly, you didn’t know how to respond. What are you even supposed to do, let alone bring up the topic to Ten without making it awkward?

“Hey Donghyuck, Mark, come help Lucas. The guy is a little drunk!” you hear someone shout before the conversation could continue and the two rush to their aid when they see the giant look like he was about to puke. 

After Donghyuck and Mark left, you decided you needed a moment by yourself to think about everything. You’re sitting alone in the balcony of Kun’s room staring up into the sky, thinking about Donghyuck and Taeyong’s words. 

Now, you weren’t disgusted by the thought of being with Ten, romantically or sexually. In fact, you have thought about it before and, honestly, Ten knows you better than anymore just as well as you know him. Heck, you even know how to pronounce his full Thai name correctly, which apparently not a lot of people can do. 

You and Ten have even made an agreement beforehand that if you two were still single by the time you’re both 30 years old, you would just date each other. The thought of being with your best friend didn’t sound all that bad.

Suddenly, you hear someone walk into the room and you turn your head to the door. 

“Hey, what are you doing sitting here all alone?” Ten asks by the door with his hand on the doorknob. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh...I just needed some air,” you reply. “It was kind of stuffy with all the people there. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, it’s almost time to sing and cut the cake,” Ten informs. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Okay, I’m coming.” You close the balcony door and follow Ten out of Kun’s room. 

---

Ten went out to do a couple of errands for the day while you stayed behind at home and situated yourself on your bed to watch a movie on your laptop to pass some time. You picked a mature-rated romance. The door of your room was left only partially closed in case any of the cats wanted to come in. 

Nothing ever happened after Kun’s birthday party and things were the same as usual. You’re not sure if you should say something because honestly you’ve been thinking about that night ever since. 

Half way into the movie there was a sex scene. You didn’t expect how uncensored the scene was, but you continued to watch in silence. However, it left you feeling aroused, watching the main female character getting fucked unprotected by the main male character.

It has been a while since you’ve had sex too, so you couldn’t help but slowly move your hands down into your shorts, past your panties, and begin to rub two fingers against your folds as you continue to watch the movie. Even though the volume was relatively high, you still bit your bottom lip to prevent any noise as you shove two fingers into your entrance.

Your heart was beating like crazy as your fingers thrust in and out of your core. Your fingers felt good but it wasn’t enough. You needed something bigger.

You spot Ten’s shirt hanging from the edge of your bed and you pause your fingers to grab it with your free hand. You bring it up to your nose and it still smells like the cologne he wears.

You closed your eyes, thinking of Ten and what it would be like if it was his fingers inside of you right now instead of yours. Even better, something else. The thought just turned you on more so you sped up your fingers.

A careless whimper of Ten’s name escapes your lips along with light panting as your fingers brush against your walls. You should have closed the door but you never expected he would come home so fast, so you didn’t hear Ten entering the house. His ears picked up the sound of his name coming from your room.

You push your fingers deeper to find your g-spot, when suddenly the door swung open and your eyes widened in shock when you looked up and locked eyes with the man that was on your mind, standing before you with shock all over his face.

He looks at you and sees his shirt in your hand and your other hand down your pants in between your legs. 

The room is extremely quiet, except for the noises coming from your laptop of the movie still playing. To make it even more awkward, the actress in the movie just announced her orgasm. 

“Are you using my shirt to masturbate?” Ten asks after a silent pause. 

Shit. You just want a hole to appear and eat you up alive because you are so embarrassed you could die right now. 

You can feel your blood running cold after getting caught in this awkward situation. 

“Ten, I-” You were speechless. 

You didn’t know what to say because your mind was completely blank right now. What do you say to someone when you just got caught doing something inappropriate and even worse using their article of clothing to get off? You quickly retract your fingers from your core. 

You thought Ten would make fun of you or be grossed out by your actions. But instead, he walks into your room, slamming the door shut, gets on to your bed, and hovers over you. It happened so fast that your mind couldn’t comprehend it quick enough that you just froze in place.

Your eyes widened at the dangerous proximity and you felt your heart racing as you peered up into Ten’s cat-like eyes to see that he was staring down at you with such intensity that you’re starting to get a little nervous. 

He grabs the wrist of your hand that you just used to get off with his hand and puts your fingers in his mouth, sucking up your juices. He releases your fingers from his mouth with a pop and your eyes are as wide as saucers now at Ten. 

For once, you felt it. The sexual tension that everyone constantly mentions between you two. You can actually feel it in the air. You no longer see Ten, your best friend, but a man, standing before you with a dark look in his eyes.

“You taste so good.” He licks his lips to pick up any excess off his mouth. 

Ten’s gaze falls from your eyes to your lips and your eyes do the same after you notice his eyes were no longer on yours, but something else. 

“If you don’t want this, push me away right now and I’ll stop,” Ten whispers before slowly closing the distance between his face from yours.

But you don’t stop him. You want this just as badly as he does.

When Ten sees no sign of you rejecting his advances, he closes his eyes before he cups your face with one hand and crashes his soft lips against yours. You close your eyes and return the kiss with your hands clinging on his shoulders for support. Ten’s other hands snake around your waist to bring your figure closer to his, so you’re body to body. Teeth and tongue clashed against each other in a rough, hungry kiss, full of passion. 

He releases himself from your lips to start stripping you of your clothes in a rush that he practically wanted to tear them off your skin if he could. 

Once fully naked, he begins to remove his own clothes and tosses them on the floor. His lips latch back on to your lips again as his hands begin to roam your body, touching your skin, which sends tingles throughout your body from his warm touch. 

The male stops the kiss to allow a moment to breathe. However, that doesn’t last long when Ten begins to leave open mouth kisses on your neck and you shiver as he nips a sensitive spot. Then, he sucks hickies all over your collarbone and chests, marking you with purple bruises. 

Your back arches off the bed when you feel a warm mouth sucking one of your nipples while the other one is being played with between his fingers.

“Ten,” you whimper.

He releases his mouth from your nipple at the sound of his name escaping your lips and runs two fingers against your folds causing you to shiver.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already.” Ten breaths as he pumps his hardening cock in his other hand. “I wanted to take my time with you, but I want you so badly right now that I can’t wait.”

The statement made you even more wet because you have been craving Ten’s touch for a while now. You want to feel his cock inside of you.

“Hang on, let me go get a condom in my ro-,'' Ten informs you but you stop him by reaching into your bedside table and grabbing a condom from your drawer to hand to him. 

You still had a bunch leftover because of your ex. Ten raises an eyebrow at you but decides to ask questions later and to start opening the packet now.

Ten rips the plastic open with his teeth and rolls the condom onto his length. Your pussy was throbbing in anticipation as you stared at Ten’s cock. Once he’s fully sheathed, he tosses the wrapper into your trashcan and positions himself in front of your entrance with your legs planted on his shoulders. Slowly, he enters you and your fingernails dig into his back at the stretch of his length around your wet cavern.  

“Fuck, you feel so good around me,” Ten groans as he bottoms out of you.

You felt so full as his cock throbs inside of you from the feeling of your warm walls. You and Ten have never been so intimate before, being skin against skin. You can’t believe this is actually happening and neither can Ten. 

Ten waits for you to get used to his size by staring at the place where you two were connected. As soon as he heard from you that it was okay to move, he takes his length out and then slams his cock back deep inside of you. You both moan as he begins to find a steady and hard pace to fuck you into your mattress.

“Tell me, why were you using my shirt to help you get off?” he asks as he continues to thrust inside of you. 

Honestly, you were so embarrassed that you got caught by him that you really did not want to tell him, but suddenly, he stops and you stare at him with pleading eyes, asking him why did you stop? with your eyes.

“Answer me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth. 

His length was still inside of you but he holds your hips down with an iron grip so you don’t make any movements to pleasure yourself until you answer his question. 

“I-I was thinking about you,” you choke out, face heating up. 

“You were thinking about me while playing with yourself? How dirty,” he whispers, nipping your ear. 

Satisfied with your reply, he begins pistoning inside of you at a speed that made your breasts bounce along with the thrusts. 

“It’s because you’ve been teasing me so much lately- saying I look cute in your clothes- throwing me on your bed-”

“-and your reactions were so cute. God, I wanted to just take you right then and there,” Ten pants between each thrust. “Did I make you feel some type of way?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Good.” Ten readjusts his positions and hits your g-spot dead on, causing you to see stars as pleasure courses through your whole body. You're a moaning mess and your toes curl as he continues to ram that spot with harsh thrusts. 

Your walls begin to convulse around his length and Ten throws his head back at the squeeze. You were close, so Ten picks up the pace. 

The movie was still playing, mixed with the sound of moans and your juices squelching with every thrust.

“Ten, I’m about to come,” you announce.

“Me too,” Ten groans as his thrusts become sloppier and uneven. “Cum for me.” 

With a few more thrusts, the knot in your lower stomach bursts and you come around his length. Soon afterwards, Ten shoots his seeds into the condom. You are both a panting mess trying to come down from your orgasms. You are both covered in sweat, there were scratch marks all over Ten’s back, and the room smells like must and sex. 

After a minute, Ten pulls out from your pussy, removes the condom from his cock, and tosses it into your trash bin. 

You and Ten have officially crossed the line from best friend territory. 

“Hey,” Ten speaks, catching your attention. “Do you regret what we just did?” Ten asks, concern laced in his voice.

You stared at your best friend, his eyes filled with fear at the possibility that you might have regretted what just happened. But you don’t regret it at all, so you shake your head. 

“No,” you reply. 

“Good, because me neither,” he happily smiles and brings you into his embrace. 

“I-uh...overheard your conversation with Donghyuck and Mark during the party. Is it true that you and Taeyong broke up because of me?” he meekly informs you.

You groan, “Ten, I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you eventually but-”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. The truth is I never wanted to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same way and ruin our friendship. At first, I was so mad at myself when you started going on with Taeyong because I felt like I just lost my chance. But after what we just did, I need to tell you how I feel so I don’t lose you again,” Ten confesses. “I really like you, y/n.”

You feel your heart swell with joy and a blush creeps up your face. “I really like you too, Ten.”

Now it’s his turn to feel his heart swell with joy because the person he likes reciprocates his feelings. 

He lays down beside you in your bed and stares lovingly into your eyes as he uses one arm to support his head while the other strokes a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Ten...what’s going to happen to us now?” you ask.

Ten softens. “Nothing has to change. I will always be your best friend, but I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing where this goes.”

A smile slowly spreads on your face at Ten’s words. “Me neither.” 

---

Tonight, you wanted to showcase your new performance at the club. You asked the DJ to shoutout Ten during your introduction for helping you with the moves, and to add “my boyfriend” after saying his name which made said boyfriend sitting in the front seat glee with joy.

Loud R&B music began to play and the crowd started cheering when your figure emerged from behind the curtains in an oversized black, thin knit sweater that was long enough to cover part of your thighs and black high heels. 

You walk to the center and put your hands on the pole that was securely placed in the middle of the stage. You grind against the pole before lifting yourself off from the floor to do some impressive spins. 

Once the music is reaching the chorus, you carefully get on your knees before getting into a fetal position. Then, you lift your ass up in the air, giving it a wiggle and allowing your top to slowly fall. Next, you quickly sit on your knees and your arms wrap around the opposite ends with your fingers grasp the ends of your top and slowly begin to lift it up, revealing something interesting underneath. The shirt began to expose your skin-tight, long sleeve, red bodysuit that you were wearing underneath this whole time. 

You’ve never worn it before, so today is your first day wearing it because you recently bought it and wanted to show off in front of the crowd. 

The crowd goes wild and Ten’s bites his thumbs trying to hide his wide grin. 

You toss the black oversized shirt to the side of the stage and get back up off our knees to strut over to the stage pole again, swaying your hips side to side. The dance continues again and you hope Ten was impressed by your strip tease.  

Oh, he definitely liked it because as soon as Ten found you after your performance ended, he pinned you against the wall and attacked your lips into a passionate kiss. 

“You were so hot up there. Watching my girlfriend strut like that turned me on so much,” Ten confesses as his dark eyes raked your entire figure while his hands roam your body.

“Turned on enough to fuck me here in the waiting room?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Fuck yeah.”

Before anything could progress, you both stopped because there was a banging noise coming from the door that startled you both.

“You two better not be fucking in there!” a voice screams from the other side of the door.

You and Ten looked at each other before bursting out into a fit of laughter at your coworker’s words. 

“Sorry, Jongin!”

[comedicreliefonlyworkswhenfunny]

I am against the "Americanization" of fandoms.

What this applies to

Holding non American characters (and sometimes even fans) to an American moral standard. This includes

Refusing to take into account that, first things first, America is NOT the target audience, so certain tropes that would or would not pass in the west are different in Japan.

Like seriously, quite a few of the jokes are just not going to pass or hit, because they require background information that is not universal.

Assuming all American experience is standard. (This could mean watering down just how much pressure is placed on Japanese youth irl by saying that sort of thing is universal (while it is, to a degree, Japanese suicide rates are pretty fucking high because of how fast paced and work heavy some of their loads tend to be), and it's really annoying and rude when someone is trying to speak out about how heavy and harsh the standards are placed on them to succeed just for some American whose mom occasionally yells at them to do their homework dropping by to say "it's like that everywhere")

Demonizing (or wubbifying) a character using American morals, including and up to harassing fans over their interpretations or gatekeeping whether or not a character "should" get development (while you shouldn't do that fucking period, it's rude and annoying- this is specifically for the people who use American standards without acknowledging the cultural gap between them and, you know, the fucking target audience) ((Like seriously, saying "It's different in Japan" is not the end all be all excusing someone's actions, but sometimes the author didn't immediately think that maybe (insert vaguely universal thing) was that bad or that heavy of a topic before they put it into their media. If you don't want to see things like that? Pick a different series and stop harassing the fans))

Getting mad at or making fun of Japan's attempts to satirize their own culture. (A good example is Ace Attorney! To most of us, it's just a funny laugh can you imagine if courts were actually like that- guess what? Japan's are! (Not that America's are actually that much better, they just look good on paper))

Making America/American issues the center of your fan spaces

(Usually without sharing or bringing light to the issues that other countries are going through)

Your

Experiences

Are

Not

Univseral!

Seriously, very few things across America, even, are universal. Texas things the hundreds are nothing while Minnesota's like "oh it's only thirty degrees below zero"- so for fucks sake, stop assuming that all other countries work in ways similar to America.

It's good and important to share Ameican issues with your American followers, but guess what? America isn't the only country out there, and it's certainly not the only one going through bullshit. Don't pull shit like "why's no one reblogging this?" or "why should I care about what's happening in (X country)?"

Don't assume everyone lives in America.

Stop assuming everyone lives in America.

America is not and has never been the target audience for anime, and it's certainly not the only country outside of Japan that enjoys it.

Like I said above, sometimes Japan attempts to satirize its own culture. We can't tell what is and isn't meant as satire, because it's not our culture.

Social media activism can be tiring and maybe you don't have the energy to focus on things that are out of your control, but, if someone tells you about the shit they're going through, don't bring American politics up.

For the neurodivergent crowd out there thinking, "But why?" it's because a lot of social media, especially, is very heavily Americanized- sometimes to the point where people assume that everyone is American. Not to mention, it's disheartening. I'm sorry to say, but you're not actually relating to the conversation, you're often diverting the focus away from the topic at hand. Even if you mean well, America is heavily pedestaled and talked about frequently, and people from other countries are tired of America taking precedent over their own issues.

Don't divert non-American issues into American ones. Seriously. It's not your place. Please just support the original issue or move on.

Racist Bullshit

This especially goes for islanders and South Asian characters, as well as poc characters (because, yes, Japan DOES have black people)

Making "funny" racist headcanons. Not fucking cool.

Changing the canon interpretation of an explicit character of color in order to fit racist stereotypes.

Whitewashing or color draining characters. Different artistic skill sets can be hard, yes, but are you seriously going to look at someone and say "I don't feel like accurately portraying you or people that look like you, because it's difficult for me." If someone tries to correct you on your cultural depiction of a character and/or their life style, don't be an ass. (If possible, it would be nice for those that do the corrections to be polite as well, but it does get really frustrating).

Seriously, no offense guys, but, if you want to persue art, you're going to need to learn to depict different body types, skin colors, and/or ethnic features.

On that note, purposefully, willingly, or consistently inaccurately portraying people or characters of color (especially if someone in the fandom has "called you out" or specifically told you that what you're doing comes across as racist and you continue to do it). If you need help or suck at looking things up, there are references for you! Ask your followers if they have tutorials on poc (issue that you're having), whether it be bodily portrayal, facial proportions, or coloring and shading. Art is so much more fun when you can depict a wider variety, and guess what? Before you drew the same skinny, basic, white character over and over, you couldn't even draw that!

Attempting or claiming to DEPECT CULTURAL ACCURACY within a work or meta, while being completely fucking wrong. ESPECIALLY and specifically if someone calls you out, and you refuse to fix, correct, or change anything.

*little side note that the discussion revolving art is a very multilayered conversation, and it has quite a few technical potholes, which I'll bring up again farther into this post.

Fucking history

Stop demonizing or for absolute fucks sake wubbifying Japanese history because UwU Japan ♡0♡ or bringing up shit like "you know they sided with Nazis, right?" It's good to recognize poor past decisions, but literally it's not your country keep your nose out of it. And? A lot of decisions made by countries were not made by their general peoples. Even those that were, often involved heavy propaganda that made them think what they were doing was right.

Seriously, it's not your country, not your history. Unless you have some sort of higher education (but honestly even then a lot of those contain heavy bias), just don't butt in.

^^^ this also goes to all countries that are NOT Japan (specifically when people from non American countries talk about their history while in fandoms and someone wants to Amerisplain to them why "well, actually-"). When we said, "question your sources," we didn't mean "question the people who know better than you, while blindly accepting the (more than likely biased) education you were given in the past."

What this does NOT include:

Fanfiction

FANfiction

FanFICTION

FANFICTION.

Seriously, fanfiction is literally UNPAID WORK from RANDOM FANS- a lot of which who are or have started as kids. ((No, I'm not trying to excuse racist depictions of people just because they're free, please see above where I talk about learning to grow a skill and how it's possible tone bad and get good, on top of the fact that some inaccuracies are not just willful ignorance))

"Looking it up" doesn't work

"Looking it up" almost never works

Please, for fucks sake, you know that most all online search engines are heavily biased, right? Not to mention, not everything is universal across the entirety of Japan. You want to look up how the school system works in Hokkaido? Well it's different from the ones in Osaka!

Most fanfiction is meant to be an idealized version of the world. Homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, ableism, and racism are very prevalent and heavy topics that some fan authors would prefer to avoid. (Keep in mind, this is also used by some people in those minorities often because thinking about how relevant those kinds of things are is to them every day).

A lot of shit that happens in writing is purely because it's an ideal setting. I've seen a few arguments recently about how fan authors portray Japanese schools wrong- listen, I can't tell you how many random school systems I have pulled from my ass purely because (I need them to interact at these points, in these ways). Sometimes the only compliment I can think of is 'I like your shirt' or sometimes I need character A to realize that character B likes the same thing as they do, so I might ignore the fact that most all Japanese schools require uniforms, so that I can put my character in a shirt that will get someone else's attention.

Sometimes it's difficult to find information on different types of systems, and sometimes when you DO know those things, they directly rule out a plot point that needs to happen (like back on the topic of schools (from what I've seen/heard/read- which guess what? Despite being from multiple sources, might still be inaccurate!) Japanese schools don't have mandatory elective classes (outside of like gym and most of them usually learn English or another language- I've seen stuff about art classes? But the information across the board varies.), but, if I need my character to walk in and see someone completely in their element, I'm probably not going to try and gun for accuracy or make up a million and two reasons as to why this (non elective) person would possibly need something from (elective teacher) after school of all things.)

Some experiences ARE universal- or at least overlap American and Japanese norms! Like friends going to fast food places after school doesn't /sound Japanese/ or whatever, but it's not like a horrible inaccuracy to say that your characters ate at McDonald's because they were hungry. Especially when you consider that the Japanese idolization of American "culture" is also a thing.

Also I saw someone complaining about how, in December, a lot of (usually westerners) write Christmas fics! Well, not only are quite a few of those often gift fics, with it being the season if giving and all, but Japanese people do celebrate Christmas! Not as "the birth of Christ," but rather as a popularized holiday about gift giving (also pst: America isn't the only place that celebrates Christmas)

But, on that note, sometimes things like Holidays are "willfully ignorant" of what actually happens (I've made this point several times, but (also this does by no means excuse actual racism)), because, again: plot convenience! Hey what IF they celebrated Halloween by Trick or Treating? What if Easter was a thing and they got to watch their kids or younger siblings crawl around on the ground looking for tiny plastic eggs?

Fanfiction authors can put in hours of work for one or two thousand words- let alone ten thousand words, fifty thousand words, a hundred thousand words. And all of these are free. There is absolutely no (legal) way to make money off of their fanworks, but they spent hours, days, weeks, months- sometimes even years- writing. It is so unnecessary to EXPECT or REQUIRE them to spend even more hours looking up shit that, no offense, almost no one is going to notice. No one is going go care that all of my combini prices are accurate or that I wrote a fic with a Japanese map of a train station that I had to backwards search three times to find an English version that I could read.

Not everyone has the attention span or ability to spend hours of research before writing a single word. Neurodivergent people are literally a thing yall. Instead of producing the perfectly pretty accurate version of Japan that people want to happen, what ACTUALLY happens is that the writer reads and reads and reads and either never finds the information they need or they lose the motivation to write.

^^^ (This does NOT apply to indigenous or native peoples, like Pacific Islanders or tribes that exist in real life. Please make sure that you portray tribal minorities accurately. If you can't find the information you need (assuming that the content of the series is not specifically about a tribe), please just make one up (and for fucks sake, recognize that a lot of what you've been taught about tribal practices, such as shit like human sacrifices or godly worship, is actually just propaganda.)

Not to mention, it often puts a wall in front of readers who would then need to pull up their OWN information (that may or may not be biased) just in order to interact with the fic ((okay, this one has a little bit of arguability when it comes to things like measurements and currency, because Americans don't know what a meter is and no one else knows what a foot is- either way, one of yall is going to have to look up measurements if they want to get a better understanding of the fic)). However, a lot of Americans who do write using 'feet, Fahrenheit, dollars,' also write for their American followers or friends (which really could go both ways).

On a less easily arguable side, most fic readers aren't going to open up a new tab just to search everything that the author has written (re the whole deep topics, not everyone wants to read about those sorts of things, either). Not only are you making it more difficult on the writer, but you're also making it more difficult for the reader who's now wondering why you decided to add in Grandma's Katsudon recipe, and whether or not the details you have added are accurate.

Some series, themselves, ignore Japanese norms! Piercings, hair dye, and incorrectly wearing ones uniform are frowns upon in Japanese schools- sometimes up to inflicting punishment on those students because of it. However, some anime characters still have naturally or dyed blond hair some of them still have piercings or wear their uniforms wrong. Some series aren't set specifically in Japan, but rather in a vague based-off-real-life Japan that's just slightly different (like Haikyuu and all of its different prefectures). Sometimes they're based on real places, but real places that have gone through major changes (like the Hero Academia series with its quirks and shit).

Fandom is not a full time job. Please stop treating it like it is one. Most people in fandoms have to engage in other things like school or work that most definitely take precident over frantically Googling the cultural implications of dying your hair pink in Japan.

Art is also meant to be a creative freedom and is almost always a hobby, so there are a few cracks that tend to spark debate. Like I said, it is still a hobby, something that's meant to be fun (on this note!)

If trying new things and expanding your portfolio is genuinely making you upset, it's okay to take a break from it. You're not going to get it right on the first try and please, please to everyone out there critiquing artists' works, please take this into account before you post things.

I'm sorry to say, but, while it gets frustrating to see the same things done wrong over and over again, some people are genuinely trying. If it matters enough for you to point out, please offer solutions or resources that would possibly help the artist do better (honestly this could be said about a lot of online activism). I get that they should "want" to do better (and maybe they don't and your annoyance towards them is completely justified- again, as I said, if this becomes a repeated offense and they don't listen to or care about the people trying to help them, yeah you can be a bitch if it helps you feel better- just please don't assume that everyone is willfully ignorant of how hurtful/upsetting/annoying a certain way of portraying things is), but also WANTING to do better and ACTUALLY doing better are two different things.

Maybe they didn't realize what they were doing was inaccurate. Maybe they didn't have the right tutorials. Maybe they tried to look it up, but that failed them. Either way, to some- especially neurodivergent artists- just being told that their work is bad or racist or awful isn't going to make them want to search for better resources in order to be more accurate, it's just going to make them give up.

Also! In fic and in writing, no one is going to get it right on the first try. Especially at the stage where we creators ARE merely in fan spaces is a great time to "fuck around and find out", before we bring our willfully or accidentally racist shit into monetized media. Absolutely hold your fan creators to higher standards, but literally fan work has so little actual impact on popular media (and this goes for just about every debate about fan spaces), and constructive criticism as well as routine practice can mean worlds for representation in future media. NOT allowing for mistakes in micro spaces like fandoms is how you get genuinely harmful or just... bad... portrayals of minorities in popularized media that DOES have an impact on the greater public. OR you get a bunch of creators who are too afraid to walk out of their own little bubbles, because what if they get it wrong and everyone turns against them. It's better to just "stick with what they know" (hobbies are something that you are meant to get better at, even if that is a slow road- for all of my writers and artists out there, it does take time, but you will get it. To everyone else, please do speak up about things that are wrong, but don't make it all about what's wrong and please don't be rude. It's frustrating on both ends, so, if you can, please try not to escalate the situation more.)

Anyways, I'm tired of everyone holding fictional characters to American Puritanical standards, but I'm also tired of seeing every "stop Americanizing fandom" somehow loop into fanfiction and how all authors who don't make their fics as accurate as possible are actually just racist and perpetuating or enabling America's take over of the world or some shit.

Fan interpretation of published media is different than fan creation of mon monetized media. Americans dominating or monopolizing spaces meant for all fans (especially in a fandom that was never meant for them to begin with) is annoying and can be harmful sometimes. Americans writing out their own personal experience using random fictional characters (more often than not) isn't.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Midnight Magic

A/N: Wrote a smutty part 2 to accompany you lovely folks! 🥰🥰

MASTERLIST

Henry Cavill x Reader

Also, if I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 1855k 

Warnings: MUCH PROMISED FLUFF, dirty talk, implied smut, foreplay, kissing, language, teasing

***********************************************

Y/N wasn’t someone to demand attention but tonight was a different story entirely. Whether it be the holiday magic in the air or the sheer happiness exuding from her beaming smile, they’d never know for sure.  She glazed into the fireplace awaiting the arrival of her midnight kiss to show up. The embers flickered uncontrollably creating a spellbinding illusion of comfort. The cerulean blue hue of her dress was majestically magnificent, custom designed to perfection leaving little to the imagination. Paired with a sexy high slit revealed the majority of her right leg; just enough access.

This New Year’s Eve Henry had the peculiar notion to get dressed up as if they were enjoying the evening out. Y/N almost died of happiness then and there seeing the childish reflection in her husband’s hypnotic orbs. 2020 was one helluva year and though it brought them closer than ever as a couple, Y/N wasn’t blind to the hardships occurring throughout the world.  

His loins stirred excitedly as lust glazed over his features growing semi-hard. The only barrier holding them from going at it like teenagers. He licked his lips in anticipation eager to have his wife all to himself. No lavish parties or parades of people to entertain this year, just the lot of them, alone and horny. He continued admiring her from afar pouring two flutes of champagne for the pair.

“You look positively scrumptious this evening, Mrs. Cavill.”

Henry silently crept from behind sneaking up unsuspectingly slow. Goosebumps riddled her gorgeous skin rippling in masses. His breath ticked the tiny, delicate hair adorning her neck shooting a pleasurable surge to her limbs. Both endlessly love drunk on one another. His sensational touch alone kicked every sense into overdrive, heightened every emotion he emitted. Y/N reached back entangling her fingers with his newly deemed ‘quarantine curls’ she’d loved to tug on. Small bites traced down her neck leaving small marks in his wake of destruction.

“May I add how delectable you are in a tuxedo, Hen? My god, my poor ovaries must be working overtime.”

A salacious smirk broke out on his lips eyeing her lustfully.

“You haven’t the finest clue what I want to do to you right now, my love.”

Her hips grinded back on their on accord knocking the air from his lungs. All his remaining blood rushed to the tip of his cock as his belly stirred in playful chaos. They swayed back and forth to the melody playing in the background both reflecting on their last year together.

Henry lined himself up with the shell of her ear wrapping his bulky arm firmly around her waist drawing her as close as possible.

“I’m truly astounded this is our 12th year celebrating as a couple.”

Y/N smiled thinking back when they first met. The year was 2008, Henry was a newly promoted regular to a Showtime series called The Tudors. Y/N was a brilliant writer, the brains behind the complex operation. Henry considered her the beauty and brains; Y/N hated when he talked down about himself saying she’d never once doubted the man who became a wonderful husband and even better daddy.

One unparticular day he’d spotted her struggling to balance a pretty hefty pile of scripts and tumbled right into him. Luckily, his super-size and strength kicked in just in time catching the eye of the attractive stranger. In that moment, Henry knew there was something about this woman he craved to figure out. He was just the lucky bastard on the reciprocating end.

“And thank god your parents volunteered to take the kiddos for the evening. Some private adult time is just what the doctor ordered. We owe them BIG time.”

Y/N winked leading him to decipher the meaning behind her blanket statements. She stepped from his grasp breaking his hold on her. He whined at the loss causing Y/N to eye him curiously.

Oh, you little tease.

Henry’s frisky nature broke through lighting the atmosphere around them. Due to the ongoing pandemic and what not, Henry and Y/N found themselves in wintry London at their main hub of a home. Henry’s roots were deep-rooted and his plea so passionate as she agreed to move across the world with him. Their lives halted for the better allowing the family to spend more time than usual as a unit. Though initially hectic and overwhelming, they were secretly thankful for these little moments with their four children. It was a time they so dearly valued at their imaginative ages.

“Oh, I bet my pops could sense the sexual tension oozing off you, darling. You smell mouthwatering.”

“Hush! Besides it is completely natural to pursue a sexual relationship with my husband outside of our children. Gotta keep you coming back for more…”

“Oh sweets, you have no earthly idea how bad I want to fuck you every day of my existence. You are absolutely divine and somehow all mine.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Nobody’s ever made me cum the way you managed to figure out. You play me like a damn instrument.”

“With pleasure.”

“Ugh, you’re insatiable.”

“Oh, come on. Your sex drive is just as insane as mine. Admit it!”

Y/N bit the inside of her lip collecting her thoughts. Henry pried and teased her ribs forcing her to his whims.

“Fine, fine, you win! I’m a ravenous feign when it comes to you. You’d think having kids would cool my jets but then I see these gorgeous faces I birthed and it’s like I reset. Poof, just like that.”

“Well you’re a phenomenal Mum and quite the MILF too.”

Henry inhaled her perfumed scent taking a long sip of bubbly; anything to keep him from combusting.

“Let’s toast, love. We must.”

“My my, how time flies when you’re having fun.”

Her manicured fingers reached for the chilled glass looking up at Henry and his three-month-old beard. She rose her glass slightly higher in preparation for his speech. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she admired her husband.

“Thank you for loving me, Henry. Seriously, you changed my life in so many profound ways.”

The sap in him was beginning to show as his eyes watered with unshed tears; “My love, it is I who should be thanking for you the unending shower of love and affection. You are the beautiful mother of our four wonderous kids who are the absolute lights of my life because of you. You’re a woman worthy of many praises than my silly ramblings. Cheers to you and for another adventure of a year!”

She swatted his chest immediately shutting him up; “Don’t say that! I am just as equally lucky to have found someone who gets me for …me. It’s a wonderful feeling to have you by my side even if I did have to kiss a few frogs.”

“No doubt I the best possible selection.”

Y/N played along jesting back; “I wouldn’t go that far, maybe the easiest?”

Gob smacked Henry’s wit was rapid fire; “If memory serves, you were there too. And just as ravenous.”

“I was about to get nailed by an insanely hot British man. Can you blame me?”

“One look from you and I was a bloody puddle. I had to recite rugby players to keep from losing my shit.”

No matter life’s challenges the past years of their lives, their resolution to stay equals and lovers was stronger than ever. A sinful glow overcame Y/N as she stared directly up at him; “Cheers to you fucking me stupid then?”

“As you wish.”

She refused to glance away maintaining his smoldering gaze; her Y/C eyes screamed sex. His pupils dilated just as his heart speed up voraciously. Both subconsciously tilted their heads oppositely neither daring to move first, unwilling to yield. Y/N challenged his masculinity testing him. Many words could be used to describe Y/N but priss wasn’t one of them.  

“Oi, you are a true keeper.”  

Y/N checked the matching wrist watch completing her outfit; “T-minus 15 seconds until 2021 is here.”

Still unbreaking of her gaze, Henry stayed silent taking in the beauty of his wife. He could stare at her for the rest of his god given days and die a spectacularly happy man.

10,9,8

“Oh Hen, another marvelous journey with you. Can’t wait to see what 2021 has in store for us.”

7,6

She stared down at his inviting pout unable to look away nor did she truly want to.

“Maybe thinking about another baby?”

Her eyes bulged from her skull as shock illuminated from her pores.

“You’re joshing me?”

His lack of response was more than confirmation enough.

5,4

“There’s something so ridiculously sexy about you being pregnant. I always knew I wanted kids but with you, oh with you I want to have as many as humanly possible. Our very own football team.”

Confusion stamped her features at his terminology. Sometimes Henry forgot they were from different countries.

“Football as in soccer. You know the game with the checkered ba—”

Y/N cut him off; “Jeez baby, save your mansplaining. I’ve been on this side of the pond long enough to understand your oh so clever references.”

3,2

The pros and cons bounced around in her head, doubt never far behind but the mischievous joy coming off him was tantalizing; “Let’s do it.”

2,1

Cheers rang ecstatically from the television as fireworks commanded their attention but they only had eyes for one another. Henry closed the gap kissing her feverishly. He was forever seared into her brain ruined for all other men. Lost in the moment, Y/N barely had time to set her glass down untrusting of her own balance anymore. Henry followed shortly behind. Now with her newfound freedom, Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck locking him in place. His questioning tone was almost cause for concern before his façade shattered.

“Really? I do so enjoy seeing you round with my babe. So, fucking irresistible.”

Henry’s jacket was long removed strewn over the couch. That left him standing only in his tight button up and trousers. Y/N merely leaned back his direction bringing his attention towards the zipper aligning her spine. Henry chuckled undoing her dress too easily watching the zipper flair apart. He couldn’t resist admiring the flex of her muscles and how striking she was. Tugging the material over the curvy hips, Y/N noticed Henry was far too overdressed.

“Take off your clothes, now.”

“You bossin me round, babe?”

His muscular tush ignited in minimal pain as her hand connected with his ass whipping rather harshly. A small red welt appeared instantly. Henry stood shocked as Y/N’s smug smile decorated her face.

“You really shouldn’t push me. I don’t like my authority questioned.”

Henry’s mood shifted at her use of roleplay knowing he was in for a well and good night. Henry stripped removing his boxer briefs last. Y/N strutted towards her bedside dresser pulling out a pair of metal handcuffs. Dangling them in front of him, she grinned bashfully; “You’re going to sit your ass on that bed and I’m going to tie you up now. Got it?”

~~~~~~~~~

Tags:  @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed  @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast  @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira  @cap-barnes​ @henryfanfics101  @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos​  @justaboringadult @peakygroupie  @nalathefirefly​ @vikingsbifrost​ @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @moderapoppins​ @cooldiva1234​ @icedcoffeeismythang​ @titty-teetee​ @summersong69​ @kaatelyyynn​ @missursulacalmet​ @michelehansel​ @iloveyouyen​ @shyshu​ @star017​ @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83​ @starrynite7114​  @wheretheriversrunintothesea​ @i-love-scott-mccall​  @darkbooksarwin​ @ellieseymour70​ @designerwriterchic​ @studywithrosie01​ @dangerouslovefanfic​ @lebguardians​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @hen-cavill​  @cavill-sass​ @oh-for-fic-sake​ @icedbottles​ @buckysgoldenheart​ @brexrif​ @gryffindorwriter​ @laketaj24​ @foxyjwls007​ @lawsofthejungle​ @henrycavillfanpage​ @kaboogie21​ @fangirl199812​ @gothicninibalor​ @qualitynightkoala​ @strictlybuckybarnes​ @toomanyfandomsshreya​@hersilencescreams-blog​ @viking-raider​ @sesamepancakes​  @madbaddic7ed​ @fuckoffbard​ @funfickgirl22​ @inlovewithhisblueeyes​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @hoeforhenry​ @henrycavills-babe​ @abschaffer2​ @loving-this​ @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs​ @lovelycavills​

[pradaksj]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored (m.)

♤ pairing: jungkook/reader

♤ genre: 1920′s au, burlesque/clubsinger!reader, infidelity au , angst, smut.

♤ rating: mature

♤ word count: 17,000+

♤ warnings: infidelity/affair [plays a big role in story so please do not read if the topic makes you feel uncomfortable, hint: y/n is not the one getting cheated on LOL], A LOT of angst lol the smut is just an add on to the story basically, explicit language, cigar smoking, degradation, pet names, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (2), dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, sub!reader, teasing dom!jungkook, slight dry humping, mirror sex, fingering, hair pulling, cockwarming, marking, edging, nipple/breast worship, pussy eating, spanking, light choking, possession kink.

♤ summary: Once you were on that stage you were someone completely different, the manifestation of someone’s secret desire, becoming whatever image had of you in their head. Some days you were the innocent girl next door, other days the good girl gone wild, but the days he came you became what you had been for the past year, the other woman.

━ ❝  You got me some type of way, ain’t used to feelin’ this way. I do not know what to say, but I know I shouldn’t think about it. Took one fuckin’ look at your face, now I wanna know how you taste… You can say I’m hatin’ if you want to, but I only hate on her 'cause I want you. .❞

♤ thank u next series masterlist

♤ author’s note: i got the idea to make this story 20’s themed after rewatching 2 Chainz ft Ariana Grande’s which you can watch ☞ here, while the storyline itself is loosely inspired by her song break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored. You can also reference this video ☞ here to see what I reference in terms of style when I say burlesque dancer and what y/n and her coworkers encapsulate because I personally hate the flapper era style LOL, i’m more of a hollywood glam person, so finding this video was a godsend.  

Also fun fact, the Hollywood sign was originally built reading “Hollywoodland” in 1923, which is why it’s referred to as that in this story, it wasn’t until 1949 that “land” was removed. and because i’m setting this story in the mid to late 1920’s, Hollywood is barely establishing its reputation as the land of dreams and heartbreak & alcohol was illegal in the 20’s which is why i refer to Joon’s job as “illegal” lol .

comment, send an anon, like, reblog, and most importantly enjoy! 🤍 

“She’s the girl of your dreams, the sugar to your spice, give a warm welcome to Miss Lola de Ville,” Al’s voice booms across the club. Peeping your head out the curtains, you try your best not to be seen as you scan the audience, until finally you spot what you’re looking for. Immediately you feel your heart skip a beat.

Quickly giddying your way back to Mina’s dressing room, you could feel the anticipation and joy bubbling in your stomach, “He’s here tonight,” you sing, leaning against her door frame, watching her as she did her makeup.

She’s quick to roll her eyes, “Oh when isn’t he,” she says, fixing her lipstick, “he sure does awfully love your performances it seems,” a blush appears on your cheeks, “Is she with him tonight?” she queries, you quietly nod your head no. “And what song are you performing tonight little miss Y/N?” she asks, changing the topic once she sees your face of uncomfort.  

Immediately your eyes light up, “Al’s been playing these songs by some man named Louis Armstrong on the record player all week, and oh how I love his voice, and the lyrics he sings!” you gush.

“Oh tell me about it, he’s going to have to buy himself another vinyl if he keeps playing it the amount of times he does already, it’ll be all scratched up by the end of the week,” she pessimistically says, causing you to shrug. It wasn’t like Al didn’t have the money to buy as many as he’d like, this club of his was bringing him bank.  

“God am I ready to go home,” she complains, taking off the shiny silver ring on her left ring finger and placing it in its case, as men didn’t like giving tips to a woman with a ring on stage.

“How’s the wedding planning going along?” you ask, Mina lets out a dramatic sigh in response.

“Oh you know Joon, he doesn’t like the whole planning aspect of it, so most of it has been in my hands,” she chuckles, “but I know he’s excited, he’s just as much of a romantic as me.”

Namjoon, Mina’s long time fiancé, was not only the illegal bartender of the club you two worked in, but a long time friend of yours, the two of you going back long before he had ever met Mina. In fact it was he who got you this job to begin with, something you’d forever be in his debt for.

Namjoon of course didn’t mind that Mina had to take off her ring because he not only trusted, but respected Mina’s job. Honestly it would’ve been hypocritical for him to be anything but supportive, considering he met her here when he first started working at the club a couple of years ago. At the end of the day he was secure about his relationship, and the person she was coming home to after a night of performing was him and only him.

“Y/N what are you doing here, you go on in five!” a voice interrupts, you turn to see Al with his hands on his hips in a dramatized fashion.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be out there right now,” you gulp, grabbing some perfume from Mina’s desk and quickly spritzing it on yourself., “How do I look?” you ask.

“You look good as always,” Mina reassures, despite only glancing at you for no less than a second, “hey and once you’re done tell Joon to have a cocktail ready for me by the time I’m done performing,” you nod, making your way out to the main stage.

“She’s got a voice sent from the heavens above, almost as smooth as a Friday’s glass of whiskey, she can sing, she can dance, she can act, she’s a triple threat of course! And to add to it all, she’s got the face of a doll, give a warm welcome for little miss y/n!”

Slowly, the curtains are pulled open, as you signal to the jazz band to start, another day, another dollar to make. You hear the cheers of men as you slowly take off your fur-made shoulder wrap, teasing the audience in what was hidden underneath. With every holler your ego only grows, knowing that all eyes were on you, including his.

Glancing in his direction, you find him staring at you in the same concentrated, sultry gaze he always did, purposely pouting your lips as you sang. You knew the power you held, the effect you had on those around you. Once you were on that stage you were someone completely different, the manifestation of someone’s secret desire, becoming whatever image they wanted you to be in their head, a figment of their imagination come to life so to speak.

Some days you were the innocent girl next door, other days the good girl gone wild, but the days he came you became what you had been for the past year, the other woman.

Unstrapping the leather of your heel, your feet immediately feel relief, as you kick off the black t-strap heels you had been wearing all night under your vanity desk. Though you loved wearing heels, the constant foot blisters caused by the cheap leather were definitely a downside.

Making yourself comfortable in your seat, you dump out the money from your tip jar, a smile appearing on your lips as you noticed the twenty dollar bill in the pile. Eagerly you grab it, excitedly crisping the sturdy green bill.

“They must've really liked that performance today,” a voice whispers to your ear from behind, catching you by surprise. You were used to him making a knock of some sort. Immediately you feel the tingle of goosebumps now prickling onto your skin, the giddy feeling in your stomach never getting old.

Slowly, he begins to give small pecks on your neck, every kiss lingering longer than the last. His lips then begin to softly suckle on your neck, causing you to push your head back in pleasure.

“Jungkook,” you complain, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Too bad that tip wasn’t from me,” he shades, clear annoyance coming from his tone. In your distracted state, he snatches the bill from your hands, causing you to immediately get up from your seat in an effort to get it back.

“Hey,” you childishly groan, trying to reach his arm which was now lifted in the air. Seeing that there was no use in trying, you give up. He then relaxes his arm, and begins to inspect the bill, your eyebrow raising at his action.

“What are you—”

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and suddenly rips the bill into shreds. Eyes widening in shock, you  place a hand over your mouth. But as quick as the shock came, it was replaced by anger even quicker, “What the hell is wrong with you!” you shout, eyebrows now furrowed.

“It was a counterfeit, a fake,” he reiterates, leaving you slightly taken aback, but you try your best not to give a reaction.

“And,” you stutter, “And how are you so sure about that, huh?” you cross your arms, still upset at how sudden his actions were.

“Because this,” he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, “is a real one,” he attempts to hand the bill to you, but is met with resistance on your side.

Pushing his hand away, you scowl, “I don’t want your money, I’ve told you that already,” you huff, feeling a slight tug at your heartstrings, your ego now bruised at both the fact that the bill was fake and that Jungkook felt compelled to replace it for you.

He hugs you from behind, rocking both you and him back and forth, “I know, I know,” he chuckles, “but seeing the way those men kept looking at you,” he pauses, now scowling, “I guess you can say I don’t like what’s mine being spoiled by others,” he ponders causing you to roll your eyes, still in his embrace nonetheless.

“It’s my job,” you jest, “not like I’m sleeping with them,” you shade, a sly smirk now on your face, as you feel his hardened member now rubbing against your ass, a clear sign that you weren’t the only feeling aroused.

“Feisty, huh?” he laughs, his right hand from behind slowly making its way around your neck, softly gripping your smooth skin. Soon enough, he begins to kiss you, your lips parting to let his tongue slowly go down further, the grip on your neck becoming tighter as the kiss deepens.

With his other free hand, he maneuvers under your robe, teasingly grazing over your thigh, almost as if waiting for the green light, “Just say the words,” he whispers into your ear, his fingers now tugging at the hem of your robe.

Without saying anything, you begin to untie it, the silk material dropping to the floor in a matter of seconds, now only in your bra and underwear, you whisper in return, “Fuck me,” and with that he’s quick to release the grip on your neck, turning you to face him. His kisses become sloppy as he signals for you to jump.

Now holding you up by the thighs, you link your arms around his neck as he places you on top of the vanity desk, careful to not push any of your perfume bottles, “I bet those men could only dream of having you like this,” he growls in between kisses, “Take off the bra,” he demands, his fingers now playing with the lace of your underwear.

With no second thought, you unclip the back of your bra, throwing it somewhere across your dressing room, desperate to have him inside you already. With one hand rubbing circles over the lace, the other rolls your hardened nipples in between his fingers, a smirk now plastered onto his face as he hears you trying to suppress your moans.

“Please Jungkook,” you whine, your thighs tightly wrapped against his waist, grinding yourself against his pants. Ignoring you, he sucks on the underside of your jaw, then to your neck, slowly making his way downward, until finally he’s softly sucking on your nipple.

“God that feels so good,” you pant, throwing your head back in complete utter bliss as he marks you, your hand gently tugging at his hair as he elicits the sweetest moans out of your mouth.

“All mine,” he groans, “I’m gonna fuck you so good, gonna have creaming all over my fucking cock,” continuing to suck on your nipples, his finger now slips under your underwear, placing them inbetween your folds, “Already this wet, kitten?” he mocks, “Those men out there have no idea how much of a whore you are,” his fingers begin to move up and down your clit, doing nothing but teasing you.

“Please Jungkook,” your voice shakes, the need to feel something, anything, inside you becoming much too overwhelming. Slowly he sinks his index finger into your pussy, pumping it in and out of you until gradually he slips in another, your wetness making it easy to do so. You arch your back against the vanity’s mirror in pleasure, “Mm, faster Jungkook,” you manage to breathe out, his two fingers soaked with your wetness.

“So tight,” he mutters his pace now quickening at your command, “Look at you, already wanting to cum,” he mocks, “How do you expect to take my cock huh?” he mumbles into your neck, ready to add a third finger, “Answer me,” he demands, bringing his other hand to your neck once again.

“Because,” you’re unable to reply, now feeling your release coming to light,  “I’m boutta—” you whimper, with every movement you feel it coming closer and closer until suddenly he slows his pace, very much denying you from your release only causing you to let out a cry in complaint, the pressure that had built up immediately slowing down, “Jungkook,” you whine.

“You didn’t answer me,” he teases, pulling your underwear off, now having you completely undressed. Getting on his knees, he parts your legs wide open, your pussy being nothing but a glorious sight to him. Gently he swipes his finger across your sensitive folds, knowing that your senses were heightened from the denial, “Such a pretty pussy,” he teases, now rubbing circles onto your clit, “I bet you taste so good,” he pulls his finger away, suckling on the wetness that coated his finger, “so it does,” he says.

“Use your tongue,” you needily whisper, not sure at how long you’d be able to handle all the teasing, “please,” you cry, hoping that he’d do something soon. He drops wet, messy, kisses along your thighs, your skin now prickling in anticipation. He was purposely taking his time, finding pleasure at your squirming. A part of you just wants to push his head for your selfish reasons, but you knew that it’d get you nowhere because at the end of the day he was in full control, and you would just have to deal with the pleasurable torture.

With every kiss, suckle, and lick, you could practically feel yourself trembling, “Please Jungkook,” you beg, but he only hums in response, continuing with his wicked game of torture. Unable to control yourself, you let go of his hair, now maneuvering your hand to your pussy in a desperate effort to soothe the ache that had long been built up.

But just as you’re about to begin to pleasure yourself, his own reflexes are quick to grab you by the hand, roughly pushing it down onto the desk in an effort to stop you, “Mm mm mm,” he coos, “A slut like you doesn’t get to be in control, remember that kitten,” he sings, making a nodding motion with his finger.

Soon enough, you feel his warm tongue on your clit, licking and sucking through your folds, his index finger rubbing at your clit all at the same time. “Oh my God, right there,” you moan, the tension you felt immediately being released as he indulged himself further into your folds, pumping his finger back into your pussy once more, this time rubbing at your g-spot, your folds completely soaked with both your fluids and his saliva. Your orgasm once again was building up and as a result your pussy clenched around his fingers, your muscles going limp as you knew it was coming closer.

“You’re gonna cum for me, kitten?” you vigorously nod your head in response, physically squirming at his words, “Cum for me,” he breathes out, the euphoric feeling overcoming you, as you felt the waves of your orgasm hit, leg trembling at the sensation. Immediately he begins to plant soft kisses among your thighs, softly caressing you as you came down from your high.

He gets up from his knees, beginning to gently place kisses onto your cheek, “What a good girl,” he teases, going in to kiss you. You place your hand at the back of his head as you deepen the kiss, transforming the kiss to nothing but tongue and saliva. The two of you now making out on the vanity once again, his hardened cock rubbing against your bare pussy, the fabric of his pants acting as the only barrier in between.

He groans once you playfully you graze your other hand over the fabric, the idea of having his cock filling you up only exciting you, “I need you to fuck me,” you whisper into his ear, arousal dripping from every word as you played with the waistband of his pants.

“Is that what you want, kitten?” he asks, now unbuttoning his pants, and pulling out his thick, large cock, “Such a little whore, singing and dancing for those men,” he seethes, the look of jealousy presently on his face, “if only they could hear the way you squirm for me,” he chuckles, “just how needy and desperate you become for my cock,” you gasp as you feel his head now teasing the slit of your entrance, “How I have you moaning my name,” he whispers, suckling at the nip of your neck.  

“Put it in already,” you whine, ready to have his cock thrusting in and out of you, and so with that he slowly pushes his head which was covered in pre-cum into your hole, your wetness from earlier making it easy for him to slip it in, while your hot walls take him in with ease just as the many nights before, but still the pressure of the stretch was something you’d never get used to.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts, impusivley pulling your hair from the back as his girth pushed it’s way inside of you, taking a moment to allow the two of you to adjust, his cock now buried deep within you, “Tell me when you’re ready Y/N,” he sincerely says, having seen the momentary look of discomfort on your face.

Nodding once you were ready, he begins to slowly thrust, the items you had on the vanity beginning to jump at the sudden movement of the desk. Your moans and the squelching sound from the movement of his cock and your wetness now fill the room, his pace quickening with every deep thrust.

“Oh fuck—” you cry, his own grunts and moans mixing with yours.

“This is my pussy, you got that?” all you can do is nod in response, his thrust getting harder and sloppier, until suddenly he stops, “Turn around and bend over the desk,” he commands, pulling out and pumping his girth with his hand, not wanting to lose momentum.

It was shocking really, the countless number of times you two have fucked in between show sets, prior, and after, and each and every time it felt as good and exciting as the first time.

Eagerly you turn around, laying your stomach flat on top of the vanity’s surface, your dripping soaked pussy in full view for him, the cold air of the room along with the lack of fullfiness in your cunt causing you to let out a small whine, desperate to have Jungkook’s cock warm you up again, “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs to himself, looking at your face from the reflection in the mirror as he began to stuff your pussy with his cock once again.

He begins to thrust again, each one feeling fuller than the last, “Fuck Jungkook,” you cry, his cock now hitting your g-spot in this position, “Faster baby,” the friction from his steady rythym now wasn’t enough, as you felt another orgasm incoming.

“Faster?” he asks, “You said it,” he laughs, now pounding against your walls at a pace that was so overwhelming, you were almost sure that anyone within ten yards could probably hear you. “You nasty little slut, just look at yourself,” he groans, yanking you by the hair and forcing you to look at the reflection of yourself in the mirror in front of you, “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this,” he quickens his his pace, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, “And only me, you got that?” all you could do was moan in response, resulting in a hard spank to your ass, “Answer me!” he groans, as you grip onto the corners of your vanity’s desk, his cock pounding harder and harder within your walls every passing second.  

“Mmhm only you Jungkook!” you cry, placing your hand on the mirror, trying not to lose balance of yourself, “I’m so close,” you manage to breathe out, the tight feeling in your abdomen signaling that you were going to cum any moment, his breathy moans also telling you that he was close to bottoming out as well.

He tilts down, the sounds of his panting now directly behind your ear, “That’s my girl,” he whispers, pushing your hair away from your neck to give you a small kiss. Seconds later, your vision goes white as you feel the final rush of stimulation washing over you, as he quickly pulls out and pumps his own release onto your back. The two of you now catching your breath, completely exhausted.

He buttons his pants back up, grabbing your things from the floor as well as a towel from your rack, gently cleaning you up as you remain in your position, too tired to even stand. “Come on,” he whispers, gently pulling you from behind so that he could pick you up, your body always feeling completely limp post-orgasm, add the fact that this was post-work as well, you had every reason to be tired.

Placing you on the small love-seat couch you had in your dressing room, which was generally used for—nevermind that, he helps dress you, guiding your legs through the underwear holes, laughing at your groans whenever you’d miss. “Come on, stop being lazy,” he teases, only resulting in another groan from you. You cross your arms again and pout like a kid, a huge grin now on his face. Gently, he cups your face, playfully squishing your cheeks in the process, just like he always does, only causing you to roll your eyes.

“Why do you always do that?” you manage to say, his hands still squeezing the life out of your cheeks.

“Because it’s cute,” he gives you a peck on the lips before finally letting them go, allowing you to place your robe back on, “You’re cute,” he nuzzles into your neck, the two of you to falling back on the couch, as he then begins to tickle you.

“Stop,” you begin to hysterically laugh, his fingers prancing around the sides of your stomach, “Jun—Jungkook stop,” you breathe out, a toothy grin on his face as he attempted to avoid your playful kicks.

To any other person, this loving moment between you two would cause nothing of the suspicion, hell, they’d probably even mistake the golden band on his finger as the sacrament of your holy matrimony. It was moments like these where you questioned where your relationship with the married man stood, where you’d ask yourself at what point had the line blurred between only doing this for fun and actually having feelings?

Slowly Jungkook stops tickling you once he notices that your laughs had begun to die down, and your face had become serious,“Hey what’s wrong?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

You shake your head, not wanting to dwell on your thoughts too much, “It’s nothing really,” you give him a small smile.  Momentarily he stares at you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“Let’s go home?” you stare at him wide-eyed, home?

“Wait what?”

“I asked if you’d like me to take you home?” he chuckles, though you knew you must’ve heard him wrong, the sinking feeling in your heart hurt just as much, a part of you secretly hoping that you were wrong.

“Oh um,” you respond, “no it’s fine Jungkook, I’ll just um,” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ll just ask Joon, I think he should still be cleaning up, and Mina is probably bored waiting,” you force a laugh. He furrows his eyebrows, unsure about leaving you here, but relents nonetheless.

“Hm, okay then,” he says, giving you a departing kiss on the cheek, “I’ll see you soon, alright?” you nod your head, the forced smile on your face quickly dropping the moment he walks out the door.  

“You sure are loud, Namjoon was complaining about wanting ear muffs while he cleans,” Mina laughs, now entering your dressing room, Jungkook having left several minutes ago. She expects you to laugh like you usually do, or even throw a smart remark in return, but instead you remain silent, staring at your reflection in the vanity’s mirror. Your eyes were puffy from crying, because in those minutes that Jungkook had left, a feeling of shame had washed over you. “Hey, what’s wrong kiddo?” she walks towards you, quickly grabbing a tissue from the tissue box you had on your desk, beginning to wipe the run down mascara from your cheeks, softly running her other hand through your hair in an effort to comfort you.

Sniffling, you shake your head in refusal to talk, “Hey, come on, you know you can tell me anything,” she reassures, “It’s better to let things out, than to have it build up,” she frowns, the sight of seeing you cry breaking her heart.

“I,” you struggle to say what’s on your mind, “I love him,” you whisper, voice breaking as you finally said what you’d long known. For a second she stares at you, her faint gasp quickly hidden as she continues to comfort you.

“Oh Y/N,” she sighs, sad that she is unable to find the words that could make this all better. If only Namjoon was—

“What’s going on he—” Namjoon furrows his eyebrows as he sees the sight of his fianceé comforting his long time friend, who now had her face buried in her hands.

“I love him so much, and everytime he comes here I just wanna tell him,” you pause, “I wanna tell him everytime he walks out that door that he could be with me, that I want him to love me,” you cry, “that the only reason I keep seeing him is because I hope one day he just magically wakes up and walks through that door to tell me that he wants to be with me and only me, not her.”

You push your hair back in distress, “And you have to understand I never meant for things to go this far,” you quietly mumble, “and at first it was just a one time thing, nothing but a tiny sin, I thought I wouldn’t ever see him again, but now it’s become so much more,” you sigh, “And I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t feel anything.”

Namjoon walks over to you, crouching down so that you could face him, “Hey, we’re not here to judge you,” he firmly states, gently pulling your hands away from your face so that you could make eye contact with him, “you have every right to feel the way you do, you hear me?” slowly you nod your head in response as he lets out a chuckle, “Hell, we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t act selfishly here and there,” he pauses, “but what you do need to do is tell him because you’re right, you can’t keep doing this, or else you’ll be stuck in the same old place forever, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he flashes you his famous old dimpled smile, Mina rubbing small circles on your shoulder as an extra layer of comfort.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. It was true, you were, because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he told you that there was no way he’d ever leave her for you? That the feeling of love which had only been growing stronger for the past year would remain as nothing more than a fantasy.

“You’ll never know till you say something,” he gives you a small comforting smile, “Come on let’s get you home little miss Y/N,” he pats your lap, getting up from his crouched position, your Friday night coming to its end.

Jungkook opens the door to his home, genuinely tired from the long week, simply ready to go to bed. “So, where were you?” he hears a voice from behind say. Sighing, he turns around to face his wife of three years, who was currently dressed in her overseas designed silk-purple nightgown, one of the many she owned.

His eyes glance around the room, refusing to make eye contact, “I went out to get drinks with Jimin, you know... the usual for a Friday night,” he wonders how long she’s been waiting for him, honestly it had been a while since she pulled something like this.

“All the bars close at ten, it’s twelve,” she tries to firmly state, but instead her voice cracks, “I have Amelia calling me telling me that Jimin’s gotten hom—”

“Catherine,” he begins, his voice hoarse at how tired he was, “Can we just talk about this some other day? I’m just really tired and,” he shakes his head, combing his hand through his hair, hoping she’d understand.

Catherine momentarily stares at him in silence, an emotionless look on her face before turning and going back upstairs to their bedroom. Jungkook decides to serve himself a glass of whiskey before going to bed in hopes of getting rid of the heavy guilty feeling that weighed over him, and that maybe tonight it’d just be best to sleep on the couch.

“Blue or Red?” you dangle the two outfits from their hangers in front of Jungkook, who was relaxing on your dressing room’s couch, exhausted from the sex you two just had, “I’ve personally been told blue is more of my color, but I feel like red makes me pop out a whole bunch more, and well I need those tips,” you ramble, “So what do you think?”

It had been about two weeks since you last saw him, and since your little breakdown, and though you had taken Namjoon’s words into consideration, the courage to actually go through with it just wasn’t there. Instead you had decided that you needed to wait for the right moment to tell him, and though you weren’t exactly sure when that moment would be, you were definitely sure that when it did happen, maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out how you pictured it to be.

He stretches his arms, releasing a yawn, “Mm,” he hums, “how bout none and you call it a day,” he winks, resulting in a playful hit to the shoulder from you. You gasp as he pulls you to sit on his lap, “And what song are you singing tonight kitten?” he asks.

“Mm I don’t know yet,” you laugh, “might just come up with something last minute,” you joke, but secretly you always did want to venture into composing and writing your own music, weekly newspapers citing that across the country in Hollywoodland, people who could sing, dance, and act, could achieve overnight worldwide fame.

Hollywoodland was a dream, an unrealistic one of course, but a dream nonetheless. Who knows, maybe one day you could make it big out there, but for now you had to focus on where you were locally “famous” : Al’s Melody Noir.

“And become the next Hollywoodland star?” he teases, quickly squishing your cheek before you could knock his hand away.

You shrug, “Hey, you never know,” you smile, “someone in the crowd might just hand me a one way ticket,” you say causing him to roll his eyes and playfully tighten the grip he had on your waist.

“Why not audition for Broadway or something,” he pouts his lips, “they can always use a star like you,” he sings.

“Because I don’t want to be a Broadway star,” you say, “I want to be a Hollywood star,” you grin, “I mean no offense to those Broadway stars, they’re talented and all, but I’m telling you right now that in 50 years from now, the names that are going to be remembered will be the ones who are on that big screen,” Jungkook quietly hums in response, no longer wanting to entertain this topic.

Grabbing his wrist, you glance at his wrist watch, “Ooo, I’m about to go on,” you yelp, quickly getting up from his lap and making any final touch ups to your hair, he gets up as well now getting ready to head out. “Are you sure you can’t stay to see me perform tonight?” you plead, the doe eyed look on your face making it hard for him to say no, but he had to, it was the sole reason why he came to see you before your time slot.

“You know I can’t doll,” he gives you a small kiss on the lips, “I got a whole bunch of paperwork to catch up on tonight,” he sighs, he wasn’t lying either. The stock market was booming as of late, especially because of the newly profound industrial boom, being a stockbroker right now was not only a stressful job but one where any little mistake could cost absolutely everything, “Next time I’ll be there, I promise,” he plants another kiss to your forehead, “And don’t put on too much of a show for em!” he shouts as he walks out.

You look at yourself one last time in the mirror, “Let’s do this,” you whisper, ready to make that stage yours once again.

“Oh you should've seen us having to push that car down the road, whoever this Henry Ford man is needs to learn how to make his cars weight lighter,” Mina complains, you and Namjoon laughing as the three of you were now together at the bar, Namjoon still on the clock of course.

Despite it being a rainy day, tonight was a full house, the club full of upper New York socialites occasionally some of them with their wives and girlfriends. Gambling tables were surrounded by both business men and mafia members. It was clubs like Al’s where you’d see the two different worlds collide and openly interact with one another, but honestly most of these men went hand and hand with each other. Not like there really was that much of a difference between them.

Mina puffs out the smoke from her cigar, “Look, I even chipped my nail,” she flaunts her left hand, Namjoon laughs at her obvious attempt to show off her shiny engagement ring.

“Hey don’t go flaunting it around too much,” he playfully says, but both you and Mina knew that behind that joking tone, he was definitely being serious.

She leans over the front bar rail, dramatically puckering her lips, to which he of course places his lips on, “Hey, get a room!” you complain, “Al sees you two doing that on the clock and he’ll have you two written up!” you laugh.

“Hey I’m on my break,” she clarifies, “And so are you, and if I’m looking at the clock correctly you go on in forty, and you have yet to change.”

Getting up from the bar stool, you dramatically groan in annoyance, now pursing your lips, “Didn’t realize you wanted me gone so badly.”

“Ah you know I’m just joking Y/N,” she passes you her glass of whiskey, “A shot for good luck,” she winks, and so reluctantly you slug down the remainder of her drink, the burning sensation not at all feeling pleasant, as your nose immediately wrinkled at its taste.

“I don’t know how you two drink this stuff,” you say, a childish look of disgust on your face, “it’s banned for a reason you know.”

“You get used to it,” Namjoon comments, “Now get going! Because of all this small talk, you only got thirty minutes left, and we all know how long you take!” he scolds, making a motion with his hand for you to start walking.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you roll your eyes, now making your way back to your dressing room.

“Remember to show em what you’re made of Miss Hollywoodland,” Mina shouts, as you now shook your head in laughter as you left.

You walk towards your dressing room, still laughing to yourself at Mina’s little comment. Tonight was already a good night, your tips seeing a slight increase after your new performance which of course you’d have to count singularly later to get exact numbers. But for now all you wanted to simply do was change, get your last performance over with, catch a cab, and go to bed. The sound of the rain pouring outside would be nothing but relaxing once you got home, that was for sure.

“Mina, Mina, Mina,—” you mumble to yourself, grabbing the handle to your dressing room, ready to just kick off your heels. But what you see in front of you once you open the door immediately confuses you, as someone was occupying your vanity chair. It wasn’t until you looked at the reflection of the mirror that the heavy feeling weighing on your chest dropped down to your stomach. Because there she was sitting with her legs crossed, fixing her crimson colored lipstick in the mirror.

Standing there in silence, your eyes study her body language. In a way she seemed eerily relaxed, her shoulders weren’t tensed like yours, and her breathing seemed steady. The complete opposite of you.

The tension in the room was so thick, you were unsure of what to say because really what was there for you to say? You knew why she was here, she knew why she was here, so then why did everything feel so uneasy, like a bubbling bottle ready to pop off at any moment.

You want her to scream, to tell you off, to do something that you would expect from her, but instead she hums a tune, continuing to fix her lipstick, not once making eye contact with you, until finally she breaks her silence. A quiet, sly, chuckle coming from her lips.

“You know when I first met Jungkook I remember my heart feeling as if it was going to leap out of my chest,” she calmly shares, “Our respective families had introduced the two of us to one another at some horse racing event in New Orleans, my mother pulling me to the side to tell me that he was an up and coming stockbroker, not that it mattered anyway, I had already been swept off my feet from the moment I laid my eyes on him,” she scoffs at recalling the memory, “and you know I’d like to think that just for that one day he felt the same thing I had felt for him.”

She pauses, hazily looking at her reflection in the mirror, still not having glanced in your direction. “We got married a couple months later, bought our first home here in New York, and every morning I’d make him his cup of coffee and kiss him off for work. I remember thinking about just how perfect my life had come out to be. I was buying custom dresses from Europe, and having my pearls imported from the southern China sea, everything a girl could dream of,” she looks down at the ring placed on her left index finger, shining as bright as ever, “I remember bragging to my friends about my perfect life, and they would tell me that all I needed was the kids,” she laughs, “The other housewives would gossip to me about husbands cheating on their wives’ and I would think to myself how Jungkook would never do that to me, that he loves me too much do something like that.”

“But what I had failed to realize was that I was always viewing things from my perspective,” she shakes her head, almost as if disappointed with herself, “I guess it’s due to the way I was raised, I mean I was a spoiled child who grew up in a wealthy family, never once did I see things from the perspective of others,” she comments, “because maybe if I had I would’ve realized that my husband had quickly fallen out of love with me, or hell he may have never been in love with me to begin with,” the lurching feeling of guilt resurfaces itself from the pits of your stomach, the need to vomit almost excruciating, “but I didn’t,” she bitterly scoffs.

“And so when a friend of mine and her husband invited us to some underground new club in town that was getting all kinds of reviews from the drinks, to the dancers, and the triple threat of a star who could sing, dance, and act. I thought sure, why not? We had gone to many different clubs before where there’d be dancers who walked around with nothing but tiny little stickers across their nipples, and not once did I have to worry about his eyes straying too far,” she finally makes eye contact with you through the reflection of the mirror, “until he saw you that night.”

Getting up from your seat, her heels clack on the wooden floor as she makes her way towards you. Her calm demeanor reminding you of a snake ready to bite at any moment, “I don’t know how you two started off, or who initiated it first because God I honestly stopped trying to figure it out a long time ago,” she pauses, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to prevent herself from breaking down, “At first I thought you were going to be nothing but a phase, something temporary, something he was just doing out of compulsion, that it could’ve been anyone that he was going to commit adultery with.”

She stares at you, her eyes watery, a pool of emotions found in her eyes, “So then when I found myself having to go to that damn club every week, just to,” her voice finally cracks, the pristine glass cup that she was finally breaking, “Just to have to see him stare at you with those eyes every night to the point where he wouldn’t even tell me to come anymore, he’d be going out in the middle of the night just to see you in that damn club for God’s sake!” she cries, her face now red at her lash out.

You stare at her wide-eyed, frozen in place as she’s only inches away from you, an intense chill going down your spine.

“He’s,” she pauses, “He’s my husband,” her voice trembles in hysteria, “My husband,” she repeats, as if trying to reassure herself.

Finally, you manage to stutter something out, “I—I didn’t know at—”

“First?” she scoffs, “Is that the excuse you’re going to give me? What about the second time? Or the third? And the fourth and every other time afterward, huh? All those times you’d spot him in the crowd with me only being a couple of feet away from him, or did you just block me out of your mind so you could sleep at night? Is that it?” she yells. “You just couldn’t do it, huh? You just couldn’t stay away from him, like the dirty tramp you are,” she spat, looking at you with nothing but disgust, “Well say something goddammit! Instead of looking at me with that stupid look on your face!” her voice shakes.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” you whisper, lowering your head in shame, “You have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything from the likes of someone like you,” she snaps. The heavy feeling on your chest only weighs harder as you realized you needed to tell her the truth, the truth on what you really felt. Slowly you raise your gaze to meet hers, the lump in your throat fighting against the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“I love hi—”

The sound of the crack of skin contacting skin echoes off the walls, a deafening silence immediately following afterward. As if time was frozen in its place. She slowly looks at her trembling hand which was now vibrating in a pain that etched from the center of her palm to the tip of her fingertips, it’s bright red appearance matching the new welt on your face. You stare at her wide eyed, hand now clutching cheek in pain, no possible words articulating in your head.  

The look on her face is one that’ll haunt you to your grave, it’s the look of someone you had first-hand in breaking. The tears that were currently gracefully falling from her eyes weren’t from a place of sorrow, but the buildup of anger and pain.

She should've felt some kind of remorse. But she didn't. Not one organ in her body could produce a gland of guilt for her actions because at the end of the day this was the least you deserved. She glances at the mark she’s left on your cheek, bitterly scoffing, not because it was big or anything but because it was in fact a cut. A small one where her wedding ring had caught you, a permanent scar that’ll remind you every morning when you look in the mirror of what you’d done. And she hoped, no, she wanted you to feel shame whenever you looked at it.

“You stay away from my husband,” she pleads demands, quickly grabbing her bag from your vanity, and rushing her way out, leaving you there to reflect on everything that just happened.

Jungkook sighs, flipping to the next document on his desk, a night full of work ahead of him. New clients needed to be accommodated, considering everyone wanted a piece of the pie that was the New York Stock Exchange.

Tonight it was raining, a downpour in fact, the prelude to an up and coming storm. The thunder already beginning to cry out from the sky above, the trees around his home writhing and flailing against his window.

Getting up from his desk, he closes up the window as well as shutting the blinds, turning on his shaded glass lamp which provided the dim lighting he always liked working in. The muffled sound of the rain comforting as well.

Catherine was out to God knows where, mumbling something about a girl’s night out before walking out, which of course he didn’t mind, but it was getting quite late. He shrugs off the concern, instead continuing with his work.

Ah she must be back already, he thinks to himself, hearing footsteps coming up the stairs. Suddenly he hears his office door open, “So you’re back already,” he says, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

He’s met with silence.

Looking up, he’s taken back by the woman standing in front of him. Because there she was, hair and clothes drenched in water along with mascara running down her eyes. A haunting empty look in her eyes.

Quickly he gets up, eyebrows furrowing in worry, “Why are you—Where—What happened?” he finally manages to ask, but she remains silent, staring off at the bookcase behind his desk.

“Catherine you’re soaking! I thought you went to Amelia’s?” he chides, but again she remains silent, until slowly she moves her pupils to his direction.

The two stare at each other for what seems like forever, words not having to be spoken in order to know what exactly was happening. He turns to break the gaze, the feeling of shame that he had been pushing off for so long bubbling in his stomach.

A low staggered laugh comes out of her mouth, steadily becoming louder and louder, booming across the room until tears are now falling from the corners of her eyes, as she goes into a fit of hysteria until finally she begins to sob. “I thought I could live with it,” she whispers in between, “I thought things were going to end at some point between the two of you—”

“Catherine,” he starts, but she’s quick to cut him off.

“But it never did!” she laughs, making a small motion to her head, “and it was there like an itch at the back of my mind all the time,” she lets out a breath in disbelief, “and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Catherine, it’s not what you think it is,” he sighs, causing her to only laugh.

“She loves you, you know that right?” she bitterly scoffs, recalling your words from earlier, “And God help me, because I think you might love her too,” she finally cries out, finally saying the thought she’d kept buried in her mind for so long out loud. The feeling of suffocation finally coming to an end.

“For a wife to have to witness the entirety of her husband falling for another woman,” her voice trembles, “to have to witness the exact moment that you fell in love with her,” she whispers, vigorously shaking her head in denial,“ I don’t even wish that upon my worst enemy,” she lets out a choked sob.

All he could do is stare at her, no words at the tip of his tongue, nothing he could say or do to comfort her. “So,” she grimaces, as if fighting to get the words out of her mouth, but she needed to ask. She needed to hear him say it.

“Do you love her?”

He remains silent. He can’t even bring himself to deny it, she thinks to herself. You could hear a pin drop fall at how silent the room was.

“I’m going to bed,” she whispers, the feeling of defeat draining her as she walks out of the room leaving Jungkook to stand there by himself, the thunderstorm outside finally coming to an end.

“Al doesn’t pay me enough for this,” you groan, scrubbing the wood floors with your bristled brush. Tonight it was your turn to close up the club, and though Namjoon usually offered to stay and help you, he had sadly caught a cold, and so instead tonight you were stuck with Al himself to clean up, which of course meant you’d be stuck doing everything. He was already out front doing God knows what, most likely smoking a cigar or something.

It had been weeks since your encounter with Catherine, as well as your last visit from Jungkook, which you could only assume had to do with said situation. Honestly the whole situation had been anxiety inducing, having gone directly home after the whole ordeal, not bothering to say goodbye to Namjoon or Mina as you left, still stuck in the state of shock that you were in.

Even the usual taxi driver who normally drove you home after work was worried at your silence throughout the whole trip. Usually you kept him updated on the different things going on in the club, especially since he was always interested in, in his words, “innovations you young people are making.”

“She was dame, in love with a guy,” you continue to scrub the floor, now humming the song from a movie you had watched a couple a days ago,  “She stuck with him but didn’t know why,”  

“Everyone blamed her, Still they all named her,” you hear a familiar voice playfully sing, “True Blue Louuuuu,” Jungkook stretches out the final word, now standing in front of you, a warm smile on his face. He was dressed in his usual suit attire, his parted hair with no hair out of place only symbolizing his calm attitude for things.

Quickly getting up, you pat down your skirt of any possible dirt, “How did you—” Before you could even finish asking, your mind immediately answers the question for you, “Al,” you let out a laugh, that man will truly let anyone into his club.

“It’s not like he doesn’t recognize me by now,” he chuckles, opening his arms for embrace, which hesitantly you accept. Jungkook, taken aback by your reluctance, cups your face like he usually does and attempts to give you a pop kiss, which you quickly maneuver your way out of thus confirming something was wrong. “Hey,” he whines, pouting his lower lip.

Gently you push him off, picking up the bucket of dirty water from the floor, silently ignoring his antics, “Y/N,” he grabs your hand as you turn away from him.

Knowing there was nothing in this situation you could do but face him, you sigh, “What?” you harshly say, your attitude causing the dirty bucket of water to slip from your hands, “Ugh,” you groan, a headache now rising, “Look what you made me do,” you hiss.

He lifts his hands in his defence, “Hey, I didn’t make you do anything kitten,” your heart skips a beat at the pet name, but you’re quick to shrug the feeling off, huffing as you went to go get the mop from behind the bar stand, Jungkook only following. “I know you’re mad,” he begins, only raising a bitter laugh out of you.

You inhale a breath of fresh air, trying to keep your composure, “Me? Mad? No!” you narrow your eyes at him.

Laughing at your sarcasm, he responds, “And I understand why—”

You cut him off, “How could you possibly understand? You’re not the one who got slapped across the face,” you frown, clenching your jaw, “I even got a left with a scar because of it,” you angrily point to the small cut under your right eye, where her ring had caught you, “and this is my good side!” you throw in.  

“You can’t even notice it—”

“That’s not the point!”  you glare at him, “The point it, is that I can’t keep doing this,” you exhale loudly, “It’s-it’s” you stutter, firmly pressing your lips together, “it’s wrong,” you finally admit to him. Catherine’s words echo in your head, the image of her sobbing in front of you still fresh in your mind, “and so I,” you hesitate to say the next words, but it was now or never, “I think you need to choose, me or her? Because we can’t keep doing this, and you can’t expect me to stay in this position.”  

“We’re getting a divorce.”

“For the rest of my life, because— wait what?” you bring your ramble to an immediate halt, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“We’re getting a divorce,” he firmly repeats, completely making eye contact you, not even a twitch of the brow to signal if he was lying or not, “it’s why I haven’t been coming for the past few weeks, been filing paperwork and all that other time consuming stuff,” the two of you stand there in silence, the words barely sinking in for you as you owlishly stare at the wall behind him, nothing but a blank expression on your face.  

This is what you wanted … you just hadn’t expected the answer to be dropped as a bombshell like this one. Was it wrong to feel … happy? Overjoyed? Excited? He’s choosing you, you tell yourself. He’s choosing you, you repeat to yourself. He’s choosing to try and have a future with you. “Earth to Y/N,” he waves his hand in front of you, bringing you back to reality.

You glance at the ring that’s haunted you since the day you met him, it’s emptiness being nothing but a marvelous sight, the corners of your lips slowly twitching upward. Jumping into his arms, you scatter his face with kisses, the sudden burst of energy you felt was a high you were sure you’d never feel again in your life.

“There’s my girl,” he mumbles into your ear, both his arms grabbing you to keep you steady. A part of you wants to ask him what happened, the itch to know more details almost excruciating, but instead you choose to enjoy the moment, deciding you’d ask him some other day. With this news, you’d have an eternal amount with him.

Gently, he places you down from his hold, “And I have news that’ll have you near passing out,” you quirk your brows, there was more? “So I think you might need to hold on to the bar or something,” he grins, the feeling of anticipation now creeping under your skin.

“Well get on with it,” you rush him, doubting that the grin on your face could become even bigger.

“The firm I work under throws these annual um…” he looks up, trying to find the right word for the event, “balls,” he smugly grins, “and well a lot of Broadway producers attend, who certainly have connections with people in Hollywoodland, and well let’s just say I pulled some strings and,” he dramatically pauses, building suspension, “you’ll be performing a set for them in a week from now, as my date of course.”

Your mouth hangs loose at his words, “No,” you say in complete bewilderment, feeling as if your head was in the clouds, but your feet were on the ground all at the same time, “What am I going to where? Sing? Oh my—” you ramble, “Jungkook I,” you stop yourself from continuing, instead pulling him another hug, the warmth you felt being in his arms being truly indescribable. Things were looking up, and you were definitely excited for what was to come for the two of you.

“So is it a yes?”

“Of course—”

“Not!” Amelia, Catherine’s long time friend and Jimin’s wife of two years, sneers, her teeth grinding at the mention of you, “This is not your fault Catherine! So don’t you dare say that,” she frowns, the two were currently strolling through her garden, Catherine finally admitting everything to her friend.

“I know it's not,” her heels clack against the cemented paveway, her hands softly grazing against the roses next to her, “but I keep asking myself,” she scoffs, “could this have been avoided?” Amelia’s who was already about to say something is stopped by Catherine, who raises her finger to signal that she could explain, “I mean I could’ve saved myself the trouble, leave the first sign there was of not even the affair, but the first sign of him just not loving me,” she chuckles, “I don’t know, I just keep trying to find answers to all my questions when really they’re all right there in front of me … I just refuse to face them,” she tugs at the rose petal she’d been grazing her fingers on for the last minute, watching it as it fell to the ground.

Amelia scowls at Catherine’s words, “Maybe if that whore of a woman learned how to respect marriages,” she snarls, unable to comprehend how Catherine could possibly be making excuses for you and Jungkook, “then this whole ordeal wouldn’t be happening. She’s going to get what’s coming to her one day.”

Loudly, Catherine exhales a breath of air, exhausted of going in circles with this conversation, honestly she didn’t expect any good advice from Amelia, she just needed an outlet to keep herself sane, “I expected to hate him,” Catherine shakes her head in dismay, “ No, I wanted to hate him, something to masquerade my hurt,” the nights of wishful thinking and crying in bed begin to cloud her mind, “It was like I was desperately waiting for the feeling to consume me, hoping the feeling would wash over me all at once,” she blankly stares at the roses in front of her, “the same way the ocean washes over a seashore at night, you know? But instead I was forced to slowly experience every raw feeling that stemmed from this situation.”

Coming to a halt, Catherine pulls out a cigar from her purse, signalling to Amelia that she needed a lighter, only causing her friend’s face to scrunch in confusion. Catherine rolls her eyes, “Why are you acting like you don’t smoke, Jimin isn’t even here,” she callously says, “Come on, I’m waiting,” she murmurs, the cigar in between her lips.  

Begrudgingly she pulls out her lighter, bringing the flame to the tip of the cigar, an exhale of smoke immediately following after, “There’s rumours these things are addicting,” Amelia mumbles, watching as Catherine inhales another puff.

“There’s also speculation in the New York Times that they can kill you, but you don’t see me believing everything I read now do you,” Catherine laughs, the two continuing their stroll, different things on both of their minds.

“Cross, loop, under the bridge. over the loop, and,” Jungkook hums the tune once made to remind himself how to tie his necktie, “secure,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair as he didn’t exactly picture himself getting ready in his firm’s office building. But today had been a long day and he didn’t have the time to go back home and change, especially since he still had to go pick you up, and well anyone who knew you, knew that getting ready on time was not your forte.

Instead he decided that his black suit, and a color change of tie would suffice. It wasn’t like the two of you were going to be there for too long, your performance was at the near beginning, the opening act per say.

He was excited to see what you’d pick out to wear, your outfits never failing to put a smile on his face, not because most of the time they were over the top and extravagant, but simply because it was you. Had it been anyone else wearing the things you dressed in, and he was sure he would’ve never bothered to spare even a glance. Honestly you could walk out with nothing but your nightgown and he would still do nothing but worship the ground you walk on.

“Tonight is going to be a good night,” he whispers, glancing at his now empty ring finger. It was going to be the start to something n—

A soft knock on the door interrupts, “Didn’t think I’d find you here,” a voice says.

Jungkook steps away from his mirror, surprised to find Jimin here at such a late hour, “Oh I didn’t realize you were still in the building,” he chuckles, “Thought I was the only one who did overtime tonight,” he glances at his wrist watch, time was on the essence, “Well I’ll see you at the event tonight, Amelia’s going with you, right?” Jungkook grabs his suit jacket from his chair, ready to make his way downstairs to the parking lot.

“Yeah, in fact I think Catherine is at the house helping her get ready,” Jungkook awkwardly tenses at the mention of his wife, the air in the room becoming stiff.

“Oh well that’s nice,” Jungkook gives him a small smile, making his way to walk out the door, “Like I said I’ll see you over there, I should really get going, my date is probably already waiting for me—”

“Y/N right?” Jimin casually asks. Jungkook stops in his tracks, mentally sighing to himself.

“Yeah you guessed it,” he gives Jimin an awkward superficial smile, his body slightly rocking back and forth in annoyance. Something about this interaction felt … uneasy.

“Actually I wanted to talk to you about that…”

Jungkook cocks his head in confusion, “Talk about what,” putting no effort to hide his annoyance. Jimin remains silent, as if contemplating his next choice of words, “Jimin I don’t have all day,” he sighs. Whatever this was was better be good, he thinks to himself.

“I,” Jimin pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, “I need to show you something.”

Fixing your bright red lipstick, you hear the footsteps of someone entering the room, “I’m almost ready Jungkook, I just need to make sure these pins stay in place and I should be good to go,” you ramble, “Oh I’m so excited Jungkook! I couldn’t sleep all night yesterday, just thinking about performing was making me anxious, and well I just want to say thank you, you know? I know I wouldn’t be people’s first choice when it comes to performing at such a prestigious event, especially considering what a lot of people think of people who work in jobs like mine, but,” you fumble with your words, “but, it’s just so,” you clap your hands together, “oh I just can’t explain it! And to be your date,” your eyes sparkle. Tonight was going to be the night. Tonight you were going to tell him.

“To finally be given an opportunity it’s just—I don’t think I can thank you enough,” you finally breathe out, the feeling of excitement completely radiating off of you as you place your earrings on.

You wait for Jungkook to reply, to shower you with kisses like he always does when he sees you, but instead you’re met with complete silence, his figure from the reflection of the mirror completely frozen. Quickly you turn around, nose now wrinkled in confusion, “Jungkook?” you uneasily ask, the young man you were so enamored with only staring at you with a hardened gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Jungkook, what’s wrong?” you ask again, your voice laced with concern, “Did something happen? Do I need to change my setlist? Cause I can easily do that, I mean a perf—”

“You’re not performing tonight,” he harshly interrupts, your face falling as you hear the annoyance drip from every word.

“Oh,” your skin pales, your voice failing to hide its disappointment, “Can I ask why?”

“Because I told the committee you’re not, I managed to find a replacement last minute,” your face crinkles in shock.

“Wait what?” What the hell was going on? Why would Jungkook do that? Did you do something? Your heart begins to thud against your chest, the tingling feeling in the soles of your feet quickly spreading all over your body, “Why—Why would … why would you do something like that?” your eyebrows furrow, the feeling of anger now rising from the pits of your stomach.

Jungkook chuckles before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, “You really had me fooled Y/N,” he purses his lips, trying his best to contain his anger, “I cannot believe I let things get this far with you,” his voice shakes, every word seething with anger.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you cry out, genuinely lost. Uncrumpling the piece of paper, he turns it towards your direction, “Am I supposed to know what that is?” you snap, your face becoming red at his vague comments.

“You know you could really stop with that whole stupid act of yours,” he spits, “Honestly I should’ve known better than to trust someone like you,” he lets out a dry laugh.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you clench your fist.

“Well here take a look at it for yourself,” harshly, you snatch the letter from his hands, your eyes quickly skim through the contents of it. 

“You think I wrote this?” your eyes widen in shock, now getting up from your seat and handing the letter back to him.  

“I know you did,” he laughs, flailing his arms in the process, “Really Y/N? Jimin? Of all people? Did you really think it wouldn’t come back to me?” he almost sounds disgusted.

“But I didn’t! This isn’t even my handwriting!” tears of both frustration and anger begin to well in your eyes, “You have to believe me!” your voice booms across the room.

“I don’t have to believe shit!” he finally yells, the veins from his neck now popping out, “Your signature and name are written in these Y/N! You know how embarrassing this is?” he presses, “All because you can’t keep your fucking legs closed!” your mouth gapes in shock,  “And God I can only imagine the amount of men you’ve probably tried seducing, I’m just the idiot who fell for it all,” he laughs, “And you know I kept trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t do something like this, that you wouldn’t try seducing a married man,” his words drip with sarcasm, “But you have!”

Rapidly you try to blink your tears away, refusing to let him see you cry, “You don’t mean that,” you whisper, shaking your head at his words.

“But I do!” he bites back, “But you know what it's fine,” he knew the next words that were going to come out of his mouth were going to be a low blow. And in the back of his mind he knew he didn’t mean them, but he was angry, no, he was furious. He didn’t care what he had to say, he wanted you to feel just as hurt as he was, “it’s fine because I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing you’ll be stuck here for the rest of your life doing God knows what like the who—”

“Can you stop,” you try to scream, but instead your voice comes out hoarse, your lower lip trembling in sadness, “please,” you whisper, no longer being able to take any of this, “I didn’t write those letters,” you repeat, desperate for him to listen to you, “I know you have reason to believe Jimin, he’s your long time friend, I understand that, and I know my job doesn’t exactly have the best reputation,” you ramble with your words, heaving in between, “But I wouldn’t do this to you!”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I,” your voice shakes, “Because I’m in love with you,” you cry out, “Don’t you get it? In love,” you emphasize, moving your hands in frustration, “You think I would’ve kept this going for so long if I didn’t feel something for you?” He remains silent, “I fell in love with you, okay? You!” you scream , “The way you kiss me, the way you touch me,, the way you laugh at every corny joke I make, the way you reassure me about myself whenever I feel insecure, the way your eyes light up whenever you talk about something that fascinates you whether it be boring old stocks to future industrial revolutions,” you let out a choked sob, “or the way you have this compulsion to squeeze my cheeks every time you tease me, and I could go on and on.”

“You’re my person,” you whimper, the final plea in this tragic story.

He turns his gaze to the floor, refusing to look at you, “I was never yours to begin with,” he mutters, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind, leaving you to ask yourself, What. Just. Happened?

Leaning against the door frame, Catherine exhales whatever’s left of her cigar, butting the stub on the wall. “You know, I really don’t mind moving to my parent’s country townhouse,” she casually says, calmly watching her soon to be ex-husband pack his office belongings.

It had been two weeks since your argument with Jungkook, and though he couldn’t confidently say that you hadn’t been on his mind everyday since, he was sure he would be just fine. Of course, he had been sad the first couple of days, then the sadness had become anger once again, until finally he was where he was currently at. Numbness.

Distracting himself with loads of paperwork, working overtime, and being in the midst of a divorce was doing wonders. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if now at the age of twenty-two, greys hairs started to appear because of the overwhelming stress he had to deal with.

Bringing himself back to reality, he’s quick to reject Catherine’s idea, “No, it’s fine, you picked out this place to begin with,” he chuckles, “Hell, I still remember how excited you were about decorating and the effort you put into all of this,” he gives her a small apologetic smile, “it’s only right that you stay. Honestly, I don’t see why you wouldn’t, you did an amazing job with this place.”

“Still, you paid for this place, it’s under your name,” she responds, “This place is just too much of a—” she hesitates.

“Reminder,” Jungkook completes, now having stopped his packing. The two stand there in what couldn’t be described as an awkward silence, but one of understanding.

“A reminder of what we illusioned ourselves in,” she looks down at her ring finger, smiling at its empty sight, “it’s funny,” she laughs, “even before you started the affair, I used to look down at my ring, and for some reason I never did feel,” she pauses, “what’s the word,” she takes a couple of seconds to regain herself, “I never truly felt… happy,” she states, surprised at how such a simple word could mean so much, “but now I look at the sight of it being gone, and I feel relieved, in fact, I feel... free,” she reiterates, her eyes now watery.

“We were young and pressured, I didn’t even have a sense of my own identity yet, and I mean not that it’s any excuse for what you did,” she emphasizes, “but I’m sure you didn’t have one either, I guess we were just too busy trying to please our respective families,” she scoffs, a smile now on her face, “I still even get your birthday confused sometimes,” she jokes around, causing Jungkook to flash his toothy grin at her, “Never did I bother to learn the small details about you,” she inhales and exhales a deep breath, “but she did,” she says, breaking eye contact with Jungkook, not because she was mad or sad, but because she’d come to realize something.

“I was in love with the idea of you, the things you would buy me, the compliments I would get from everyone around me, the idea of being able to flaunt a perfect life, but I think, no, I know I was never in love with you,” she looks at Jungkook once again, tears now freely flowing from his eyes, a chapter in their life now coming to its end.

“I don’t hate you for what you did Jungkook,” she blinks her own tears away, personally tired of all the crying she’s done, “nor do I hate Y/N,” she says, for the first time saying your name, the name smoothly rolling off the tip of her tongue, no ill feeling behind it, “I just wish things could’ve been different, in terms of us realizing that we were just never meant to be,” she finishes off, the final wave finally washing over her. The feeling of acceptance.

Catherine slowly walks towards him, embracing the crying man into a hug, giving him a small heartfelt kiss to the cheek, “I really am sorry Catherine,” he whispers, the words being nothing but genuine.

“I know,” she whispers in return. Gently, she breaks from the hug, wiping the tears that brimmed her eyes, “Come on, you gotta finish your packing,” she says, rolling the sleeves of her robe, and making her way to his desk.

“It’s fine really,” he starts, but she’s quick to ignore him and begin her rummaging of his things. So instead of fighting against her help, he goes back to continuing with what he was doing, the two quietly organizing things, finally at peace.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jungkook huffs, taping the final cardboard box of paperwork. The two step back and look at the empty room, feeling proud of their hard work, “Well I’m gonna go take this down,” Catherine nods in response, Jungkook now leaving the room.

Her eyes scan the room one last time, making sure nothing was getting left behind, until surprisingly, she does in fact catch something from the corner of her eye. The edge of a piece of paper below the wooden bookshelf sticking out, “That’s weird,” she mumbles to herself, surprised at how she failed to notice it earlier.

Crouching down, she picks up the torn piece of paper, her eyebrows now furrowing at its incompleteness, with only half of the whole sheet being there. She turns the direction of the paper to where there’s writing, her eyes widening at what she sees, “Oh no,” she whispers to herself, trying to think quick on her feet, “The trashcan,” she says to herself, quickly grabbing it and tossing the remnants onto the floor, her breathing now uneasy as she sat on the floor, beginning to uncrumple the pieces of torn paper, silently hoping what she was thinking was all some twisted joke.

With her burst of adrenaline she somehow reassembles the ripped letter, her stomach dropping at the sight of the complete version, completely ignoring the footsteps that were making their way up.

To Jimin,

I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, you should come backstage sometime for your own personal show, just like your friend. I’m sure he won’t mind. Honestly, I’ve been getting a little bored of him these days. And don’t worry, I don’t mind seeing that ring on your finger. You know where to find me…

XO, Y/N.

“Mr. Olsen seems to have gotten a new ca—” Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, immediately tensing at the sight in front of him, “Catherine what are—” Jungkook doesn’t continue with what he’s about to say, the sight of Catherine’s shocked face now confusing him more than ever.

“Oh Amelia, what did you do,” she quietly breathes out, her face now frozen in place, and her hand covering her mouth.  

“What?” Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, “Amelia? What does Amelia have to do with—” his face immediately falls, his heart sinking at his realization.

“This,” Catherine stutters, “This is her handwriting,” she says, now looking up at Jungkook, whose face was in just as much as shock as hers, “I swear Jungkook, I didn’t know she’d do something like this,” Catherine rubs her temple, “Last time I saw her, she was bad mouthing Y/N but I didn’t she’d—” she shakes her head in dismay, “Jungkook, if I would’ve known I promise you I would’ve stopped her,” Catherine’s words sound like nothing but echoes in Jungkook’s head, his mind currently racing through a countless number of thoughts. His words from the last time he saw you now echoing in his head, the look on your face etching into his mind, oh how you kept denying the letter. The sudden pang of guilt, much too overwhelming.

“I know Catherine,” he whispers, but  all he could do was stare at the letter on the floor. And as if time was frozen, he slowly glances at the mantel clock, his heart now pounding.

8:15 PM.

You should be performing in a bit, he thinks. Immediately he switches gears, hurriedly grabbing the coat on his desk and placing it on, “I,” he stutters, a frenzy look on his face, “I have to go,” he says, quickly running out the door. The only thing he could do was hope he’d catch you on time.

“Oh look who's back, it seems I haven’t seen you in a while,” the sultry hostess purrs, “oh and that ring of yours is gone, trouble in paradise?” she pouts, guiding him to one of the tables. Politely he makes a motion to her, as if to say that he was fine, “Mm well if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find me hun,” she winks, making her way back to the greeting area.

Jungkook, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe, adjusts his tie. His leg now bouncing rapidly in complete anxiousness, feeling the stares of a certain someone. He turns to face whoever it is, finding both the bartender and his girlfriend, whose names he was unsure of, staring at him from the bar.

The woman slyly mixes her drink with her stirrer, eyes narrowing at the sight of him, refusing to look away. The man then whispers something to her, making her finally break away from the intense stare.

Jungkook turns back around, the heavy feeling in his chest making it hard to focus on the current performer, not that he really wanted to, but he needed a distraction, something to prevent him from drowning in his own thoughts.  

The claps mellow down as the curtains close, the famous club owner, Al, making his way to the front of the stage, mic now in hand. Jungkook felt as if his stomach was doing flips, both excited and nervous to see you, as he knew you’d probably be quick to spot him, only hoping he wouldn’t scare you off.

“She’s got a voice sent from the heavens above, almost as smooth as a Friday’s glass of whiskey,” Al starts off your usual introduction, Jungkook’s heart pounding with every word spoken, “she can sing, she can dance, she can act, she’s a triple threat of course! And to add to it all, she’s got the face of the doll,” the red curtain slowly begins to open, “she’s our newest star in the making, give a warm welcome for Miss Sally Rose!”

A young woman appears from behind the curtain, counting off the same way you always did, making the same exact motion you always do to the band. Jungkook could feel himself become sick as he heard the men begin to holler at her with every piece of clothing that began to drop, as long as they had something to satisfy their lust, it didn’t matter who was on that stage, as they were nothing but animals.

Where the hell were you? This was, no, this is your time slot. Maybe you’re out sick, he tells himself, no, you loved the stage more than anything. The same woman from earlier passes by with drinks in her hands, on her way to serve God knows who. He’s quick to flag her down, hoping she knew where you were, “What can I do for you handsome?” she winks.

“You don’t happen to know where Y/N is?” he politely asks.

The question causes her to scoff, “Oh darling, me and the girls have been wondering the same thing,” she chuckles, before walking away with her drinks, leaving Jungkook much more puzzled than before. Maybe you were late, he excuses, trying not to panic.

But as every performer begins and ends, the more restless he becomes, every drink he takes only causing the echoes from every holler to become more and more irritating, the world around him now spinning.

An hour later, the young woman comes out again, performing the final song of the night, just like you always would do. Truthfully speaking, he would’ve paid no mind to the performance, but something catches Jungkook’s eye. The woman seems to have her gaze fixed on a young man in the crowd, his wife chattering with the other woman sitting next to her. The same way Catherine would—he shakes his head in dismissal, blaming what he was seeing on his drunk state.

He’s quick to get up, deciding that it was best to momentarily take a step outside and catch a breather. You had to be backstage or something, he tells himself, deciding that he’d wait until everyone was gone to see you, just like he always did.

“Things will be just fine,” he whispers, mouth trembling from the cold weather.

Sighing, Jungkook takes one last look at his empty ring finger before making his way back inside, his nerves at an all time high. He knew you were avoiding him, and he knew he was probably the last person you wanted to see, but he needed to tell you that he was sorry. That what he said was something spoken out of anger, that he was hurt, and most importantly that he should’ve believed you.

Walking in, he sees the bartender flipping chairs on top of the table, presumably cleaning up for the night. Most nights, Jungkook would simply go straight backstage, as you had told him early on in the affair that there was no need for him to introduce himself to your co-workers, but tonight, well tonight he felt like an intruder.

He stands there momentarily, the stiffness in the room almost suffocating.

“She’s gone,” the young man bitterly scoffs, not bothering to spare a glance at Jungkook, “I thought you knew that already,” he mumbles to himself, as he continued to flip the wooden chairs and place them atop of the tables, finishing what was left of cleaning.

Jungkook stares at him for a moment, the words slowly processing in his head. What did he mean by you were “gone”? You wouldn’t leave, it was unlike you. Actually, no, you couldn’t leave, where did you have to go?

He shakes his head in dismissal, shooting the brown haired man a quizzical look, “What did you say again?'" he asks. Namjoon finally looks up from what he’s doing.

Jungkook expected a spiteful glare from Namjoon, one full of hatred for what he had done to his friend, but instead his eyes were hard-rimmed and fixed, immobile as the rest of his face. Almost as if he was studying Jungkook. The cold blank look on his face sends shivers down Jungkook’s spine, but he relents on breaking the cold stare, until finally Namjoon lets out a dry laugh.

“I knew you were a hard-headed person,” he nods his head in dismay, a superficial grin on his face, “you’re also a selfish one, so I should’ve known better,” he laughs again, in awe of how someone could be so … inconsiderate? Was that the word to describe Jungkook? Namjoon thought to himself, why were you so in love with this man, simply finding it hard to believe that you could fall for a man so self-centered.

“Haven’t you noticed by now that she’s been replaced?” Namjoon mocks, “or let me guess you thought you could waltz in here like a knight in shining armor, that she was on some kind of break or something and would forget the things you said, and then things would magically go back to normal,” Jungkook remains silent, “Well?” Namjoon deadpans.

“Y/N wouldn’t just leave like that,” Jungkook says, “it’s not like her,” Namjoon was lying, he had to be.

Namjoon shrugs, “Well guess what she’s gone, I could only wish I knew where. She just grabbed her things and left without a trace, no goodbye, no nothing, but go ahead, look for yourself,” Namjoon makes a motion towards your old dressing room.

Slowly Jungkook breaks eye contact, unsure of what to believe. Quietly he makes his way to the dressing room he’d been in a countless number of times in the past year, still in denial of what Namjoon just told him.

He lets out a deep breath before turning the door knob, a churning feeling in his stomach as he recalled the last time he was here, his words ringing in his head.

Immediately Jungkook feels his heart plummet as he sees the empty room, your vanity which was once full of makeup and bottled perfumes was now vacant of anything and the hangers which were once used for your extravagant outfits as well as your fluffy coats now hung unused.

Jungkook crouches to pick up the only thing that remained of you in the room, the golden glass-framed picture you had of yourself performing now shattered on the floor, a small snapshot of the star you were. He smiles in reminiscence, remembering the night the photo was taken, and how you kept rambling on about why Jungkook would spend so much to have the photo of someone like yourself taken, let alone a photo of your worst angle. But you had kept it nonetheless, hell you even hung it on the wall for safekeeping, only for it to be shattered by the same person who gifted it.

“You didn’t!” you gasp, picking up the framed photo which had been placed on your vanity desk, “When did you even take—how—” Jungkook quickly shuts you up by cupping your face, and giving you a kiss, immediately squishing your cheeks in the playful manner that he always did.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, “I thought since you didn’t want to accept my gift last time, a sincere one like this would be something you just couldn’t deny.”

“Those pearls were too much,” you shake your head in disapproval, “and you know why I couldn’t accept it,” the image of Catherine pops in your head as he remains silent, but you’re quick to shrug it off, “but this,” you say, waving the picture he had seen a plenty of times before tonight to his face, “this is special,” you grin.

“I knew you’d love it,” he smiles, giving you another peck on the lips.

“Honestly, you shouldn't have,” you laugh, still in disbelief of the photo of yourself. Hell, to have a portrait of yourself taken behind a plain old wall was already something expensive here in New York, and so to have a photo taken of yourself while performing was truly indescribable. “Too bad they got my worst angle,” you complain, causing him to roll his eyes. Grabbing the framed photo from your hands, he places it over the empty nail on the wall.

“Won’t you look at that,” he smiles, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, the two of you now silently admiring the hung photo.

“Jungkook?” you break the prolonged silence.  

He hums in response, turning his head to face you, your heart feeling as swelled as the ocean once near its moon.

“I—” you pause, just get the words out, you think to yourself. Maybe things would finally change. He stares at you in the same doe-eyed expression he always did whenever he was attentively listening to you, curious as to what you were thinking, “I just wanted to say thank you… for the photo,” you awkwardly smile, Jungkook slightly raising his eyebrow at your sudden behavior, but he doesn’t dwell on it too much, instead placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

The memory being one for a lifetime. 

Jungkook dusts off the glass fragments, carefully trying not to cut himself as his fingers graze over the flimsy developed photo. And as he studies the photo, the realization finally hits him, you were really gone.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispers to himself in a distant, quiet, lifeless voice, “I’ll be just fine,” he grazes the photo again, slowly crouching into his knees, photo still in hand, until finally the sounds of silent muffled sobs is the only thing that can be heard from your dressing room.

Namjoon quietly sweeps the floor, humming some Duke Ellington, trying his best to ignore the thoughts that lingered in the back of his mind. Jungkook had left hours ago, Namjoon having heard the silent cries from your dressing room, and for a slight second even making eye contact with the red puffy-eyed man as he left, who had been mumbling inaudible things to himself.  

He didn’t think he’d cry, was what Namjoon had first thought to himself after hearing Jungkook silently sob in your empty dressing room. He honestly expected Jungkook to do anything but cry, hell Namjoon had even told himself to be ready to throw some punches just in case he tried anything stupid.

And so to see Jeon Jungkook, the man who had been coming to this bar for the past year, never failing to order a classic gin and tonic, and always seeming like he was on top of the world, break down in a tiny isolated room, was almost something unimaginable. And for some reason it bothered Namjoon. It wasn’t that Jungkook wasn’t allowed to cry...

Namjoon momentarily stops what he’s doing, sighing in frustration.

It bothered him because it went against everything he thought of Jungkook, the image he had created for Jungkook in his head. It would mean that Jungkook was someone who never meant to be so selfish, but was someone who was emotionally blind to those around him.

And isn’t the unknown always a bit scary?

The only problem was that being blind was something involuntary, and with the countless stories you’d tell Namjoon from time to time, sometimes it seemed like Jungkook was voluntarily choosing to ignore the feelings of those around him.

Namjoon could only speculate why, but maybe, just maybe Jungkook was the kind of person who had long ago put his personal feelings aside to please those around him, including his wife, thinking that it’d be what was best.That he could live a numbing life as long as it meant those around him were satisfied, that it was enough to feel fulfilled with, until you came into the mix.

And once you did, the conflict of choosing what made him happy versus what made others happy while trying to spare both sides’ feelings and opinions, only did more harm than good, stupidly choosing to blindly believe of a false letter. 

And now Jungkook was left with no one but himself.

Was it deserved? Namjoon was unsure now. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N, Namjoon thinks to himself.

The only reason he would excuse your actions was because to those around you, seeing you happy was like the sun shining after a storm, a shine so bright you’d think those happy days would last forever, but to see you sad, it was as if the world would storm on end.

But what Namjoon should’ve realized was that at the end of the day, what you and Jungkook had done was wrong, and there was no denying it.

Hell, it even went against Namjoon’s personal beliefs. Of course it didn’t mean that he was no better of a person because the same way you two had to face the karma of your actions, he and Mina would have to reprimand themselves one day as well for excusing your actions. For allowing things to have gotten this far.

“Jungkook really did love you,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head at the conclusion of this awful tale.

Namjoon sighs.

All he could do was hope that he had done the right thing lying to Jungkook about your whereabouts, and that the next time Namjoon saw you, you’d be the successful woman you were always meant to be, and that this period in your life would be nothing more than a small chapter to look back at.

“Ticket ma’am,” the conductor approaches you. Pulling out your ticket from your purse, you allow the conductor to both inspect and punch the ticket with his rustic clipper, “Now what is a pretty New York doll like you going all the way to the city of Los Angeles for?” he chimes, “You sure you ain’t lost little lady?” he jokes, causing you to laugh.

“I sure ain’t, I’m going to Los Angeles to follow my dreams in becoming famous! You might even catch me on the big screen soon!” you gush, causing him to let out a chuckle.

“Well little lady, I’ve heard that one before and I’ve told every single person I’ve come across that it’s almost impossible,” he mentions, “And I have yet to be proven wrong,”

“Well Mr,” you glance at his name tag, “Rosco, you better remember my name and face because I’m going to make it big in Hollywoodland, I don’t care if it’s as a singer or as an actress, but just you wait!” you declare, a toothy grin plastered on your face.

“Well little miss,” he glances at the ticket which has your name printed in a red colored font, “y/n, I’ve gotta say, I don’t think I’ve met anyone with the same amount of enthusiasm you got going for yourself,” a genuine smile comes across his face as he returns you your ticket, “I wish you nothing but the best on your endeavors,” he compliments, before making his way to the seated passenger in front of you.

Looking out the train’s window, the fields of grass along with the bright blue sky that were being passed by faster than a speeding bullet, for some reason make you feel a longing for home, it was probably because everything was barely hitting you. From the moment he had said what he did in your argument, everything onward had been nothing but a sporadic adrenaline-rushed blur.

“Jungkook?” you ask to an empty room, the shakiness of your voice coming to realize the reality of what has just occurred. The sinking feeling in your chest was what could only be described as heartbreak, though it felt like so much more.

He’s coming back, he’s going to come back. He has to come back, you keep repeating to yourself. Jungkook loves you. He didn’t mean what he said. He couldn’t.

You stare at the photo you had hung on the wall, which was now cracked on the floor, a result at just how harsh the door had been slammed. You could feel the lump in your throat beginning to take its form, but you refuse to let it out. He’s coming back, he has to.

The sound of the door knob twisting quickly grabs your attention, a feeling of relief washing over you. You knew he’d come back. You were his girl, you were the love of his life.

But just as quick as the relief had come, it had left even faster once you saw that the person you thought walking through that door was in fact not Jungkook, but Namjoon who stood there in silence, trying to hide the look of pity on his face. “Y/N…” he whispers in sadness.

“N-No,” your lips wobble, “No,” you begin to vigorously shake your head in denial, “No!” you quaver out, desperately trying to blink back the floodgate of tears that was begging to be released. Namjoon could feel his gut clench at the hopelessness of the situation, knowing that there was nothing he could possibly do because Jungkook was gone, and he was not coming back.

He watches as the tears slowly begin to freely fall, the silent sobs finally escaping from your mouth. Your chest heaves, until finally a cry so raw comes out of your mouth that you grab onto your vanity chair so that your shaking would not cause you to fall.

Quickly, he makes his way to envelope you in a tight hug, humming small comforting words to your ear despite knowing that you probably weren’t listening. You sob into his chest unceasingly, your hand clutching onto Namjoon’s jacket as he held you in silence, rocking you slowly as your tears soaked his chest, blinking back his own tears. The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, the sound of your muffled sobs filling the air.

The wet mascara that was mixing itself with your tears stinging your eyes, almost as if it was trying to force you to stop crying, but you just couldn’t. With every sob that forced its way out, your chest would rise and fall unevenly as you gasped for breath.

How could he do this? Why? Things weren’t supposed to end like this. Not at all. “Shh, shh,” Namjoon hums, “you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” he reassures. You wanted to scream, to say something, anything, but nothing could come out. If anything you could feel your lungs scream for oxygen, your airway becoming compressed with every hysterical sob that was let out.

Quickly pushing off Namjoon, you feel as if the world is spinning and that the walls of your dressing room were closing in. You begin to gasp over and over, hysterically tapping on your stomach, “Get this,” you heave out, “Get this off of me!” you breathe out, lifting your dress up, and desperately trying to unknot the corset you were wearing underneath.

Namjoon quickly grabs some scissors from your vanity, cutting the piece of ribbon which held together the piece of fabric that clinched your waist. Immediately, you could feel the air return to your lungs, a feeling of relaxation now washing over you, as the riptide finally mellowed down.

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection across from you, your tears silently falling from your cheeks. Namjoon makes his way behind you, tucking your loose strands of hair behind your ear, “Hey, listen to me,” he whispers, “you are going to be just fine,” he firmly states.

“Joon?”

“Hm,” he responds.

“Can you,” your voice cracks, “Can you just take me home?” Your question is met with silence because instead he grabs a big oversized coat from your rack and places it over your shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, watching you as you made your way out of the dressing room, for what he knew would be your last time.

Waking up to the feeling of a hand firmly shaking your shoulder, your heavy eyelids struggling to flutter open, the soreness from crying taking its toll. You must’ve fallen asleep during the car ride home, you reason, finally managing to open your eyes completely. You rub your eyes, confused as to where you were because this was definitely not the outside of your apartment building.

In fact, you were outside of Grand Central Terminal, “What the..” you turned to face Namjoon, who had a sad smile on his face, “Joon? What’s,” you falter your words, “What’s going on?” you ask, confusion now overwhelming you.

He lets out a deep sigh of sadness before continuing, “You’re going to California Y/N,” if you had been half-awake before, you certainly weren’t now, quickly jolting forward in shock, “Los Angeles or may I say Hollywoodland to be more specific,” he reiterates, a tiny chuckle coming out of his mouth.

“J-Joon,” you stutter, “you’re crazy!” you sputter, “Absolutely crazy!” you hit his shoulder causing him to let out a yelp in pain.

“Y/N I’m being serious!” he turns and points to the passenger seat of his car, “I even managed to pack most of your things while you were asleep, all the essentials are in those two luggage bags.”

“How did you even—” you shake your head, trying to stay on topic, “Joon I can’t just pack up my things and go, I have—” you hesitate with your next choice of words, what exactly did you have in New York that was holding you back?

Namjoon answers the question before you could, “Nothing. You have absolutely nothing here to hold you back, so why not go chase your dream huh?” he exclaims, “It’s what you’ve always wanted to do Y/N and I’m one hundred percent sure Hollywoodland is looking for a doll face like yours to go shake up the scene,” he laughs, “You can dance, you can sing, and you sure can act, especially those days you wouldn’t want to come into work,” he jokingly mumbles garnering him another slap to the shoulder, “Hey, hey, relax! Point is Y/N, you’re one of the most talented people I know, if not the most talented person I’ve ever met, and it’d be a waste of talent for you not to go out there and show people what you’re made of, Hell I even hear they’re beginning to develop sound films over there, and a voice like yours needs to be memorialized for future generations,” he says, as tears to begin to brim your waterlids.  

“But Joon—” you sniffle, “I don't, I don’t have the money to live out there, hell I barely have enough money in my purse to purchase myself a ticket,” you scoff because it was the truth.

“I know you don’t,” he deadpans, causing you to laugh.

“Then?” you chuckle. Slowly, he flips his coat and reaches into its inner pocket, pulling out and handing you what seemed to be a heavy envelope. You peep inside the sealed white envelope, it’s content causing you to let out a small yelp in surprise. There had to be at least 200 dollars in there! You quickly shake your head in disapprovement.

“Joon, no, no, no! You can't. You've been saving up for—!”

“Hey! Listen to me Y/N, look at me,” he demands, grabbing your hands which had been flailing around in denial. “This money right here means absolutely nothing to me if it means that someone like you can get the opportunity to pursue their dreams, especially because I know it’ll mean absolutely everything for you,” he smiles.

“But Joon, you’ve been saving up this money for your wedding for so long, I can’t, Mina’s going to kill you!” you fluster, Namjoon must’ve been going crazy or something. He’d been working so many hours for the past months, doing countless hours of overtime and being on his best behavior for some tips, how could he give it all up for some gamble at fame?

“I’ve already spoken to her about this and she had absolutely no problem with it!” he laughs, “A wedding is nothing but a celebration for a piece of signed paper, it won’t be the end of the world if we wait a little longer,” he reassures, “As long as Mina and I know we’re in this for life, then that piece of paper won’t change anything.”

“Joon I can’t—”

“You can and you will Y/N,” he firmly states, “plus you can always pay me back once you get rich and famous,” he teases, winking at you. “So, what do you say Y/N? You ready to go to Los Angeles?” You stare at him without blinking, a million thoughts racing through your head. This was your dream, the thing you’d spent a countless number of nights only imagining whenever you’d get up on that wooden stage to perform, and now you were finally going to get the chance to make it a reality.

“I don’t,” you hesitate, “I’m,” you feel your skin tingle with the words you’re about to say, now having made your decision, “I’m going to Hollywoodland,” you softly cry out in disbelief, a dimpled grin appearing on Namjoon’s face.

“Atta girl,” tears which weren’t of sadness, anger, but joy now falling from your face, as you quickly pull Namjoon into a hug. Slowly, he breaks away, “Come on, you gotta get going,” he glances at his wrist watch, which read a quarter past nine, “the train leaves half past nine, and I still gotta walk you to the departing area.”

Quickly buttoning up your coat and fixing your hair, you try your best to seem presentable, Namjoon grabbing your luggage from the backseat and exiting the vehicle, as you do the same, but for you it all feels different. Looking up to the building that surrounds the terminal, you soak in the final view of New York which you wouldn't be seeing for who knows how long. Years ago you’d imagine leaving home, but never like this, and for a moment it was as if time slowed down, almost like your brain needed a “photograph” to commemorate this moment,

The man playing on his saxophone outside the station for tips only adding a warm comfort to your fears, a reminiscent sound which was a balm to your mind, a reminder of the nostalgic chapter in your life that you’d look back to, whether it was with a joyful outlook was only for you to decide.

Slowly the two of you begin to walk to the departing area, your legs feeling more and more wobbly with every step you took. This was really happening.

“Here we are,” Namjoon announces, gently placing your luggage on the floor, and then placing hands against his hips in marvel at how gigantic the stationed train was. Your eyes glisten, once again pulling Namjoon into a hug. “You sure are emotional, you know that right?” he teases, causing you to only further tighten the hug.

You pull out the hug, “I’m going to write to you every week, I promise you!” you avow, causing Namjoon to immediately shake his head in disagreement.

“No, no, you have to focus on your career every waking minute Y/N, if anything just save a couple of bucks every month and ring me here and there, I’m always at the club most of the time and it’s not like you don’t know my schedule, plus I’m sure Al won’t charge me for using the telephone machine every once in a while,” he explains, voice slightly wavering, as his eyes were now glossy from trying to hold back his tears causing you to let out a laugh.

“Come on, you know you wanna cry,” you sniffle, pulling him in for another hug.

“Ah, I’m gonna miss you Y/N,” he laughs through his tears, “they don’t make em like you anymore.”

“This is the final boarding call for New York to Los Angeles which includes a stop at Chicago!” the conductor yells out the train, “I repeat, this is the final boarding call for New York to Los Angeles!” Namjoon quickly taps on your shoulders, rushing you to get on board.

Swiftly, you pick up the luggage cases on the floor, and begin to make your way inside the train but not before shouting something to Namjoon, “Hey, I expect to see a pregnant Mina the next time I see you guys, you hear me!” he facepalms himself, his cheeks becoming red at how loudly you announced it.

You quickly run to your seat, looking at Namjoon through the window, who remained where he stood, the train slowly beginning to move, while the conductor pulls the lever for the steam whistle, the final declaration to the new chapter in your life. You anxiously wave to Namjoon one last time, a grand smile on both of your faces, as he waves in return. The (what you assumed) family members of other passengers also waved goodbye, many teary eyed as you could only imagine the stories of everyone else on the train.

Once you were out of eyesight, you made yourself comfortable on your seat, slightly tilting your head against the window, a long unexpected trip now ahead of you.

Los Angeles from what you could currently tell was definitely different than to what you were used to in New York, but beautiful nonetheless. The cab you managed to pin down was currently driving you to the small motel you found on one of the welcoming pamphlets of the city.

Currently, you were being driven down the newly built Sunset Boulevard, where you could only hope you’d be living on sometime in the near future.

“Ah there it is,” the taxi driver points out the window, and immediately a wonderstruck look appears on your face, your heart now pounding in excitement at the sight of the word “Hollywoodland” appearing from the mountains. “Welcome to Los Angeles kid,” the man says, to which you only nod your head in dumbfoundedness, “you better make the most of it.”

“I sure am.”

a/n: i purposely left the ending ambiguous just because i felt like it should be your guys’ imagination as to whether y/n makes it big in hollywood depending on whether you like her or not LOL, so if you don’t like her you could always imagine she flopped or sum, and whatever jungkook does afterward being unknown as well. Catherine a better person than me, cause forgiving a cheater just aint in my heart LMAO.

also I wanted to dive further into namjoon and y/n’s friendship, as well as add a scene where y/n went shopping for her dress but I was burning out and so hopefully I did good conveying the sincerity of their friendship and the importance of the event to y/n + talk more about jk’s and catherine’s families but I think I put enough hints, that you guys would get the point and its effects on them as people. 

Feel free to comment, send me a message, or drop an anon! Anything is appreciated & if you can please like and reblog 💘 till next time.

[bored-storyteller]

Thank you dear Anon for your request! Also because, I had already started writing a possible sequel on my own, your request arrives perfectly!

Note: I imagined these events after the one-shot you find here. In any case there are only subtle references.

35- Tokyo Ghoul- Uta x human!Reader (pt. 2)

"Beyond the Mask"

Uta sees you there, curled up in the chair in front of the table like a wet little bird, despite the fact that you are now wearing his warm clothes, which fall softly on your frightened figure. He doesn't mind lending it to you, on the contrary, he tried to find something that wasn't too extravagant, coming out with a heavy black sweatshirt and wide gray pants. He thought that this clothing could help you put yourself at ease, but he also understands that being wrapped in his clothes for you doesn't have to be so reassuring. You probably accepted this only to avoid being immersed in the nauseating humidity of the body fluids that stick to your skin.

He can't tell if your following him was a sign of courage or fear. You didn't say anything, and the few words you whispered were kind; you also thanked him. It almost seems like you are straining to try to be calm, but it's the small, meaningless gestures that betray you. Earlier you insisted that he be the first to shower and change, although it would have been more logical for you to go first; yet perhaps for you that was a way to get the killer monster out of sight, or at least partially forget it.

Uta is unable to understand you right now, nor does he really pretend to, he is already grateful enough that you are intelligent enough to understand that it would be almost suicidal to return to your home in the condition you were in, especially after what it happened.

No, he doesn't pretend to understand you, but to understand himself a little more, yes. Uta is a labyrinth, with a thousand streets inside, which intersect and cancel each other out. A thousand paradoxical streets where after a turning point you can find someone completely different than the person you met. Yet all those roads are authentic and sincere, in their sweetness or in their violence.

He is aware of this, it is clear to him, but as the owner of his soul he should know how to pull the strings, understand what is happening inside. Yet he doesn't know now, or he can't really explain it.

He feels sadness, a deep sadness to see you so small and afraid. He would like to hope your snuggling up to him in that alley was dictated by mutual trust and not despair, but he doesn't even know if you're aware of that. He doesn't really want you to be scared of him, but at the same time he sees no way to stop it.

He also feels angry with you. Because deep down he knows that you are unconsciously judging him. The same fear you evidently feel makes him angry. He didn't eat you, right? So why do you have to be so scared in front of him? It was you who ran into his arms, wasn't it?

Yet he still can't tell you that, because you are doing absolutely nothing threatening towards him. You simply indulge him timidly, tremblingly accepting his care that will never be able to reassure you.

Maybe you've never really felt as confident in him as Uta hoped. Being in his house, first naked in his bathroom and now in his clothes maybe it wouldn't have been pleasant for you even if he had been human, let alone now with all the terror you've accumulated… after what you saw.

Uta is the author and accomplice of things that you would consider horrible, it is his nature, he is not able to change, he needs that to feel alive.

But you also make him feel alive. He likes that cordial, playful confidence that you take with him, the one that remains within limits, but which somehow transmitted the affection of a kind heart; like that time, when you playfully smeared his nose with red paint with the brush you were using. You apologized right away, but you laughed happily and enjoyed watching him, and Uta liked it, so much that he returned the favor with some yellow color.

You are spontaneous, and he likes it, even if now this spontaneity of yours is pulling you away from him, even though you try to pretend it isn't.

In the end, he really wants to take care of you. But how can he do it? He can't even really offer you anything other than a cup of bitter coffee.

He looks for a moment at his own reflection in the dark drink, so indistinct and blurry, before placing the cup on the shelf in front of you slowly.

You look at him suddenly, as if you have just woken up. Uta smiles kindly at you: he has always been kind to you. You smile at him too, but he could swear that you only do it to please him, for fear of a negative reaction from him.

He would really like to sit in front of you, so he can talk as you do every time you meet in the coffee shop, but he instead leans against the wall with his back, a wall quite far from your warmth and your presence. He too has a hot cup in his tattooed hands, but he doesn't really want coffee; maybe he just hoped that if he drank something familiar to you - something that didn't speak your language before he was devoured - you would trust again.

You take a sip, probably more out of politeness than out of desire, and your expression turns into a small involuntary pout as you perceive the bitterness of the coffee on your tongue.

Uta would find it funny if it weren't for the whole situation.

"I'm sorry…" his quiet voice of him draws your attention to himself. He doesn't really know what he's apologizing for. "I have no ... sugar ..."

The relaxed musicality of his voice is slightly cracked by uncertainty.

He has no sugar to console you, no regular sugar at least. It's already strange that he got the coffee. He never really welcomes real guests, only customers, now that he thinks about it; there are rare times when he really has to welcome someone outside of his "business", generally speaking.

You do not answer immediately, your gaze cannot help wandering over his figure, his body, his chest and his abdomen.

He smooths his baggy black sweater, as if to make you realize he's noticing your eyes, and then take a sip from his cup.

"Don't worry, it's okay ..." you assure "in the end ... I like to try new things ..."

Are you talking about sugar?

Your voice is a twitter that leaves him with vague hope. Are you trying to tell him something?

He's not really afraid of you going around talking, you told him you wouldn't and he knows you won't. You are not that different from Renji in this.

You turn the cup over in your fingers, looking at that dark liquid, and then turn to him again.

"Don't ... want to sit down?"

You ask him shyly, as if you feared rejection, but you asked him anyway.

You amaze him, of course. That is a little melancholy surprise, your calling him close, your giving him a little illusion of closeness.

But do you really want him there?

With a nod he slowly approaches, as if he is approaching a wounded animal - or prey - and he slowly sits in front of you.

The cups of coffee that nobody wants look at each other, placed in front, close together, like when you happen to meet at the end of the day in the cafe. It was a good time for Uta, he enjoyed pretending that there were no Ghouls and Humans, silenced his hunger so attracted to you and focused on the pleasure of your presence as if you were no different.

But now the charade is over, you two are not alike, and for some reason it hurts him.

Your gaze rests docile on his face, and he smiles lightly.

He is beautiful, you really think so. In a way, those red and black eyes are the only ones that fit him. Uta is not of an objective beauty, he must like him, and you really like him.

"You know..." your murmur puts him on alert "I ... I hear the news but ... it's hard to think that it could happen to you, when you hear about ghouls ..."

"It didn't happen to you."

His calm voice stops you immediately, and despite his flat tone makes you feel accused. He didn't hurt you, you can't say he's your turn. If anything, he is the turn of your tormentor.

"I ... no ... I meant that I had never thought of meeting one ..."

You justify shy, and he realizes he scared you. You're probably thinking that the first misstep you take will automatically become his next meal.

His lips press in a thin line, while he looks at you calmly.

"We are not that rare, you know ..."

He informs you, understanding that you would never speak if he remained silent.

There were ghouls even more integrated into human society than he. You were kind of his exception to him, his regular break from his violent life, even though he still had other human connections.

"Do you want to eat me?"

The question comes out suddenly, interrupting any flow of thought. It is less insecure than you thought, but deep down you both know that that's the core of it all.

He looks you straight in the eye, without giving in to the gaze and somehow gluing your pupils into his.

He could tell you that if he had wanted he would have done it already, he could say many things, yet he doesn't want to lie, he owes you and you owe it to him.

"It would be nice."

His voice is kind of calming despite the harshness of those words. As scary as they are, you don't react, and let him talk again.

"But it would also be extremely sad for me."

His tattooed fingers twirl around the slowly cooling cup, and you wonder if his heart has started beating a little faster, like yours, despite his mute expression.

"As tempting as eating you may be ... it would be very sad not to see you again."

A spark suddenly lights up in your eyes, it's so beautiful and bright that Uta opens his lips slightly in amazement, seeing that little light in you, so unexpectedly. He can't say if it is the hope of being able to live still that ignited it or that unspoken admission of affection, but that's okay with him.

"Would you be sad, Uta?"

You ask with a voice covered with expectations. He does not know how it happened, but it seems that your focus has shifted to something else, so suddenly.

Your cheeks just blush, and you smile as you look down at your hands. That smile isn't for him, it's for you. Uta wasn't hoping to see you smile again, yet there you were, wrapped in his baggy clothes smiling genuinely, as if you had suddenly forgotten the fear.

Your fingers intertwine in front of the cup, and your face doesn't dare lift up on him, but this time it's not fear that stops you.

“A Ghoul… sure, I had to know. In fact, in the end I knew it. Being a human would have been too trivial for you. "

Take another sip of coffee, and this time you commit yourself to putting up with the bitterness, even if you don't quite succeed.

Uta allows himself a slight amused smile.

"Oh yes?"

His is a rhetorical question that you just nod.

He drinks too, plunging both of you into a less heavy silence, but which still lingers in Uta's mind doubts that he would like to silence.

"Now where will you go?"

He is used to those he cares about disappearing far away. It wouldn't be new to see you walk away from him, he's not really hoping to be able to hold you back, despite what you said. Life simply changes people, and with them the world, he is aware of it, as he is aware of the fact that after this night the world between you two has changed, and as always you will be the one to change with it, while he will remain there, immobile.

"Do you want ... I have to go home?"

You ask confused, glancing towards the door. Night out scares you, you prefer the wolf's lair more than the dark and unpredictable shadows of the dark hours.

You didn't understand what he meant, how could you? Yet somehow Uta expected you to do it, he expected you to tell him this was goodbye. Yeah, is this goodbye?

"No, you don't have to go home if you don't want to ..."

It's hard to ask you to stay, to really stay. It is difficult to ask you to stay with him, because if you refused it would be a defeat, if you felt forced you would no longer be you.

“So you can't eat the food? Normal food I say ... so the idea of inviting you to lunch is out of the question. "

Your words break the melancholy in his mind again. He looks at you, his head slightly bent towards his right shoulder:

"Did you want to invite me to lunch?"

You wonder if it's really that surprising that you had such an idea. Should you be ashamed of it? Maybe this is inappropriate for him?

"I wanted. I mean, I've thought about it. It seemed nice to me. "

It seemed nice to you. You were cute, Uta often thought that. Here it is again, your gentle affection; it would have been a problem to refuse you if you really asked him to share lunch. He had never gotten used to pretending to eat human food, even though he tolerated smells quite well by now.

“Anyway, that's a kind thought of you. Thank you."

Without the glasses, his expression is even more gentle. It seems paradoxical, compared to the figure of him, but still, Uta is so unique.

"Not very kind if it kills you."

You mutter to yourself, looking away in embarrassment. In fact, now that you really know he's a ghoul a lot of your talk may no longer make sense.

"No ..." you hear him chuckle slightly, lightly and yet amused "we don't die so easily unfortunately for you ... I'd end up feeling extremely bad."

Suddenly the argument between you lightens up without either of you really noticing. He feels it, almost palpable, the boulder in his chest becoming light at the sound of curiosity that colors your voice as you confirm that you understand: it is the same curiosity as when you ask him questions about his masks, the colors he uses or his tattoos, he clearly recognizes it, which has now almost become part of both of you.

"I have so much to ask you, Uta" you admit, smiling at him fondly "but for now, thank you for everything you've done."

His nonexistent brows go up, looking at you as if he's asking if you were serious. But you did, sure, he knew.

"Thanks to you for bringing me dinner downstairs."

Uta doesn't mince words, he never did, and it was something you loved. He was always contemptuous and edgy in his calm and delicacy of him, it was a humor all of him, no one could ever look like Uta.

He makes you laugh, despite the macabre implied, and he's happy. He feels lighter, freer, and this seems to apply to you too.

One of his laboriously painted hands moves towards your face. He doesn't even notice, it's a gesture dictated by instinct, from his heart. Only when he's about to touch your cheek does he freeze, dumbfounded as to what to do, wondering in his head what the hell he was doing, why he did it.

He fears to see you retract at his touch, fears to see you hide and still does not understand why he fears so much the rejection of a human, a human who should be food and who instead twists his stomach with just a look.

He tries to retreat first, before it's late, but your hands stop him.

His fingers are now squeezed between yours, tenderly, as you tenderly bring them to your face. The hand that presses on his back is warmer than his skin, but the one that squeezes his palm has frozen fingertips, he feels them pinch against his skin. In yet another gesture of care for you, his fingers close on yours, to warm them.

And while you hold him he holds you, you hold both of you, and he knows you don't know him, that you haven't seen the dark side of him yet nor does he know if he will ever have the courage to show it to you, but for now that's okay .

Now he's no longer alone in his charade with you. You are no longer his audience, you are the actor who responds to his sentences in front of that cruel world. But luckily now, behind the scenes, his mask is no longer needed.

"I promise I'll take you for a better coffee tomorrow."

"I accept with great pleasure."

[itsapapisongo]

STEPPING UP | Bang Chan

Starring: Bang Chan and Ok Taec-Yeon

Featuring: Ok Taecyeon | Seo Changbin | Hwang Hyunjin | Mark Lee

Genre: Action | Superhero

Concept & Tropes: Captain America!Chan | Non-Idol AU | Superhero AU

Word Count: 7.1K

Warnings: Language and sequences of action and violence.

Summary: When a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are held for ransom by terrorists, the Captain—Bang Chan—is tasked with aiding in their rescue.

Context & Notes: This is very much influenced by the Lemurian Star sequence in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. This ties-in with Webbed Surveillance and Measure of a Hero in that these stories are set within the same fanverse. For the sake of simplicity, Chan is not the Captain America, but someone picking up the mantle and is referred to as the Captain since he’s Korean-Australian. He’s a super-soldier, been through some shit (i.e. fighting in the army, losing friends, being put on ice) and getting used to modern life after a couple of years of cryogenic sleep.

This one goes out to Lina ( @scriptura-delirus ) and Ivy ( @chogiwow​ ) for sharing my enthusiasm for idols as superheroes. We need heroes. Now more than ever.

THOUGH THE QUINJET had cloaking technology, it wasn’t needed as it lurked in the dead of night with ease. It flew undetected across the Pacific Ocean, slicing through the clouds and inching closer to the rendezvous point.

Aboard this state-of-the-art jet, a S.T.R.I.K.E. squad prepared for the mission. Among them, was a living legend. Not the one the rest of the world knew but one that nonetheless stood in high regard.

Bang Chan—otherwise known as the Captain, a name that had caught on but he quite hadn’t accepted yet—was clad in a stealth suit and carried a perfectly round shield on his back; it bore a star and muted tones of silver and blue. He adjusted his earpiece and turned to the squad, giving the team a cursory glance.

Some of his fellow agents checked their weapons while others began to huddle around the squad’s leader, Ok Taecyeon, as he began the briefing. A monitor displayed images of an aircraft carrier stranded at sea. Coordinates appeared on the lower portion of the screen, followed by the vessel’s manifest.

“Eyes on me,” said Taecyeon, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “The target’s a mobile satellite launch platform. This ol’ beaut is the Levanter. It has a skeleton crew aboard, no more than twenty people. They were about to send up their last payload when—” he tapped the monitor’s touch screen with his index finger, zooming in on a satellite image of the carrier. “—terrorists took her over. That was over ninety minutes ago.”

Chan frowned before he asked, “Any demands?”

Taecyeon grimaced. “Pretty hefty demands, if you ask me,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “They want a billion and a half.”

Shocked was visible in the Captain’s eyes but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. A billion and half? It seemed like an inconceivable figure. Back in the day, it would have been a number to scoff at. It was too high a price for a simple aircraft carrier, he thought, but the world had changed in the past century so what did he know? Even if he believed that by modern standards that was an exorbitant amount of money, he had to know.

“Why so steep?”

“It’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s,” the team leader replied, as though it were a no-brainer. “Which means it’s worth more than the ransom itself. If they get paid, the info can be sold to the highest bidder. They’d be making bank for a while.”

Chan clenched his jaw, his hands unconsciously settling on his belt’s buckle. He titled his head to the side and scoffed, not wanting to entertain such a possibility. When he spoke, it was with a tone of disbelief—

“If they get paid?”

“They won’t.” Taecyeon shook his head, pursing his lower lip down as he swiped a finger across the screen. “Trust me on that, Cap.”

These days—an age of answers and curiosity—information was power. Those that were willing to obtain it would do so through whatever means necessary. Chan understood why someone would attack and capture the Levanter, but he couldn’t quite conceal his disbelief.

How had S.H.I.E.L.D. allowed for this to happen? Ships like these weren’t supposed to be vulnerable. If they were, it would be a major liability for the organization and the ransom proved such a point. Not because of the economical factor but because of a potential loss or corruption of whatever data was stored within these ships.

“So it’s not only a rescue mission, we’re recovering whatever data might be in there,” Chan deduced, crossing his arms across his chest. Even if the suit was padded and close to his skin, his muscle definition was nonetheless impressively visible.

“Apparently so.” Taecyeon nodded.

Chan glanced at the monitor and motioned with his chin at it. “What about our extremists friends?”

“They’re with R.A.I.D.”

“Who comes up with these names?” one of the agents.

“It stands for Radically Advanced Ideas in Destruction,” Taecyeon explained. Chan could tell he was doing his best not to roll his eyes. “In essence, they’re HYDRA lite.”

“Hmm,” Chan grumbled. “That’s not very comforting.”

Taecyeon gave in and rolled his eyes. “No shit.” He pushed the monitor forward so that everyone got a good look at the mug-shot of a tall and bearded middle-aged man with a hardened face and malicious brown eyes. “This is their leader: Vladimir Korda.

“Sokovian-Russian, born in Southern Russian but raised in Novi Grad. Sokovian Armed Forces, dishonorably discharged. Our friend here was part of a covert kill squad named EKO Scorpion. Nasty piece of work.” Taecyeon glared briefly at the man’s dossier. “It seems he got fed up and decided to go from military man to mercenary to—”

“Terrorist,” Chan finished for him. “And the kind without a cause.”

“Don’t know or care if he has a cause.” Taecyeon sniffed and motioned a gun with his right hand, pointing it at the monitor. “I just know I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes.”

Chan shook his head, meeting the team leader’s eyes. “We’re not neutralizing anyone. This is a standard CSAR mission,” he said in a stern tone.

Taecyeon tilted his head then gave a small nod of understanding. Chan could tell that he wasn’t happy about it but orders were orders and the man often did his best to do things by the book. CSAR—combat search and rescue—were in-and-out S.H.I.E.L.D. operations that required not only efficiency but the highest of discretion. Contact with hostiles was to be kept to a minimum thus “neutralizing” targets was an acceptable option unless completely necessary.

“Wanna hear about the hostages?”

Chan raised an eyebrow, taken aback by Taecyeon’s casual tone.

“Sure,” he answered, hesitation palpable in his voice.

Taecyeon pulled up the hostages’ photos. There were two civilians. The rest were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as their dossiers showed they had been stationed in the Levanter for over six months. Chan recognized a handful of them and felt a knot tie itself around his throat; two or three of them he’d been with on different assignments. His hands fell from his belt and settled behind his back as he clenched his fists; under the gloves, the knuckles had turned white. As he studied the faces of innocent people caught in an undesirable and undoubtedly traumatic situation, Chan thought of how important it was to accomplish the mission properly.

“They’re being held in the galley.”

“How many?”

“Nineteen people. Mostly techies with the exception of a Level 4 agent.”

With an idle flick of his wrist, Taecyeon swiped the screen and the photo of a bespecalted young man with black hair and indigo highlights appeared. He wore a suit and sported an expression of confused exasperation.

“Seo Changbin,” he told them, grimacing at the agent’s photo. “Good at what he does but not made for field work.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, prompting Taecyeon to motion a hand over his chest, as if to say how-to-say-this-politely. “He’s good at being behind a desk,” he replied, albeit not unkindly. “Which begs the question of why he’s aboard the carrier.”

“Did Fury mention him at all?”

Taecyeon gave him a weary look and shook his head. Why would a Level 4 agent be aboard the Levanter? There was nothing there for someone who sat behind a desk. If he were part of the tech-team, Chan wouldn’t have questioned it. Yet there was a vital piece of information missing and it was beginning to bother him. They people upstairs always asked him to step in and save the day but besides telling him how, they seldom ever told him why.

I feel like a glorified janitor, Chan fretted as his brow furrowed and transformed his handsome features into a scowl. Someone handed him his helmet and he nodded his thanks, silently placing it on his head. Between the Quinjet’s dim-lighting and his helmet, it was hard to read his face.

“So, Cap, how are we going to do this?”

Chan blinked once, twice, then cleared his throat. “I’ll clear the deck, you find the hostages,” he affirmed, pointing a finger at the Levanter’s layout on the monitor. “Get them out and into the life pods.”

“I’ll find Korda as soon as I clear the deck.” Chan turned to Taecyeon. “We don’t want any casualties so we’re incapacitating anyone we come across.”

Taecyeon nodded firmly, saluting the Captain with a wink. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he acknowledged. “No neutralizing. Duly noted.”

The Quinjet went dark then lit up under a red light. An alert turned on. The jet’s back hangar doors opened and a strong wind whipped through the hull. The cool night air nipped at their exposed skin but each and everyone of them shrugged it off. No one had more experience with the cold than Chan. As the rest of the team prepared for the jump, the Captain and Taecyeon walked over the hangar doors’ edge. They looked down at the dark ocean below, felt the wind howling in their ears.

“Captain!” Taecyeon leaned in, yelling over the noise. He shielded his face against the wind with an open palm. “What do you say if I buy us chimaek after this is over?”

“Chimaek, huh?” Chan yelled back and titled his head, a hand unconsciously adjusting the shield on his back. “That sounds tempting.”

“Up to you, old man.” The team leader shrugged, smiling as he caught a glint of exasperation in Chan’s eyes. “I understand if you want to rest. Sit in, fall asleep, drool all over yourself in your rocking chair, y’know?”

“As long as you’re paying,” the Captain half-smiled, fist-bumping his partner.

Taecyeon chuckled, knowing he had won him over as he yelled, “Give the man some space!”

Chan put some distance between himself and the hangar doors. Without hesitation, the Captain cracked his neck, ran the length of the jet, then leaped out of the Quinjet. The S.T.R.I.K.E. team paused, awestruck. No one or spoke for a few seconds.

They all realized something at the exact same time.

“Was he—was he wearing a parachute, boss?” an agent asked, visibly concerned.

“No,” Taecyeon confirmed, half-smiling. “No, he wasn’t.”

LIKE MISSILE SLICING through the sky, moving faster than the eye could follow, Chan hurled headfirst toward the Levanter. Just as he was about to crash on the Pacific Ocean, he flipped then dived into the dark depths below. He was less than a hundred yards from the ship so swimming to the carrier was easier than expected.

The Levanter floated in the calm water, the moonlight reflecting on its deck. An armed man kept watch and heavily yawned. He was looking out to the sea when Chan was climbing the ship’s steep anchor. Feeling movement, the guard leaned in over the rail just in time to catch the Captain’s ascent and made a sound between a gulp and groan when he was grabbed by the collar of his bulletproof vest.

“What the—” he managed to mumble before he felt his forehead make contact with the railing and was subsequently thrown overboard.

Chan propped himself up and jumped the railing with ease. Gathering his bearing, he looked left and right then reached and took the shield off his back. He parkoured his way across the deck, dispatching another armed man with effortless speed and skill. Several more men patrolled the perimeter, armed to the teeth and blissfully unaware of what was to unfold.

He stood in the shadows and surveyed his surroundings. Out of the four, two were huddled together and carrying a hushed conversation. The other two were on opposite sides of the deck, looking out to the ocean. Chan counted to ten, his grip on the shield tighter, then sprung into action.

He whistled a tune that suspiciously sounded like Arirang and got their attention, emerging from the shadows when the quartet whipped round to look for the sound. The man farthest to Chan barely had a second to register something—was that a saucer?—flying right at him. With a resonating clunk, the shield smacked him right in the chest and knocked the air out of his lungs; he collapsed, instantly incapacitated.

Having practiced for years and learned how to find the proper angles for the perfect throw, Chan blindly outstretched his left hand and closed it around the shield as it ricocheted back to him. He sprinted towards the nearest threat—the chattering duo—and tackled them both without breaking a sweat. The three of them struggled on the ground for a second but were on their feet as quickly as they’d fallen down.

The Captain lifted the shield and, gripping one of the leather straps, punched it; the round vibranium shield slammed into one of the men’s forehead and his knees gave in; he collapsed with a huff and a pained moan. Chan whirled and avoided a kick to the chest; though he was fast, he wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid the attack because he felt the man’s leg grace his ribs. The guy wouldn’t quit, though, because he kept kicking. Even when he missed he managed to have minimal contact.

I’m wasting my time, the Captain mentally groaned.

This guy was fast but the Captain was faster. When the man threw yet another kick, Chan intercepted the attack by grabbing the man’s ankle and twisting the leg with a flick of his wrist. A loud snap-crack confirmed he had effectively fractured the entire limb. The man toppled over and was about to scream when Chan knelt, chopped at his throat, and broke his windpipe. He heard whimpering and glanced over his shoulder to see the other man was shaking from head to toe; the guard had spread his arms out to display his surrender.

Chan straightened and was about to continue clearing the deck when he remembered there was still a man left. In all the commotion, as quick as it had been, he’d been too hyper-focused on disabling any threats that he forgot to not underestimate the enemy. When he turned to search for the last man standing, he felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his neck.

There you are.

“Clear,” the Captain whispered on his comm.

The man cocked the gun but never fired. A low pfft-pfft echoed in the night and he collapsed; tranquilized but not dead. The sound of parachutes alerted Chan of his team’s arrival. Six skydivers slapped their chest releases, their chutes billowing above then behind them. The team landed quietly, already used to these types of operations, sidearms at ready in their capable hands.

“Thanks, Taecyeon-ssi,” said Chan, half-bowing..

Taecyeon waved a dismissed hand. “Don’t mention it,” he said with a devious smirk. “I know you’re helpless without me.”

Chan clicked his tongue, passing the shield from his left to his right hand. Now that they were huddled together, he gave the perimeter a cursory glance and nodded when he found the comms tower. “Have the feeling I’ll find Korda there.”

“Seems like a good place to be in,” said Bam, one of the agents.

Taecyeon followed the Captain’s gaze. “Sure does,” he mumbled, his voice stern and low. “Call it, Cap.”

“I’ll go for the comms tower. The three of you—” Chan pointed at Taecyeon and the two agents beside him. “—find the hostages. And you three—” he pointed to the remaining members of the team. “—secure the engine room.”

“You heard the man. Spread out.” Taecyeon unslung the rifle off his body, wrapping the strap around his wrist. As the Captain nodded and started to walk off, he whispered, “Watch your six.”

Chan winked. “Always.”

THE COMMS TOWER was taller up close as he used a large pipeline to aid his ascent. Chan balanced himself on the line and he removed a pocket-sized surveillance launcher from a pouch in his belt. He aimed high and fired it at the Levanter’s comms room. A cord arched through the air and a microscale microphone stuck to the comms tower’s window. Initially, there was nothing but white noise until—

He could make out a conversation: two men talking over each other as they argued about something Chan had no context for. A man spoke Russian in a soft voice that was laced with malice and contempt. The Captain raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the dissonance between Korda’s voice and his cutthroat appearance.

Closing his eyes and pressing a finger on his earpiece, he focused on what was happening in the comms room. He was glad Fury had convinced him to learn a thing or two after being thawed out besides martial arts and catching up on politics and the world’s current and complicated status quo. Though he wasn’t fluent in Russian, he knew enough to get by and what he was hearing didn’t bode well for the mission.

“They still haven’t responded to our demands. We’ve been here for—”

“It seems like you’re in a hurry, Anatoly,” said Vladimir Kora, sounding bored. “They know what we want and they know we’re not bluffing.”

“Sir, if I may—”

“Nyet.” Korda grumbled. “You may not.”

A phone rang and Anatoly immediately answered. He mumbled then passed the call to his superior, mentioning it was coming from the galley.

“As soon as we get the money, this boat moves.” There was a pause and a heavy, irritated sigh. When Korda spoke again, he barely raised his voice but the Captain could tell he didn’t know need to because his tone was laced with seething anger. “Move them to the engine room. They’re not gonna be much of use once the ransom is paid.”

Chan scowled. There was no way in hell that was going to happen.

THE GALLEY WOULD have been immaculate if not for the droplets of still-fresh blood on the floor. The tiles were white, the walls silver, and almost everything was made of metal. The room was cold and smelled of dinner—ramyun, cooked vegetables, stir-fried beef, rice, something spicy—and none of Korda’s men could really resist glancing at the pots and pans where the food had been left unserved.

The Levanter’s crew was silent. They had been ever since they had been hijacked. Tears had been shed and mumbled prayers had been uttered but no one really dared speak up. Their minimal training dictated that they were to disclose nothing and to keep an even temper.

But for Seo Changbin keeping an even temper was the bottom of his priorities. He was tie-strapped to a metal counter. His legs had been tied too so his movability was limited and painful. Changbing had no other choice but heave a sigh and endure the aches and bruises the hijackers had so generously given him. His back was bothering him but it was his shoulder that was really driving me off the wall. Out of instinct, he’d intercepted a blow meant for someone else and was beginning to regret not being more cautious.

Every little movement hurt and made him wince. Enduring someone thrusting a rifle’s stock in between his shoulder and collarbone was no easy feat and nothing he’d ever wish on someone—except, perhaps, on the asshole who did it—but he’d rather take the hit than have his fellow agents be hurt.

The galley’s door opened and a grey-haired man stepped in, clad in a maroon uniform. He didn’t carry an assault rifle or body armor and the only sign that he was a man of authority was the ivory Heckler & Koch P7 holstered in his left thigh. Changbin could make out a familiar insignia engraved in its grip: a macabre skull with six tentacles below its jaw.

Great, Changbin grimaced, these guys are back.

Grey Hair spoke in Russian to one of the three men watching over them, his voice hoarse like that of a smoker’s. He glanced at them, smirked, then kicked at the legs of the two women to Changbin’s far left. The women—Lina and Aibi—leaned into each other but didn’t show fear. To Changbin’s chagrin, they glared at Grey Hair and hissed in annoyance.

“Aish,” they whispered, eyeing Grey Hair up and down in disgust.

Grey Hair scowled and reached for his gun, the ivory losing its splendor in his calloused hand. He aimed it at Lina’s forehead. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stared him down and clenched her jaw, leaning forward so that her head was pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Go ahead,” she whispered in Russian. “See how that ends for you.”

“You speak—” Grey Hair blinked. Confusion was apparent in his eyes and he hesitated, the gun being pulled away from his victim’s forehead then returning to it with strengthened resolve. “Then you know what’s going to happen. You’ll be dead now or in the next twenty minutes.”

Aibi snorted. “Yah!” she yelled, sounding fierce, outraged. When Grey Hair turned to her, she lowered her voice and spoke in Korean, enunciating every word with thin-veiled vitriol. “Don’t drink your kimchi soup first.”

Changbin scoffed and failed to suppress his chuckle. His father used to say that often and he could never take the proverb seriously. And yet it gave Grey Hair pause as he didn’t understand Aibi and hadn’t counted on their defiance.

“If you’re wondering, I can translate,” Changbing interjected in English, leaning forward so that Grey Hair could see him properly.

“Translate.”

“She said . . . don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Bitch,” Grey Hair grumbled in English and motioned to hit Lina but relented when he saw Changbin struggling against the straps. “You want to be hero?”

“Not really, no,” the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent shook his head then shrugged. “But I’d preferred if you didn’t hurt anyone.”

“You want bullet in your head?”

The gun was aimed at Changbin. His eyes widened as he recognized the present danger. He kept calm and titled his head to the side. “Again, no,” he replied in an aloof tone, as though he was having a conversation about the weather. “I just want you to know, tovarishch, that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Grey Hair flinched. “We are not comrades.”

“Thank God for that.” Changbin lifted his eyebrows and relented from rolling his eyes. “We’re already your hostages. I don’t see the need to be smacking us around.”

“We’re in control.”

Lina lifted her chin, holding back a smirk. “Not for long, comrade.”

“HOW LONG WILL this take?” Anatoly fretted, leaning on a console with crossed arms.

“As long as it takes,” said Korda.

“We’ve been here—”

“If you have anything to say, just spit it out.”

Anatoly opened his mouth to respond but immediately closed it. Suddenly, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Questioning Korda’s leadership wasn’t encouraged but it wasn’t frowned upon; one simply needed to know how to do it. Unfortunately for Anatoly, he didn’t know how to explain the knot in his stomach.

Korda scoffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It seems the cat caught your tongue,” he sneered as he leaned on the captain’s chair, giving his back to the bridge’s rectangular window. “We stick to the plan.”

“This was not part—this was not the plan.”

“Adapt or die, tovarishch.” Korda cracked his neck, unholstered his side-arm, then pointed at Anatoly’s chest. “You’re not afraid are you?”

Eyes on the gun, Anatoly trembled. “I’m not,” he answered, but his voice was shaky.

“In our line of work, fear is useless. Toughen up, son.”

Anatoly nodded. “I will—” he began but didn’t finish, his breath caught in his throat. He gestured a hand over his boss’ shoulder but before Korda could react something burst through the room’s window and hurled Anatoly backwards. The sound of something light and sharp cutting through concrete and reinforced steel echoed in their ears; it was followed up by the crunching of glass under heavy footsteps.

By the time Anatoly gathered his bearings, Korda was already on his feet. He caught his boss’ silhouette sprinting out of the control room. Anatoly blinked and saw a man clad in dark blue, his face concealed by a helmet bearing a white star on the forehead and stylized wings by his ears. The man glanced at Anatoly, grimaced, then disarmed him by tossing away his holstered side-arm.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized and sounded genuinely remorseful. “We’ll get you some medical attention once you’ve been taken into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody.”

“You’re Captain—”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The man nodded and placed a finger in his ear. “I got a man down in the control room.”

Anatoly reached out and gripped the man by his forearm. “Am I going to—am I going to die?”

The man—the Captain—knelt and helped him into a sitting position. “Not if I can help it,” he reassured Anatoly with a small nod. “Now, if you excuse me . . .”

The Captain stood to his full height and walked past Anatoly, wrenching something off the wall and clasping it on his back. Anatoly realized what had burst through the window: a shield. That had graced his left arm and knocked him off his feet so it was no wonder he felt like his arm from the elbow down had fallen off.

Before everything turned dark and the pain overwhelmed him, Anatoly couldn’t help but feel relieved that he wasn’t going to die.

“KODRA IS ON the move!” Chan alerted Taecyeon as he sprinted after the terrorist leader. “Have you secured the hostages?”

“We’re on it, as we speak,” Taecyeon answered, his voice a mere whisper in the Captain’s ear. “We’re thirty seconds from clearing the galley.”

“Clear it and secure it. No one comes in, no one comes out. Not until I’ve subdued Korda.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Taecyeon-ssi? That’s getting annoying.”

A muffled chuckle came through Chan’s comm. “More of a reason to do so,” said the squad’s leader. “And Captain? Go gentle on the guy. I want to roughen him up a bit.”

Chan clenched his jaw. “Yeah? Get in line.”

THE GALLEY’S DOOR burst open with a bang and the room exploded with violence.

Changbin recognized Ok Taecyeon leading the charge, his aim eerily accurate. In the blink of an eye, Grey Hair and the remaining hijackers were effortlessly disabled. Grey Hair had been shot four times, his chest decorated with tranq-darts. Aibi kicked him squarely in the jaw, groaning as the straps chafed her heels and impeded her movements.

“We told you, didn’t we?” Lina tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “S.H.I.EL.D. doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Galley secured, sir,” said one of the agents, her voice that of a woman’s.

“We’re clear here,” Taecyeon relayed to the Captain and nodded when he heard the man’s response. “Bam, cuff these assholes. Yuna, help me untie our friends here.”

Bam removed his mask, tossed it aside, and pulled a handful of plastic tie-strips from a pouch in his belt. He went to work without wasting a second as Yuna unsheathed a tactical knife and began to cut tie-strips off hands and legs.

“Are you alright?” Taecyeon knelt in front of Lina, slashing the tie-strips in her legs.

Lina stretched her legs, leaned to the side so that her arms could be untied. “As best as I could be,” she retorted with a blank expression. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re glad to see you guys.”

“No shit,” said Aibi.

Taecyeon smirked, swiftly moving to free Aibi and the two technicians between her and Changbin. He patted backs and offered a comforting smile. “You’re a-okay now, folks. We got your back.”

“Now what?” Changbin heard himself ask and cringed when all eyes were on him.

“We wait. It won’t take long. We got a man upstairs getting things done.”

Changbin knew they were safe. The Captain was a force to be reckoned with and one would have to be out of their mind to not yield in his presence.

FOR A MAN in his mid-seventies, Bang Chan moved with athletic grace and a keen awareness of his surroundings. But as he turned to check a corner, he was unprepared for the steel-booted kick to his lower back. The brunt of the attack was absorbed by the shield, which echoed with a distinctive high-pitched ring. 

Chan stumbled forward, a low grunt escaping through gritted teeth. Out of instinct, he reached for the shield. He gained his balance and whirled so fast that he caught a look of mild surprise in Vladimir Korda’s face. The man was emerging from the shadows and took slow steps forward, scrutinizing the Captain.

“I should count myself lucky,” exclaimed Korda in English, laughing derisively. “The Captain, as I live and breathe!”

Chan sensed he was being measured both in size and skill. He narrowed his eyes and focused on controlling his breathing before giving in to his anger. He narrowed his eyes and winced at how stiff his right hand—from his forearm to his palm—felt as his grip on the shield tightened. It was light in his hands—light enough to be thrown with impeccable aim and malicious intent—but he lowered it. Using it would have to be his last resort.

“The Symbol of a Nation, they call you!” Korda chuckled and pacing back and forth, stretching. He paused, bowed, then took a fighting stance. “It’s going to be an honor tearing you apart.”

“You certainly can try.” Chan glared.

“I’ve heard you can’t live without your oversized frisbee.”

“Uh-huh.” The Captain nodded dismissively. “Who do you work for?”

Korda shrugged. “Why does that matter?”

“Not anyone would hire an man like you for something as risky as—”

“Hijacking S.H.I.E.L.D. property? Please, Captain, I don’t know whether to blush or be insulted.” The Russian placed a hand on his chest and lowered his head, feigning embarrassment. His face darkened when he straightened and glared. “Who hired me doesn’t matter. You’re not asking the right question.”

“Not who but why?”

Korda clicked his tongue as if to say bingo. “You’re perceptive, kapitan. And here I was thinking you were just a shield.”

“Just a shield?” Chan pursed his lips and removed his helmet. He was a young man—handsome, dirty blond, brown-eyed, with a fine jaw, and a fair complexion—and the anger that glistened in his eyes made him look older, jaded. His next words were spoken in Russian: “We’ll see.”

Korda growled, unleashing a fury of punches—jabs, hooks, uppercuts—with deadly precision yet Chan was too agile for him. The Captain was dancing around him, moving out of the way of each attack so swiftly that Korda was beginning to give into anger.

Whack! A high kick to his collarbone, drove Chan back with a groan. He could hear Korda cackling.

“Is that all, old man?”

Old man? Chan reloaded his biceps and assumed a fighting stance, ready to bring this entire ordeal to an end. Yeah, I’m not gonna let that slide.

Korda made a guttural sound akin to a roar and threw a kick above the Captain’s head only to find himself losing balance. Chan held and pulled his opponent’s leg higher, kicked him in the stomach once, twice, then punched upward on the man’s groin. Kodra collapsed on the ground, groaning and mumbling expletives and swearing he’d kill the Captain.

Chan picked up his helmet and said, “I can do this all day.”

“Fuc—”

“Nope.” He lightly tapped Korda on the nose, knocking him out. “That’s enough out of you.”

Breathing hard, Chan sat on the ground. He hugged his knees against his chest and looked up to a starry night sky and the moonlight enveloping him in its glow. The cool breeze nipped at his skin, a reminder that he was still wet from diving in the Pacific Ocean.

The night was beautiful. When had been the last time he’d done this? He couldn’t tell but he wasn’t going to let this moment pass. Unfortunately, despite wanting to be in the moment, he was stirred from his reverie when Taecyeon’s voice came through his comm.

“Cap?”

Chan sniffed and stood up, stretching. “We’re clear,” he answered, lifting then tossing Korda over his shoulder. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“Bad guys have been subdued. Our folk are safe.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“Meet us on the life pods.”

“Are we in a hurry?”

Taecyeon made a sound between a scoff and a snort. “The quicker we’re out here, the quicker we can get our chimaek on.”

“Roger that.”

FOUR HOURS LATER, they were debriefed and back in Seoul. Upon their arrival, Deputy Director Bae had made the necessary arrangements for the Levanter’s crew to be treated for any medical injury or emotional trauma.

Bam, Yuna, and the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. squad were stationed in a safe-house near Itaewon. They were given orders to rest and report twelve hours later to Seoul HQ. As an elite S.H.I.E.L.D. counter-terrorist special unit, they were trained to be the best in a world where the unexpected happened every day. Their work never stopped. Rest was a luxury and it was indulged whenever the opportunity arose.

During the war, sleep was sacred. Just because the day turned into night that didn’t mean getting some shut-eye was guaranteed. Anything and everything could happen. Then again, anything and everything did happen. So Chan knew what it was to be sleep-deprived, going from one mission to another to another to another. When Taecyeon told his team to call it a night, they obeyed without protest.

Yet Taecyeon rarely ever slept. Chan had seen him napping but never sleeping and he seemed like the type who was a light sleeper—a butterfly flapping its wings might wake him up. But as they clinked their soju glasses and celebrated yet another accomplished mission, Chan could see Taecyeon was concealing his exhaustion.

They were in Chan’s dimly-lit studio apartment—the type that was considered spartan with a bathroom, kitchenette, and living room that doubled as a bedroom—and sat on the floor. There was a single rectangular window with a modest view to a modest street outside; it was open and allowed a soft, rain scented breeze in. Empty bottles of soju and beer were strewn in the ground-level coffee table Mark and Hyunjin had gifted Chan when he moved in.

“Got any plans for tomorrow?”

Chan smiled. “Not really,” he replied, lifting the shot glass up to his lips. “What about you?”

“Geonbae.” Taecyeon downed his shot, clicked his tongue, then chuckled. “I got someone waiting for me. I’m thinking I’ll take the weekend off.”

“Oh?”

“Or, y’know, a least a day off. Vacations in our line of work are . . . complicated.”

Chan chuckled and rubbed his neck. To say that working for S.H.I.E.L.D. was complicated was the understatement of the millennium. One thing was being a soldier, the other being a member of an organization so vastly secretive that Chan wasn’t sure how much power they wielded or how many resources they had across the globe.

Complicated, Chan thought, as if that doesn’t sum up my life. “I assume Eddie’s missing you,” he added, smiling ruefully.

Chan knew with certainty three things about Ok Taecyeon: he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. legacy, he and his sister were the grandchildren of a highly decorated agent; he had a fondness for chimaek; and he was absolutely “soft” for his dog. So it was no wonder that a fond smile spread across Taecyeon’s face as he refilled their glasses then dropped them on their beers. He was beaming and it was contagious because Chan couldn’t suppress the half-smile that tugged on his lips. It was strange yet pleasant to see such a change in his usually snarky demeanor.

“I bet he is,” Taecyeon agreed. “I’ve been missing the shit outta him for over a month now.”

“I say take the weekend off.”

“So should you.”

Chan frowned. “And do what?”

Taecyeon scoffed. “Take a walk. Hang-out with friends. Go on a date. I don’t know but just—aish—just step out and smell the roses.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Aish.”

Chan shrugged, taking a sip from his drink—somaek, as it was referred to—and found himself uncertain about how it tasted. It was an odd mix that somehow worked. Taecyeon drank his own calmly, already used to the beer cocktail’s unique flavor. To Chan’s surprise, it went well with chicken since they had devoured not one but two family-sized boxes of hot wings and fried chicken.

“You do anything Saturday?” Taecyeon queried, his tone casual yet coaxing.

“Do sit-ups count?” Chan scrunched up his nose. He didn’t like people interfering in his personal life so he played dumb. “‘Cause if they do . . . that’s how I spent my Saturday.”

Taecyeon clicked his tongue. “Good Lord, you’re boring,” he blew a raspberry and leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table’s edge. “Look I get it—work’s important and we can’t always enjoy time for ourselves—but you’re more than just a soldier.”

“It’s not that.” The Captain looked away, eyes drifting to his half-consumed drink. “Schedule’s just a little tight these days.”

“Hyung-nim . . .”

Chan blinked, mouth agape at the honorific. He opened his mouth to reply but was too shocked to form a coherent thought.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. needs you, hyung-nim. You’re the Captain, for fuck’s sake, but—” Taecyeon bowed his head and passed a hand through his hair. He straightened and met Chan’s eyes, smiling a weary half-smile. “The world’s complex and uncertain but the least you could do is find the good within it and enjoy it. You can’t live solely for work—you must live for something.”

“I don’t know.” Chan rubbed his forehead. “Family, stability? The guy who wanted all that was on ice for far too long. I think someone else came out.”

“And what do they want?”

Chan grimaced. “I don’t know.”

“Then, Cap, take tomorrow to figure that out.”

AFTER BOWING PROFUSELY and apologizing for being drunk and speaking informally, Taecyeon left an hour later. Chan called him a cab and was surprised when received a text from Bam, relaying his commander’s arrival to the Bunkbed—the Itaewon safe-house—and giving the man shit for not holding his own against the Captain. 

After all this time, Chan found it funny that others used honorifics around him. It felt strange being treated like a senior because he still felt like that twenty-something kid that joined the army to fight the good fight. He could be their grandfather but he didn’t look like it.

Despite feeling accomplished, he didn’t sleep that night. Taecyeon’s words echoed in his head—you’re more than a soldier . . . live for something . . . figure it out—and it felt like being hitting with a brick wall. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been pulled from the cold and into this bold new world. Yet he hadn’t taken time to fully immerse himself in it.

Work had impeded that from happening and he was oddly thankful for that. Adapting wasn’t always easy and the times, for better or worse, demanded change. Chan sensed he wasn’t ready for change. Given enough time, he would be . . . but not yet.

The weight of the conversation stuck with him and it was beginning to bother him. still Taecyeon was right. Chan couldn’t keep himself isolated . . . waiting for the next mission . . . letting time pass right by him when he had just returned to the world of the living.

He sighed and reached for a flip phone Jackson had gifted him on his birthday. His contacts were limited since he rarely communicated with anyone outside of work. The selected few that had his number were people he trusted unconditionally. In the off-chance of losing the device—and because he still didn’t trust technology enough—Chan had memorized every number saved on the phone.

He dialed a number and waited. The contact ID read: THUNDER 현진.

With bated breath and closed eyes, he listened to the phone ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, until—

“Hey there, grandpa!”

Chan couldn’t help but rub his temple. “How are you, Hyunjin?”

“I’m doing as good as I can—M, web him up!—yah! Webs. Use them, like, now!”

“Are you busy—”

There was a loud boom followed by Hyunjin grunting and cussing through gritted teeth. The sound of thunder and crackling lighting echoed in Chan’s ear, as though it were happening right besides him. After a second of silence, he heard Hyunjin chuckle in between breaths.

“Say, ajeossi, what do you say to lending us a hand?”

“With what?” Chan frowned.

“Oh, y’know, the usual . . .” Hyunjin said as matter-of-factly. “Super-villains.”

Chan paused, looked at his flip-phone, and blinked as if to consider what was happening. He heard a familiar and unmistakable voice, calling after Hyunjin with a tone of disbelief and disapproval.

“Are you on the phone right now?” Mark sounded livid. “Dude, are you serious?”

“I’m getting reinforcements!”

“YAH—”

“Don’t get your webs in a bunch, M!”

“Hyunjin—” Mark began but was cut off.

Chan wondered what was going on but before he could ask, his friend interjected. “Ajeossi,” said Hyunjin, not bothering to listen to Mark or Chan. “On your left!”

He heard it before he saw it. Behind him, something began to glow: it started as a just a small, twirling sparkler until it grew into a wide circle that encompassed much of the kitchenette. Chan couldn’t see the rest of his apartment because this burning circle—a portal, no doubt made with magic—opened to a busy intersection in what looked like Enn City. Cars had been crushed or exploded; the streets were cracked or burning; and standing a few feet away was Hyunjin himself.

“Where’s the shield?” he asked, hanging up the phone.

“It’s—uh—there,” said Chan, pointing to a corner of his apartment. The shield laid untouched but ready for battle.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, his right hand extended as if waiting for something. “Well . . . are you gonna grab it or are we gonna stand here all night?”

Chan smiled. He snatched the shield, ran the length of his apartment, and leaped into the portal. He quickly realized he wasn’t wearing any tactical gear when he felt the hot asphalt under his bare feet. The portal closed behind him with a soft hiss. Great, he thought, I’m underdressed.

“Looking good, ajeossi,” said Hyunjin, smirking.

“Please,” Chan mumbled, ears burning with embarrassment. “Stop calling me that.”

A dull whistle resonated faintly in the air until it crescendoed to a loud boom. That’s when Chan saw it: a war-hammer so splendorous and beautifully crafted that he had to remind himself it wasn’t the real thing. He now understood why Hyunjin had his hand over his head as Pokpung met home in its owner’s hand.

“What are you two doing?”

Chan turned to his left and saw Mark Lee—the Brotastic Spider-Man—glaring at them as he hung from lamppost. His suit was black and neon-green. It fit him like a second skin and was coated with debris dust.

“Are we gonna fight or are we gonna pose like idiots?”

“Call it, Cap.” Hyunjin passed Pokpung from his left to his right hand.

The Captain—Bang Chan—smiled, bursting with purpose.

He didn’t know what he’d do tomorrow. He just knew it was worth fighting for.

[goldrogerstits]

How to edit and color manga-caps

This is a tutorial on how I personally color and edit manga caps in photoshop. I’ve done my best to explain my editing and coloring process but English isn’t my native language so please excuse any grammatical errors! Anyway, let’s get started💛

Clean-up

First of all you need a clean manga cap to work with. Start by erasing the parts of the image that you don’t want to keep and redraw parts if necessary. In this case I erased the speech bubble and redrew parts of the sparkles surrounding Komurasaki. Try to stay consistent with the artists original style If you redraw parts of the image as it will be very noticeable if you’ve strayed too far from the original style. I recommend that you study the line width especially and try to emulate that! 

Then level the image as seen in this tutorial by @aldiwali​, by leveling the image you erase some of those grainy dots surrounding the line-art. I’ve also found that it helps darken the line art! When you are done with clean-up separate the line art from the background. I’ve already made an in-depth tutorial how to do that (and erase more of those grainy dots) so I’ll link that here: X. 

Once you’ve cleaned your manga cap and separated the line art from the background you can start putting down your base colors and flats!

Coloring process 

Start with a simple base color for the skin, I usually go for #9e7e7d as that will give the skin a nice warm tone once your done! Then make a copy of your base layer. Go to your copy of your base layer, right click and create clipping mask and color it with something more akin to an actual skin tone. Combine the clipping mask and the copy of your base layer, then lower the opacity to your liking, I usually go for around 85% opacity. 

This step is very unnecessary and you don’t need to actually do this (just a normal skin-tone as a base) but I do it out of habit. If you look at some of my older stuff it’s way more noticeable (see example down below). 

If you use this method please be aware of that it does tend to lighten colors so I don’t recommend that you use this method for when you’re using darker colors. 

BONUS TIP for when you’re coloring: Make a color palette! I try to keep track of what colors I use for different characters but it’s easy to get a bit lost so I actually made a little color palette as a reference for myself. That way I can easily keep track of what colors I like to use for a base and for shading. 

Anyways.... back to the actual tutorial! Time to color the rest of the image! Try to get some good reference pictures of the character/characters (preferably something that was colored by the actual artist) if you’re going for canon colors. I usually play around with hues for a bit before I’m happy with results! For example I gave Komurasakis red dress more of a purple/pink undertone to make it work better with her fan and the flowers in her hair. 

Try to divide your colors into different layers to make the shading process easier but don’t make to many separate layers as that can get a bit confusing! I try to divide my layer based on color and placement! 

If you’re not using a reference for what colors you’re going to use I recommend that you at least follow a color scheme. Try to find colors that work with each other but still contrast each other. A lot of people will be looking at your graphics trough their phone and a lot of details will be lost so by making your colors contrast each other you keep some of clarity! I’m not saying that you shouldn’t use colors that are very similar but you should keep the format which your graphics will be looked at in mind. 

Anyways now that we’ve colored everything we need to add color to the parts of the line-art that aren’t supposed be black, in this case we need to add color to the hair, lips, fan and dress. Go to your line-art layer, right click, make a clipping mask and then you can color the line-art. Your layers should look similar to this:

Make a base which you can work off later as seen below.

I usually color everything first and then I refine the outlines with the help of the eraser. Try to keep the width of the outline consistent with the rest of the line-art, otherwise it won’t be as seamless. (I did’t outline her hairline as it’s very “feathered” and I wanted to keep that feeling, but I usually outline the hairline too)

You don’t have to separate each color into its own clipping mask as that isn’t going to make any difference when you shade everything later. Now time to add the line-art to the hair! 

Line-art

I do recommend using some sort of drawing tablet to make your new line-art. It’s not that isn’t possible to do it without one but it’s a bit tedious to it with a mouse or touchpad.

If you use a drawing tablet use a brush that allows you to control the stroke weight of the brush. I usually go for one of the default brushes but I’m sure that there are a tons of fun brushes out there to play with!

Create another layer just above your manga-cap, this is where we’ll draw the new line-art! Try to follow the “flow” of the original line-art. In this case it’s fairly easy for me to see where line-art would fit naturally thanks to the way Oda choose to illustrate the “shine” on Komurasakis hair! 

Look at the area that I’ve encircled, it’s easy to imagine that that’s where Oda would have chosen to add the line-art if he hadn’t colored the hair black. If you can’t find any of these spots try to find a few references for how the original artist does the line-art when it’s in full color. For example I used the cover of volume 92 to get a feeling of how I wanted my line-art to look. 

Basically try to find what makes the original artists line-art distinct and copy that for your own line-art! 

After I’m done with my line-art I go back to the black base and fill in some of the empty spaces that were left by the artist for clarity. Like the gap between the line-art and the deep purple parts of the her fan. When your happy with your base and line-art you can start shading! 

Shading

(Before I start shading I generally color in all the stuff I left out like her eyes, makeup and the shine on her hair. I also decided to outline her eyebrows.)

Let’s start with shading the flats! Add a clipping mask to your layer and set the layer style to multiply. The amount of layers I use differ from color to color but I tend to stick between two our four layers of shading. When you’re shading use a color that is soft but with enough contrast to your base so it doesn’t blend into it. I generally use a color with a warmer tone to shade but the you can play around with colors and tones to add different effects. 

Create a clipping mask and set the layer style to overlay or soft light to highlight certain areas with a lighter color. I tend to play around a bit with the opacity before I’m happy the results. When you’re finished with shading the flats you can start shading the base! 

It’s basically the same thought process as before, just add a clipping mask your base layer and set to multiply! Your layers should look like this: 

And that’s it! We’ve shaded everything and we’re basically done! There’s just a few more minor things to do. 

Details / Coloring the line-art 

I like coloring the line-art as it gives the graphic some extra color. To add color to your line-art just do as we did before. Make a clipping mask and color the lines, simple as that! Try to use colors that are dark enough that the line-art isn’t lost. 

I did some finale clean-up, colored the sparkles surrounding Komurasaki, added som motion filters to that, fixed the background and that’s that! We’re done! That’s how I edit and color manga-caps! I hope this helps! I might have gotten lost on a few tangents so please feel free to ask questions if you need clarification on anything💛

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 3 (Nessian)

Damnation Series

Parts 1 / 2 / 4 / 5 

_________________________________________________

~Cassian~

By the time I sneak in the apartment, it’s the middle of the night. The boxes in the corner tell me my fiancé is here, has officially moved in with me, and I take a moment to appreciate how fucking weird that feels.

I might be appreciative of all things women and have definitely earned my reputation as a player, but I’ve never had a woman live in my place.

It’s... weird.

I walk quietly through the place, passing the guest room she’s sleeping in, and into my room.

Then pause, because it turns out she’s not in the guest room.

Nesta’s sprawled in my bed, on my side, hair spilling over my pillow like liquid sunshine. The moon seems to favor her, highlighting the features I have a hard enough time avoiding looking at during the day, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as I think about how much more difficult it’s going to be to sleep now.

But I refuse to leave my own room, since this very well could be a power play, so I just walk to the attached bathroom, close the door, and sigh.

Looking in the mirror proves I look like shit, and I wonder what Nesta will think when she wakes up next to me.

She probably won’t care.

I have a feeling it takes something pretty drastic to shake that blasé attitude out of her.

After taking a cold shower to minimize the bruising, I pad across the room, grab some boxers, and slide into bed next to my blushing bride to be.

She shifts and turns onto her side, and I realize she’s stolen one of my t-shirts to sleep in. It’s ridiculously big on her, falling off her shoulders, and not nearly thick enough to hide what’s underneath.

Fucking hell.

Even asleep, I can’t ignore her.

Her smell--citrus and jasmine and vanilla--is fucking all over me, stuffing itself in my nostrils and not letting me relax.

I’ve never been this attracted to how a woman smells.

Most times, perfumes and lotions and whatever other sorcery women lather on themselves has the opposite effect, actually.

But all I can think about right now is rolling over and burying my face in her neck. Then burying a different part of me in her.

Even though I should turn over and at least try to sleep, I let myself look at her.

Her lips are slightly parted and look like they’d taste like candy, and there’s a serene, peaceful expression on her face that’s so different from the fierce one she usually wears.

She wiggles, somehow sliding closer, and murmurs, “Stop staring at me.”

I chuckle, and the simple fact that we’re laying in bed whispering to each other does strange things to my head.

Nesta apparently agrees, turning over and facing away from me. I take a moment to appreciate the sweep of her hips, and she seems to know exactly what I’m looking at when she says, “Goodnight, pervert.”

A smile threatens to bloom, so I wipe my hand across my face and smother it.

Maybe marriage won’t be so bad.

~

When I wake up, I amend my statement. Marriage definitely won’t be so bad.

I’m wrapped around around Nesta--which probably happened the instant I fell asleep--and my nose is against the soft skin of her neck, allowing me to breathe in the smell of her over and over again.

She just feels... right.

She’s relaxed against me, which is surprising, considering where my hand is.

One very numb arm is under her head as a makeshift pillow, but it’s the other one that’s interesting. It’s wrapped around her narrow waist, holding her tight to my chest and ending in the hand cupping her breast.

She’ll probably kill me the second she wakes up, but it might be worth it.

Fuck, she feels good against me.

But I realize I’m acting like the pervert she accused me of being, so I slide my hand down, towards the more neutral territory of her stomach.

I’m helpless, however, to stop myself from kissing the side of her neck softly.

She stirs, and I freeze like a red-handed thief.

But she just turns over in my arms, pressing her front to mine, and slips an arm around my waist, sighing sleepily. Her hand roams over my back, nails raising goosebumps in their wake as they softly trace over my skin.

She blinks her eyes open, takes in our tangled up position, and says simply, “Huh.”

“Yeah,” I respond like a monosyllabic idiot.

Clear blue eyes on mine, she brings her hand up to my face and lightly touches the split lip I’m sure is puffy as hell.

Fucker had a fast right hook.

“You made me a lot of money last night,” she murmurs, tapping my lip once, then twice.

“What?” I ask, too turned on and dizzy to focus on what she said.

She was there? She saw me fight?

A strange sense of male pride goes through me at that, considering I won.

“I had the bookie place a bet for me,” Nesta says, stopping that caveman train of thought in its tracks.

“How’d you know?”

I keep my fighting far away from the public’s eye, going clear across town to Lucky’s. It’s a small shipping company, and Lucky, the man who runs the place, uses some empty containers to host fights every week.

He knows who I am but doesn’t care, claiming he’s too old to be scared of some “young Mafia punk.” He also doesn’t allow cell phones or recordings, and there’s no written records of the fights.

She raises an eyebrow. “You realize Alexei owns that entire shipping yard, right?”

I had not.

“Huh,” I say, stealing her line from a minute ago. “And you bet on me? Why?”

“Call it intuition.”

I remember the way her eyes tracked over me yesterday, like there wasn’t anything she didn’t see, and I realize she knew I like to fight from the second she saw me.

“Glad I could help pad your bank account,” I tell her, smiling. “And I’m glad you make yourself at home in my absence. But just for future reference... I sleep on that side of the bed.”

She leans in, lips an inch from mine, and whispers, “Not anymore, you don’t.”

A rough smile is all the warning I give her before I pull her close and turn over, practically throwing her to the other side of the bed.

I don’t know what I expect her to do, but it sure as hell isn’t jab me in the ribs, crawl over me, and retake her original spot.

Prodding my ribs, I notice she hit me right on a pressure point. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

She grins, a challenge lighting up her bright eyes and making her look even more alive.

“Oh, malyshka,” I whisper, somehow knowing calling her a pet name will piss her off. “You’re in so much trouble.”

“Bring it, stronzo,” she shoots back, calling me an asshole in my own fucking language. Disrespectful.

I grab her wrists to try and pin her, but she’s fucking fast as an adder, slipping out from underneath me and poking me in the ribs again.

I step it up a notch, and for a few moments, we’re busy wrestling in bed.

It’s honest to God the most fun I’ve had in ages.

I’ve never met a woman who knows how to fight, much less one I can’t seem to pin. I have a hundred pounds on her, yet more than once, I’m the one struggling.

She continues pressing pressure points, some I never even knew existed, and despite the fact it sure as hell doesn’t feel good, I find myself laughing.

By the time I eventually just tackle her and press her into the mattress with my weight, I’m out of breath and can’t stop laughing at how ridiculous it is.

I grab her wrists and pin them above her head, my legs on top of hers to keep her from doing something clever like kneeing me in the balls. “Slippery little sucker, aren’t you?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she tilts her head back and laughs.

Watching that stony exterior crack might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.

She comes alive, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Her laugh is a beautiful sound, light and airy and I can’t stop myself.

I drop down and kiss her, pressing my smile to hers.

She stops laughing.

And then she sighs, and the sound is so goddamn pretty I almost can’t take it.

She pushes up on my hands, hands wanting freedom, so I release her wrists and brace myself on my elbows above her. Nesta winds her arms around me, hands delving in my hair, and kisses me back.

I try to keep my weight off her, but she’s having none of that and wraps her legs around me and pulls me down, fusing our hips together.

I press myself against her, and she arches up in response, drawing a low sound out of my throat.

Now that my hands are free, they roam through her hair, across her sides, down her thighs.

She’s so goddamn soft.

She moves against me like it’s second nature, kisses me like she can’t get enough.

And when I move to kiss a path down her throat, inhaling that intoxicating scent as I suck on her skin, she softly moans my name. I feel like I’m on fire, and her saying my name like that that does absolutely nothing to help, so I bite on the junction between her shoulder and neck in retaliation for being so addictive.

She says my name, then again, and I notice it isn’t in the same soft tone as before.

My head snaps up, gaze finding hers to try and figure out if I did something wrong.

Her lips and cheek are rosy, blonde hair a halo around her.

“I think we should wait,” she states, even though she doesn’t make a move to leave or throw me off. And I know now she definitely could.

“For what?”

Her lips twitch. “Our wedding.”

It takes me a long time to respond. “Are you a-”

“No,” she says, looking at me with a teasing look in her eyes.

“Oh.”

“I just think it’d make it better,” she reasons.

Personally, I think it’d be perfect right the hell now, but I nod like I’m not hard enough to deform the mattress I’m pressing my hips into. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she mutters back, and we spend a moment lying there, breathing each other’s air. Until, “I should probably get up, then.”

Because I suddenly know a total of one word, I just reply, “Okay.”

I roll off of her and onto my back, putting a hand over my eyes so I’m not tempted to look at her ass as she gets up and pads to the bathroom.

I listen to her shower and get ready, all the while wondering how the absolute hell I’m going to live with her, have her sleep in my bed, without actually having sex with her.

She’s tempting enough wearing fucking work clothes, but if I wake up again with her in my arms? Fuck.

I could always go to someone else, but for some strange reason, the thought of being like every other man in the Cosa Nostra and having a mistress makes me sick. Or maybe it’s the fact that in a matter of two whole days, I’ve become completely wrapped around Nesta’s finger and don’t want to hurt her like that.

The object of my obsession comes out, walking over to the closet in a towel, and I look at the ceiling in misery.

Maybe I should stay in the guest room.

~

By the time I can breathe again and have gotten over the feeling of my balls fucking falling off, Nesta’s gone. She got dressed like nothing was the matter, asked if I was going to sit on my ass all day, and told me she’d be back later tonight as she slipped out the door.

It’s still early, and I wonder for a second where she’s going, but then shrug and stop sitting around pining.

I put on a dark suit--something I only do when I have corporate shit to do--and drive further downtown to Sera. It’s my first day, and I scheduled an all-staff to meet everyone and introduce myself.

I park and walk through the bank, nodding to the teller who opens the secondary bank door and lets me in the club. People are waiting inside, which is a little strange since I’m five minutes early, but I’m not complaining.

I take in the faces I’ve spent the past couple days memorizing as people file in. The staff is interesting, to say the least. More than a few have records, and some are from places of the world I’ve never heard of.

The investors come in last, the only corporate-looking people in the room. They come up and shake my hand while the employees choose to watch me with a strange look in their eyes.

Once everyone’s inside and seated, I smile and introduce myself.

“My name is Cassian Azara. I’m the new owner of Sera, and I just wanted to come by, introduce myself, and meet you guys.” No one smiles back or says anything, but I don’t let it bother me. “The change in management won’t impact the day to day aspect too much. I like the way things are and don’t plan on changing anything, but let me know if you need anything or have suggestions.”

One woman sitting in the back speaks up, her voice clipped and irritated. “What’s the point of taking over, if you aren’t changing anything?”

I don’t really know what to say, so I ask back, “Do you have a suggestion?”

She rolls her eyes, looking pissed as hell, and pulls out her phone.

Weird.

I stop speaking to the group, and the investors make a point to shake my head again. After they’re gone, I walk around to introduce myself individually, finding the general vibe to be... definitely not welcome.

I understand it’s weird for a stranger to come in and claim they’re the boss, but I just said it shouldn’t impact their lives too much, so I don’t understand the reaction I’m getting.

Some people ignore me, some look at me with irritation, and some just get up and leave.

I turn to the bartender, one of the only ones who didn’t act like he wants to stab me with a rusty knife, as he leaves. “Is there a reason they all hate me?”

He gives me a strange look over his shoulder. “We’re all pretty fond of the previous owner.”

Alexei? These people all like Alexei?

I’ve never heard a nice word about that man, but I guess he won their loyalty over time.

Whatever. If these people like that cold bastard, they’re sure to love me.

~

What feels like a full twenty-four hours later, I walk through the door to my apartment and realize how fucking wrong I was.

The employees of Sera do not like me. I dealt with business of my own after the quick meet and greet this morning, then came back to do management stuff at six.

Immediately, I was met with complaints and broken things and inventory problems and about a million other things I don’t have to deal with at my other properties.

I’ve never met a group of people so difficult to work with.

Nesta eyes me as I come through the door, tilting her head curiously. “You look like shit.”

There’s something... interesting about her tone, but I shrug it off.

I wish I could lie and say she looks bad, too, but she somehow looks perfect and fresh as a daisy after whatever she’s done all day.

“Long day.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking at me over the top of her laptop.

“The employees at Sera, one of your dad’s old clubs, aren’t too happy with me taking over. They were a pain in the ass all day.”

Nesta looks at me for a while, something I can’t read playing in her gaze. “Huh.”

I grab a beer from the fridge and fling myself down next to her, looking over at her with my patented bedroom eyes. “You know what would make me feel so much better?” I ask, innuendo making the answer pretty obvious.

“Minet?”

My brow furrows. “I don’t know what that means.”

She sighs, getting to her feet and stretching her arms over her head in a way that makes her dress slide up her thighs. “Look it up, big boy. I’m going to bed. And before you ask, no, that isn’t an invitation.”

“Stay on your side,” I warn with a grin. “I’d hate to have to kick your ass again.”

Nesta just scoffs, taking her laptop up the stairs and disappearing into my... our room.

I look up minet, smile, and yell, “That’s exactly what I was thinking!”

She doesn’t respond, but I hear soft laughter and know she heard me.

Sighing about my lack of minet, I pull out my own computer, planning on going through some of the complaints I received tonight. But something makes me pause and remember the look on Nesta’s face when I told her about my day.

And her tone... it was amusement, I realize.

I pull up the deed and find out why.

Sera, and the building it’s hidden within, never belonged to Alexei. They were bought and built by little miss Nesta Orlov.

Interesting.

I keep digging and find out why the employees there are so loyal to her. One way or another, she saved them. All of them.

The bartender with the criminal record who struggled to find employment, the street performer who was sleeping on a park bench, the dancer who was denied a VISA until Nesta met with the governor on her behalf.

Every single employee is somehow bound to Nesta, somehow in her debt.

It’s fucking genius.

Instead of spending money to buy loyalty, she chose people who’d give it to her for the simple price of a job.

No wonder they hate me.

Maybe it’ll blow over when we announce our engagement at the party and they realize she’s still in the picture.

Although for some reason, I have the strange feeling that what happened today was just the beginning.

____________________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

[lunannex]

Character Design of Latinos 

by a Latina who is tired of y'all not doing your research.

—————

First of all, please keep in mind that I don't speak for anyone but myself. You should never stop at just one source of information, and I would honestly really advise you to listen to other Latinos —especially other Latinos of color— to hear their thoughts and perspectives as well. And second, please remember that Latino is not a race! I can't believe I even have to say this, but the term refers to anyone who is from Latin American or who has Latin American heritage or descent and should never be referenced as a race. Alright, now that that's out of the way, let's dive right into it!

—————

People don't seem to realize that Latinos can come in all shapes, colors and sizes. People like Sofia Vergara and Michael Peña shouldn't be your only source of reference when trying to figure out what you want your character to look like. As I mentioned here, Latinos are diverse not just in our cultures but also in our appearances and, contrary to popular belief, we're not a monolith of people that all look alike. Latin Americans, just like every other ethnic group, have an incredible amount of genetic diversity.

Don't believe me? Just look at all these people:

Now, what do they have in common? They're all Latinos. See how they all have different skin tones, facial structures, hair textures and body types? Yeah, they don't look the same to me.

A character's design can reflect their personality and give the audience a good idea of who they are as people. And just as whatever languages a Latino does or doesn't know shouldn't invalidate their identity, neither should their appearance.

The thing about character design when it comes to marginalized groups is that it goes hand-in-hand with all the stereotypes that are constantly perpetuated. 

Why are Afro-Latinos only portrayed as maids, nannies or drug dealers? Why are the Latinos that look like Michael Peña portrayed as violent or lazy? Why are they always the comedic relief, immigrants or people with a lower-class status? Why are the Latinas that look like Sofia Vergara and JLo portrayed as spicy and exotic mistresses? I mean, we obviously know why, but I'm just saying, if that's what you think all Latinos are like then you are in desperate need of a wake up call.

There's this huge misunderstanding of the Latino identity. The misconception that we all have the same tanned skin tone, the same facial structures, body types, hair textures, personalities, etc. when that's...really not the case. Society has taught a lot of people that if our appearances don't fit in with this unrealistic ideal they have of us, our identities are therefore invalidated. And this misconception causes Black, Indigenous and Mixed Latinos to be underrepresented or entirely dismissed in media and society in general more often than not. 

I want to add that while white Latinos' identities do get invalidated from time to time as well —I say this because one of my best friends is a white Latino but since he's, well, white, some people don't seem to believe him and just seem to think that he's joking—, it's not nearly to the same extent as the types of Latinos that I mentioned beforehand do. White Latinos still hold a lot of privilege in society despite this.

Also just an important note that you should keep in mind and take into consideration: just because a Latino is white doesn't mean that they don't or can't have features that are more frequently associated with their ethnicity.

It's alright to portray light-skinned Latinos. Like I said, we're very diverse. But you have to question your reason for making the character have that skin color. Remember, you are the creator. You're the one in control of all these decisions and if all of your characters are portrayed as light-skinned people then you really have to take a step back and reevaluate your decisions because that right there sounds a lot like colorism. 

When you say you want more Latino representation, you should be referring to all kinds of Latinos. You shouldn't just mean the ones that you and the rest of society consider acceptable. And no, it's not exactly your responsibility to create diverse characters, but if you're preaching about diversity and sitting on your high horse then I sure do hope that you're willing to actually do something about it. Performative activism is harmful and, at the end of the day, does absolutely nothing if you're not willing to put the work into it.

Additionally, don't be afraid of implementing aspects of their culture into their design. Let them be proud of their culture, let them engage in it. However! Please don't take this as an excuse to center their entire personality around their culture. You may think you're doing something when, really, you aren't. You're just feeding into all the harmful stereotypes and not making any actual effort to add real depth to your character (looking at all the people that make celebrating Día de los Muertos, eating tacos, and liking "Gasolina" and "Despacito" their character's only defining personality traits).

Personally, I would love to see more of the following:

• A thin-lipped and curly-haired Latina.

• A Latino with freckles. This one may seem strange but most of the time I just see Latinos with moles, not that there's anything wrong with that (I have a lot of them myself), but it'd be nice to see some variation.

• For a Latina to be considered beautiful without being fetishized and objectified.

• A Latino who doesn't fit the "sexy macho" stereotype to be considered desirable.

• More LGBTQ+ Latinos, especially ones who are POC.

• Black, Indigenous, Asian and Mixed Latinos.

• Disabled Latinos.

• Jewish Latinos.

• Muslim Latinos.

• Latinos with different body types.

• Soft-spoken Latinos.

• Successful Latinos who are well-off.

• Latinos who are allowed to be emotionally vulnerable.

• Latinos with complex storylines and realistic flaws.

• Latinos at the center of the story instead of just existing in the background for the sake of "diversity".

• Just more positive and diverse representation overall.

There's not enough positive portrayals out there of us, and it's exhausting having to sit back and watch as my people get portrayed so negatively. Am I saying that there's no good representation out there for us? No, there absolutely is good representation (ex. In The Heights, On My Block, One Day at a Time, Coco, Miles Morales, Luz Noceda from The Owl House, the Molina family from Julie and the Phantoms, etc.), but that doesn't take away from the fact that a lot of the representation that we have throughout all types of media is, for a lack of better word, bad.

And you can't just say, "Oh, but at least you have representation, can't you be at least a little grateful? Why are you complaining so much?" because you don't get to decide what people are and aren't allowed to be upset about. Despite the positive representation that exists out there, it tends to be overshadowed seeing as a lot of people still view us through this negative lense that they've consistently been told to believe is true when it's really not.

All types of Latinos deserve to be represented in a positive light. So make sure the character you're portraying feels like an actual person as opposed to an offensive one-dimensional caricature because sometimes having bad representation is worse than having no representation at all.

[babyloposts]

“It’s Not Safe”

OneShot

Warnings: angst, mild language, violence, references to non-con acts, unresolved ending

Pairing: Azumane Asahi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.2k+

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Head Canon: none

Summary: The only thing worse than arguing with a s/o is being ignored by one. After a big argument about the future of Y/N and Asahi’s relationship, Asahi chooses to ignore the problem instead of talking it out. As a result Y/N takes the situation into her own hands, but it comes at a cost. -in which Azumane Asahi has to make a tough decision to secure a future together-

A/N: This one made me soft. Kind of out of my comfort zone, but I hope you like it. If you like my writing send me a request or a prompt and check out my other work. Thanks guys ;)

Y/N couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t think about anything that wasn’t Asahi.

The argument they had earlier played over and over inside Y/N’s brain. Why couldn’t Asahi just be reasonable. Of course she wanted to continue their relationship after high school, but it wouldn’t be that simple.

Y/N’s choice to study abroad was not an easy one to make, but she had to follow her dreams no matter what. She just wished that Asahi wasn’t so upset when he found out.

-

“What do you mean you’re leaving? W-we just took entrance exams last week. I thought you were going to a college in Japan.”

“That was the plan originally, but I got a scholarship to study in the US. I’d be crazy if I didn’t take this opportunity.” Y/N tried to explain to a clearly hurt Asahi. He sucked at hiding his emotions even when he tried to his hardest to mask his feelings. She reached for his hand, and took it hesitantly.

“You’d be crazy for staying here with me?” He mumbled. Y/N’s head dropped to look at the ground. She couldn’t face those sad eyes. It was enough to make her want to stay.

“We can make long distance work, can’t we?” It was less of a question and more of a desperate plead. She didn’t want to lose Asahi, but Y/N had to think about her future first. Asahi dropped his hand from her grip and put some distance between them.

“I guess you’ve already made up your mind then. Don’t let me stand in your way.” Asahi brushed by her almost fast enough that Y/N couldn’t attempt to stop him.

“Asahi please. Can we talk about this more.” Tears clouded the girl’s line of vision and she clung dearly to Asahi’s strong arm. She feared letting go meant the end and she wasn’t ready for that. There was still time to work through it.

Asahi sighed. He hated himself for not being strong enough to keep Y/N. He hated himself for giving up so easily, for being such a coward. But, there was nothing more he could say.

“You don’t have to say anything else.” Asahi maneuvered his arm out of her grasp and faced her one last time. “I know you’ll do great, Y/N. I’ll always believe in you.” He gave her a gentle head pat. It was a sign of affection they used often when in public. Usually it was loving and reassuring, but to Y/N it felt solemn.

There was nothing more to do other than to watch Asahi walk away from her. Tears brimming over her eyelids and staining her cheeks. Would this really be the last time she ever saw him?

Y/N replayed earlier’s events in her mind more times than she could possibly count and each time her ducts gave in and the tears started flowing. All she wanted was to talk to Asahi so they could still be on good terms. Even if he wanted to break up she still wanted to keep in touch with him. They were best friends after all and ending a two year relationship like this... Y/N couldn’t let that happen.

She tried calling, texting nothing worked. Asahi wouldn’t pick up his phone no matter how much Y/N blew him up. She felt defeated. He didn’t want to talk to her, she thought. Even though she was discouraged, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time. She would no longer be complacent. She was going to get what she wanted without a second thought about it. She was going to the Azumane residence.

-

The street was quiet and dark. It was a bit ominous as well. Dark corners and lone street lights cast unsettling shadows onto the houses along the road. Y/N reassured herself that she was being ridiculous and was perfectly fine to walk down the street she’d been on countless times before.

The route was clear in her head, but everything always looked different at night. It seemed the surrounding area was completely different. Did she get lost somewhere along the way? Did she take a left at the street sign, when she really meant to take a right? Y/N didn’t know everything felt so foreign to her now.

As she neared a somewhat familiar street corner a shiver shot through her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at full attention. Her eyes darted all around her checking for anyone who might’ve been following her. The street was empty, but she could’ve sworn she heard someone.

“Hello?” Y/N called out into the dark street, only hearing the echo of her voice in response. She flipped her hood on and began to take off in a direction that was familiar. As she rounded the corner onto Asahi’s street a tight grip on her forearm pulled her into the darkness of an abandoned alleyway.

“Wha-!” She screamed but was quickly silenced by a hand slapping over her lips.

“Calm down girlie. We’re not gonna hurt ya.” A gruff voice rasped next to her ear. “We just need you to empty your pockets without disturbing the residents, okay?” Another man had Y/N’s hands held firmly above her head while the other kept her quiet and flashed a pocket knife in her face.

In a panic, Y/N began kicking wiggling and screaming with all of her might. She was able to get her hands free, but unfortunately wasn’t fast enough to get into the safety of someone’s house.

The muggers had recaptured Y/N just as fast as she escaped with her now pinned on the floor a knee perched on her sternum and the knife pressed against her cheek.

“Please, stop! I- I can’t breathe.” Y/N choked out.

“Do you think this is a game little girl? We could have done this the easy way, but now we’re gonna take what we want by force and have a little fun while we’re at it.” The partner agreed and took the knife to keep her in place as the man searched Y/N’s pockets.

“No! Stop!” She cried out as they began searching inside of her shirt and her leggings. Y/N prayed to any God that was listening to get her out of this situation. If only she had stayed home, she wouldn’t have come across these creeps.

“Shut up, before I cut up your pretty face.” The man holding the knife pressed it up against her cheek, breaking the skin.

“No please. I’m sorry, I have no money. Please don’t hurt me.” A hand muffled Y/N’s cries once again. She struggled as much as she could, but it was no use. All she could will herself to do was cry and wait for the suffering to be over.

As Y/N felt a calloused finger slip down her torso and closer to her legs, suddenly a great weight had fallen upon her.

“Fuck!” The man on top of her cried out. Y/N’s eyes widened and she saw the other man get knocked out beside her. She couldn’t help, but let out a scream. She stopped herself when the weight was lifted from her torso and she was raised from the ground. When her vision finally cleared she saw it. No she saw him. Asahi with a baseball bat, dragging her towards his house.

“Y/N, just keep running okay?” An exasperated voice blessed the girl’s ears. Her feet were moving on their own, she was in pure shock.

“A-Asahi?” Her voice broke out into a whimper. He looked back at Y/N only for a moment, but in that moment she could see all the anger and fear that was displayed on Asahi’s face.

“We’re almost there.” Asahi continued to drag her along until they were safely inside the walls of his home. Y/N fell to the ground as he pushed her inside and she struggled to catch her breath. What just happened?

Asahi checked the windows, closed the blinds, and locked the door before turning to her. He was panting, sweaty, and shirtless. His face was unreadable. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

“Asahi I...” she tried to find the words to say anything, but to break the tension, but her brain was empty. No words or sentence to be found.

Asahi shuddered. Without thinking twice he threw her over his shoulder and carried her up to his bedroom. Y/N was placed softly on the plush comforter of Asahi’s bed. She watched him as he let out the deepest of sighs before stepping out of the bedroom and down the hall.

He returned in about a minute with a damp wash cloth that he pressed to her cheek. His face was so close to hers. In just the few hours that they’d been apart, Y/N had already grown to miss his face. Without thinking she reached out and grazed her fingers lightly along his jaw. Asahi shuddered and pulled away quickly.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide and her lips parted slightly. “Asahi... I-I’m sorry-”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Asahi’s gaze fell to her shoes that were stained with mud.

“I wanted to see you.”

“In the middle of the night?” His voice rose slightly, but no malice was laced in his tone.

���I don’t like how we ended things Asahi. We need to talk.” For what felt like the millionth time today, Y/N’s eyes began to water.

Asahi sighed. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to be having at least not right now. “Y/N... right now I’m just worried about you being safe.” He pressed the cold rag back to her face. “Are you... okay?” Obviously she wasn’t okay. She had just gone through something traumatic, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

All Y/N did was shake her head. With that Asahi wrapped his arms around her and it was his turn to let some tears spill. “Did they touch you?” He choked out.

“N-no.” Y/N whispered. “Not like, that.” Asahi held her close to him. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, but he had to talk eventually and if he didn’t do it now, he wouldn’t know when he’d get the courage to do so. He let go of Y/N’s torso and looked into her eyes.

Y/N could see a plethora of emotion in his hazel irises. He was sad, scared, angry, serious, loving all mixed in one. The intensity of his gaze terrified and comforted her at once.

“You can’t... you can’t do that. Why would you scare me like that Y/N?”

“I just wanted to talk to you. I was so sad about earlier and-”

“It’s not safe! It’s not safe for you to be walking around late at night in this neighborhood. You’re too frail and you’re lucky I was out on a run. What if I wasn’t there? They could have seriously hurt you, or killed you, or-”

“I know. I know, but you were ignoring me.” She whimpered. Being lectured by him was worse than she could have ever imagined, but even so at least she knew he cared. At least he was being honest and not shutting her out like before.

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you, but talking to you... seeing you and knowing that I can’t have you hurt me. And I can’t stand to hear you say you don’t want to be with me anymore.” Asahi averted his eyes from her gaze. His new found courage quickly dissipated after his confession. “Never mind. It’s dumb. I’m dumb.”

“No. Baby you’re not dumb. Of course I want to be with you. I love you and I just wanted you to talk to me. This is all I’ve wanted the whole time.” Y/N grabbed Asahi’s face in her hands. Their eyes were fixated on each other’s gaze, not breaking the contact for even a second. The couple had never felt closer than they are now.

Still Asahi had that twinge of fear in the bottom of his gut. “I’m not ready.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N’s head cocked to the side and her gaze softened.

“I’m not ready to talk about you leaving it still hurts too much. Can we just wait til the morning?” Asahi knew that wasn’t what she wanted, but he was going to allow himself to be selfish for once. He always put her needs above his own, but this time, she’d wait for him.

Asahi’s eyes were pleading and she could do nothing but nod her head. “Sure. We’ll talk in the morning.” Asahi’s forehead rested against hers as the two embraced. Asahi picked Y/N up by her waist and laid her down on the bed. He pulled the oversized sweatshirt he gave her over her head and pulled off her shoes and her tattered leggings leaving her in just a tank top and panties.

“Thanks.” She whispered. She crawled underneath the sheets taking a deep breath. It was the first time since before their argument that she had felt any sort of relaxation or comfort.

“I’m going to go shower really quick.”

“No stay with me.” Y/N grabbed his hand as quickly as she could pulling him back down to the bed.

“But, I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care. I’ll change your sheets in the morning, just please don’t leave me Asahi.” He nodded and kicked off his sweatpants. He slipped in next to Y/N and wrapped his arms around her. The two were comfortable in their embrace and she relaxed in the warmth of his body.

“Tomorrow.” Y/N whispered soundly.

“Tomorrow.” Asahi agreed.