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thecheshireprincess · 3 days ago

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The Game Itself

Chapter V: Paint Swatches, A New Pal, and Your First Party

A Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) AU Series

Content Warning: Flirting with someone you don't like (at all) to get something you want, use of alcohol, mentions of drugs, a small portion of time where Reader receives attention she might not want (dub con, but not explicitly sexual), canon-typical violence, killing, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of vomiting, mentions/memories of an abusive father, curse words

Previous Chapter The Game Itself Masterlist

Newcomers arrive to The Beach in droves every single day, finally driving the once peaceful resort to become the raucous utopia Hatter had in mind from the beginning. Parties rage on, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the beat, alcohol and drugs of their choice surging through their veins. The new citizens of The Beach were quickly becoming a living embodiment of the cliche 'Seize the Day'. All of it felt strange to you, too much liveliness and exuberance in a world so forlorn. You were trying to keep an open mind; maybe these people really did need the hope and promise that Hatter was offering them in the form of your new home. They certainly seemed to hang onto every word that dribbled out of his cocky mouth.

It has been three days since your Six of Spades game; the injuries you and Aguni had sustained mercifully granted you some time off from playing. In the back of your mind, you knew that if it had not been for Aguni, you would have been thrown right back into the snake pit the next night fighting for the next card in Hatter's collection. Not to mention your life.

You'd spent the first two days mostly sleeping and eating, Chishiya an obvious constant at your side. In the small amount of time that you were actually awake, you helped Chishiya carve out a hiding place in the wall behind an ugly abstract painting in the bathroom. One place where the cameras were not. It was the perfect location to stow your pistols and whatever other crazy gadgets Chishiya came up with. The man was always tinkering with random pieces of junk he found lying around. This thought made you roll your eyes affectionately, but you were truly happy for him that he had a hobby of his own.

Yesterday you had felt much stronger, so you spent some time leisurely wandering the resort looking for inspiration for your renovation project while Chishiya performed a few Executive errands. You had just been lucky not to run into your brother or his newest lacky while meandering alone - something he had explicitly warned against. Annoyingly.

Today looked like it would be more of the same, Chishiya being called away to perform Executive duties early in the morning. You were being excused from them for now to give your body and mind time to heal, but at this point you kind of wished you weren't. In your friend's absence, you were truly alone. You wouldn't typically mind being alone for a little while. It was kind of enjoyable even, to have the house to yourself and dance around to blaring music and stuff your face with chips. But being left alone with your thoughts was decidedly not a very good thing for you right now. You still felt that strange darkness bubbling and brewing, threatening to take you over completely. You had hoped that some space from playing the games would make that disappear back into the deep abyss of your soul, but you were wrong.

Rage simmered under your skin that Niragi was avoiding you; that he was a completely different person since coming to this world. You hadn't even seen him in days. Did he even care about how you were doing? The same man who had for years completely lost his mind over every little cut or fever that plagued you hadn't visited you once even after witnessing you dripping blood all over the conference room floor. And he'd called you an idiot. If you didn't know any better, you'd say his behavior was not unlike that of someone else you knew, but honestly you didn't think you could handle thinking like that of Niragi. He couldn't ever become him.

Compounding your anger was your best friend; the one person who rarely, if ever, made you upset. Why had Chishiya given you the pistol from your first game? What did he mean by "be ready to use it"? What did he understand that you didn't? Neither you nor Chishiya had brought up whatever had obviously happened between the two men during their first game together, but there was definitely tension that hadn't been there before.

This made your heart clench tightly in your chest; Chishiya would never do anything to defy or hurt Niragi, you knew that. Your brother had basically raised both of you, Chishiya's father being an absent father at best. So it must have been Niragi. What could he have said or done to change the dynamic of their relationship so quickly? The longer you sat in your bed with these thoughts swirling around you, the more you felt you were about to be swallowed whole by them.

You desperately needed a fun distraction.

You weren't particularly interested in any of The Beach's main happenings, the majority of the citizens spending their days getting drunk, high, or having sex constantly. You were, however, intent on getting started on your renovation project. Who knew how long you would really have here to be able to re-decorate? You wanted to be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor for as long as possible. You'd be back in a game arena tomorrow night, you never knew if it could be your last.

While you were resting, you'd decided on some paint colors for the main lobby and some of the hallways, knowing that even just brightening up the walls would make a big difference in the vibes around here. In order to get the things you needed, you'd have to get permission to leave the resort premises. That unfortunately meant talking to Hatter, and probably being a little bit persuasive with him.

Allowing the doors the carved mahogany wardrobe to swing open, you select a flirty blush colored bikini covered with fluffy faux rose details and a sheer, loose fitting white cover up. You smile - this little number should be enough to get you what you want. You quickly run a brush haphazardly through your hair, trying to ignore the burning pain of your still partially unhealed shoulder. You wish you'd allowed Chishiya to do your hair for you earlier before he'd left, but you had still been half asleep and too cranky. You quickly twist your hair up into cute space buns, securing them with clear elastics.

Taking a look once more in the mirror, you check out your stitches finally starting to heal. You were surprised that in only three days, the traumatized skin had healed enough to keep the bandages off the majority of the time. No one seemed to have an answer for how time was flowing in this "country", but you knew it wasn't the same as you've always known.

Satisfied with your appearance, you work your way down the brightly lit hall to the executive suite. Hatter should still be in his room at this time, hopefully not yet completely drunk or high. Nodding politely but authoritatively to the two shirtless and proudly muscular men standing guard outside the door, you enter. Perks of being an Executive, you suppose? It had taken Hatter only a day or two to find those large guys, convince them that he was right about everything, and get them to pledge to "live AND die for him if necessary". You had wanted to roll your eyes at this soliloquy, but you can't really blame the man for being charismatic; plus it had worked.

The aforementioned man is sitting on a plush green and gold couch with a lady perched on either side of him. Though it's definitely only mid-morning at this point, a drink sloshes in his always wildly gesticulating hand, ice clinking noisily against the sides of the glass. You feel awkward sitting across from the group as the girls continue their exploration of the man sitting between them as though you weren't there at all. Though you tried to remain composed, you knew your face was shining a crimson color in secondhand embarrassment.

"Our Princess graces us with her presence! And what can I do for you, pretty little thing?" He preens, flirting with you unabashedly. A somewhat unspoken rule of being at The Beach is that once you're here, you only leave to play games or if you're assigned an errand. Death to the traitors. To get what you want, you'll have to flirt back, no matter how gross it makes you feel. That's what you're here in your skimpiest bikini for. Just add it to the list of games you're playing. You still enjoy playing games, right?

You put your prettiest puppy dog eyes on, batting your eyelashes at Hatter as he flirts. Pushing down the urge to vomit, knowing you shouldn't be doing this. "It's good to see you again," you gush, "The Beach has been kind to you, you look amazing. Happy." The man throws his head back in a boisterous laugh, saying your actual name for the first time ever.

"You are a little minx, aren't you?" He asks, eyes shining like the glass of liquor in his hand. "It's no wonder that your brother is so protective," he hums. You simply smile and bat your eyelashes again in innocence, left hand twisting the earring in your ear absentmindedly. "I suppose you probably aren't here just to flirt with me, but if you are, I can make them go away," he winks, speaking about the ladies on either side of him as if they weren't literally right there.

You giggle, "Since you so graciously offered me so much time to rest and recover, I was able to come up with a lot of really great ideas for The Beach renovation. I was hoping to have your permission to go out and look for some things that I need to get started."

Hatter clicks his tongue, sitting up to look at you over the top of his aviators, "I see. Well this is my kingdom and I do want it to be "good vibes" as you've mentioned before. Plus, in this utopia, the idea is for everyone to have something that brings them hope. I'm getting the sense that for you, this project might just be that source." You blink in surprise at this revelation, you really hadn't thought of it that way. He was sort of right. You didn't think someone like Hatter would be able to read you like that. Interesting.

The man breaks you from you reverie, "Niragi has made it clear that lives will be ruined if anything happens to you, so I'll have to request an escort. I can't just let you wander the city alone."

You stifle the urge to roll your eyes at your brother's nonsense - quietly dictating your every move in this place but treating you as though you'd caught the plague. Irritation prickles under your skin - you can't seem to figure out the rules to Niragi's game. His bullshit is just a game too, right? It was the only explanation. You're all still good people, as long as you're just playing a game.

Niragi is still a good person.

While you were lost again in your twisted and confusing thoughts about your brother, Hatter had slammed his drink on the messy coffee table separating the two of you and stood to his feet. He was walking away from you, towards the bathroom, leaving the two girls looking bewildered and incensed. Meeting adjourned, you guessed.

"Be ready to go in the lobby in thirty minutes!" he booms in his always way too loud voice, calling back over his shoulder.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Wind tousles your hair and gently kisses your skin as you cruise down the highway with Hatter himself. The fresh air felt amazing, refreshing your senses after being cooped up inside a dusty hotel for so many days. The breeze inspired you further, you'd have to find a way to make the resort feel more like a breath of fresh air than a grimy prison. Hatter had insisted on being the one to bring you to Shibuya in search of your items, and you certainly couldn't argue with the "King" of The Beach. Somehow, you didn't think Niragi would be terribly pleased by this fact, but at least you weren't causing trouble for him. He had told you not to make Hatter mad, not to necessarily avoid him completely. Chishiya on the other hand would probably be furious with your little escapade, flouncing around in a tiny bikini and using your attractiveness to get what you want from a dangerous man. Maybe he'd even be a little jealous? That particular thought lit your entire core on fire.

What those two don't know won't hurt them. Besides, they're keeping secrets from you too.

Time to focus. You knew you wanted to paint the lobby a seafoamy shade of blue-green to mirror the ocean and make the space more inviting. Since there was no actual ocean surrounding The Beach, you'd have to bring it to the resort yourself in your decorating choices. You'd love to get your hands on the filthy carpet too, excited that there was probably gorgeous wood flooring hiding underneath. For that magnitude of a project, you'd need a lot more manpower on your side. You briefly wonder if Hatter would allow you to recruit citizens for your project. Perhaps you'd have to look for another flirty bikini for that question.

Does it feel a little irrelevant to be hunting down paint and papasan chairs for a hotel while you're constantly in a state of fighting for your life? Of course it does. But you also can't deny that it's helping you feel a tiny bit lighter, to forget the problems you're having and your concerns about staying alive in general. Hatter had been right earlier, the idea of accomplishing this project did give you a rush of hope.

The two of you find a brightly colored paint store that has remained relatively untouched over the course of time that people have been here. Of course, because who would need paint in a world like this? Just someone silly like you, attempting to carry light into the darkness surrounding you. You scoff at yourself again, opening the door and hearing the cheerful chime that used to signal the arrival of a customer to the employees on duty.

You approach the wall of paint swatches, targeting the section right between blue and green. This task isn't as simple as it would have been if the lights were on, now having to use what little sunlight filtered into the shop to compare colors. You heard yourself sigh once more, whether in exasperation with the lack of light or with yourself for making Hatter do this with you, you don't know.

"It isn't stupid, you know," Hatter begins in his sing-song tone, following a few paces behind you as you work, "to want to feel something normal. To want to control something in a world filled with things you can't." You blink slowly, shocked by him for a second time this morning.

"How did you . . . ?" Looking at the man with widened eyes, holding the two samples you've narrowed it down to.

"I can see it in your eyes, you're conflicted. It's okay to want a distraction from it all - that's what The Beach is all about!" He states, plucking the card from your right hand to hold it in front of him, indicating that was the one he liked more. Your mouth drops open a tiny bit, surprised. Had your first impression of this man been entirely wrong?

"Thank you, Hatter," you whisper quietly, actually grateful to him for encouraging you that it was okay to want this. He smiles at you gently, an ACTUAL smile, not the fake charismatic one he usually uses. He speaks your name lowly, "In a setting like this, you can call me Takeru." You smile back, nodding, taking the paint sample he's chosen back.

You slip behind the dusty desk to where the paint is stored, searching for the color Hatter had chosen, but your mind suddenly felt very far away. Is it possible that the Hatter you thought you knew was just a persona? A way for Takeru to survive in this deadly place and maybe even protect his friend? It was not unlike the game you played every time you entered a game area. Not unlike the game you played to convince him to bring you shopping.

Maybe, just maybe . . . Takeru wasn't so bad after all.

After putting the cans of paint in the car, you continue down the street to the furniture store that you knew should have the exact pieces you had in mind for curating the perfect beachy hangout spot in the lobby. As you walk, you suddenly find a surge of bravery, "what was your life like before you came here?" The man grinned a lazy grin, lighting up his face in way that made him seem almost friendly instead of menacing. This was the true Takeru.

The man told you about how he ran a successful club called The Beach, the original namesake for his newest project, before settling in to take over his late father's hat shop. He laughed loudly, recounting all of his and Aguni's old stories. The two of them were thick as thieves. Brothers, even. Several of his stories make you laugh along with him, reminding you a lot of the two people you loved the most too.

Suddenly, a flash from the other night appears in your mind.

You carelessly flick the bloodied Six of Spades card to land in front of Hatter on the cheap wooden conference table. You felt irritation pulsing in your veins seeing his greedy grin as he stares at the card as though you hadn't just dragged Aguni dripping blood into the space.

Hatter had literally ignored his best friend and you that night, despite blood actively flowing from both of you. He was too far deep in his obsession with the cards in that moment, a crazed look in his eyes that you'd never forget. That man - completely different from the one standing in front of you, reminiscing about the good times he'd had with Aguni in the other world.

Your mind began to race, wondering if this place and the stress and the power were going to Hatter's head. If the game he had entered this place with the intention of playing had gone too far, and was driving him crazy. Could that same thing happen to Niragi, if his behavior was indeed just another game? Could it happen to you? Chishiya? You felt your body go clammy and you stopped laughing along. If Hatter noticed your shift in demeanor, he chose not to say anything.

Just how far could you push before you lost your own game?

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Covered head to toe in splotches of paint, roller soaked with color wielded in hand - this was your element. The lobby was coming along beautifully, the color already drying in some areas exactly as you'd imagined. It gave you a pang of nostalgia, the familar scent of home ghosting your senses. You had begged Niragi to let you paint the living room a similar shade, desperate to bring a taste of the coast home with you permanently.

Though you'd only been to the beach once in your life, when you were very young, it was one of the only happy memories you had of your father. A piece of your history that actually kept you safe, warming you from the inside out. Where most memories of your father left empty, bleeding holes in your chest, this one filled you with joy, calmness.

You could just about hear Niragi's voice describing the details, curled up with you under the covers. The aftermath. No longer was there loud shouting echoing the halls, the sound of leather against skin had all but dissolved. When all the bad was said and done, it was your brother's soft voice that remained. Promising that things would be okay, if you just held onto those good thoughts a little longer.

The spray of the ocean tickling your skin, blue waves lapping gently at your feet. The funny scream of the seagulls flapping overhead, waiting for a child to drop a fry so they can feast. The gritty sand making its way between your toes, grounding you into this Earth. The serene feeling of freedom, of wholeness that being there brought you. You could almost feel all of it.

Things will be okay if you just hold onto those good thoughts. Niragi will be okay.

You wondered briefly if the color of The Beach's lobby would do anything for your brother. If it would transport him home, or make him think of the same shared memory you were having.

Breaking from these thoughts to continue your task, you climb up the tall metal ladder Aguni had found for you earlier, beginning to roll the paint onto the next section of wall. You start to lose yourself again in the hypnotizing sound of the roller against the wall when someone approaches from behind you.

"Oh! I've always wanted to try painting! You're doing such a good job in here. Can I help?" A kind, but unfamiliar voice calls to you from below. You smile a little bit, looking down to find a tall girl with dreads in a cute blue floral bikini. She is adorable.

You set the roller down in the paint tray and climb down, wiping your hands on your oversized t-shirt in the process. "Of course you can help. I need all the help I can get! What's your name?"

"Kuina," she tells you excitedly, "it's really nice to meet you." You tell her your name in turn, shaking her hand in greeting. Her excitement is contagious, and you get the feeling that you'll be really fast friends.

With Kuina's help, the walls of the lobby have their first and second coat of paint in no time. The two of you move on to rearranging the new furniture you and Hatter had brought back with you, chattering like old besties the entire time. You had had Hatter's hunky guards move the old, dusty chairs and couches out by the dumpsters before you started painting - not that they'd ever make their way to a landfill - the less obstacles in here the better.

The new sand colored wicker furniture really brightened up the space, creating a fun little nook for people to hang out in the air conditioning if they wanted to. There were a couple more final details you felt were needed to really pull the look together, but you were really pleased with the progress for one day. Your vision had been realized, AND you'd made a new friend.

It would be good for you to not rely so heavily on Niragi and Chishiya.

"Do you want to get lunch together?" you ask the girl cautiously, as if overstepping. She nods her head enthusiastically, agreeing to meet you by the pool after getting cleaned up and changing.

"So how long have you been here?" the girl asks through a bite - well, slurp - of instant noodles. It was a great perk that food was easy to come by at The Beach, though meals were still far from gourmet. You briefly wonder if there's anything that can be done about that.

Left hand coming to twist the earring in your ear once again, you consider the question for a beat. "My best friend and I have been at The Beach for five days now, I think? But here in this world for eleven?" you say questioningly, trying to do the mental calculation. How had time passed by so quickly? You furrow your brow in concern.

Kuina nods thoughtfully, "time moves weirdly here, I've noticed too. I've been in this place for about a week myself, but just got to The Beach last night." She takes the cap off of her water bottle, "I came back with a bored blonde guy and an angry looking one with a gun - do you know them?" You nearly spit out the juice you'd taken a swig of while she was talking, wanting to laugh at the very accurate description of the two people you cared about most.

You raise your eyebrow, stirring the beans? on your plate, trying not to burst out laughing. "So you've met both my best friend AND my brother," you smirk, "lucky you! And yet you still came seeking my friendship, I'm honored." The girl smacks you playfully with her towel and you yelp mockingly, placing a hand on your chest in faux offense.

"You're definitely better than them," she laughs, "not only are they boring, but I also don't think they will let me do makeovers on them." You laugh at this, but pretend to think about it; stroking your chin thoughtfully.

"I probably wouldn't mess with my brother, but we could probably convince Chishiya to try a little bit of eyeliner!" Both of you dissolve into a fit of giggles, your lunches left forgotten on the plastic beach chairs.

With a friend like Kuina, things in this strange land might not be so bad after all.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

You were looking forward to a quiet night with your best friend; he was finally being allowed a rare night off after clearing a Nine of Diamonds yesterday. The same game that had brought Kuina to The Beach.

He had been gone all day. You hadn't initially noticed, thankfully, because of the shopping excursion, painting, and meeting Kuina - you had done a pretty good job of keeping yourself distracted AND out of trouble. Once you saw him again when it was time for the evening Executive meeting, you realized how much you'd missed him.

You squirm in your chair at the board table in the conference room, right leg bouncing in anticipation. Your eyes begin to stray from Hatter to your surroundings - Niragi to your left, leaning with his head on the back of his chair, rolling his eyes in disbelief; Chishiya to your right, also looking, well, bored. The room was still as ugly as ever, you'd really need to prioritize it after the lobby renovation was complete. Hatter was back to being facetious, pompous, and damn boring. Couldn't this meeting have been an email?

Kuzuryu, Mira, and Ann were given their assignments for the games tonight, everyone else taking the night off. After several more minutes of tedious reminders, Hatter finally dismisses the meeting, and you spring up out of your chair with renewed energy. You latch onto Chishiya's arm, "let's get dinner and catch up, okay?" You ask excitedly, "I missed you today."

Chishiya's eyes flick up briefly to something - someone - behind you, but quickly back to your face. When you look back, no one is there. "I have some stuff to take care of tonight. You'll have to occupy yourself," he deadpans, removing your hand from his arm and walking quickly out of the conference room before you can even pick your jaw up off the floor. What the fuck was that about?

Not for the first time in this stupid country, you feel like you've been punched in the gut. You hadn't expected Niragi to change, of course not. And yet, he had. You were on your way to accepting that. But Chishiya? Chishiya ALWAYS took your side. Was always there. Was always yours.

And now? Now you don't know. Don't understand where his head is at. What could he possibly "need to take care of" that he couldn't tell you about? Your mind briefly flickers back to the pistol hidden behind the painting in your room, your stomach churning as usual. Your gut told you it had something to do with Niragi, that he was probably the person who'd been behind you before. Something to do with why their relationship was so strained right now. You know that you cannot go back to your own room, that you can't sit alone with these feelings all night. Numbly, you allow your feet to lead you to the only other place you know you can go - Kuina.

Your new friend excitedly lets you in the door, face falling a little bit when she notices your bad mood. Without saying a word, she opens her arms to offer a hug, and you melt gratefully into her arms. The hug comforts you so much that your resolve breaks down and you spill your guts; telling her about the men in your life acting weird. You decide against telling her all the details, as you still don't know what kind of game these two idiots are playing, and you don't want to ruin whatever it is if it ends up being life or death.

"I don't know, Kuina. Both of them are just acting weird, and I really don't know what to do with it," you say dejectedly. Kuina looks at you sadly for a minute, obviously unsure of what to say. She'd never been in a position like this.

Then suddenly, a twinkle of mischief pops into her eyes as an idea appears.

"Let's get dressed up and party! Everyone else is enjoying the pool and dancing, we should too!" She runs into her bathroom, bringing out her tackle box filled with makeup.

She lifts an eyebrow, "priorities, right?" You laugh a little now, realizing you hadn't even seen makeup in over a week. It could be fun to see how the rest of The Beach citizens live, after all. Do as the Romans do, right? You nod in agreement, allowing her to sit you down on her bed to do your makeup. You had discussed makeovers earlier by the pool, why not get started now?.

"You're going to wear a red bikini tonight," she decides for you, "if you don't have one, we're going to find you one. It will help you feel better." You chuckle, not knowing how a red bikini would make you feel better, but you decide to trust the process. You do, in fact, have a red bikini to wear. Kuina smacks you for laughing, "stop moving! I'm trying to do your cat eye!" You have to fight the urge to giggle again. You had really been missing out on having a best girlfriend.

The girl is efficient, but amazing. When she hands you a mirror to check yourself out, you gasp in awe. Your eyes sparkle brightly, no longer showcasing how tired you were. Your face shape was contoured and highlighted immaculately, it really took your breath away. Any previous gripes that you'd had with the way you looked disappeared because of Kuina's makeover. She needed to give you lessons.

She sees your eyes starting to tear up in joy, "no! Your mascara isn't waterproof! There will be no crying tonight." You're smiling again, grateful to have found a friend like her in a place like this. She takes this moment to run a curling iron through your hair, creating perfect beach waves "for the perfect beach princess" she mocked. You groan, Hatter's nickname for you obviously not staying very private. Once Kuina is satisfied with your appearance and hers, you link arms and walk to your room to change into your red bikini. Finally ready for your first beach party.

The party is already bumping, more people than you've ever seen at The Beach before are out swaying to the music and shouting in joy. Everyone is having a great time. You stare down at the liquor sitting in front of you, sparkling in the light like it was laughing at you. It wasn't as though you hadn't had alcohol before - Niragi had allowed it on a few occasions in recent years. But never shots of straight liquor. A flash of the old Niragi enters your head as if he was your conscience trying to tell you it's a bad idea.

But that version of your brother is seemingly non-existent. Replaced with a person who won't even look at you, and likely gets all of his information through your so-called best friend who ALSO wasn't vibing with him. For that reason alone, you take the first shot. And then the next. And the next. And so on until you've drunk your way through the rainbow and feel yourself being tugged by Kuina to the dance floor.

You faintly recognize the song as being something popular back in the other world, though it mostly just sounded loud. Kuina took both of your hands, spinning you around and around with her as you both found your rhythm. You could barely breathe with how hard the two of you were giggling, a mixture of the liquor burning through your veins and the jubilent atmosphere infecting you.

You stay like that with Kuina for a few songs, jumping and screaming the wrong lyrics, and laughing like you weren't stuck living in a place that forced you to face your mortality nearly every night. Maybe the citizens of The Beach weren't so stupid after all. The longer you dance, the fuzzier your surroundings become. The alcohol is starting to take over your system and you love the feeling of freedom it's affording you.

After a while, you feel a pair of hands grasp onto your hips, guiding your movements slightly as you continue your movements. You were suddenly too drunk and starting to spin out of control, so you couldn't even turn around to find out. The majority of your brain was telling you it was fine, just play along with this too. You were just dancing with someone, right?

Kuina had become preoccupied too, dancing with a girl you'd seen earlier tanning by the pool. The music was pounding deliciously through your body, lights flashing around you. For the first time in maybe forever, you felt totally free. Free from the concerns about Niragi, free from worrying about whatever was going on between you and Chishiya, free from worrying about your potentially imminent death.

You couldn't be bothered in this moment, letting this feeling wash over you entirely. All was well until the person dancing with you got a little too aggressive. A little too handsy. A little too pushy. It was one thing to dance innocently with a stranger, but another thing entirely for that stranger to be suddenly sucking on your neck.

"Wanna get out of here?" his gravelly, unfamiliar voice asks you, already starting to lead you towards the building. Your stomach turns, you really shouldn't have let Kuina talk you into the rainbow shots. You open your mouth to tell him no, to tell him to get lost. You just wanted to dance, nothing more. The words don't come out, and he takes that silence as agreement. No.

The man that you still haven't had the courage to look up at clamps onto your upper arm and guides you forcefully away from the dance floor. The ground spins dangerously under you, threatening to come closer to your face with every passing moment. You've lost sight of Kuina in the throng of bodies, all still moving collectively to the way too loud music. Not a single person noticing that something was amiss around them.

"Steady there, sweetheart. Let's get you out of here," he purrs, doing nothing to settle your stomach or the nerves that have lit on fire within you. You can just barely hear the chatter of the crowd through your pulse pounding in your ears. The fuzziness is growing stronger and you know that you have lost all control. You do not like this part of drinking.

Before you know it, you're being pushed up against the brick wall of the hallway just inside the resort's doors, caged between the stranger's arms. You try pushing your arm against his chest, to push him away from you half-heartedly. Unfortunately, he seems to like that. Your brain feels too foggy to actually fight back, and you know immediately that this guy isn't someone you recognize. A new arrival.

His hot breath hits your face as he brings his closer to yours, noses nearly grazing. You want to get away, letting out a squeak of protest. You're going to be sick.

"I don't believe silence is consent," a monotone voice rings out from down the hall. Chishiya. Your glassy eyes find his blonde hair, and he isn't alone. Your eyes are too blurry, too filled with tears and drunkenness to make out who the other person is, but you have a feeling you know anyway based on the way tension fills the hallway. Chishiya walks closer to the man, saying your name softly. He reaches a hand to you, "come." You jump at the chance, pushing away from the man who is now too scared to even look at you again, arms raised in the air.

Chishiya's arms wrap around you just as your vision finally goes black.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Cold, tiled floor. That is what you felt as your mind started to wake. The next thing? A throbbing, fully radiating headache. You groan, rolling over onto your back with your eyes still squeezed shut tight. Why the hell had you let Kuina talk you into partying anyway? Stupid. You don't escape your problems like that without paying a cost, and here it was. It didn't take a genius to realize that you'd probably been sick as a dog all night.

A hand reaches out to brush some stringy hair from your face, "good morning, Koko." Ah. So you weren't alone on the freezing bathroom floor.

You wince hearing his voice, though he had spoken softly. You still want to be mad at him for ditching you last night. "Oh, so you actually want to be my friend today?" You scoff, "it's your fault I'm hungover anyway."

You can hear the smirk in your friend's voice as he shifts closer to you, "is it, darling? And how is that?" He brushes his fingers through your hair, coaxing you to lean into his touch, though still slightly unwillingly. You can feel his gaze studying you, even without opening your eyes.

You simply sigh, crossing your arms over your chest but making no move to get off the bathroom floor, or answer Chishiya's question. Crabby.

He breathes out through his nose gently, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow, teasing, "were you trying to make me jealous, Koko?" Your eyes fly open in surprise, the bright light immediately agitating your headache. You groan loudly and cover your face with your hands. You pause for a moment. Had you been trying to make Chishiya jealous last night? Maybe a little bit.

"Did it work?" You query hesitantly through your hands, too sick and slightly embarrassed to move your hands.

The blonde hums thoughtfully, still toying with a piece of your hair. You feel him lay down next to you again, arm propping his head up and still studying you, "When I saw you caged between that man's arms I wanted to kill him." He sighs, "I was so afraid for you, and yes. I was certainly jealous until I noticed that you were wasted."

Guy? You remember taking shots with Kuina and getting out on the dancefloor, but everything after that was pretty fuzzy. Your memory of last night not very good. "What happened?" you ask hesitantly, not exactly sure you want to know the answer.

"You'll have to talk to Kuina to get most of the story, but when I walked in, he was already trying to drag you to his room. I pulled you away from him and got you back up here before you threw up on yourself," he chuckles a little bit near the end. You smack him on the arm for laughing at your expense. So much for the sexy red bikini, then.

"Thanks for that," you say sarcastically, though taking his hand and squeezing it. You rack your brain for a moment, trying to remember exactly who you'd been dancing with. "Who was it?" you finally ask.

Chishiya clicks his tongue and looks away for a minute. Great, something he doesn't want to tell you. "He was one of the new militants, just arrived to The Beach yesterday. I don't think he knew who you were yet. . ." Chishiya trails off in thought. Your heart starts beating faster, knocking against your ribcage unpleasantly.

"What do you mean, WAS?" you ask in instant panic, suddenly having a flicker of memory from last night.

Chishiya walks closer to the man, saying your name softly. He reaches a hand to you, "come." You jump at the chance, pushing away from the man who is now too scared to even look at you again. Your blurry eyes flicker from his frightened countenance to the pissed off one behind him. You knew the second face, but the look on it was not something you had seen in your lifetime. If you hadn't been beyond wasted, you'd have been terrified too.

Niragi had been the second person in the hallway when Chishiya showed up. Niragi had looked at the man with a murderous gaze. Your eyes search your friend's, "he didn't. . ."

Chishiya didn't respond but pulled you immediately into his chest, shushing you, "It's what had to be done." He doesn't need to say anything else, you know he's finally done it.

Your brother murdered someone for touching you.

Your stomach turns violently, forcing you to push Chishiya away and throw yourself back towards the toilet. With absolutely nothing left in your system, you're left dry heaving with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. This is the worst.

Chishiya sits up, pulling your hair out of your face and stroking your back. "Easy, darling. You're going to hurt yourself," he coos. Gulping for air and allowing the tears to flow loudly, you lay your forehead against the cool porcelain; eventually sinking back to the floor in despair. Could Niragi still be redeemed from something so heinous?

Chishiya allows you to ground yourself against the cool floor, hanging onto the front of his jacket like a lifeline, crying and blubbering nonsensically about everything that had been happening with Niragi, and whatever was going on with their relationship. In true Chishiya fashion, he doesn't say a word. Just hums in agreement, shushing and stroking your back to help you to relax. For all of your complaints about your best friend, you were grateful that he could continuously see you at your worst and still want to be around you. Eventually you succumb to how tired your body was, obviously not sleeping well last night from the hangover wracking your body.

As you feel yourself being carried into the room and tucked into bed for actual sleep, your friend speaks again when he's pretty sure you're already in dreamland, "don't give up on him yet, Koko. Just keep playing the game, and we'll be home soon enough."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Previous Chapter

The Game Itself Masterlist

The Game Itself Tag List: @moonchild323232 @princesskatxo @lovelygias @carlgrimesfuturegf @audiiix @maxinehufflepuffprincess @aeristocrats @unhinged-sorcerer @potato-vagina @kimsrie @mocchii-writes

Please don't hesitate to let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) the tag list! I hope you guys are loving this story as much as I am loving writing it! 💕 My messages and asks are always open, please reach out ily ✨️❤️

#aib #alice in borderland #fanfiction #ima wa no kuni no alice #aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #niragi aib #suguru niragi #niragi alice in borderland #the game itself #aib niragi #niragi suguru #niragi #chishiya x you #chishiya aib #shuntaro chishiya

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simplygojo · 2 days ago

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Friend-Of-A-Friend ── Chapter One

author's note ⸺ Hello all! This is a teaser chapter for a series I've been cooking up, just wanting to put it out here while I work on a few requests. :) pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader summary ⸺ You met Gojo in university through your roommate, and while the two of you became the closest of friends, his other best friend, Suguru Geto, was always just a mutual acquaintance. After graduation, life pulled you all in different directions, with only the occasional reunion keeping you connected. But when Geto unexpectedly reaches out asking to catch up, your mind can't help but wander... content ⸺ platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, reader uses female pronouns, this is an 18+ series - mdni divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

series masterlist ୨୧ simplygojo masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

You met Satoru Gojo because he briefly dated your roommate. Three weeks, to be exact.

It wasn’t a particularly serious relationship—Gojo wasn’t exactly the “serious relationship” type back then—but somehow, when it ended, he didn’t just disappear from your life like most fleeting university romances did.

Instead, he stuck around, not as someone’s boyfriend but as a chaotic, ever-present force in your friend group.

He was simply too much fun to let go, and despite his ex moving on, Gojo embedded himself in your daily routine as if he had always belonged there.

The two of you clicked almost instantly.

Perhaps it was his boundless energy, the way he could make even the most mundane of tasks feel like an adventure. Or maybe it was because you, unlike many others, had no problem challenging him, calling him out when he was being insufferable—which was often.

Either way, within a matter of months, you and Gojo were practically inseparable.

Your late nights turned into study sessions that lasted until dawn.

Over time, those sessions gained a third member: Suguru Geto, Gojo’s quieter, more composed friend. Compared to you and Gojo, anyone would seem reserved, but Geto had an air of serenity that balanced out Gojo’s manic energy.

He wasn’t just one of Gojo’s best friends; he became an integral part of your routine.

While Gojo would get distracted and try to rope you into some absurd conversation about the merits of sunglasses indoors, Geto would be the one actually ensuring the group got any work done.

He was thoughtful in small ways—like bringing you both coffee before an early lecture (though Gojo always insisted on lemonade because, in his own words, “coffee is for old people”).

You liked Geto. He was nice. But you never really got to know him beyond the surface. He was there, a presence woven into the fabric of your university life, but you never considered him more than a friend-of-a-friend.

Then, university ended.

You landed your first real corporate job in the city, trading the carefree nature of student life for morning commutes and office politics.

Gojo, despite his initial complaints about you ‘leaving him behind,’ ended up securing a job in HR somewhere in the rural south—how he managed that, you’d never know. The details remained murky—he provided no real explanation, only a steady stream of texts detailing his ongoing struggles with adulthood.

And of course, every now and then, the three of you—Gojo, Geto, and you—would reunite for drinks or sushi, laughing about your university days as if they weren’t already slipping into nostalgia.

But despite the occasional meetups, your dynamic with Geto remained unchanged.

You were friendly, sure, but you were just mutual friends.

Every conversation was held in Gojo’s orbit, every interaction buffered by his larger-than-life presence. You had never hung out with Geto alone, or even had a conversation. There was simply no reason to.

That’s why the message caught you off guard.

It was late, the soft glow of your phone illuminated your darkened bedroom. A new message popped up, not from Gojo, but from Geto.

Geto: Hey, are you still working in the city?

You blinked at the screen.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you and Geto had texted one-on-one. Maybe a few years ago? Maybe never? And yet, here he was, reaching out.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, heart beating just a little faster than it should.

You: …Yeah. Why?

Geto: If I remember correctly…I just started working in your area.

Your brows furrowed as you reread his message. Geto? Working in the city? That was unexpected.

You had always assumed he’d followed a path similar to Gojo’s—something a little off the beaten track, something unconventional.

To be honest, if you thought about it, you didn’t really know where Geto went after you all graduated.

'He could have been in the city the whole time and you wouldn't have known.'

You: Oh, that's nice! It’s a pretty good area—what are you doing?

The three little dots appeared, then vanished. After a few moments, they appeared again.

Geto: Doing some accounting for a Nonprofit. Community outreach stuff. It’s pretty decent.

That sounded about right. You could picture it—Geto, with that steady, composed demeanor, seamlessly fitting into a role like that. He’d always had a way of making people feel heard, like whatever they were saying actually mattered. It made sense.

You: That does sound decent. Way more noble than my corporate grind, lol.

You expected that to be the end of it. A polite exchange, nothing more. But then—

*Geto Liked Your Message* Geto: You free this week? Would be nice to catch up. :)

The casual phrasing didn’t match the unfamiliar weight in your chest.

Your stomach twisted in something that wasn’t quite nerves, wasn’t quite excitement either. You stared at the screen, rereading the words, trying to remember a time Geto had ever asked to see you alone.

He hadn’t. Not once.

It wasn’t like you had anything against Geto. Quite the opposite, actually. If you were being honest, you had always thought he was attractive. How could you not?

Even back in university, when you spent most of your time sparring with Gojo over nonsense, you had still noticed Geto.

He was the kind of person who didn’t need to be loud to command attention.

While Gojo filled a room with sheer force of personality, Geto had an effortless gravity to him—sharp eyes that always seemed like they knew something you didn’t, an easy smirk that hinted at amusement even when he barely spoke.

And he was—annoyingly—good at everything. Studying? He aced it. Debating? He never raised his voice, but somehow, he always won.

He was the only one who could rein Gojo in with just a single look, a quiet “Satoru” spoken in that low, measured tone of his.

You had noticed all of it.

But noticing him wasn’t the same as knowing him.

And when it came down to it, Geto had never really been your friend—and you don’t mean that in a rude way.

He had been Gojo’s best friend. A presence you had gotten used to that was conditional to Gojo’s presence, but not one you had ever gotten close to.

So why now?

You: Yeah, I think I could be..

You paused before sending the next message.

You: Should I invite Gojo?

There were a few minutes of hesitation before his reply came through.

Geto: He isn’t in the city, might as well not force him to commute.

You stared at his response, reading between the lines.

He wasn’t saying no outright. But it also wasn’t a yes. And for some reason, that felt significant.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a dozen different responses flitting through your mind. You could leave it there, let the conversation fizzle out naturally. It wasn’t like you and Geto had ever been close—this was already unusual enough.

But instead, you found yourself typing back faster than you expected

You: Fair point. Where are you thinking?

His reply came quicker this time.

Geto: I know a place. I’ll send you the details later this week.

Simple. Straightforward. Like this was just a casual meetup between old acquaintances. Like it wasn’t strange that, after all these years, he was reaching out to you specifically.

You exhaled, setting your phone down on the nightstand and staring up at the ceiling. The city buzzed softly outside your window, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

But as you turned off your phone and settled into bed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, Geto was stepping out of Gojo’s shadow.

And he was looking directly at you.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The soft light of early morning filtered through the blinds, the city streets already bustling with their usual noise.

The sound of your alarm dragging you from sleep felt abrupt, too sudden, as though your body wasn’t quite ready to let go of the peaceful weight of the night.

You groaned, stretching and blinking into the darkness of your bedroom. Another day of emails, meetings, and the familiar grind of corporate life—the rat race, if you will.

The message Geto had sent you last night flashed in your mind.."You free this week? Would be nice to catch up. :)"

You could almost hear his calm, measured tone in your head. The quiet rhythm of his speech that always made you feel like whatever he was saying was worth listening to.

You stared at the screen for a long moment before closing the app and tossing the phone back down.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything special today. You had a million things to think about—your morning routine, that proposal you needed to finish, the quarterly meeting you’d been dreading for weeks.

Yet, for some reason, his message had settled into your mind like a loose thread that wouldn’t stop unraveling.

You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling your work clothes from the closet with the same practiced motions you had done a thousand times before. But today, as you stood in front of the mirror, brushing your hair and debating whether or not to wear something a little more polished than usual, you caught yourself.

You hadn’t done this in ages. You hadn’t even thought about what you’d wear in advance, or how you’d look.

‘Get a grip,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It’s not like he works in your building—or that I even care what he thinks…’

Geto hadn’t reached out in years, and yet now, here he was, pulling you from your routine with nothing more than a few words on a screen.

You exhaled and ran a hand through your hair, pushing any butterflies back down into your stomach, because as all the finance bros say..the grind never stops.

As you gathered your things for the day—grabbing your coffee, slipping on your coat—you found yourself checking your phone again, more out of habit than anything else.

No new messages.

You shook your head as you pulled open your apartment door, stepping into the cold, gray morning. The bustling sounds of the city greeted you, but your mind kept drifting back to Geto.

The way he’d worded his invitation. The odd shift in his tone.

You told yourself you’d just focus on work today, push this all to the back of your mind. But it didn’t quite feel like you could.

You walked to the subway, lost in thought, wondering if maybe you were reading too much into it.

You had always assumed that, between the two of them, you and Geto would always just… be friends of Gojo. An afterthought.

‘I’m sure he just wants to catch up, it has been a while…and I guess we did spend a lot of time studying together’

But as the subway doors slid shut and you pressed your earphones in, blocking out the noise around you, one thought lingered in your mind like an unanswered question.

Why now?

a/n: hi all, this is a new series I am thinking of continuing...please let me know if you liked it!! I'd love to ehar your thoughts <3 ty for reading

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quillcraftconquer · 2 days ago

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Simon X Reader

(K9 Series, from reader perspective)

TW: mentions of animal death, Abuse, emotional Distress/Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Violence, Sexism.

_______________________________________________________

Another dog trotted past the window—a spaniel, I think—its tail wagging like a banner as it practically dragged its owner along.

Panzer had never been one for leashes. The one time I tried, he gnawed through it in minutes. Despite his wild streak, he never strayed far. He slept curled between my legs, his head resting on my thigh, always close, always mine.

Or at least, he used to.

My lips thinned as I leaned my head against the cool glass of the hotel lobby window. Simon had still been asleep when I woke. I’d taken his keys, packed up my things, and loaded the car before making my way downstairs.

The lobby had been bustling earlier, but now, with breakfast service over, it had emptied out. I considered grabbing something to eat—until I caught sight of the ground breakfast meat. My stomach twisted.

The first meal they gave me after I was captured was meat. I had already taken a few bites before I noticed the familiar tan fur clinging to it.

I haven’t touched it since. I can’t.

I checked my watch again. Our flight was in a few hours, and Simon was still nowhere in sight. I couldn’t blame him. If I could sleep that soundly, I would have.

I wanted to ask him how he did it.

Price had let me read his file. I knew what he’d been through—how Roba had used him, broken him. I knew about his home life, his father, how his mother and brother were killed.

And yet, somehow, he slept.

I never could. Restless nights drove me to rooms with locking doors—Price’s office, the bathrooms, even a supply closet. Something about having the power to keep them out made sleep come easier.

The memory of Simon’s face when the door clicked shut flickered through my mind. I wanted to open it again, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. I wanted to say, Surely, you understand.

But maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he was stronger than me. Maybe he didn’t need a locked door.

Sleep had been just another thing Panzer helped me with. His presence was a comfort—always watching, always guarding.

Before I could dwell on it, Simon rounded the corner. His phone was clenched in his hand, duffel bag in the other, his jaw tight, anger flickering in his eyes.

He wasn’t wearing his mask.

I didn’t know why he wore it in the first place, and I knew my confusion showed. Johnny had noticed once, chuckling as he toyed with a tangle of wiring.

“Nothing special underneath there. You get used to it,” he’d said.

Lately, that seemed to be everyone’s answer. The base psychologist. Johnny. Even Gaz, after I flinched at his touch.

You’ll get used to it. It’ll get better. It takes time.

But what if I didn’t?

What if no amount of time could fix the year and a half I’d lost? What if I never got used to it? What if, ten years from now, I still missed Panzer just as much?

Would that be okay?

I wanted someone to tell me it would. That it was okay if it never got better. That I didn’t have to move on, or heal, or let go.

That I could just be, and that would be enough.

Simon scooped up the keys from the table, letting out a relieved sigh as he sank into the booth.

“Thought you left,” he mumbled, head tilting back against the seat.

His words caught me off guard, though they shouldn’t have. Maybe it was the way he said it.

I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t have left. I wanted to ask Why would I? Where would I even go? But the thoughts tangled in my head, stuck somewhere between my mind and my mouth. Every time I opened it, nothing came out. It was like my body had made the decision for me—Don’t say it. Just let it go.

I hated that. I hated that silence had become second nature. That it always felt easier to swallow things down than to let them out.

Simon shifted beside me, head rolling to the side until his gaze met mine. He didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

There were things I wanted to ask—questions that had been sitting on my tongue for weeks, maybe longer. About him. About the mask. About how he could just close his eyes and sleep while my mind never let me.

But I couldn’t form the words.

So I did the only thing I could.

I lifted a finger to my cheek, tapping it lightly. A quiet gesture, but it was enough.

Simon’s brows pulled together in confusion. His gaze flicked between my face and my hand like he wasn’t sure what I was getting at.

I hesitated, then reached out, gently tapping his cheek. The contact was brief, barely there, but his eyes sharpened with recognition.

“In the bag,” he said after a moment. “Can’t wear it through the terminal.”

That was it. No further explanation.

I missed Johnny’s ramblings, the way he could fill a room with words without needing anyone else to speak. I missed Gaz’s patience. I missed the space Price gave me—no questions, no pressure, just the offer of room to breathe.

I leaned my head back against the window as I watched the world move beyond it. People passed in a blur—couples dragging suitcases, parents corralling restless children, business travelers walking with purpose. Lives moving forward, unburdened.

I envied them.

Minutes passed, maybe more, before Simon finally spoke.

“We need to go.”

I didn’t move right away, lingering in the moment, as if staying just a little longer might change something. But it didn’t.

With a quiet exhale, I pushed myself upright and followed him out.

The car ride to the airport was as silent as the first time. The plane ride even more so. No conversation, no questions, just the steady hum of the engine and the occasional shift of Simon in his seat. I stared out the window, watching the world stretch out below, shrinking into something distant.

By the time we landed and made our way back to base, Price was waiting for us.

He stood near the entrance, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his stance stiff with displeasure.

Not at me.

At Simon.

Price didn’t say a word as he turned on his heel and led us inside. The walk to his office felt longer than it was, the echo of our boots against the floor filling the silence..

Simon stepped inside, and Price gestured towards the chair next to the door.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I did. Price shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, but it did nothing to block the sound.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He asked. “Putting your hands on a superior officer?”

Simon's answer was calm. “He had it coming.”

Price exhaled sharply, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“They call her K9, Price. You know why?”

There was a long pause.

Simon’s voice dropped lower, more bitter now. “They don’t call her K9 because of the goddamn dog, Price. They call her K9 because they think she’s a bitch. That’s how they see her. That’s how they treat her. I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it was some dumbass joke, some stupid fucking reference, but now I know.” His voice rose angrily. “I know what they really mean. And I’m not just gonna let them walk all over her.”

There was a long pause.

Price finally spoke, his voice hard again. “She didn’t need you to fight for her, Simon.”

“I’m not fighting for her,” Simon shot back, “I’m just not standing by and letting them treat her like shit.

“If you think you know best,” Price said, his tone almost resigned, “then fine. You want to take responsibility for her? Congratulations. You’ll be the one to bring her along on the next mission. You’ll train with her, run missions with her—everything. She’s your responsibility now, Simon.”

Finally, the door to the office creaked open. Simon’s frustration was palpable as he stalked out, his brow furrowed in irritation. Without a word, I grabbed my bag and followed him into the barracks.

Johnny was in the middle of tossing a small ball in the air when he spotted us. His grin was wide, eyes lighting up.

“Welcome back, K9.”

Simon whirled around, voice sharp. “Don’t call her that.”

Johnny blinked, his smile faltering in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I said so. Pick a different damn callsign if you want to call her something.”

Johnny didn’t miss a beat. “Hushpuppy.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed, and he growled low, “No.”

I couldn’t help it—my lips twitched into a small smile as Johnny winked at me, his focus returning to the ball as he sent it spinning in the air.

Tags: (Sorry if I missed you!)

@skeletonsucker, @trulovekay, @enfppuff, @cqerrz

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hongjoongspoetry · 1 day ago

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Thank you so much Esther!! 😭🩷🤧 *Hands you some tissues* I'm so happy you liked bad boy!jongho (especially knowing that he's your bias), he has easily become one of my favorite characters to write now and I'll definitely do more of him in the future!

God the idea of knowing your soulmate and who they are and knowing that in the eyes of the public, and perhaps yours as well, that they’re a bad person, someone others don’t like or have a negative viewpoint of must be hard. Especially if you still cannot help the feelings you have for them when you’re around them even when they behave badly or something. Sounds like such a hard situation to be in and our precious MC is going through just that😭😭

Definitely! Imagine you are fated to someone who is more or less a "bad" person, like what does one do in that situation? Ngl, I wished to dive deeper into that but considering it would go past our word limit for the event I wouldn't do it justice 😭 But I'm still happy you caught onto the indication of what our MC was dealing with!

Although can I say I’m living for bad boy!Jongho, it just does something for me like yes boy be a menace to society🤩 also I totally did not giggle at his introduction where he’s sitting behind his desk as MC questions him on accepting the invitation in her name🙈

This scene was actually inspired from his screen time in Crazy Form (where he's sitting in an office (?) with a gun and shit), all dressed up and looking expensive. I just had to include it, and also his charm! Despite being a menace, he still has girls swooning for him *cough* secretary Eunji *cough*.

JgsuvhccvugcdsuhadbcjadhvfaeibhfbkjaeC he’s so in love with her and she hasn’t noticed it yet😭😩 like he keeps dropping hints throughout the one shot with very subtle ways he’s acting and unfortunately our dear MC only thinks he’s acting that way because of the contract🥲

THE FUNNIEST THING IS WHEN YOU REALIZE HE KNOWS THEY ARE SOULMATE THIS ENTIRE TIME AND ISN'T EVEN ACTING- Like the man wants you, contract or no contract 😭🤭 Ugh, I love writing men who are simps and idk about you, but I feel like Jongho is the type of guy who would treat his partner to everything. I'm talking about spoiling them to the maaaaax.

I enjoyed so much the way you wrote her Mina, it was so nice to see a bit more of a firecracker of a character, like she doesn’t fully take most of his bullshit while also having moments where we see her worry or the conflicting feelings of you know being with your soulmate but also being in a contract where you’re fake dating each other. I can’t really blame her for accepting the contact because I’d probably done the same if I saw the payment whilst also hoping that perhaps this would bring us even closer as soulmates for it to click naturally.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I think, at least for me, the biggest challenge is to write interesting MCs that aren't these typical I-take-no-crap characters. Becuase, in my opinion, those are the easiest to write. So, there's a moment where I always stop and wonder if my MCs are different or if they are just the same character in different universes lmao. It's' also something I want to get better at as I'm writing. To make my MCs different Shy, reserved, scared, introverts or extroverts, talkative, rude, mean, etc. I feel like in my series Puzzle Pieces, I'm way better at making the MCs diverse (obviously no one knows as only Mingi's story is out, but you will see when the time comes😭) And as for this MC, she was 100% right in signing that contract because it was a looooot of money they offered. It's even better when you realize that the two agents (who came with the contract) knew she was Jongho's soulmate and went to her on purpose with that sum of money 😭

I think some of my favorite moments are when you allow us to read how it all affects the, like the idea that thinking/speaking bad about your soulmate causes the bond to burn/hurt you is actually so cool! Don’t think I’ve ever seen that before in a soulmate au and I liked it so much because the idea that Jongho who seems to enjoy “tormenting” her also gets hurt and it quiet possibly being moments where he feels the need to leave to get some time alone, perhaps to even reflect if he went to far or not, just makes me feel things😩

OH!!! I love this! I'm a complete addict when it comes to soulmate aus. They are my favorite fanfic genre to read so best believe ive consumed a good amount of them 😭 And it is as you're saying, not many writers incorporate the soul in soulmate, at least not up to my standard. Yes, the characters are destined to be together, but what else is there to the soulmate connection? What makes them connected and in what way? That's why I decided, for Jongho and this MC, to have that type of bond, where they can kind of feel each other's emotions. Ugh, Esther I love the way your mind works because you literally catch onto everything I'm trying to convey with my writing! Yes, Jongho definitely went out for a smoke (in the middle of the charity event) to calm down after his childish behaviour and yes, him going from teasing to distant in seconds is also his way of trying to collect his thoughts and not feel too much of MC emotions. (It makes me wanna smash my head in knowing that they feel each other's emotions when they are being lovey-dovey, like in the ending scene)

I just adore all the small details you added in which Jongho comforts her, like the hand gently caressing hers, his hand on her hip as he guides her through the overwhelming crowd, even when he tries to stop Ms.Kang and her quiet rude questions🥺 [...] My reaction to Jongho giving her his jacket once she found him outside smoking. Like hello? I love it so much. Just the idea of Jongho covering you with his jacket so you won’t freeze your ass off! When’s it my turn?🧐

Jongho tries to be a bad boy so hard but at the end of the day, he's just a huge softie beneath that hard exterior especially when it comes to the MC. I will never let the "give-them-your-jacket-trope" die! It's the epitome of gentleman behaviour and I need it added in every piece of literature I write lmao 😭 It also further strengthens the image of Jongho not being a "bad" person.

Nah I would never get on a motorcycle ever like you are so right for calling them a death trap, I do not trust them at all!! And that’s coming from someone who’s grown up with both her parents driving said death traps😭 not Jongho laughing at her for being scared and holding on tight to him😭😭 also please I love their bantering so much, the way you wrote Jongho teasing her so often is so good I enjoyed it so much💓

That's criminal. I love motorcycles and I'm even planning on getting a license + bike when I have the money for it (plus I have to wait until I'm 24 but that's another thing lmao). Okay, but your parents are so cool, first your dad plays electric (I believe they were electric) guitars and now I find out both of your parents RIDE MOTORCYCLES??!!?!? So cool😭🌟I feel like its such a Jongho thing to-do, he definitely made the motorcycle go a lil too fast for her to cling onto him AHAHAHH I can just see his menacing smile, like look at these:

menace one menace two menace three

God this whole part after they got of the motorcycle is so beautifully written, the description and the way you wrote the dialogue just did it for me. Truly wonderful and such a delight to read.

THANK YOU AGAIN, omg you are spoiling me 🥹🥹 It's so nice to hear this though, because I really put a lot of effort into that whole last scene. I wanted the readers to really feel their emotions and vulnerability through the screen, especially Jongho's. For a guy who’d always been seen as tough and unapproachable, changing wasn’t going to be easy. But with the MC — his soulmate — there, I feel like he understood that she wouldn't judge him and he just decided to bet on it, be vulnerable and get his feelings hurt or be vulnerable and go home with the love of his life, you know?

You should have heard the noise I made when I read that part and everything that followed🫣 BUT YES HES CONFESSING FIRST🥰❤️ also my poor girlie getting to hear that while she thinks she’s been good at hiding it all Jongho has known since forever that they’re soulmates😩😭

HAHAHAHAHAHAH, I wish we got a live reaction to it (istg that mountain cat meme never makes me not laugh) AND YES HES CONFESSING FIRST, as I said previously, it's Jongho giving their relationship his all or nothing.

Those two lines and everything that followed after that was the like cherry on top as an ending for this story. Ughhhh the way they melt into each other, the kisses, just everything😚🤌💓 in fact I think I re-read the last part from them arriving at the beach like five times because I enjoyed it so much before I reblogged this amazing piece of work.

YOU READ IT FIVE TIMES?!??! 🫨😧🥹 THATS THE BEST THING IVE HEARD ALL DAY THANK YOU!! 🩷😭 I really don't know how to convey my gratitude beside saying thank you! Your words, this whole reblog, has really brightened my day (the meme reactions have aslo been highly appreciated, 10/10 laughs)

The tension, both realizing they want more than what they currently got because of the contract, both deciding to break the contract and start dating fully instead, the way you’ve written it all is so full of life and feels so pure in a way. Like I can’t help but feel that both in a way felt like this contract was the only way to be close with their soulmate while also both hating the contract wanting it to be real and then finally it reaches to the point where they confess💕😩

YES! BUT NEITHER WANTS TO GO AGAINST THE RULES (ESPECIALLY NOT THE MC) AND ARE JUST HOPING FOR SOMETHING TO CHANGE SO THEY CAN DATE-DATE!

Mina, truly thank you for writing and sharing this beautiful piece of work you’ve created. I could go on and on about all the little details you’ve added which gives so much life and depth but I’ve been rambling for a while now.

Oh, Esther, I should be thanking you for taking the time out of your day to read and reblog this fic with all of your thoughts! It really means a lot and it's been so fun to read your thought-process, especially when we share the same opinions and "theories" about the characters 🩷😭

Words can’t really describe how much I’ve enjoyed reading this story and I just think your passion and creativity is such a blessing to be allowed to read!

Yeah, no, you are going to make me cry. I'm going to write this down and keep it in my wallet to remember whenever im feeling sad or not finding the motivation to write 🥹🤧 Thank you once again Esther, you are a diamond and the sweetest atiny I know, and I'm so happy I can be your friend

Pretend You Love Me | Choi Jongho

🥂 Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other’s names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you’re stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho’s tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

🥂 Pairing(s): Badboy!Jongho x Student!Reader

🥂 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, fake dating AU, fluff, humour

🥂 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), the MC goes by the lastname Jeong, Jongho is a rich kid, the MC not so, Jongho smokes and rides a motorcycle, light alcohol consumption, a lot of teasing, pet names (pretty girl, soulmate, sweetheart & Jjong), probably incorrect portrayal of CEOs and charity events (bare with me, i'm just a girl), some kissing

🥂 Wordcount: 9.0K

🥂 Author's Note: Click the image for a higher resolution (Tumblr, I hate you). This is my first time ever writing for Jongho and also the fastest I’ve finished a fic — just 4 days, to be exact! It was a lot of fun playing around with the soulmate idea and turning Jongho into a bad-boy-ish character. I hope you all enjoy the second fic of the Cherry Blossom March Event and feel brave enough to share your thoughts with me! I'm really curious to hear what you think and have to say :3

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard Event taglist

To go out with people widely. It could mean all sorts of things. A person whose presence spreads widely. Someone who possesses the ability to form broad connections and reach far with their impact, whether it be through influence, relationships or personal qualities. To go out with people widely was the meaning behind the chosen hanja of the name Choi Jongho. The same name that was imprinted on your wrist since birth in black and reminded you daily of your other half. Everyone was born with a name on their wrist that assigned them to a soulmate the moment they entered the world. All you had to go by was the names on your wrists and hope it would be someone sane. Everyone didn’t have to worry about that though as some faced a fate worse than death — their soulmate mark written in white. It symbolized the death of their significant other. One would think the word would change into red, like anger and blood, but no. You liked to think the white represented innocence, cleanliness and new beginnings, almost like an angel.

Your soulmate mark was the same since you were welcomed to the world. Wailing loudly and alerting everyone of your arrival. It hadn’t changed over the course of your twenty-five years long life, for better or for worse. Ever since you could remember, you loved listening to the stories of how people met their soulmates. At family gatherings, you would sit on the knee of your relatives and ask them kindly to retell the moment they met their husbands or wives, but your favorite story was always your parents'.

It was a few days before New Years and both of your parents just recently turned eighteen. The biggest snowfall of the year graced Seoul, like a late Christmas miracle, and the streets were swarmed with people enjoying the freezing weather, young and old alike. Your parents hadn’t known each other by then. They lived in the same neighbourhood, but weren’t aware of just how close they were to their soulmates. Your mother, young and happy, gazed up at the snowflakes being pulled by gravity when something cold and hard struck her, followed by horrified gasps. She crouched down, cradling her head, gently pressing against the side where the snowball had hit. A few seconds later, a young man approached her, apologizing and bowing so deeply that he nearly toppled over. It was your father who had launched the snowball at his friend, misaiming and hitting your mother instead.

Little you hoped to experience a romantic encounter with your soulmate as your parents did. You would stay up way past your bedtime and fantasize of meeting your soulmate, coming up with various scenarios that changed every night, but nothing could prepare you for the surge of emotions when your eyes locked. It was your first day of high school and all of the first year students were gathered in the gymnasium, patiently waiting for the principal to call out their names and their respective classes. You sat in the fifth row on the seventh seat, hands clutching the hem of your blue plaid skirt. It was nerve wracking — starting high school, meeting new people and creating friends. Then there was the possibility of finding the one. The principal cleared his throat, probably getting dried from pronouncing all the names right after each other. You pitied him, but that sentiment flew out the window as he moved onto your class. Out of all the three hundred first years and out of your thirty classmates, one of them was named—

“Choi Jongho!” You burst into his office, letting the door bounce off the wall.

The secretary, frantically chasing after you with desperate pleas not to disturb the designated successor of Choi Clothes, stood in the doorway, her face twisted in a mix of fear and nervousness as she failed at her job. Successor, my ass. That man didn’t know anything beyond smoking a pack of Marlboros a day, dodging his responsibilities, and defying his parents. The man in question was currently sitting behind his desk, one ankle propped on his knee, fully decked out in Valentino — a black suit that was probably bespoke, tailored to his fitting. His hair, a natural shade of dark cocoa, was parted down the middle and showcased his forehead while his hands were decorated with various pieces of jewelry, starting with big fat rings on his fingers, a golden watch and a matching bracelet. Jongho didn’t look the least phased by your appearance nor by the loud entrance. In fact, he looked as monotone as ever, but you saw the brief twitch of his fingers. While he was at the company, he wasn’t allowed to take a smoke until lunch or after work and it sure was getting to him.

“Miss Jeong,” came the annoying voice of his secretary as she began reciting the script drilled into her mind from her first day on the clock. “Mr. Choi’s schedule is fully booked this afternoon and he does not have the time to discuss–”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as you zeroed in on Jongho and raised a brow, silently challenging him to do something. On cue, the stone cold expression morphed into sunlight seeping through an array of thunderous clouds as he broke out in a charming smile and averted his attention to the woman behind you still going on about rules and policies. Gentle as a breeze and with a faux sweetness to his words, he cut her off.

“It’s alright, Eunij. I called her over to plan our date for the evening. We won’t be long, I promise.”

To really secure the win, Jongho flashed her his significant gummy smile that looked sweeter than sugar itself. Jongho knew he was good looking, you knew he was good looking, everyone knew he was good looking, but what they didn’t know was that he used it to his advantage for years. He would flash them a smile warm enough to melt through ice and cheesing eyes that portrayed the sweetest chocolate in the world, but his mouth wasn’t just good for a handsome distraction. More often than not, Jongho would sweet talk his way out of situations. It worked nine out of ten times. The one time it didn’t work was on you.

As expected, Eunji blushed beneath his attentive gaze and your insides turned on fire. The swirls of his name on your skin burned hotter than a blowtorch and no ice bath would save you from the stinging pain. She threw you one last look before closing the door with a gentle click that could barely be heard in the silent room. Being left alone in the solitude of his office and away from the prying eyes of his father’s employees, Jongho allowed the sugary facade to slip like cotton candy dissolving at a brief contact with water. The round eyes of a teddy didn’t find you, but rather a pair belonging to a hungry bear who’s just had his territory disturbed.

Jongho clasped his fingers together and leaned on the mahogany desk, putting his whole weight on it. “I take it you didn’t come here to give me chocolates for White Day?”

Hadn’t you known Jongho for a decade or so, you’d be confused at the teasing remark coming from a man looking anything but in the mood for playing around. You ignored the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and got straight to the point, hoping it would calm the beautiful creatures pushing you to the brink of puking.

“Why did you agree to attend the charity event on my behalf?”

“Because you’re my girlfriend?”

“Fake-girlfriend,” you corrected him and crossed your arms. “I can’t just change my life to accommodate yours, Jongho, this wasn’t the deal. The contract explicitly said we would be under a fake guise until your name was cleared of rumours and scandals.”

“And how do you think that would happen if we don’t play the part of a happy couple? I can’t go on my own, that tells them I’m more available than ever before, especially when we recently went public with the relationship.”

You yielded under his intense gaze and changed the direction of your attention on the shelf to your left displaying various brands of alcohol ranging from pricey Japanese whiskey to Italian wine. The inside of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you contemplated your answer. He had a point, but you didn’t want to boost his already hugemongous ego. Darting your tongue out to lick at your dry lips, you turned back and found his eyes still staring into the depths of your soul as if searching for the red string that tied you together.

“Just… Just ask me next time before you make a decision on your own, okay? That’s all I want.”

The need to defy everyone and everything danced through his veins, yet the rewarding feeling of succeeding to annoy the other party wasn’t as satisfying when you were on the receiving end this time. He flexed his jaw and the hand that slipped beneath the table to rest on his thigh clenched into a tight fist.

“Fine…”

“Thank you.”

That marked the end of your conversation and you took it as your cue to leave. Jongho’s voice calling out your name brought you to a stop. You didn’t let go of your hold on the doorknob, just turned slightly to show him you were listening.

“We’ll pick you up at six PM on Friday and I’ll have Eunji send you the clothes before then.” As if having the ability to read your mind, he quickly added what felt like the most obvious thing in the world. “And yes, the dress is long sleeved.”

That was probably the sole good thing with the contract, besides the paycheck that sold you in the first place. You weren’t picky with the arrangement and went along with everything stated in the agreement — going on a few dates for publicity, holding hands, kissing, posting each other on social media, attending events and galas. Wearing clothes created by Choi Clothes came with the duty of fake-dating the heir of said agency, however you did make it clear you’d only sign the papers if all the clothes were long sleeved, reaching well over your wrist as not to disclose the soulmate mark. The easy money you once thought you’d earn by fake-dating the successor of Choi Clothes turned into a full-time job with no room for slacking off. Just a few more months, you thought and walked out of Choi Enterprises.

It was still hard to wrap your head around everything. You recalled the day they came knocking on your door. A woman and man dressed in expensive clothes that seemed to cost more than the will your parents set aside for you. They introduced themselves as the managers of Mr. and Mrs. Choi, the owners of Choi Clothes. The ice tea you poured in the prettiest set of china you owned were left untouched as the managers — the names you have long since forgotten — explained their unexpected visit. The Chois selected you as the perfect candidate for their little stunt to ensure their son wouldn’t put the entire family line at shame and burn the whole establishment to the ground before he could even acquire the title as CEO.

Your task was, more or less, to be the candy glued to Jongho’s side and together play the part of a couple head over heels for each other. The pair was patient as you bombarded them with questions, meanwhile they only had three — Do you have a soulmate, have you met your soulmate and how is your criminal record? The quiet voice in the back of your mind pointed out how they probably already had the answers, but didn’t want to seem totally uninterested in you.

At first, you didn’t want to do it. Not only were you going to play pretend for a good few months, but you weren’t even allowed to know who you were going to fake-date as they didn’t want you to decline the offer and run your mouth to a newspaper publisher. The fountain pen with gold swirling engravings on its sides looked scary as it lay abandoned beside the pristine contract. That quickly changed when you saw the never ending zeroes slothed after the word ‘total salary’. Your morning shift at the closest seven-eleven that was about to start in thirty minutes flashed before your eyes and you never signed something as fast as you did that contract.

Perhaps you would’ve said no if you knew the heir was going to be none else than your soulmate. The universe worked in miraculous ways and somehow always made sure to lead you back to him. A magnetic pull that steered you in every direction until you would stand before him again.

The weekend came around and so did the event taking place that Saturday afternoon. It would be marked as your second public outing as a couple feeding into the eager eyes and cameras of South Korea. Mr. Oh, Jongho’s designated driver, pulled up in a squeaky clean limousine that looked more out of place than a kitten raised by a group of squirrel monkeys in the Amazon rainforest. Mr. Oh was a kind older man inching closer and closer to his retirement, always wearing a smile and never speaking without referring to others by their titles. In the few and brief encounters you had with the man, he would always greet you with a ‘Hello, Ms. Jeong’ while opening the rear door for you despite being told to just call you by your name. The backseat was already occupied by Jongho sitting in yet another expensive suit.

The suit jacket was black with white tiger-like stripes erupting from his shoulders and reaching all the way down to his midsection. It had six silver buttons, two for practical use while the rest were there for embellishment. Jongho — never one keen on showing too much — chose to keep the jacket buttoned and you wondered how he could endure it, considering he wore a white turtleneck beneath. The pattern wasn’t what caught the eye of the beholder, rather it was the millions of bedazzles covering the whole piece, making it reflect beneath any form of light, identical to the ones on your dress. His hair was styled in a middle part and unveiled his forehead, a sight you had seen a dozen times before, but were still left breathless. It was already established that Jongho was a handsome man, however the suits created by his parents certainly brought out the best of him — accentuating his confidence, breathtaking features and magnetic presence in a way that left everyone in awe.

Jongho brought you back to reality as he did a rundown of the charity event, what questions to expect and what answers to give, the names of some important people you would definitely speak — or at least greet — with tonight and who would exit the limousine first. You definitely missed the way his eyes ran over your figure, seemingly appreciating you in a beautiful dress from the latest spring collection of his parents. The Chois apparently had a knack for chic attires because your dress wasn’t anything over the top either, but would definitely unscrew some jaws. It was strapless and started from your bosom with a straight neckline allowing your collarbones to be captured by the crazy shuttering cameras. The dress was tight around your torso, giving a perfect picture of your figure beneath, but grew loose from your hips and down. The material didn’t stop until it grazed the ground you walked on, despite wearing a pair of black stiletto heels that were made for your feet and clicked with each step you took, announcing your arrival to everyone in a close vicinity.

Speaking of your lower body — your left leg was exposed as a long slit protruded from your upper thigh. Both of your arms were covered in black detachable sleeves reaching up to your mid bicep and cuffing around the cushion of your hand. You almost threw a fit when you took out the dress from its gigantic box and noticed the lack of sleeves on it. You were one phone call away from canceling the whole agreement hadn’t you seen the remaining parts of the attire. To top it off, the Chois gifted you a set of golden jewelry and a black clutch handbag spacious enough to fit your phone, lipstick and wallet. The matching set of earrings, rings and necklace were nothing too outstanding, but enough to take on the elegance of a model.

“We’ll be there for an hour or two and then Mr. Oh will take you home.”

You ignored the part where it was stated Mr. Oh was taking you home and focused on his subtle slip-in of defying his parents’ rules yet again. Your brows furrowed together and Jongho suppressed the need to even out the skin between them. “No, Mr. and Mrs. Choi explicitly said we had to be there until the very end of the event.”

Jongho leaned into his seat and spread his legs further apart until one of his knees touched your thigh. A chuckle void of amusement filled the passenger compartment and he sighed as if you said the joke of the century.

“I think you should relax a little, sweetheart. My parents should be grateful I’m attending in the first place.”

You pursed your lips to keep yourself from giving your input where it clearly wasn’t wished for. Jongho looked out of the window while you admired his side profile. Jongho was the epitome of a whiplash — you never knew when he’d shake you off like a poisonous insect or help you fly as if you were an injured ladybug. His nonchalance left a bitter tang on your tongue, the similar taste after downing a beer you knew you’d puke back up in a few hours, and the imaginary Jongho was crushed in the world you created in your brain.

The karma of thinking such thoughts was instantaneous as the skin beneath your soulmate mark flared to life. You wondered if Jongho experienced repercussions whenever he was treating you badly. The rest of the drive was done in silence safe for the newest global hits playing through the speakers. Four songs later and the limousine temporarily came to a stop before the entrance of a big building looking like something straight out of a movie. A red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the street where everyone’s ride was instructed to stop and let the guests out. Mr. Oh exited first and walked around the oblong vehicle as Jongho simultaneously fixed his suit although it was free of any imperfections.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

The door opened and Jongho stepped out, an array of flashes went off accompanied by the calls of his name — the photographers begging for a crumb of his attention. Jongho straightened his jacket, offered everyone a smile and quick wave before holding out his hand to face the dark heavens. That was your cue. No one really knew who you were outside of being Jongho’s girlfriend and even after you became public, they could find little to no information about you online. Thus, you didn’t expect the clicking of cameras and flashes to multiply in your presence. You grabbed Jongho’s hand per your agreement and stepped out with your exposed leg first then, when you fully exited the limousine — an upgrade from Jongho’s death trap of a motorcycle — you smoothly looped your arm through his and firecrackers erupted on your skin at the contact. You stood tall and got a couple of inches on him thanks to the heels, but he didn’t seem bothered by it and neither was the company otherwise you doubt they would’ve sent it in the first place.

Standing in the centre of attention wasn’t as nauseating as you originally thought it would be and whether you want to admit it or not, it was partially because of Jongho being there to anchor you. It wasn’t his forthe to whisper sweet words of encouragement, but he portrayed his support in other ways such as leading you through the overwhelming photographers, sneaking his arm around your waist and respectfully resting his palm above the curve of your hip. It helped that you rehearsed the events of the night from start to finish with Jongho and wouldn’t be in for a surprise. Taking advice from your favorite childhood movie, you put on the brightest smile of your career and moved along. The audience didn’t need to know you were finding comfort in the famous line from Madagascar.

The inside of the venue was prettier than any other interior you had ever laid eyes on. To be frank, it wasn’t anything exceptional, but the simplicity made it appear so. The main colors of the theme were creme white and beige, and were integrated into everything. The seats were plush chairs made out of velvet material in an ashy shade of beige while the tables were round with white marble tops. There was a path leading straight down the area and separating the room into two occupied with seats on both sides. On the other end of the pathway was a slightly elevated scene where the hosts of the event and guests would give their speeches, and use the smartboard to their liking. The ceiling was the most alluring sight though. Oblong light bulbs hung from the ceiling as sheer garment circled the light in waves. It gave a sense of elegance as well as coziness.

A waiter dressed in a simple black suit offered you champagne on a platter and while you didn’t wish to become drunk, you still needed some alcohol to get through the night, especially when you were going to meet some of Choi Clothes’ most trusted business partners. You both took a glass each and mingled around with Jongho’s arm still glued to you as if it belonged right above the swell of your hip. Not many words, if any at all, were exchanged as you mainly drank in the design of the place while simultaneously ignoring the stares and whispers of the remaining guests, all eyes glued to your forms fitting perfectly with one another like two lost pieces of a puzzle. They were all curious about the pretty lady beneath Jongho’s arm and how the reckless Choi managed to find a girl that would look past his bad habits and disrespectful personality. If only they knew.

Jongho’s situation wasn’t entirely a secret. Everyone knew he was somewhat of a problematic guy with another style of living that wasn’t fit to his parents’ standard. They didn’t feel all too proud waking up to multiple articles of Dispatch flaunting pictures taken of Jongho leaving clubs early in the morning surrounded by boys and girls of all kinds, certainly not the kind to be invited to exclusive fashion events and charities. Jongho hadn’t changed much over the years, if you recalled correctly. He would rarely be present during lectures. He was physically there, but his mind had transcended off to dreamland long before the lesson started. The one interest he had was soccer and even that ended shortly into his second year as he got with the wrong crowd. If someone needed him, he could be found smoking on the roof or behind the back of the school with a handful of students who also had successful parents.

It was sheer luck Jongho was an only child and that his parents were in need of a successor, otherwise he would’ve been kicked to the curb a long time ago. Apparently, the Chois grew sick of his careless behaviour and gave him an ultimatum — clean up his mess or not be signed as an heir to the company. Jongho defied them like always, until his credit card ran empty and he realized his parents wouldn’t relent. He came crawling back with his tail between his legs and agreed to their proposition. You never understood him or why he acted the way he did. He had everything, practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth and it amazed you that the universe decided to tie your souls to each other. Jongho certainly wasn’t the soulmate you expected and your meeting wasn’t anywhere near the romantic encounter your parents experienced.

“Let’s take a seat before the aunties swammer us,” he whispered in your ear and led you to a table with a gentle nudge to the small of your back.

The touch sent plausible tingles of electricity up your spine and the intensity never wavered even when he withdrew his hand to pull out your chair for you — a great play to showcase his inner gentleman. He took his righteous place on your right side, but immediately regretted it. His ploy of escaping the aunties proved to be futile as Mrs. Kang, a good business partner of Jongho’s paternal grandparents, butted into your table and plopped down on the vacant seat beside you despite her name not being on the list and began shooting invasive questions. The older lady wanted to know everything about you — your age, name, workplace, how you knew Jongho, who your soulmate was, if you and Jongho were soulmates. She pulled on the imaginary rubber band attached to Jongho’s wrist until it snapped and rebounded against his skin.

“Mrs. Kang, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

The chatter around the table quieted down at Jongho’s sharp reply and you acted quickly to ease the tension. You placed your hand over his and gave it a firm squeeze. The motion averted his attention from Mrs. Kang to your stern gaze. A silent conversation ensued between you.

“Stop.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“I don’t care. It won’t look good for you or your parents.”

Jongho eventually gave in and leaned back in his chair. The sudden cold shoulder on his part was him telling you he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. Not like you cared. Yes, your part of the deal was to be his fake-girlfriend, but you couldn’t just let him do as he wished to the people around him as it would reflect a bad light on you too.

“Welcome everyone to the Fashion For Aid charity event aimed at assisting children in group homes! I want to express my sincere gratitude to everyone for attending on this fine evening…”

The host was a man in his late sixties with a head full of hair and face clean of any. You weren’t paying much attention to what he was saying as you weren’t well versed into the fashion world, but you did your best to at least look immersed in his speech. The man to your right wasn’t looking any more interested than you did and actually managed to sit through the first five minutes of the opening ceremony, until he got bored. After that, he played a game of what-could-Jongho-do-to-annoy-his-soulmate-in-the-fastest-way-possible? He did everything to get on your nerves — drumming his fingers against the edge of the table, staring at you then looking away when you met his gaze, loudly cracking his neck and fingers, and frequently checked his phone. The moment the host finished his lengthy speech and encouraged everyone to visit the table full of sweets and drinks placed on both sides of the room, Jongho jumped from his seat, hand already reaching into the inner pocket of his suit.

“If you’ll excuse me, a man’s gotta use the bathroom.”

“Jongho!” You hissed after him, but he either didn’t hear you or blatantly ignored you. As you moved to follow him, an inkling feeling telling you the bathroom was the last place he was headed for, a wrinkly hand landed on your thigh and successfully stopped you from going after him.

“Oh, honey, it is not worth stressing over him. Youngsters like that boy don’t change and he won’t do it even with a beautiful lady by his side.”

A bucket of water spilled over you and froze all forty-three muscles in your face. You somehow managed to force the corners of your mouth up and fake a smile, but the sincerity was not evident in your eyes.

“I, uhm, don’t want him to change. Really.” You added in the end as Mrs. Kang raised a brow in non-belief. “I like Jongho as he is and I don’t think he needs to change to fit in other people's crowded boxes.”

“If you say so, dear, but… if you’re interested, I have a nephew your age who would suit you much better than Mr. Choi.” She turned in her seat and scanned the crowd for said nephew. A fire lit beneath your chair as she began waving him over.

“Oh, Mrs. Kang, that's not necessary.” The reassuring words fell on deaf ears — literally — and although you weren’t too keen on lying, you already had one rich kid to look after. “I think I heard Jongho calling for me, I’ll be right back!”

Jongho was in fact not calling you over. Jongho was gone, disappeared into thin air and abandoned you in a room full of strangers. It would be a miracle if he hadn’t asked Mr. Oh to drive him someplace, leaving you to figure out your own ride home.

“Fucking hell, Jongho,” you muttered and weaved through the crowd of successful people and nepotism babies.

The venue was so packed with people you couldn’t even try searching for the bathrooms and opted to go back out again. The outside wasn’t void of people either, as some foreign faces stood socializing with each other, drinks in one hand and fat cigars squeezed between the pointer- and middle finger of their other hand. Not searching for more aunties or uncles to flag you down, you walked away from the people to a place that seemed vacant. Who would’ve known the universe was pulling on your red string and leading you in the direction of your soulmate. Turning the corner of the building, you stumbled over the view of Jongho crouched down behind a couple of taller bushes. Much like the other gentlemen, he too had a slim cigarette placed between his lips, dragging the poisonous smoke right into his lungs. You understood why out of all the places, he chose to smoke on the other side of the building. It was less prone to attract the paparazzi searching for something juicy to spread on social media.

Jongho didn’t kill the glowing stick as you appeared in his peripheral vision nor did he show a sign of acknowledging your sudden appearance. You didn’t go out of your way to chastise him for smoking in a public setting either, instead you took a stance beside him while he inhaled the last of the cancer-stick and looked straight ahead. It was already stuffy just standing there in silence, you didn’t need to stare at him with questions swimming in your eyes.

The warm sun of March was replaced by the round and bright moon, allowing a certain frost to the early spring breeze. You crossed your arms over your chest and caressed the exposed skin of your bicep with your thumb in a poor attempt at subduing the coldness. The dress was beautiful, but it certainly wasn’t made for such weather and you were questioning their professionalism as they didn’t give you a coat or any other outerwear. On the other hand, Jongho had been admiring you for the last couple of seconds since you took the place beside him and the sharp goosebumps littered on your body didn’t go unnoticed by him. He balanced the cigarette between his lips and slipped the suit jacket off himself. The rustle of clothes caught your attention and before you could realize what was happening, a newfound warmth wrapped around you followed by a mild fragrance of charcoal, pine needles and espresso.

“You don’t have to–”

“I’m not letting my date freeze her ass off.”

You tried ignoring the harsh squeeze of your heart and a pang of heat blossoming from the center of your chest, sprouting out to the rest of your body. This was just Jongho being kind, nothing more, nothing less. Yet your heart and soulmate mark thought otherwise. The stinging smell of his cigarette was a perfect distraction and your nose scrunched at the awful burn. Jongho needed all of three seconds to take one last drag of the stick, blow it away from your face and throw it to the ground, his expensive boot coming down to turn it to speckles of ash.

“I’m going back inside,” you announced after another minute of silence. “It won’t look good if both of us are missing.”

“Who cares what they think? They’ll always have something to say about me in the end so it doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to prove them right, you know?”

You didn’t get another answer after that and decided to take your leave. A warm hand circles around your wrist, their thumb grazing the covered soulmate mark and stopping you in your steps. You turned around, Jongho’s hand still on you but his eyes avoiding yours at all cost.

“...Wanna get out of here?” He eventually asked.

Another beat passed and you pressed your lips together. “We really shouldn’t, Jongho, besides it’s against the contract.”

A genuine laugh escaped him and he moved toward the opposite side of the event, rounding the corner you didn't appear from. “Screw the contract.”

You quickly followed his head, intrigued and worried at where he was headed. Perhaps you got worked up for nothing as a bunch of expensive cars as well as limousines were parked in neat rows, the moonlight reflecting off their polished hoods and trunks.

“Where are you going?” You hissed and bunched one end of your dress to not accidentally step on it and twist your ankle.

“Why don’t you find out?”

How you managed to find yourself in this situation was beyond you. Not once was it stated in the contract that you would need to use Jongho’s death trap as a form of transportation, yet there you were sitting on the back of his motorcycle as he zoomed through the street. It was a miracle he successfully managed to sneak it into the parking lot without having any of the guards or chaperons turning him down. Then again, it was Choi Jongho they were dealing with. What Jongho wanted, Jongho got. Your arms were tightly wrapped around his midsection and your eyes squeezed shut, almost believing the danger of the situation would disappear if you couldn’t see the blur of scenery whiz past you.

Jongho smirked at the feel of you squeezing him to death and he purposefully revved the bike to go faster just to hear your squeaks of fear slip beneath your helmet. He wasn’t even going half the speed he was used to, but he felt just a twinge of remorse for you. The motorcycle slowed down and eventually stopped before a red light.

“You can open your eyes now,” he spoke into the built-in bluetooth in his helmet and placed his hand on your intertwined ones, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a soothing motion. The whipping wind was quickly drying your hands and he was cursing himself for the pair of gloves he forgot on the edge of his bed.

You did as told, albeit opening one eye at a time just to make sure he wasn’t sugarcoating the situation. He wasn’t and for once you were happy about being wrong.

“How much more?” You asked, your throat dry and beginning for a sip of water.

“We’re almost there.” The traffic light switched to yellow. “Hold on tight now.”

It took an eternity — twenty minutes — until Jongho put the motorcycle in neutral and turned off the throttle as well as the ignition switch, and allowed the weight of the vehicle to lean on the kickstand. He took off his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, messing up the gelled strands in the process and placed the helmet on the surface of the fuel tank. You slightly released your grip on him, but were still reluctant to move as you were afraid of somehow falling off the motorcycle or tipping the whole thing over and thus let your fingers hover over his sides. Jongho’s feet were planted on the ground for extra security and comfort, and threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see you sit stiff as a board. He turned away and brought his shoulders up to his ears as he quietly chuckled to himself. The helmet was still on your head and your cheeks mushed by the pillowy cushion inside, making you look like a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts.

“I thought you hated her?” He asked through his giggles.

“Huh?”

“The motorcycle. I thought you hated the motorcycle, besides can you let go off me now? Unless you like touching me–”

You didn’t need to hear more to fling your hands in the air. The abrupt motion almost caused you to fall back, hadn't you grabbed Jongho’s shoulders again. It was sheer luck that he was sturdy enough not to lean back from your harsh grip. He laughed again, a chuckle that brought his gummy smile into the moonlight. It was a sound you came to like and wouldn't mind hearing for the rest of your life. The admission caused your ears to burn with embarrassment, and you were grateful that the soulmate connection was limited to the scribbled name on your wrist, not giving your other half the ability to feel your emotions or hear your thoughts.

“Okay, go like this. Place this foot,” he patted the side of your left thigh, “on the ground and swing your other leg over the bike, then carefully step off. Hold onto me until you’re completely off so you don’t fall.”

His instructions were easy to follow and you managed to get off without hurting yourself, him, or damaging his prized possession. The sound of water softly washing up against the sand reached your ears and it was only when you dismounted the motorcycle that you took in your surroundings. The view was nothing short of exceptional. You stood on the sidewalk with stairs leading straight down to the riverside area, giving you a perfect view of the river. It was slightly blurry and you couldn't quite figure out why. As your hand subconsciously reached up to rub your eyes, you accidentally brushed against the visor. Unsure how to remove the helmet without discomfort, you decided to simply slide the visor up instead.

The Mapo Bridge was even prettier at night, with its blue and purple lights twinkling beneath the dark sky. At least a hundred cars drove across the bridge in the few minutes since you arrived and the sound of their tires and whirring motors added a sense of tranquility to the setting. The prettiest of it all were the cherry blossoms slipping off the branches of the Prunus serrulata trees. The ground was covered in pink and white petals, and some even landed in your hair. It was magical.

It dawned on you just where Jongho had brought you — Yeouido Hangang Park. While you were busy taking in every little detail of the scenery, Jongho retrieved his keys from the ignition and stopped beside you. He buried them in the pockets of his pants to prevent you from noticing he was fidgeting with the keys, thus keeping his dignity intact. He couldn’t have you going around thinking you were the reason behind the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and whether that was true or not would stay with Jongho, and Jongho only.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed out.

Jongho hummed in agreement, yet his eyes didn’t budge from your form. It didn’t matter that you wore stiletto heels with a designer dress, a suit jacket multiple sizes too big for you and a sports helmet on your head — you looked as beautiful as the first day he met you, all those years ago in high school. He cleared his throat and stepped in front of you, the pads of his fingers gently grazing the skin beneath your chin as he unclasped the straps of your helmet. The little click snapped your attention to his eyes full of focus that shifted from your chin up to your lips, and lastly your eyes. As if stuck in a trance unable to look away, you drowned in the warmest hue of brown molded out of the richest cacao beans in the world. Jongho slowly took hold of your helmet and began pushing it upwards, but with a gentleness you hadn’t witnessed before. He was so careful and the imagination of having your head ripped off your body didn’t come to life.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he successfully removed the gear.

“No worries… I’m sure my mom would have my head if I let a lady walk around in designer clothes with a cheap helmet on.”

Although his intentions weren’t to tickle your belly, the sound of your laughter spread a fervor through his body and shone light on the darkest parts in him. It was contagious and he found his own lips curling up, eyes cheesing and that angelic voice of his handing out gleeful melodies to the few people taking a late-night stroll in the park.

“Come on, let’s take a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take and you did without a second thought. “I meant your heels, but lucky for you I have two hands.”

You began withdrawing your hand, but Jongho had already laced your fingers together and refused to let go.

“You're unbelievable,” you muttered, pretending the heat of embarrassment wasn't attacking your cheeks.

“I could live with that.”

Jongho pulled you along toward the flight of stairs and patiently walked with you. It didn’t matter that it took five minutes to reach the bottom because he was with you every step of the way and if you said anything otherwise, Jongho would’ve argued the night was still young and that the five minutes were worth it as he got to spend them with you. He was lucky his parents chose a candidate who wasn’t insecure of themselves to the point they apologized for every minor inconvenience, because Jongho wasn’t sure how the sweet words would fit his unruly persona. The first three steps on the sand made you change your mind and you quickly removed the heels, flexing your stiff feet and releasing a breath of relief. The expensive pair of footwear were handed to Jongho who hooked his pointer- and middle finger in the heel counter while his other set of fingers were still braided with yours.

“It’s nice here,” you admitted and looked out on the river. The other side was covered with a bunch of buildings, much like the ones behind you, and looked like a scene straight out of a movie. Where the lights of the apartments, universities and hospitals took on the looks of the stars above.

“Mmmmm, it’s quiet and empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Jongho pondered for a moment. “Sometimes… I can think easier when there aren’t a bunch of people breathing down my neck, plus the ride here helps me clear my head.”

“It’s overwhelming, right? I mean being in the spotlight constantly and having your every move watched from an early age, no?”

He shrugged. “It was at first, but… I stopped caring after a while and people stopped expecting things from me.”

You hummed in understanding and let the gentle waves wash over the conversation. The curiosity you once carried with you concerning Jongho’s defying personality simmered down to nothing and you realized it wasn’t a topic you should venture in on just yet. Instead, you changed it to something less serious.

“You know, I didn’t think we’d see each other after high school, but look at us now. Holding hands beneath the stars… Are you perhaps starting to like me, Jjong?”

One end of Jongho's lips curled into a shit-eating grin and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and you couldn't tell if it was from the nickname or from bringing up old high school memories. Jongho’s walking slowed down until both feet were planted on the sand, not bugging despite you being half a step ahead of him. You looked over your shoulder to see what was the reason for stopping.

“I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by the fact that you think I’m just now starting to like you.”

He shortened the distance between you, leaving barely any room for air to squeeze past your bodies. His thumb traced a never-ending circle across the back of your hand and your heels had long since dropped onto the sand, giving him the freedom to cradle the side of your face. Your breath hitched in your throat and your heart seemed to sprout a pair of angel wings, soaring in your chest at the contact of his skin on yours.

"To answer your question, soulmate, I’ve liked you since the day I saw you in that gymnasium." Jongho's eyes traveled over your face, giving each feature and detail equal attention, as if he wanted to memorize your beauty as though it were a cheat sheet for an exam. "You were dressed in that cute school uniform, your hair braided and kept out of your face, and you looked absolutely sick to your stomach. That’s when I knew our souls were made for each other. I didn’t even need to know your name or look at your wrist. I just knew."

The world went silent around you. The sloshing of water, the chorus of cute laughter and the moving vehicles were muffled sounds that didn’t reach your ears. A furious heat crawled up your back and neck, nipping at your cheeks until you were on the brink of burning up like a firework, but the rest of your body — your fingers, toes, nose and ears — were freezing cold. A massive star nearing the end of its life cycle suddenly exploded and your hearing came back. The air that had caught in your throat was let out as Jongho’s words settled in your mind.

“Jongho,” you lamely whispered in return.

The secret you had carried for years turned out not to be much of a secret after all, and the hundreds, thousands, of people you thought you were fooling day in and day out weren’t deserving of that title. Because the biggest fool out of them all was you.

“You knew all along?”

Jongho shrugged and tore his eyes from your dumbfounded expression down to your wrist. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.” His thumb slid up beneath your detachable sleeves, exposing the name you kept hidden for years. “I mean, it isn’t everyday I hear about a pretty girl with my name tattooed on her wrist and hers on mine.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first. The fact that he called you a pretty girl, his thumb caressing your soulmate mark or him knowing you were destined together since high school. Your tongue darted out to lick at your bottom lip and his eyes were quick to follow the brief movement. He swallowed thickly and forced them up again.

“I take it you knew too?”

You nodded in return. “When they called out your name in the assembly and I caught the side of your face.”

“I’m happy you didn’t approach me then,” he suddenly admitted and chuckled as your brows pinched together. “Fate brought us together in the end.”

“But we aren’t together-together.”

“Last time I checked, you pretty much signed a contract to date me.”

“Fake-date you.”

The tongue poking the inside of his cheek looked ten times more attractive beneath the moonlight, and you wanted nothing more than to run your hand through his hair and kiss that darned smirk off his face. Perhaps the soulmate bond went further than a name scribbled on the outer layer of your skin, because your wish wasn’t too far from Jongho’s. He, too, wanted to get a taste of your lips. To have some remnants of your lipstick smudge against his and guess the flavor of it — maybe strawberry or cherry, though he always took you for a coconut girl.

He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, fake-date then… Better?”

Not in the least.

“Much better.”

“It’s not for me,” he quickly added.

“Why?”

Jongho inhaled a sharp intake of air and waited, playing the scene out in his mind and weighing out his options before puking his thoughts and feelings out in an almost vacant park. “Because… I want to do stuff with you. To hold your hand, take you out on dates, kiss you, hug you and just be with you like a real couple. I want to know that the look you have when you’re with me is real, that it isn’t just a job for you. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”

“I have always wanted you,” you confessed shakily. “Before I even knew you, Jongho. There was nothing more I wanted than to find my soulmate and that hasn’t changed. Even when I did find you and lost you at the same time, that desire still lived within me. It still does… And when I found out you were the rich kid who needed a fake-girlfriend, it felt like the world was laughing in my face, but I realized it was giving me a second chance. Us a second chance.”

Now it was Jongho’s turn to look dumbfounded. You took his silence as a sign to continue.

“And all you had to do, Jjong, was ask. Even now. Just ask for what you want.”

The man stared at you as if heaven were beneath your fingertips, as if a single touch of your finger would bring him eternal peace and serenity. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and no one else could compete with your beauty — even if they were sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Jongho was never a listener — always defying and doing as he pleased. Yet this one time, the one time, he would be darned if he didn’t.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The stars aligned as his lips gently pressed against yours. Jongho was right, you tasted like coconut and it had him craving for more, yet the fear of pushing you away was greater than his need. The fingers of your free hand tangled into the side of his shirt to steady your swirling mind, but did little for your erratically beating heart. Jongho wasn’t rough nor eager to ravage your mouth with his tongue, rather on the contrary. It was a soft and lingering kiss that tested the waters. You parted to inhale air before diving in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent and daring than the first, but equally sweet. Jongho’s tongue swiped at your bottom lip and you tilted your head sideways while allowing him access. Even now with his tongue exploring your mouth, the kiss didn’t change from intimate to hungry. A fire was set in your lungs that ached for oxygen and you were left with no choice but to break apart. Jongho rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing and heavy gasps for air fanning your faces.

“You drive me crazy,” he said between breaths.

“I’m not… doing anything.” You had to fight the smile threatening to dance across your lips. This was a whole new side to Jongho, a side you had never seen before but wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Precisely and you still make me lose my mind.”

The stubborn smile eventually broke through and Jongho huffed out a chuckle at the gleeful expression. I’m-not-doing-anything his ass. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek once and twice, but froze in motion as you asked him a question.

“Did you really mean everything you said earlier? About the contract, I mean.”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat. “If I could, I would terminate the contract, but keep this. Keep us.”

A beat passed and then another. Your thoughts were flying wild, narrowly avoiding each other and the explosion that would ensue.

“Let’s do it then,” you eventually said. That was the second bravest thing you had done in your life. The first would be signing the contract while running on four hours of sleep. “Let’s do it for real.”

Jongho gauged your expression, searching for any sign of uncertainty or regret. When he couldn’t find even a hint of either, he pressed his lips against yours. Affection, joy, and excitement poured into the kiss, and Jongho hoped you would feel at least half of it. Unbeknownst to the new couple, two people stood by Jongho’s motorcycle. The man wore a fancy black suit, while the woman’s dress elegantly hugged her curves as she stood effortlessly in her heels. A set of black sunglasses obscured their eyes, despite the fact that the sun had long since exchanged places with the moon. The pair seemed out of place in Yeouido Hangang Park surrounded by people dressed in casual clothing. Passersby noticed it too, shooting them strange looks, but neither of them cared. Their attention was fixed on the couple brought together by destiny.

“I knew she was the one for him,” the man proudly admitted and puffed out his chest.

The woman beside him scoffed. “Please, I was the one who found her Linkedin and recognized her name from Mr. Choi’s wrist.”

The pair gave them one last look before turning around and clambering back into the limousine, which drove them straight to the charity event. They had left the party in a hurry the moment they noticed the absence of the successor of Choi Clothes and his fake girlfriend — or should they say, his real girlfriend?

#feedback: pretend you love me #[☀️] my esther #ateez x reader #choi Jongho x reader #ateez #choi jongho #fanfiction #drabble #oneshot

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fawniswriting · 2 days ago

Text

Sword and Ribbons

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

This is Chapter 02 of the Faithfully Yours series.

Summary: Following a near escape, you and Sir Barnes must configure a plan of survival, even if it means ignoring the taut tension between the two of you.

Word Count: 6300-ish

Warning(s): historical royal au (knight/royal guard!bucky x princess!reader). slowburn. mutual pining. descriptions of violence and death. fake marriage. jealousy. the one bedroom and one bed trope. SO MUCH TENSION. nothing rlly happens but so much also happens, bcs again, SLOWBURNN.

Hello lovely ppl!! I promised you the second chapter of Faithfully Yours, and a second chapter you shall get. You know the drill: comment, like, and reblog if you're liking this one!!

Birds chirped in the sky, carrying a song lost in the wind and time. Underneath the scorching sun, you sat atop the expanse of grass, eyes trained on the group of older children playing just a few yards ahead. Their laughter rang freely in the air, tugging at something within your chest, although your green vocabulary struggled to identify what it was.

“What are you doing all alone here, my sweet child?”

You looked up to see the Queen, your mother, and her entire entourage walking across the lawn. The hem of her dress swept the ground as she glided towards you, the sunlight falling softly on her smile, making her look ethereal as if she were a deity reincarnated. She extended her hand once she stopped, helping you stand to your feet, her grip gentle yet unwavering.

“Do you not want to play with the others, my love?” she asked.

You shook your head, angling your face towards the ground. “A princess is not supposed to run around getting her dress filthy. Especially with boys.”

“Who informed you as such?”

“Miss Temples,” you lamented.

“The governess?” your mother inquired, earning a subtle nod from one of her ladies-in-waiting.

It was unfair, you knew as much. But as a princess, you were taught to swallow your disappointment and keep your chin up high, no matter how much your feet yearned to sprint across the green tapestry of the courtyard alongside the other children. Their laughter resonated throughout the grounds, a drop of salt on your aching wound.

Beside you, your mother stooped to her knees, a gesture that was frowned upon for members of the royal family to do. However, your mother was never one to subject herself a vassal to customs. She grabbed both of your hands in hers, kissing each finger with feather-like touches. The smile she rewarded you could rival the sun even on its brightest day.

“My darling daughter,” she said fondly. “What defines a princess is not how filthy or how pristine her dress is. Do you know what makes one a princess?”

“A crown?”

Your mother laughed. “No, my love. It is this.” She took one of your hands and laid it flat against your chest, her own hand emitting warmth at the top. “It is the heart. One that is full of kindness, courage, but most important of all, joy. A princess is someone who understands where her happiness lies, and knows what she must do to protect the happiness of those around her.”

You looked down at your entwined hands, trying to let her words settle in your juvenile mind.

“Tell me, darling. What would make you happy right at this moment?”

You pointed at the mob of children on the courtyard. “Playing with them.”

“Very well.”

Your mother raised to her feet and cast her eyes towards the group of children. They were playing hide and seek with your brother, the Crown Prince, acting as the seeker. As the other children scrambled for a place to hide, the Queen’s eyes landed on one particular boy who was running towards the direction of her entourage. His ebony hair bright under the sun, his elated laughter a melody in the breeze.

“Come here, Child,” your mother called out. The boy veered towards you under her instruction, out of breath as he clumsily performed his bow of respect. “Pray tell, what is your name, Boy?”

“James, Your Majesty,” he answered. “James Barnes the Third, oldest son of Sir James Barnes the Second and Lady Winnifred Barnes.”

“It is very nice to meet you, James. What a handsome young man you are.” The boy preened at your mother’s compliment. “This is my daughter. Have the two of you met?”

“I believe not, Your Majesty.” James turned to face you, his smile widening as he inclined into another bow. “It is a pleasure, Your Highness.”

You carefully emerged from your hiding place behind the Queen’s legs, returning James’ greeting with a shy wave of your hand.

“The Princess was thinking of joining the game,” your mother informed. “Do you think you can show her how to play, James?”

“It would be an honor.” He smiled. James reached out his hand towards your face, his blue eyes glinting with an unadulterated glee. “Shall we, Your Highness?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the encouraging nod from your mother, and the kindness radiated from your new friend convinced you to take James’ hand. He immediately pulled you into a sprint across the lawn, the thumping in your chest untamed as the two of you raced against your brother’s dwindling countdown. James led you down a ditch in the edge of the courtyard, where the two of you ducked under the cover of a gigantic oak tree. His arm wrapped itself around your shoulders, pulling you close until you could nearly hear the rhythmic beating of his heart.

“We must keep quiet,” he murmured, to which you nodded in response.

Moments passed, and although you did not have a line of sight towards the courtyard, you could hear very clearly every time someone had been found. Your heart drummed as you listened to the sound of footsteps approaching, followed by the familiar voice of your brother calling out into the open air.

“James! Sister! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” your brother bellowed. Behind him, several footsteps followed, and you could guess without seeing that he must have asked the other players to assist in searching for you and James as well. “Come on, now! I know the two of you are hiding together. Mother told me!”

“What do we do?” you whispered.

“I have an idea.” James suddenly rose to his feet, although still crouching to ensure no one could see him. “I will come out and distract them. Lead them away from this place.”

“What? You cannot do that! You will lose!” you protested.

“I know, but it will give you a chance to win,” he responded, smiling so casually as if it was the easiest decision he had ever made. “You shall be safe here, Your Highness. I promise.”

And with that, James disappeared in the direction of the courtyard, leaving you alone with a promise that you stowed safely in the crevice of your heart.

You wake up with a gasp.

Remnants of a scream lodge in your throat, gripping onto the horror your mind has conjured up in your sleep. It was a dream, you know as much now, but the fear is real, and it clings to you like a second skin refusing to shed. Somewhere nearby, the water laps lazily against the shore, the rhythmic sound weaving through the silence like a whisper from another life.

The pounding of your heart lulls as the images from your nightmare start to slip away, though the feeling remains—the unspeakable terror from seeing your brother collapsing right in front of your eyes, trapped under the weight of too many enemies. You tried reaching out for him, but the madness of the battle expelled you further and further until you were forced to watch idly as smoke and dust claimed his body.

And then, just as you thought the atrocity could not get any worse, your mind came up with something even more sinister. Sir Barnes, taken and tortured right before your eyes, your name being the last thing he managed to cry out. Meanwhile, you were bound by your ankles and wrists, made to watch as he succumbed to the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood.

You could not save either of them.

A hand clasps around your shoulder, bringing you back to earth before you have the chance to spiral any further. Sir Barnes appears by your side without the protection of his armor, clad only in his shirt and trousers, though his sword is still drawn and ready at his side.

“Easy,” he murmurs, crouching next to you. The warmth of his palm seeps through the velvet of your dress. “You are safe, Princess. I’m right here.”

He starts accentuating the rise of his chest as he inhales, encouraging you with a nod to mimic his breathing. It does not take long for your lungs to comply, taking in air until your whole body relaxes and the beating drum in your chest assuages to a normal rhythm.

“Nightmares?” Sir Barnes asks, though he looks as if he knows the answer already.

You give him a meek nod, biting your tongue as you recall the scene in your dream. “It was my brother,” you elaborate. “In the dream, he… he did not make it.”

You refrain from telling him the second part, about the bit where he was the one being ripped out of your grasp. He does not need to know about that. It’s too much.

Sir Barnes is quiet for a few moments. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “Your brother is not an easy man to kill.”

You know it is not quite a consolation, but it is the best attempt he can muster to soothe you without resorting to deception. Because as much as you want it to be true, there is no sure way of telling whether your brother did survive the battle or not.

Your gaze meanders into the distance, towards the body of water located just a few paces ahead. The sun is barely peeking from the horizon, painting the lowest portion of the sky as well as the surface of the lake with rays of white and yellow. As you look down, you realize that Sir Barnes’ cloak is wrapped securely around you, possibly done by the man himself while you were still fast asleep earlier. It smells of steel and smoke, but most importantly, it smells of him.

You exhale slowly, bringing the cloak up to your chin. You tell yourself it is due to the coldness of the air, but the little voice inside your head knows it is an excuse to chase more of his scent. It is a distraction to your racing mind. The nightmare may have been a product of your own subconsciousness, but the truth prevails—your family is gone, the kingdom is lost, and the world as you knew it has been completely burned to the ground.

“We need a plan,” you resolve, condemning the fog in your mind to dissipate.

Sir Barnes nods. “I agree.”

“Where exactly are we?”

“A few leagues west of the main road. I led us through the riverbanks to cover our trail.” His eyes suddenly glaze over, replaced with something more dire. “There has been no sign of pursuit, but that could change at any moment.”

“Hence why, we cannot stay here for long.” You rummage your brain for something, anything that can assist you in formulating a course of action. “There is an old trade road west of our southern border. It has been abandoned for decades.”

“The Sanguine Route,” Sir Barnes specifies. His elbows lean against his knees as he briefly loses himself in thought. “It will be a very unpredictable journey. The road weaves through the woods and down a valley. No one has used it in years. We have no way of knowing what kind of obstacles await us there.”

“Do you have a better option?” At your question, Sir Barnes falls silent. “There is a market town just outside the border. It would normally require us two days were we to travel on the main road. How long do you reckon we would need if we went through the Sanguine Route?”

“Perhaps five to six days. Seven at most.” Sir Barnes stares out at the water, dark pupils dancing amidst an ocean of irises. “It will not be an easy journey, especially without provisions.”

“I know.”

“And then?” he inquires. “What does Your Highness intend to do once we reach the town?”

“We rest. Gather resources and nurse our strength,” you reply. “Once we have everything we need, we head west. Towards the Kingdom of Asgard.”

Sir Barnes stiffens. His head snaps towards you so suddenly that you fear he might have given himself a concussion. “Asgard?” His throat bobs, lips pressing into a thin line before he wrenches his gaze back towards the lake. “Right. Of course.”

You narrow your eyes, studying the sharp angles of Sir Barnes’ face. His reaction is strange. For the briefest moment, he seemed to recoil at the mere mention of the kingdom’s name.

“Do you have a problem with us traveling to Asgard?” you ask. “I know it is a significant distance. It would likely take us almost an entire month to get there, but the Kingdom of Asgard is our closest ally. King Thor would not think twice about granting us asylum, nor about sending his troops down to help defend our land.”

“No, of course. Your Highness is completely right. Traveling to Asgard is the most rational course of action.”

Something is amiss. Before you can press further, Sir Barnes rises to his feet, turning to face you but missing your eyes entirely. “You should rest a while longer, Your Highness. We will need our strength.”

With a sharp bow, he strides away, disappearing into the trees just off the coast of the lake. You watch him go with a strange unease settling over you, like a garment too heavy for your body to don. The peculiar shift in his demeanor lingers in your mind, but at last, you decide to push the thoughts away. With a prolonged sigh, you lower yourself onto the grass, letting the exhaustion pull you further into the depths of slumber.

As sleep beckons, you pray to the Gods that there will be no bouts of nightmare this time around.

For the following five days, you and Sir Barnes journey through one of the most treacherous paths you have ever traversed in your life. You live on scavenged wild fruits and hunted squirrels, scour water from rivers or springs, and take cover under ancient trees and natural alcoves. During those five days, Sir Barnes barely sleeps. No matter how much you try to convince him to guard the camp in shifts, he is adamant to let you rest, only willing to shut his eyes for the briefest moment when the sun is already high up in the sky.

On the sixth day, you finally arrive at the market town just outside the border of your kingdom.

Welcome to Maltea, read the gigantic sign at the edge of the road.

The town of Maltea sprawls before you in a haze of dust and movement. The scent of roasted meat and baked breads mesh odiously with the smell of horse dung and rotting fruits. Stalls line the winding paths, their canopies a patchwork of faded blues and sun-bleached greens. Vendors vie to promote their merchandise, calling out towards potential buyers on the streets—silks from the east, glass trinkets from the Milden Isles, and fresh barrels of mead courtesy of the local brewers.

You pull the hood of Sir Barnes’ cloak lower over your face, suddenly aware of how many people are bustling past, the events of the last few days magnifying your desire for anonymity. Your companion trudges along behind you, never more than a breadth away in case his sword is needed before you even have the chance to call his name.

“We should try to secure lodging, Your Highness. The sun will be setting soon. We can seek provisions first thing tomorrow morning,” Sir Barnes suggests.

“Very well,” you reply. “We should also look for some new garments. We have been traveling in the same ones for days now.”

The two of you proceed to journey a moment longer before stopping by a tailor’s workshop. Sir Barnes takes Sparrow’s reins from your hand and fastens both horses to a post. As you head towards the establishment, a thought suddenly stops you in place.

“I do not carry any money with me,” you say.

“I do.” Sir Barnes steps forward, holding the door open so you can pass through. “Guards always carry some with them.”

The workshop is littered with fabrics in every shade known to mankind. Half-finished dresses are strewn about the room, embellished with laces and ribbons in various cuts and colors. A man emerges through the backdoor upon your entrance, carrying a roll of fabric in his hands.

“Can I help ye?” the man asks.

“Greetings, Sir. I was wondering if you had any second-hand garment to sell? Or if you had any unclaimed order, we would gladly take them off your hands.”

The man’s eyes slide past you towards Sir Barnes, who is dutifully standing guard a few paces behind, and then back to you. “Ye’ve come to the right place, Mistress. Are ye looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh, just a couple of dresses is fine. Anything you have at hand would do.”

The man nods, walking towards one corner of the room where he starts foraging through a specific cupboard. “And for yer husband?”

“My husband?” Your head whips around, seeing Sir Barnes’ surprised expression that undoubtedly mirrors yours. “Oh, no. He is not—”

“Just two shirts and two trousers for me,” Sir Barnes interjects.

Your eyebrows knit.

Sir Barnes moves to stand next to you, so close that you can feel his body heat radiating through your dress. You want to press him about his lie, but the tailor returns to the center of the room before you can, dropping a heap of dresses on top of his work desk.

“These look to be yer size, but we’ll have to take yer measurements to be certain,” the man informs.

You allow the tailor to pull you towards the desk, following every instruction to spread or drop your arms as he takes a parchment strip to measure your figure. Meanwhile, your mind spins, more specifically around the man who is currently watching the tailor’s movement like a lion, ready to pounce should he make one fatally wrong move. A tiny gasp escapes your lips as you turn your face away, evading Sir Barnes’ eyes that seem to have caught you blatantly staring at him.

“Two of ye aren’t from here, are ye?” the tailor asks once he finishes measuring your shoulders.

You and Sir Barnes share a look.

“Why do you ask?” your guard responds.

The tailor laughs as he grabs a chalk to write something down on his slate tablet. “Most people in Maltea aren’t locals. They all came from somewhere—the Milden Isles, North Coves, even as far as the Lespanian.” He puts down the chalk and starts inspecting the dresses from the pile. “So, where are ye folks coming in from?”

Sir Barnes crosses his arm. “North,” he says, offering no further explanation.

The tailor casts him a fleeting glance. “Yeah? Are ye staying or just passing through?”

“Just passing through. Though we were thinking of staying for the night,” you reply, earning a disapproving glare from Sir Barnes. “Do you happen to know of any good lodging around here, Sir?”

“There’s a tavern down the road. The Marble Oak. They have rooms for rent. Dinner and breakfast are complimentary.”

The tailor inspects the dresses one by one before dividing them into different piles. Once he has gone through every single one of them, he turns to you, gesturing at one of the piles on his desk. “These ones ye can take, Mistress.”

“That is wonderful. Thank you, Sir.”

A few moments later, you and Sir Barnes find yourselves back on the road again. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone fills the evening air as the two of you weave through the streets of Maltea. The setting sun casts the town in golden hues, stretching your shadows long against the ground. All around you, merchants are closing up their stalls, calling out the final bargains of the day as people seek out warm meals and shelter for the night.

Your fingers tighten around the reins, the bundle of garments from the tailor’s shop secured carefully to your saddle. You steal a glance at Sir Barnes, your thoughts snagged on a particular moment from earlier, the one that has your mind veering and your heart faltering in its cage. The man in question is ever so oblivious, continuing to ride steadily beside you in silence, his face as unreadable as ever.

“Why did you let him believe such a thing?” you ask, breaking the quiet that has settled between the two of you.

Sir Barnes barely spares you a glance. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” You swallow the bile in your throat. “Earlier, when the tailor called you my husband, you did not deny it. Why?”

His grip on the reins flexes. “It was necessary.”

Your forehead furrows.

Sir Barnes looks at you and inhales a long breath. “We are strangers in this town, and we do not know the sort of eyes that may be watching us. A woman traveling alone with a man would raise questions. A married couple, on the other hand...”

His explanation dithers in the air. You do not get a chance to mull over it as your destination, The Marble Oak, comes into view. Its timbered structure stands proud amidst the other shops lining up the street. A carved sign, painted with the likeness of an oak tree, sways gently in the evening breeze. Sir Barnes helps you dismount Sparrow, grabbing all of your belongings with him, while a stable boy rushes forward to take your horses.

The inside of the tavern is warm, illuminated by the flickering glow of lanterns and enriched by the scent of spiced ale. Low murmurs of conversation rumble through the floor, interrupted occasionally by the sudden bursts of raucous laughter. Sir Barnes leads you through the maze of tables as he approaches the bar, where a burly man is wiping down the counter with a rug.

“We require lodging for the night. Two rooms,” says Sir Barnes.

The man barely lifts his head. “Aye, that’ll be eight silver.”

Sir Barnes reaches into the pouch at his belt, a brief frown flaring across his face as he counts the remaining coins.

You press your lips together. “How many remains?”

“Ten,” Sir Barnes answers, cursing under his breath.

Your stomach churns, gaze fleeting towards the bundle of dresses and garments in Sir Barnes’ hand, regretting the oversight of not putting much thought into what you spent at the tailor’s shop.

Before Sir Barnes can speak, you step forward. “One room will suffice.”

His head snaps towards you. “What—”

“We cannot afford to be careless,” you interject, lowering your voice as you add, “besides, we have already set the charade in motion. It would be strange if a husband and wife requested separate quarters.”

Sir Barnes exhales sharply, looking like he wants to object but opting to hand the pouch towards you instead. The innkeeper does not tear his eyes from the rug as he accepts your coins, exchanging it with a key that he slides across the counter.

“Up the stairs, last door to the left. Dinner and breakfast will be delivered to yer room.”

You ascend the stairs and follow the innkeeper’s direction. The room you receive is modest but clean, bathed in gold under the two gleaming lanterns on the wall. A hearth rests unlit against the far wall, its ashes cold from disuse. The scent of aged wood frolics in the air, fusing with the faint traces of lavender, likely originating from the dried sprigs hung in the corners to ward off pests.

In the center of the room, a single bed stands.

Your eyes settle on the large furniture, enough to tightly fit three adults, adorned with clean white sheets and thick woolen blankets on top. Its presence alone sends a fresh wave of awareness throughout your body. You become progressively aware of the fact that you are standing alone in this bedroom with Sir Barnes, your royal guard, the one who has seen you through the narrow escape from your fallen kingdom. For the first time since your journey began, it is not the outside world that unsettles you, but the quiet intimacy of the space you now share.

Sir Barnes exhales, dropping all of your belongings on the floor before rubbing a hand over his face. “I will sleep on the floor.”

“Absolutely not,” you oppose.

He levels you with a look. “Your Highness—”

“You have barely slept since we left the castle, Barnes. You deserve a proper rest, and the floor is hardly suitable.” You cross your arms, tilting your chin defiantly. “You will take the bed.”

An exhausted sigh escapes his lips. “I will not be taking the bed, Princess.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No,” he repeats, adamant. “You will take the bed.”

“Barnes—”

“I am not letting you sleep on the floor.” His voice is final. “And we certainly shall not be sharing the bed.”

Silence.

The words sink in the center of the room, sedimenting until it becomes something tangible, something suffocating. In front of you, Sir Barnes shifts on his feet, his expression fraught as if he is just now realizing the weight of what he said. You open your mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but the words are lost on you before your voice can hasten past your lips.

Then, a loud knock resonates against the door.

As if shaken out of a trance, Sir Barnes hurries towards the door, giving way for the staff to deliver your dinner and set the tray of food on the table. After he leaves, the room is once again heavy with unvoiced declarations, forcing you to break the tension with a sharp clearing of your throat.

“Shall we eat first?” you ask.

Sir Barnes follows you to the table, gingerly taking a seat as he watches you slather butter on a piece of bread. The two of you proceed to eat in silence, both still wary of initiating another conversation in fear of saying more things you might regret.

In the end, it is Sir Barnes who finally decides to slice through the silence. “You should take the bed, Your Highness.” You open your mouth to protest, but he speaks again, leaving no room for argument, “I have been forged for a life of hardship. I was trained to endure nights without sleep, to press on with neither food nor comfort, to rest where no man ought to. A floor is no trial for me. Take the bed.”

Your shoulders deflate. “Very well.” You take the last bite of your dinner, setting the plate aside as you steer the conversation elsewhere, “About our finances…”

“I will think of something. You must not fret,” Sir Barnes intervenes.

“And what exactly will you do?”

The man falls quiet. “I could seek work at the market, or sell my armor at the blacksmith’s forge. It is not much, but it may be enough to support us for a while.”

“You are not selling your armor.”

A wry smile tugs at his lips. “I have little use of it now. It draws too many eyes.”

“No, Barnes. If we must sell something—” you pause, reaching your hand back to unclasp the pendant around your neck, “—then we can sell this.”

You take off the rest of your jewelry—your earrings, bangles, and several rings—and pile them on the table. Some of these pieces are heirlooms that have been passed down in your family for generations. In a way, these are the only tokens you have left to remember the life you have relinquished, and although a part of you detests the thought of separating with them, you know this is a sacrifice you must do.

“Princess, you do not have to do this.”

“I know. I want to,” you reply. “They are worth a substantial amount. We will have more than enough to keep us sustained for our journey to Asgard.”

At last, Sir Barnes relents. “We will go to the market first thing in the morning.”

Later that night, Sir Barnes excuses himself, opting to visit a public bath to give you seclusion to use the one in the room and prepare for bed. When he returns, you are safely tucked under the blanket, feigning slumber as he moves about the room with careful precision—removing his boots, unbuckling his belt, placing his sword within reach. The floorboards creak beneath his weight as he settles near the hearth, and though the room is engulfed in silence, you feel the steady pull of his presence, impossibly near yet still a breadth out of reach.

Tonight, no matter how still you lie or how deeply you breathe, sleep remains elusive, chased away by the quiet awareness of the man resting mere steps away.

When you awaken in the morning, Sir Barnes is nowhere to be found.

The morning light spills through the small, dust-lined window, falling in humble rays on the wooden floor below. You see traces of Sir Barnes’ presence all over the room—from the faint imprint where he lay on the floor, the neatly stacked armor resting against the chair, to the sword propped against the wall—all a visual promise of his return. With that reassurance, you rise from the bed and stretch out your weary limbs, wanting to take advantage of the privacy as you step towards the wooden partition where a small bath awaits.

After cleansing yourself, you reach for the new garments you bought from the tailor’s shop yesterday. It has been ages since you last dressed up without any assistance, and that knowledge frays with your nerves as you stare at the heap of garments laid on the table.

“Surely, it will not be as challenging as it looks,” you mutter to yourself.

Putting on the first layer of your attire turns out to be effortless enough, gaining you a newfound faith as you eagerly reach for the green kirtle from the pile. However, as you pull the dress over your white shift, you realize that the confidence has been too precipitous for your own good. This kirtle is laced at the back instead of the front, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot seem to figure out a way to secure the bodice by yourself.

Suddenly, the door creaks open.

You yelp as Sir Barnes walks in, briskly turning on your feet so that your back is concealed from his line of view. He stumbles back a step at your surprise, his cheeks reddening when he realizes that you are not fully dressed yet.

Clearing his throat, Sir Barnes veers his eyes away. “Forgive me, Princess. I will come back later.”

Before he can close the door behind him, you call out, “Wait!”

Sir Barnes pauses in the doorway, uncertainty etching on his forehead as his gaze wavers around, directed at you but not quite landing on your eyes. You cast your own gaze downward, an erratic thumping in your chest as you ask, “Will you inquire with the innkeeper whether they have a female on the staff? I am in need of some assistance with my dress.”

Giving you a curt nod, Sir Barnes responds, “I will be right back, Your Highness.”

A moment passes, and eventually, your guard returns. You watch in confusion as he opens the door, expecting someone to accompany him only to find no one at his side.

“There are no females on the staff at the moment, Your Highness,” Sir Barnes apprises, his head angled towards the floor.

You sigh in frustration, tugging at the ribbon on your back as if they can magically lace themselves in a matter of moments. Across the way, Sir Barnes cautiously lifts his head, studying the downward turn of your lips and the distress shining out of your eyes.

“I could—”

He stops.

Sir Barnes’ voice is rough, thinly as a thread that barely extends the distance between where the two of you stand. You catch the slight furrow of his eyebrows, the way his jaw tenses, and the way his fingers curl into fists as if he is punishing himself for having nearly said something he should never have. And when you finally realize what precisely he almost said—what he almost offered—you swear you can nearly hear your heart crash inside of its cage.

Air lodges in your throat.

Against your back, your grip has loosened, freeing the stubborn ribbons as they fall through your fingertips. For longer than necessary now, you have tried, again and again, but the laces on your dress remain undone. You try telling yourself to wait for the innkeeper to find someone, anyone, to assist you. But as you stand in the middle of that room, merely several paces apart from the man who has led you out of the clutches of death itself, an undeniable truth sinks in the bottom of your stomach.

You want him to.

It is a revelation that sends you reeling. An admission destined to never see the light of day. Your lips tremble around a choked breath, your voice a mere whisper when you finally discover the courage to say it out loud, “Will you help me?”

Sir Barnes does not answer, nor does he move.

You wonder if you have made a mistake.

And yet, after what feels like an eternity, his boots scrape softly against the wooden floor, each step bringing him closer towards you. Your feet turn before he can reach you, granting him access to your back, the very first man you have ever allowed to see you in such a state of vulnerability.

He is close. Even closer than you have anticipated, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his large frame. You hold your breath as you wait for the first touch of his hand, a silent prayer on your lips as you hope he does not hear how loudly your heart is pounding.

“Forgive me,” he mutters.

The moment his fingers take hold of the ribbons, a fire inside you erupts.

He works in complete silence, his movements slow yet refined, pulling the laces taut with profound ease. Even through the barrier of your shift, each graze of his knuckles still prompts a shiver down your spine. Sir Barnes is careful, so achingly careful in every breadth of his motion, as if terrified to overstep a boundary neither of you have ever ventured to define.

Deft fingers traverse a path up your back, pulling the ribbon just enough but never too much. The surrounding air is intoxicating, tarnished by the improper thoughts you keep having to pester out of your head. Thoughts that revolve around the man whose hands have known exertion beyond anything you can ever imagine, whose same hands now work on your dress with a tenderness that feels unbelievably reverent.

Then, his fingers brush your neck.

It is the softest touch, fleeting and unintentional, a murmur of skin against skin as he finishes tying the last knot of your bodice. Though the moment is short-lived, the way it sets your senses into flames, or the way it sinks into the depth of your bones, makes you wonder if there is more to find beneath the accidental graze of his hand.

And before you can stop yourself, your body does something that goes against every rational fiber in your being.

You lean back.

The movement is subtle and instinctive, a slight shift of your weight as you chase the gentle warmth he emits. The second you realize what you have done, your breath stutters.

Behind you, Sir Barnes stills.

Neither of you dare to move. All around the room, the air thickens, fragile like glass that could fracture at even the smallest intake of breath. Everything your body feels is him—his touch, his breath, his body heat—and it makes your blood alight with something you struggle to name.

“Breakfast!”

The sharp rap against the door makes you jump out of your skin. Just like that, the moment is shattered, blown into tiny little pieces all over the floor.

“Yer breakfast, M’lady!”

You lurch forward, stepping away as if burned, as if the distance alone could extinguish the fire between the two of you. Sir Barnes moves in the opposite direction, reaching for the door and allowing the man to enter with two plates of breakfast in hand.

“Enjoy yer breakfast, Good Sire,” the man says before leaving.

The two of you are alone once more, trapped again in an endless dance that seems to pull and push you towards one another. You do not dare lift your eyes, afraid of what you might find should your gaze find him from across the room. The weight of his presence is still palpable, still maddening, and as you hear the way his breathing strains, you know that he, too, is grappling with the burden of what has transpired.

“I should—” Sir Barnes begins, voice gruff and cracking around the edges, “—I need to tend to the horses.”

A flimsy excuse. You both know it.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides toward the door. His hand lingers on the handle for the briefest of moments before he pulls it open and steps out, leaving behind the scent of leather and steel.

At last, you are alone.

Your shoulders slump as your lungs take in a much needed breath. The food before you sits untouched, but you force yourself to reach for a piece of bread—to go through the motions of normalcy even if each bite is a futile attempt to swallow down the memory of his hands on your back, his breath against your skin, and the unbearable truth that no distance will be enough to erase the fire still burning beneath your ribs.

Taglist: @corawithfanfiction @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @greatenthusiasttidalwave

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vinelark · 2 days ago

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Hello! Was going through your fic rec tag and saw someone asked for your favorite pangy Jason fics, and was wondering if I could request the same but with Tim instead?

okay, you’ve asked the golden question for me, because tim pangs are my favorite pangs—and this fandom has such an abundance of them. i had to narrow this list down so much, and tried to focus on fics where the pangs feel like a core part of the story for me. i came up with a mix of go-to recs that have definitely appeared on this blog before and some stories i don’t think i’ve mentioned yet. so here we go, serving up some tim pangs:

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by @bonesbuckleup

tim joins the batfamily early, and in one of the pangiest ways possible. featuring an actual uncle and tim being so very isolated and alone (until he isn’t!)—excellent recipe for great and sustained pangs. i rec this one often and for good reason: i love the characterization of this pre-robin tim (smart! competent! lonely! believably a kid!), the writing is fantastic, and it still hits on each reread.

A Meditation on Railroading by @eggmacguffin

another one of my favorite rereads—this is all about robin-era tim being hurt in his home/civilian life and trying to deal with that on his own, because he’s drawn a clear line between “robin” and “tim.” this is pangs galore—from tim’s positioning of himself in relation to the bats (especially bruce and dick), to the large and small ways he is hurt + how he deals with that hurt, and, especially, the way we get to see jason observe & recharacterize tim based on what happens in this story.

Surveillance series by @smilebackwards

this series has these very specific “tim comes into the picture late” flavor of pangs that i am (more than) a bit obsessed with—it does such a compelling job navigating what this version of tim would think and do and feel as he forges relationships with the bats/assorted heroes a few years later than in canon. and some of those feelings (especially in the first and last installments) are beautifully pangy; here we have tim dealing with a lot on his own without ever expecting outside help, and even later when be finds himself with a support network, this still teases out the great, subtle pangs of tim having to learn how to navigate that.

equivalent exchange by scribblemetimbers

holy tim pangs, batman! this really hits the sweet spot—a tim who is competent and cunning and stubborn as hell AND is lonely with terrible self-worth unintentionally reinforced by bruce, all of which collide in a self-sacrificial gambit that sets its long plot in motion. (this fic is complete, but is part one of a series.) this does one of the top-tier, prime pang setups: in which one character unintentionally reinforces another character’s deepest insecurities (with devastating consequences).

between hands that relaxed by @deitybird

one of my new fav reverse robins fics (that recently completed!), in which tim, the second of batman’s partners, was killed by the joker—and that’s just where the horrors begin for him. lots of pangs re: tim’s sense of identity/worth, his aching loneliness as he slowly finds his way back to the family, and especially notable angst re: his relationship with an older damian. (before he died it was: bad. this story takes a very hopeful approach to their future.) i also adore the timkon & core four threads here. as a bonus, the first fic in the series is damian pov and, imo, extremely worth reading both fics for maximum pangs.

Hear it in your tone (you’re slowly letting go) by sexyPineappleMan (wip)

a take on “bruce is tim’s biological father” that is so far doing everything i would want with this premise, and delivers a buffet of pangs from chapter one. tim is brilliant, lonely, and hurting in this joins-the-family-late au—that also sees him as a (former) olympic hopeful gymnast, a non-robin tim identity i love—and i’m equally compelled by the angst/looming reveals, and by the intrigue of the plot itself. i’ve been well fed so far and am eagerly awaiting more.

Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines by @sunflowersandink

in which robin!tim is dealt a very specific kind of difficult hand and (you may be sensing a pattern here) tries to deal with it entirely on his own. the way there’s so much tension and angst hanging over a scene about eating pancakes speaks to the kind of story this is: one where every single detail is used for maximum potential. i return to this one for its prime tim pangs, and i still forget, every time, just how well executed they are and how the plot builds to a top-notch reveal and resolution. (heads up for food insecurity/disordered eating in this one, do mind the notes!)

some of us have childhoods that aren't poems on sight (but darling, you're doing alright) by mrs_d

specifically chapter 21, which has a fully executed pang arc that almost lets it read like a standalone story. don’t get me wrong, there are pangs threaded throughout—tim in this story is very lonely and primed to expect lack of care—but the misunderstanding between alfred and tim in the second half of this chapter is really notable. it’s simple and technically low-stakes compared to what else is happening in the plot, but the stakes feel high to us (and to the characters).

How to Proceed by @philosophersandfools

another reverse robins fic, this one a oneshot that pulls off its premise both efficiently and potently. here we see a teenage eldest brother damian, who has softened a bit (especially since a very young jason and dick have already been brought into the fold) but still distrusts and dislikes his father’s new mentee, 14 y/o tim. that distrust stems from damian’s misunderstanding of tim’s intentions/situation and leads to some excellent pangs before a decisive resolution.

this is nowhere near an exhaustive list and i reserve the right to update with additions later 💪

#should be said that a lot of these authors have other pangy bangers (pangers?) on their page #internet says ‘panger’ is portmanteau for ‘pandemic anger’ and i think that’s silly so i’m claiming it instead #anyway so sorry this took ages to post #as you might see by the literal essay i wrote while doing it i kept getting sidetracked #tim drake #fic rec #vinelark asks

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cleradinhive · 2 days ago

Text

byler can't be unrequited

the fact that there has been no content makes it really easy to get doubtful about what we already know to be true. here is why byler being unrequited is almost impossible if the duffers are even a fraction as talented as we think they are.

we have ALREADY got the unrequited arc in stranger things. more than once!!!! dustin liked max and robin liked tammy thompson. reusing this storyline for will (albeit on a much grander, heartbreaking scale) would be extremely lazy and unfulfilling. if will were to move on from mike and have another boyfriend by the end of the series, that would literally just be a direct copy and paste of robin's (and dustin's?) arc.

how satisfying is it to mirror the only two queer characters storyline's almost 1:1?

the main argument we see of ignorant ga members: "it was the 80s, mike not liking will back is realistic and would help older queer people feel represented on screen."

sure... but robin's crush on tammy has already fulfilled that relatable storyline. the sheer impact of "i wanted her to look at me" and robin's coming out scene shouldn't be understated. personally, i was only a confused kid watching that scene for the first time, but in that moment, i felt understand in ways that i wasn't even aware of. i've heard similar experiences with young and older queer people (namely lesbians) while watching that scene. the heartbreak was real.

however, by season 4, robin conceded to the fact that, okay maybe tammy isn't that great.

meanwhile will is literally just beginning to understand how in love with mike he is. mike makes him feel better for being different. this isn't just someone that will saw in passing at school. he is not going to move on from mike after loving him for as long as we've known them, either. imagining will undergoing the level of devastation associated with unrequited feelings when he's this in love with mike feels cruel. advancing the supernatural plot or his "coming of age" arc would not be enough to justify the level of suffering he would face.

queer people felt robin's pain, but the straight ga is fine with putting will through the same thing on steroids. the way the duffers talk about will's character makes me confident that they would handle his story with more care than that.

the unrequited pattern we've seen in the show is:

dustin: likes max -> max likes someone else -> starts dating suzie

robin: likes tammy -> tammy likes someone else -> starts dating vickie (in s5)

is this really something we need to see a third time? wouldn't the right time to give will a neat and easy new love interest be when he moved to california?

the duffers want the characters to have their perfect endings, even if they are shocking.

after being targeted and heartbroken for pretty much the whole series, is being alone or with some random side character at the last minute will's perfect ending?

no. it's not.

#byler doubt #never heard of it #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #stranger things 5 #stranger things 4 #stranger things 3 #robin buckley #byler nation #byler endgame #byler analysis #byler proof

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lordgoretash · 21 hours ago

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I have an answer to this! Well, a series of answers. Because it's me, I'm one of the people who wanted to see it handled quite a bit differently. But before we get started, I'm not sure that what I mean by more slave representation and what you think when you hear more slave representation are necessarily the same thing. I will go into more what I actually would want as I talk about the problems I had with the presentation of slavery as it is, but it doesn't mean more chains and whips or whatever you may be picturing.

First problem: I was deeply uncomfortable with how white savior-y the Shadow Dragons come across. The people who are treated as actual characters with actual lives that matter, as well as being the ones making all the decisions, are two politicians, a cop, and a guy who is described as a "proud Altus". And also the kid of a rich military family, if you are playing the Shadow Dragons Rook. And this is never treated as a problem in any way. They are here to save the day from on high without actually having any real input from the people who they claim to be helping. This could literally be fixed by making one major Shadow Dragon npc with as full a story as our other Shadow Dragons contacts who is a former slave and having that come up in dialogue. Just anything to make it less about the wealthy elite fixing everything for the downtrodden masses. Make it less about freedom being something given at the benevolent whims of those already in power.

There was ONE former slave who we meet as part of the Shadow Dragons, and she's outside doing money making service work, while the people who legally would be allowed to own her are the ones inside making all the decisions. And we only find this out through a codex, because she's a vendor, not someone we can have an actual conversation with.

Which brings me to my second problem: Most of the rest of the slaves we encounter are literally nameless victims, often already ritually murdered by the time we get there. They aren't treated in the narrative as real people. The people who are being oppressed are there to serve their social betters or to be rescued or die, but are never given a voice, let alone seat at the table. Again, having a Shadow Dragon who is a former slave with as full of a backstory as our other Shadow Dragons contacts would basically fix this. Or a companion, like Fenris in DA2. Or literally any major character who is or has been a slave. And finally: All of the slavery we do see is exclusively a Venatori practice. Technically there are a couple of codexes that suggest there is other slavery, but that is not what the game really presents. Which is part of an overall problem with Veilguard, where it wants to present every bad thing as the fault of small group of evil lunatics, brushing the entire existence of any systemic oppression under the rug. Which, as someone who experiences systemic oppression several different ways, pisses me off.

So spread it out a little. Have a side quest where it turns out the evil blood mage sacrificing people isn't part of the secret society. Or let us meet and talk to a slave or former slave whose master didn't have any secret handshakes. Or even some of the npcs in Docktown who have in passing dialogue. Let the actual narrative of the story reflect the fact that this is a societal problem in Tevinter, not just one freaky cult.

I'm not looking for more torture porn (and honestly could do without the way some of it was displayed, especially at Tearstone Island.) And I don't think that former slave Shadow Dragon Rook is the best way to solve the problems I have with it; it's just the easiest to headcanon in without actually having to make any real changes so I can see why people often lean into that first. But that doesn't mean the game wouldn't have benefited from having a character or two who was actually enslaved at some point.

Pardon my Orlesian but why the FUCK are some of y'all so obsessed with the idea of graphic slave representation in Veilguard in a “I need it to be in my face” kind of way and “Rook should have had a slave origin choice, especially wrt the Shadow Dragons” comments and like.

Who and what are these trains of thought helping.

I need to know why you think this would be a value add and what kind of enrichment it's contributing to your enclosure. Be very explicit. Explain to me like I'm five. Cite sources too, like I want to make sure we played the same game.

#veilguard critical #dav #i know this answer got long #but i have a lot of thoughts about this

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shyamanuensis · 3 days ago

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17 - t.r

it's been one of those days. enjoy some teenage tom riddle angst because i can't function right now. unedited. pairing: tom x muggle!reader

There was something acutely nostalgic about the cold frost the winds would tease in to dance across your skin now that summer had begun to end. The warmth that daylight had once brought shaded by an umbra of sombreness giving way in a poetic sense to the crisp chill of autumns wonder. The scattering of magenta through the skies, specifically tonight, was like nothing you’d ever witnessed before. It was as if angels and spectres had fought for lost souls as an incubus bled near bardic like, wounds ready for the world to witness, to see.

August 31st always crept into your life with a disturbance, with an imbalance you couldn’t quite explain. The days leading up to it on the calendar teased as your gut churned, breath knotted, eyes wept within the privacy of your own thoughts and deliberations. Turning seventeen at Wools hadn’t been how you had expected life to turn out after a series of misfortunate returns by foster families looking for someone younger, someone smaller, someone with less trauma, someone who would better fit the family. You weren’t a toddler anymore – they seemed to have all the fortunes you’d grown out of. With cupid style cheeks and a smirk that would let them get away with anything; you were officially at the age of being out on your luck.

A certain boy had made your days and nights not feel so long, not feel so terrible though. At least over summers when he returned from the fantasy land he’d tried to describe to your once. Hogwarts, was it? Something like that. You had become smitten with the sound of his voice the first time you heard it; coerced by the specks of trouble sprinkled through his eyes you knew meant adventure. Tom was somewhat different to anyone else you’d ever met. He was cordial to you when others described him as cold. You saw an integrity within him, that others viewed only as immoral. He’d hold your hand if it ever stormed knowing how you weren’t the biggest fan of the rain, and you’d let him fall asleep; head resting on your lap whenever his mind wouldn’t switch off – deactivate.

“What would you like to be when you’re older?” “…happy.”

It was a conversation the two of you had almost weekly. Tom always knew the answer, and yet still he asked as if he’d never done so before. The courtyard of the orphanage at this time of day was empty. It had always ben this way across the countless years that you could remember. Seated on a bench where you’d spend far too much time daydreaming about being somewhere else, anywhere else; a place that perhaps felt like a home; your fingers curled softly around the seats edge, skimming across Tom’s own which were doing the same. You were both silent. Something not quite unique for the friendship you two possessed but nonetheless, you wished that right now, he would speak.

“We’ll be adults this time next year.” You point out the obvious as if it’ll be enough to warrant any kind of conversation out of Tom. Just something, anything to hear his voice just one last time, knowing that when you woke up tomorrow morning – life would be different. “No coming back here. It’s funny… I think I might actually miss the place.”

Tom remains hushed. Stoic. His expression, that you can see from the corner of your eye, reads as mildly anxious yet earnest as he glances out into the distance at nothing. It cancels out any entertaining ideas you might have as the silence teetering around you both begins to consume you. Mrs Cole makes her final rounds for the evening with a lap of the courtyard, advising everyone that it’s almost curfew with her sharp featured smile and you nod an acknowledgement, standing up on your feet near instantly. Brushing your skirt out to lay flat, you can’t help but wonder why Tom hasn’t moved yet.

“Will you write to me?” You always enjoyed receiving Tom’s letters, dropped off by the most adorable of grey owls you’d never seen. He didn’t respond; instead his gaze just fixed out to nothing. You licked your lips and dug your heel into the soft ground waiting for a reply, a smirk, a chuckle, a groan… anything. You decided that perhaps, it was time to speak up again.

“I… hope you get appointed head boy like you’ve been talking about all summer and--.” “I think I’ve fallen for you.”

Tom’s words cut through any reticence or doubt you may have had with his lack of communication – however you feel as if you’ve suddenly stumbled into a novel new territory of naïveté. It’s a place you don’t particularly want to be; and yet suddenly find yourself having to decided between sinking or swimming.

“…you – you think... you think you’ve what?”

Your head starts to spin, eyes begin to feel heavy, heart race quicker than that of a thoroughbred. Tom eventually moves. Standing up to take his usual place beside you but instead of taking your hand as he always would and leading you back off towards the common room for a the night, he reaches out to brush some rouge hair from your eyes; tucking it in nearly behind your ear and dips his head to bring his lips up to graze against your own in a barely there, sort of kiss. If you weren’t already speechless, you were now.

“- and you deserve a guy who’s better than me.”

Both your exhales mix into a cocktail of predisposition of unspoken, tacit lust; of yearning; yet this is broken immediately as he steps back. Steps away. Flinches from the sudden execution of feeling. His fingers, gentle and mellow; draw along your jaw before tracing over your lips as if to try and commit the details of your face he’s admired so many times before, to memory – just in case. You try to speak, try to reason, to articulate the nothingness which has debilitated you into reservation and yet can’t. Your eyes eagerly gazing up into Tom’s dark own manage little more than to search them for deceitful terms yet are met with something akin to momentary authenticity of what he’s admitted. Of what you’ll probably never hear from him again.

“I’ll write if I have time. Promise.”

But that’s all that you get from him as he twists to wander away; to escape from the sudden chaos you’re still trying to remain afloat in and all you can wonder as you begin to blink at the tears which swell up in the corners of your eyes as his figure moves further and further from sight is if you’ll ever actually see him again. Or if there’s someone out there, who like Tom; might, in the future, make you feel seventeen again.

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle x reader #tom marvolo riddle #unedited #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader

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zolass · 11 hours ago

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Charming Player Top Mafia Boss Oc x Bottom Male Reader x Right-Hand Man Oc

Another one finished, actually crazy. Also because Charming Player was the first idea from 3 and I wrote it as last- also Reader was supposed to be kinda Playboy type shi- those two are not the first dicks he had in his ass. Might focus on Oc x Oc works besides a Series with Top Male Reader, if y'all have requests you can just slide them in and I'll definitely look over them.

MDNI if you do, not my problem what you consume. Content/warning: Smut, mentions of prostitution, debt fuck :), face fucking and deep throating, unprotected sex, double penetration, if I missed some I'm sry.

3k words

You were in debt– deep debt that you could drown your ancestors in. You borrowed money, from someone your friends– hell even the bartender told you to never lend money from Llyod Vaughn. But that’s what you did, while you gambled it away in the same club, said man owned.

Biting your lip, you watched the frustrated faces of the middle aged men in delight, hiding your smile behind your cards. You were so close to winning all the money on the table, it was definitely enough for you to buy a trip to a tropical island and live your life a bit more carefree. Yet the session was suddenly interrupted, as heavy boots hit the floor, approaching the table you were sitting at.

The four other men at the table, looked somehow even more panicked than before as their eyes landed on the person stopping right behind you, “Y/N come with me,” the graveling voice of none other than, the right-hand man of Lloyd. The voice sent shivers down your spine, one of slight fear but mostly lust.

As you looked behind you, the stern gaze of dark eyes catched yours. You couldn’t help but pout, you knew your game and chance of winning was now over. With a heavy sigh you placed your cards on the table before getting up and following after the man. “I could’ve won that– do you even know how– fuck it, anyways are you bringing me to your boss?” you stopped your train of thoughts spilling from your lips, when you didn’t get an answer.

Rolling your eyes, another pout formed on your lips, before quickly getting distracted as your eyes raked over the man’s body. He was definitely really attractive, dark brown hair that was tied back in a man-bun, the five o’ clock shadow on the jaw had your legs wobbled by the lustful thoughts swapping through your mind.

The other man only threw you an annoyed look and a scoff, as he led you up the stairs into a room with the sign ‘Vip Exclusive’ on it. The room was definitely large, there was an entire wall made out of glass that showed the on-goings on the first floor, the light of the club flickered dimly into the room, which was lightened up in warm light.

Said room was basically empty except for a few guards, a bartender, the man by your side, yourself and well another person that was standing at the wall of tinted glass. Your eyes scanned over the man, he wore a suit that clung nicely to his body, dark hair styled back, you couldn’t see his face but you could see his hand, large with a few obvious veins, fingers wrapped around the glass.

You gulped, as your throat felt suddenly dry, “Look who we have here, Mr L/N, you’re quite some trouble, hm?” The voice was deep and smooth, yet it sent you a shiver down your spine, the voice was cold with a hint of frustration. Lloyd turned around with a raised eyebrow, “How exactly are you going to pay your debt back to me? If you don’t have any income, hm?” he took slow deliberate steps towards you, coming to a stop in front of you, “I mean– you lend a million dollars in the last three years and not one penny made it back to me, after you promised you would pay back,” he placed a finger under your chin, lifting it up to meet his grey eyes.

Licking your lips, you felt suddenly nervous. You didn’t think it would be this much, you thought if you won in a gamble you can easily pay back– yet it seems you’ve forgotten. Your eyes quickly skimmed across the room, before landing on the glass wall, in the far corner there was the open room in which he was only minutes ago, his jaw clenched lightly as he took a deep breath. You could see the four middle aged men and a new additional person who’d took your place, before your eyes locked back on Lloyd’s, “I was about to win enough money to pay you back–” a scoff and a chuckle came from Lloyd and the man who brought you here.

“We both know– you’ve forgotten a long time ago from whom you got all that money to play your dirty little games– you won’t suddenly pay up,” he dropped your chin and took a step back, his eyes analyzed your body seemingly satisfied with what he saw, “Well with a body like that– there might be another possibly for you to get the money, as you’re not getting any more from me to throw away,” you saw how Lloyd licked his lips, before he retreated to a seat lounge.

Suddenly a push on your back, made you follow the man, with the other close behind you. Lloyd sat down on the plush red seating, while you stood by the table in front of him, “I think it’s time for you to show some of the.. good qualities you could use to pay me back,” the black haired male said, as he spread his legs with an arm draped lazily over the back of the lounge.

Lloyd teasingly tapped his lap, you wanted to ask if there’s another way for you to pay back, you didn’t want to sell your body. But maybe if you would play your charms right, after getting a taste of the man and satisfying him, you could stir the man’s mind to maybe a different deal. You licked your lips, as you took two steps closer before you kneeled down between Lloyd’s legs, who didn’t comment and only watched.

Using your teeth on the zipper from Lloyd’s black dress pants, pulling it slowly down, as your eyes were locked with the grey ones. You worked on the man’s pants until his semi-hard cock springs free. Your hand wrapped around it, while giving the slightly reddish tip a few kitty licks, tasting the precum on your tongue, while you stroked his cock a few times until it was hard and pulsing in your hand.

Your lips wrapped around the tip, suckling on it. You could feel your own dark blue dress pants, that were already tightly clinging to your skin, pressing against your own hardening dick. A soft grunt left Lloyd as you took more of his cock into your mouth, while your tongue licked over the protruding vein that ran up his cock. When you reached the base, you hummed lightly after you had eased your gag reflex, a hand fisted your hair, which made you look up through your lashes with slightly watery eyes, you came face to face with a hungry look.

Slowly you started to bop your head, until the hand in your hair guided you, rougher. Your eyes rolled slightly back when Lloyd used your throat, until he stood up from his seating position with your mouth still on his cock. You only heard a door open and close, and a grunt before said man started to thrust his cock into your warm wet mouth. You couldn’t help but moan as the man above you used your mouth, while his tip hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck you have such a good mouth– oh f-fuckk–” your cock twitched painfully, at the words, while Lloyd’s thrust picked up the pace, until your face was shoved against his groin, pubic hair itching your skin as the cock in your mouth twitched before ropes of hot cum shot down out of his tip down your throat, followed by a groan from the man. As his load emptied in your mouth you tried to swallow as good as you could, to not choke on his dick and cum.

When you swallowed the last drop, the hand let go of your hair, you pulled back easing your throat. You sucked on the tip, before letting the cock plop out of your mouth. Lloyd sat back down on the seating, his legs spread as he waved a hand, “Alio would you.. Bring me the lube?” the man Alio, who is the one that brought you here and the only one who stayed, stalked away to probably grab the requested item.

Lloyd leaned forward, a finger placed under your chin, lifting it, “Your mouth definitely would get some money– let’s see the quality from the rest of your body, hm?” the words made your cock pulse painfully in your slacks, you rubbed your thighs together trying to give your aching cock some relief.

Grey eyes focused on your movement, a raised eyebrow and a mocking smirk formed on Lloyd’s lips, “You’re hard from sucking me off? God– you’re a little slut, aren’t you,” his voice was mocking, yet the grey eyes were flooded by lust. “Get up and strip,” was the order that followed quickly. When you stood, you slowly started to undress, starting with the black silk shirt, which was only half buttoned exposing his collarbone and chest a bit, the shirt was slightly see-through underneath the light, making it obvious what was barely hidden underneath anyways, after that followed the black dress pants that highlighted your legs and ass, this was also when Alio returned. Now you stood only in your black fitted panties with an obvious bulge, and your patent leather shoes.

After a few seconds, you also pulled your underwear off, a satisfied look was on Lloyd’s face, who tapped his lap again. This time you didn’t kneel, you sat down on his lap, a hand was placed on your lower back as you sat face to face with the man. You slowly lifted your hands and started to unbutton Lloyd’s suit and dress shirt, which got you a raised eyebrow with a look of interest, but he never stopped you.

Your hands wandered over his warm exposed chest, before your hands dropped again. A chuckle left Lloyd, before he reached his arm out in which Alio placed the bottle of lube. “Is that all you would do to please me?” Lloyd asked teasingly, making you bite your lip, before you leaned forward and started to place kisses on his neck and jaw, first they were a bit hesitant before they got slightly more confident and eager.

The sound of the bottle opening made the heat pool in your groin, and a soft gasp left you as two fingers pushed into your hole, your arms automatically grabbed onto Lloyd. “You know– I might be an asshole, even considered a monster by many.. but I don’t have sex with unprepared partners,” the low voice of Lloyd sounded by your ear, the warm breath hitting the shell.

Soft moans left your throat, between the kisses you littered on his skin, a few red marks blossomed on his skin from where you sucked. The long, slick fingers worked your hole open until they brushed and prodded against your prostate, making your eyes roll slightly back, while a moan rippled from your throat. “There it is,” Lloyd mumbled, before he pressed against it a few more times, enlightening the soft moans from you that had his cock pulsing.

Lloyd pulled his fingers out, before lightly tapping your hip, “Lift your ass,” he ordered and you followed. He aligned his tip with your hole, teasing your hole slightly, “Get down on it,” and you did. You felt the bulbous tip pressing against your hole before it breached the rim, a shaky moan left you and a breathy groan against your ear from the black haired male.

The length pushed slowly into your hole, inch by inch until you reached the base. Your hips shook lightly as the tip pressed against that sweet spot, your arms were looped around Lloyd’s neck as you took slow breaths. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, you started to lift your hips before dropping them again. It was slow at the beginning, before you picked up the pace and found a rhythm that not only had you feeling good but also Lloyd, whose hands were grabbing onto your hips.

You were lost in pleasure, as moans spilled from your lips. The soft grunts and groans from Lloyd firing you up to keep going, until a heat coiled in your stomach as you slammed your hips down and the tip kissed your prostate, the feeling intensified. Your legs shook, barely able to continue to ride Lloyd, who noticed and thrusted up into your hole, quickly pushing you over the edge.

A loud moan, as your eyes rolled back. Your hands holding tightly onto Lloyd, as your legs shook and your cum spurted out of your cock, splattering onto Lloyd’s exposed chest, who was focused on your face as sloppy thrust hit your prostate, while your hole clenched tightly around his twitching cock, which added to the erotic face you had, made him shoot his load into your warm velvety hole.

Not once before had any of his partners made a face that looked so erotic, making his cock twitch even more after his own orgasm ebbed. When your eyes met, you looked up at him with slightly teary eyes, “More–” you spoke, which made him raise both eyebrows before a smirk settled on his lips, “You’re quite a needy slut for dick,” he said before his eyes wandered from you to Alio who seemed focused on not sparing the two of you a look, but seeing the bulge in his right-hand man’s pants told him enough.

“Alio come over– seems like one cock isn’t enough for him,” Lloyd spoke, gaining both of your attention. Alio slowly walked over, looking at his best friend, while his eyes sometimes strayed to your figure. “What are you waiting for? Needy boy wants more,” Lloyd’s voice pulled Alio out of his train of thoughts, before he started to undress. The boss’ focus landed back on you, as he pushed a hair strand behind your ear, “Do you think you’re able to take both of us?”

You looked at Lloyd and swallowed hard, “I can try..” you said, the thought did send excitement down your spine, but if you could take it was the question that you were about to solve, as Lloyd laid on his back with you following close behind. The slick sound of Alio jerking his lubed cock made you clench around the man already inside of you.

Lloyd grabbed your chin and pulled you further down, closer to his lips, “We have to make you relax or else it won’t work well,” were the last words before his lips crashed with yours, pulling you into a heated kiss. Alio watched for a few seconds, before he walked over stopping behind you.

You only felt how your hole slowly stretched more, as Alio slowly eased his cock inside your hole. It was a bit uncomfortable yet it sent waves of pleasure up your spine, “You’re doing so well,” Lloyd spoke gently against your lips, before trying to stir your focus elsewhere until Alio was sheathed fully inside your hole, alongside Lloyd.

“So full– fuck-” you whimpered as your legs trembled and soft gasps left your lips from the twitching cocks. Suddenly a hand wrapped around your leaking cock from behind, stroking it making you moan as cum spurted out of your cock. Lloyd kissed your neck, while rubbing your left hip until his eyes fell onto the bulge in your stomach. “Well, would you look at that,” Lloyd’s voice was husky, as his free hand moved to your stomach and pressed against the bulge, enlightening pleasured sounds from the three of you.

Alio on the other hand, was slightly unsure, he was aroused by the idea of fucking you after what he heard and saw, especially now that his cock was in you– but he didn’t know how much you could take. “You can move,” you spoke loud enough for the two to hear, the men both gave each other a look, before Alio pulled his hips back, before thrusting back in. As Alio thrusted in, Lloyd pulled out and so it continued.

It was slow yet pleasing, your body trembled as gasps and breathy moans left you. Both men groaned, at your hole clenching and their cocks rubbing against each other, the pace got quicker which ended with your arms giving out, and your face planted on Lloyd’s chest while your ass was filled up. Alio’s hand was still wrapped around your cock that was hard and weeping again, which brought him to stroke your cock in the same pace as their thrust, making you cum for the third time.

As your hole clenched tightly around their cocks, additional to the stimulation of their cocks rubbing up on another, made both of them come inside of your hole– loading you even more with cum. They pulled two more orgasms out of each other, while both of them penetrated your hole. Your thighs shook, as one cock pulled out, Lloyd’s, while Alio started to freely pound into you from behind, having you spill another orgasm onto Lloyd’s dress pants.

Your mind was reduced to a cock drunk and overstimulated mess, babbling and drooling. After you whined about not being able to cum anymore– Lloyd showed you that one more was possible, while one more turned into another, another and another. By the time your body was wrecked by another orgasm, your cock was shooting blanks and your hole dripping and stuffed with one last orgasm from Lloyd as you passed out on the man’s chest.

Lloyd gently caressed your head, as your sleeping form rested against him, with his cock buried inside of your, keeping most of the cum from dripping out. He grabbed his suit jacket and draped it over your naked form, and an arm wrapped around your figure. With a slightly exhausted sigh, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the jacket pocket, taking one out before throwing the pack over to Alio, who had his pants closed again. Lloyd grabbed the lighter and lit the bud of the cigarette.

“Are you keeping him?” the sudden question rang out, yet Lloyd only took a drag on the cigarette, before blowing the smoke out, “Yeah, he’s worth it. Why would I give such a gem away, if I can simply keep it for myself.”

#zolass writes #male x male #male reader #mlm #gay #x male reader #bottom male reader #top character

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yeonmuse · 1 day ago

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SYNOPSIS — Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like involving himself with those at Chaconne academy, but when he finds out his little sister’s music teacher attends and she starts getting a little too close she forces him to let his guard down. Now he’s gotta juggle new people and new emotions entering his life and she’s got to face her past in order to hold tight to him and her future.

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, angst non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🎻

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . Strong angst themes, slow burn but mostly fluff. I’m not sure where this idea had come from considering I have 4 unfinished series out right now but I wrote this in 4 days so lets fucking go i guess??? Includes Choi Yeonjun, Bae Jinyoung, Kim Sunwoo, Jung Wooyoung, Shen Ricky, Xu Jiaqi and Asaya Jurin. Wc is 4.1k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | ENDING

Chaconne Academy was one of the many elitist schools in the district, your typical run of the mill prissy assholes that felt they were better than everyone else simply because they’d paid a higher price for their education. Those that attended had either been scouted and recruited by the board while anyone other than those that worked hard to get in, were born into nepotism. Born into the wealth of the school or simply owed favors by the dean and those on the board. Though where exactly did that leave you? You were the absolute opposite type of what the school had been looking for, though very talented and passionate when it came to music you werent exactly the vibrant type. You were fairly quiet, you’d only talked to those you absolutely had to, otherwise you’d be compelled to spill your guts once you truly got to know someone. You’d rarely liked to stand out amongst the crowd because truth be told you’d completely hated attention. Though when it came to writing and composing music or holding a mic in your hand that was where you absolutely shined. In high school you’d grab attention occasionally, many finding you pretty but almost immediately losing interest when they found that you rarely talked. You were never the type that liked to dwell in the spotlight.

You certainly weren't rich nor had you been scouted by anyone so how exactly had your father pulled enough strings to have gotten you into such a highly praised academy? You weren’t exactly sure nor had you cared because you had finally found yourself a group of people you knew would understand you amongst all, or at least you thought you had. The pictures and virtual tour had done no justice to the school itself, not only was it huge, but it was absolutely breathtaking, its outdated castle-like exterior contrasted to its much more modern interior. The visuals certainly lived up to the expectations that had been set by the school's reputation itself. Having been busy taking in your surroundings you found yourself quite distracted, maybe a little too distracted, seemingly unaware of the red haired man hurdling right towards you on his skateboard immediately knocking you off your feet.

“Shit, I'm sorry.’’ Scrambling to his feet he helps you up, holding onto your hand a little longer than he should have been , turning the already embarrassing encounter much more awkward than needed.

“I didn’t see you, I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you or anything right”

“Aside from the embarrassment of being ran over and knocked down in the middle of the corridor completely fine, nothing hurt, nothings broken.’’ You reassure him, making him let out a relieved sigh.

“Actually now that I think about it I don’t think i’ve seen you here at all.’’

“That’s because i'm new.’’

“Ah I should have known, since there aren’t many of us here it’s easy to remember the faces of those that attend, and I know for a fact yours is one I wouldn’t have forgotten.’’ there's a flirtatious undertone to his words, making you look away which hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.

“I’m Yeonjun by the way.’’

“Yn’’

A silence lingers between the two of you momentarily after your self introductions, the silent streak only having been broken when Yeonjuns name is called from behind you, making his eyes finally redirect from you who stood in front of him to a group standing behind you.

Four other guys and two girls stood in the entranceway of the hallway, seemingly waiting for Yeonjun to Join them.

“One second.’’ His attention returns to you as he once again makes sure that you’re okay from the fall.Truth be told you were more embarrassed than anything and just grateful that no one had been there to witness the collision

“I’m fine, it looks like your friends are waiting for you and i’ve got to check in with the dean.’’

“Good luck with that, oh and let’s not tell her about our little collision, I don’t need another lecture from her about skating in the halls again.’’ he inquired, sheepishly scratching at the nape of his neck.

“Your secrets safe with me.’’

“I’ll see you around. Goodluck on your first day yeah?’’

“Thanks.’’ without another word he’d picked up his skateboard and gone to join the others, leaving you alone once again. It was then that you realized you’d completely missed the opportunity to ask him where the dean's office had been. Which meant you were now completely fucked and left with no chance of finding it without roaming the entire building. You’d roamed for what felt like an hour but had only been a mere ten minutes, eventually getting yourself lost.

“I should have asked him for directions.’’ a sigh slipped past your lips and you’re immediately startled as you hear someone speak up from behind you.

“Are you lost or something?’’

“Is it that obvious?’’

“Well the “i should have asked him for directions” and the fact that you’re in the guys dormitories which is restricted to the girls are kind of gave it away.’’ you mentally facepalm, taking a mental note of the information he’d just given you before turning to face the owner of the voice that had startled you only a moment ago.

“You must be the new girl Yeonjun told everyone about.’’

“Already? We only just met a few minutes ago?’’

“Word travels fast here, especially if Choi Yeonjun is the man given the information. So by now nearly half the school knows about you.’’

“Great.’’

“I’m assuming you’re looking for the dean's office then? And in that case you’re in the wrong building. This is building B, Building A is where the courses take place and where the dean's office is located, Building C are the girls dormitories.”

“Where are those exactly?’’ you felt bad for having to bombard him with so many questions though he on the other hand didn’t seem to mind.

“Luckily i’m on my way to soccer practice so I don’t mind showing you.’’

“Seriously? You really don’t mind?’’

“I’m headed that way anyways, what’s your name by the way Yeonjun conveniently forgot to pass on that information.’’

“Yn, it’s yn”

“Well welcome to Chaconne y/n i’m Sunwoo.’’

“There's no way you just let her walk past you like that? She’s been giving you the eyes for a month now.” jakes eyes trailed behind Kim Yuna like a cat following a laser beam. Kim Yuna had set her eyes on Sunghoon the moment he’d arrived at the school but as of recent she’d found herself growing more bold with her efforts. Subtle glances and greetings in the hallway had turned into not so subtle flirting, eye batting and seduction attempts, all of which Sunghoon paid no mind. Truth be told, aside from the very few people he’d been close to, he didn't care to get to know anyone else at the school. Not only was it pointless, but every single one of them were the same aside from a handful of people, all spoiled and spoon fed their entire lives, completely entitled. Sunghoon himself had also been well off, though he differed in the fact that he didn’t flaunt his money or use it as an excuse to treat people anyway he wanted. He’d treated them all the same, he simply didn’t care for any of them nor had he desired being close to any of them.

“I don’t know why you expected him to show any interest all of a sudden when he’s never given her the time of day no matter how many times Yunas attempted to flirt with him.’’ Jay interrupts, his focus solely on tuning his guitar in hand while Jake continues to whine in disbelief that Sunghoon had let such an opportunity pass him by.

Sunghoon on the other hand had paid him no mind. Glasses perched up on the bridge of his nose, fingers clicking away at his keyboard he’d chosen to simply ignore the latter. He’d grown used to Jake's whining and complaining by now, having known both him and Jake since middle school when their parents had all forced them to attend a shared event. They had all been thirteen at the time, each of them having bonded over dropping frogs in the punch bowl, every one of them having been scolded to the gods for ruining the entire event. They had all been friends ever since.

“He hasn’t given one girl a chance since we’ve gotten here, it’s scary. Wait or are you just not into girls- because you know if you’d rather a dude then that’s okay too.’’ Sunghoon, finally looking up from his computer gives Jake a stern look, one that blatantly read ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ But of course Jake simply ignored it.

“You know sometimes with you, I swear the stores are open but no one's shopping.” Jay retorts, making Jakes brows furrowed in confusion.

“Whatever the hell that means.’’

After what felt like an hour long talk with the dean you had settled into your dormitory. Since classes had already started that meant you’d not yet met your roommates but you were praying to every god known to man that they’d be someone you got along with. Today having been your first day arriving both you and the dean had set today’s priorities on you having gotten all moved in and used to the school. You on the other hand had found comfort in Sunwoo, and rather than get lost trying to find your way through the school all alone, you’d rather take your chances asking him to show you around. Until then that left you with nothing to do other than organize your room and job search. After two hours of room decorating and screaming Shinees entire discography at the top of your lungs, you’d eventually showered and sat yourself at the dining room table, scrolling through job after job until you eventually set your eyes on one that piqued your interest.

“Music teacher wanted.”

“We’re looking for someone to teach our youngest daughter about music. Recently she’s taken an interest in instruments we know nothing about. She’s also taken an interest in composing and note writing and we’re looking for an experienced professional, pay would be 200 dollars an hour.’’

Your eyes had nearly fallen from your face upon reading the price, 200 an hour simply to teach a kid music? They had to be either absolutely crazy or extremely wealthy. Either way you didn’t truly care because you’d apply with or without having known such information. Truth be told you’d never taught anyone professionally your entire life. The closest you’d gotten to teaching anyone was when you taught your little cousin how to play guitar hero at the age of eight.

You’d taught yourself to play nearly every instrument known to man, so how difficult could it be teaching someone else, let alone a child?

Your gaze snapped away from your laptop to the door as you heard it swing open and in came two girls yelling about where they should go out for dinner. As if finally seeming to have realized you had been sitting there they’d stopped dead in their tracks, one of them giving you a smile while the other stood rubbing her temples, you assumed it was due to the fact that the other had been screaming only mere seconds before.

“Oh you’re the girl Yeonjun was talking to earlier.’’ the girl that had been yelling moments ago, takes note as the other shuts the door behind them.

“I’m Jiaqi but you can call me jia, this is Jurin”

“Yn, nice to meet you.’’

“Jia the girl just got here, can you maybe not talk her ear off?’’

“I haven’t even said or asked anything yet?’’

“Yeah but I knew it was coming.’’

“Honestly I don’t mind, since we’re all gonna be sharing this space I don’t mind answering any questions you have.’’ you respond while closing your laptop, making jiaqis' nose scrunch up as she turns to Jurin.

“See rin, She doesn’t mind.” she retorts, an all knowing tone before turning her attention back to you

“We were just about to head out for lunch did you want to join us?’’

“Sure, just let me change into something less, homey.’’ you respond, glancing down at your outfit before standing from your seat at the table, earning a laugh from Jiaqi.

The rest of the day had gone by smoothly, you and the girls had taken the time out to get to know one another and you’d found out that you all had a few things in common. Similar music tastes, the same favorite ice cream flavor, you’d even find out that you and Jurin had attended the same middle school and just never crossed paths.

Sunghoon had arrived back home, happy to finally be back and get his much needed break from the classes and constant eyes on him. Even if it was a mere two days away he was grateful every time the weekend had come around, it meant no alarms and no agonizing drive from the campus and back. Though he could have made it far easier on himself and gotten a dorm, he'd rather take the drive back and forth from home to campus, rather than be forced to share a room with someone he knew he couldn’t bother getting to know.

“Oh good you’re here.’’ Sunghoons mom enters his room, poking her earring through her ear as she steps inside.

“Your father and I have to attend an emergency meeting, but Yoari’s new music teacher should be on her way soon, we left her instructions on the coffee table, and the money to pay her is in the safe, we told security to let her into the gate when she arrives just check up on her and your sister every now and then.’’

“You got her a teacher?’’

“Well yes, she wanted to learn music so we put up an ad two days ago.’’

“You hired a stranger to teach her when you could have gotten me or Jay?”

“You and Jay are not professionals sweetheart, and we’d rather you focus on your own classes and studies, we’ve been over this.’’

“So we’re just letting a stranger in the house and you haven’t even met them yet.’’ His mother opens his mouth to respond but their conversation is cut short when his father calls out, warning her that the two would be late which prompts her to give him a reassuring look and kiss on the forehead before leaving his room.

It wasn’t that Sunghoon didn’t like the idea of his little sister learning music, it was the simple fact that his parents hadn’t even bothered to get to know whoever it was they had hired. He loved his little sister more than anything, he’d been protective of her since the day she was born and he got to hold her in his arms for the first time. Of course he wanted to see his little sister happy and learning music but not with a absolute stranger when he or Jay were completely capable.

A ring at the door interrupts his thoughts and he assumes it's the unknown music teacher that his parents had hired. Making his way down the stairs, he finds that the door had already been open and his eight year old sister stood in the doorway across from who he assumed was the music teacher.

“Hi sweetheart, um where are your parents?’’

“Yoari what’d we tell you about opening the door for people you don’t know?’’ Sunghoon interrupts, taking his descend down the stairs and over to the door.

“But it’s just my teacher.’’

“Still you don’t know her.’’ Sunghoon eyes the girl watching as her lips pressed into a thin line while she observed the interaction between the two.

The tour of the house had been awkward to say the least, you’d been meeting the guy for the first time and you could already feel the atmosphere become tense. From the very moment you’d entered to the moment your tour around the home ended he’d been cold towards you. You hadn’t expected the guy to be overly nice but neither did you expect him to completely shut you out either. Before she could even think she’d spoken the words that sat at the edge of her brain from the moment she’d set eyes on him.

“You look really young for someone that has a kid” He’d immediately stopped reading the directions and gave her a look that made her wish the ground would swallow her whole.

“That’s because she’s my sister.’’ Oh? Now you have gone from wanting the ground to swallow you whole to wanting to completely disappear from the universe itself.

“Oh.’’ While you had been fighting back your embarrassment, Sunghoon who found your reaction amusing had been forcing back a laugh.

Your first practice had gone fairly well, today you’d been teaching Yoari one of the many instruments on her parents lists that she had been eager to play, the violin. Yoari had caught on quite fast, it made you realize how much children had advanced since when you were her age, it’d taken you an entire year to learn to play the violin and she’d caught on as if it had been something she’d been doing for her entire life.

“That was amazing Yoari, you read the notes pretty well so i’ll give you one of the songs and we can try and play that next, let’s see how far you can read and work on what you can’t.” as you placed the music in front of her the sound of your stomach growling cut through the silence like a knife. A giggle spills from the little girl's lips and you clear your throat, feeling embarrassed for the second time today.

“Maybe let’s take a short little break.’’

You left Yoari alone momentarily, making your way up the stairs and trying your best to remember where Sunghoon had told you his room had been when he’d given the tour. Eventually you stumbled across his door and knocked softly, receiving no response. After knocking again and earning not a peep you quietly turn the knob and push the door open. You found Sunghoon sitting at his window with headphones on and a notepad in hand. Now there you stood calling his name and flailing your arms around like an idiot trying to get his attention. Luckily he’d sensed your presence and caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye.

“Did you need something?’’ He finally acknowledges your presence, pulling his headphones off his ears and having them rest on his neck, allowing you to faintly hear the song he’d been listening to.

“You listen to wisp?’’ your eyes widened with disbelief, and for a moment Sunghoon's stoic expression contorted into one of disbelief.

“You know them?’’

“Well yeah i’ve got every song, even made my own hard copy on record of the latest album.’’

“A record? You still use those?’’ He responds, earning an eye roll and a scoff from you.

“Yes I do. And I'm not the only one by the way, vinyls are making a comeback.’’A smile ghosts on his face, yet it falls as fast as it appears. A silence lingered between the two of you for a moment and the only thing breaking it once again was the sound of your stomach.

“I was supposed to ask you about the kitchen, but.’’

“Your stomach beat you to it.’’ You didn’t even know what to say, you knew it was a natural thing but the fact that it had been so loud was agonizingly embarrassing. Without a word he stands from his spot at the window and makes his way towards the door, leaving you to follow.

Sunghoon wasn’t sure what made him decide to cook for you, he’d chalked it up to himself also being hungry and his sister also needing something to eat. He still didn’t fully trust you, after all he knew absolutely nothing about you other than you seemed to get embarrassed easily.

“so..do you play?’’

“What?’’

“The instruments, do you play? I’m only assuming since your parents already had the instruments here, the job didn’t require me bringing my own.’’ for a moment Sunghoon just sat there, his lips pressed into a thin line, he wasn’t exactly a talker and right now you seemed to be pushing those boundaries.

“He’s been playing since he was six.’’ His little sister includes herself in the conversation, perching herself up on the stool right in the middle of you and Sunghoon.

“Oh? So music just runs in this family?’’ you respond playfully looking over at Sunghoon who still seemed very much closed off to you.

“Mm no mom and dad hate it, they only let us play because they know it’s what we love to do.’’ the little girl continues, while Sunghoon just took the opportunity to continue eating, leaving you to eye him curiously. It was obvious that while Yoari liked you he still hadn’t fully warmed up to you yet.

“My mom hated music too, she’d say that all of it was just noise.’’ you don’t know why you suddenly felt the need to spill your guts to an eight year old girl and her brother who you weren’t even sure was listening but here you were.

“The only reason I was allowed to play growing up was because of my dad, he’d buy me all the latest cds and pay for my lessons, he’d work extra shifts just to pay for my first violin.”

“Your dad sounds cool!’’ Yoari responds enthusiastically, spaghetti sauce smeared on her face as she continues to eat while listening.

“Yeah he is, he gave up everything just to make sure that his only daughter didn’t give up on her dream even if that meant-’’ You paused realizing you’d dug a little too deep into the details of your own life. Leaving not only Yoari to look at you curiously but Sunghoon as well.

“Meant what?’’ Yoari asks curiously, her doe eyes staring straight up at you as she waits for you to finish your sentence.

“Even if it meant I get to teach someone as amazing, and talented as you Yoari.’’ you fake a smile, a smile that was enough to fool Yoari, but Sunghoon saw straight through it. He didn’t question it though, after all the two of you had only met today and it wasn’t his business to involve himself.

You’d eventually return to your dorm to find not only Jurin and Jiaqi but the others that had been waiting for Yeonjun on your first day. They had all sat in your living room screaming over what looked like a game of Uno.

“Oh yn you’re back.’’ Jurin was the first to realize you’d been back, making everyone's attention fall upon you.

“Hey, it’s my collision buddy.’’ Yeonjun greets you, making you cringe at the name.

“Collision buddy?’’

“Almost ran over her on my skateboard her first day.’’

“You idiot didn’t the dean tell you you’d be scrapping the gum off the desks if she caught you skating in the corridor again?’’

“Well it’s a good thing she didn’t catch me then isn’t it.’’

Jiaqi jogs over to you, locking her arm with yours. She takes you over to the group and introduces you. In addition to learning Jiaqi and Jurin you could finally put names to each face you’d learned, Aside from Yeonjun you’d found out their names were Wooyoung, Ricky, and Jinyoung. After having gotten to know each of them you’d clicked with all of them pretty well, or that was until yet another round of Uno began and all hell broke loose. That night ended with your newfound friends yelling over the game and eventually deciding it was best you all never played uno again.

On the other side of town Sunghoon sat quietly at the piano absentmindedly pressing his fingers against the keys. After the conversation in the kitchen and seeing how well you’d treated his sister he began to have second thoughts about you. Maybe he’d judged you too soon, maybe you were someone that would be good for his sister? He’d found himself thinking about you for the rest of the night, most of all he wondered what it was that you had really wanted to say when you had been talking to his sister. What you actually were going to let slip before you’d seem to catch yourself. For the first time he found himself interested in someone else other than himself, Jay, Jake or Yoari.

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @heesallure @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle @gaytron3000 @heesunghooney @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @enaile23 @ivyvioletcarson @kristynaaah @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella

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izzygoesdark · 2 days ago

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THE YOUNG GENIUS \\ The first meeting

summary: Spencer introduces his girlfriend to someone special. But will little Missy agree to live with them? \\ pairing: Spencer Reid x reader \\ warnings: fem!reader, non-bau!reader \\ wc: 2.5k \\ series masterlist

Rule #3: No workplace visits.

This is literally written down on a sticky note that’s stuck on the fridge, something that ended up there along with several other rules on the day you moved into his apartment. It made life together a lot easier, and you could successfully avoid unnecessary fights that way.

Despite this, Spencer had no choice but to ask you to drive to Quantico after work, because there was a time-sensitive matter that had to be discussed right away.

Now, as he’s pacing in front of the elevator like a caged animal, he begins to have doubts. There’s this feeling somewhere deep in the back of mind that tells him you will never agree to what he came up with, that you’re not yet ready, especially since you have never talked about these things.

But he can’t let the worst happen, he feels like he’s the only person in this world who can truly understand her, yet he also knows that he needs you as his partner to help.

And when the door finally opens, revealing you as you walk out of the elevator to close the gap between the two of you, the words suddenly disappear from his brain. That speech he planned is long gone by the time you stop in front of him and stand on your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss.

“You seem to be in one piece, so what’s so important that you’re willing to break the rule by calling me here?” you wonder with a sweet smile that assures him you’re not at all mad at him.

Fighting the urge to pepper your face with kisses, he reaches out to take your hand, this being the only kind of contact he allows himself. “Come with me, I’ll explain when we get there.” You tilt your head to the side in question, but take his hand nonetheless.

He begins to walk towards the bullpen, already bracing himself for the series of questions the others will shoot at him the moment he returns from the conference room. But before that, you head to Hotch’s office, where a social worker is already waiting for you.

You look more confused than before when you see an unknown woman in the office, especially when she tells you who she is, but then you take a deep breath, nod, and sit on one of the chairs, while Spencer decides to sit on the desk in front of it. The social worker takes the seat next to you, and he uses this moment to open the folder he put together.

“There’s a six year old little girl in the conference room, playing with Jack while Hotch watches them. Her parents were killed by the serial killer we caught during this most recent case,” he begins as he shows you her photo, and he can see that mixture of worry and sadness in your eyes as you listen.

He stops, turning to the social worker who knows the rest of the story. It’s her area, it would be better if she took the lead, and luckily, she gets the hint. “We did a thorough research, but Missy has no one left,” she explains. “Her mother was disowned by her family after she got pregnant, and they don’t want to hear about taking her in. Her father’s family has always been small, and his parents died in a car accident when he was in high school.”

Your eyes turn to Spencer in search for validation, and when he nods, you turn back to the woman. “Her parents had no siblings?” you ask, but the answer is just a small shake of her head. “Poor kid. So what now? Foster care?”

He exchanges a look with the social worker, then gently bumps his foot into your leg to get your attention. When you turn to him, he flashes a nervous smile at you.

“That’s an option. But… Look, Missy is a gifted kid, reminds me a lot of myself at her age. I’ve seen way too many cases with kids in foster families, and… Well, there are usually way too many kids for the parents to have enough energy left to feed her intellectual appetite,” he tells you.

That’s all he has to say. There’s that split second when the gleam of recognition shows in your eyes, and he knows you know what he wants. “Are we even ready for this? You travel a lot, and… I love you, you know that, but your big brain can be a teensy bit exhausting sometimes, because I can’t always keep up with you. If she’s like you–”

Shaking his head, Spencer extends his hand to get you to take it. Once you do, he squeezes lightly, then goes, “She’s different, she’s good with people. With my brain and your social skills, this could work perfectly.”

You think, and he can’t help but count the seconds, each of them passing slower than the one before. The silence truly is deafening; he can hear his heartbeat in his ear, he can hear the noise outside, he can hear the way you draw in even, but shallow breaths as you try to decide what to say.

And then, when he’s just about to give up waiting, the corners of your lips turn into a shy smile. “Alright, let me meet her first. You said he’s playing with Jack?”

He nods, then jumps off the desk to help you up. “Come on, I’ll introduce her to you,” he says with a smile.

Spencer’s fingers are laced tightly with yours, more to fight his own anxiety than to help you calm down. Because you seem calmer than him despite the shyness, which is probably the result of the fact you don’t have that much experience with kids.

The social worker is the first to enter the conference room to prepare Missy, and Hotch uses this chance to come out with Jack on his side. The young boy doesn’t seem happy to leave his new friend behind, making sure all of the adults are well-informed about his thoughts, and Spencer doesn’t miss that adorable smile as you listen to his complaints.

“She’s a great kid,” Hotch notes when he has a moment of silence to speak up. Jack gives him a disapproving look, most likely because he wanted to go on. “Okay, buddy, what else?”

“I won’t say it now,” he says stubbornly, then marches off into his father’s office.

Shaking his head with a laugh, Hotch points at Spencer. “A lot like Reid. The girl, I mean. I’m sure she could learn a lot from him, and she seems really social, so she could use your guidance too,” he adds, giving you a soft look of reassurance.

“Jack grew to like her pretty fast,” you point out casually, but Spencer can hear it in your voice that you’re just trying to get something else out of his boss.

Nodding, he glances in his office’s direction. “He even invited her to his next soccer match. If you ask me, he might have a little crush on her,” he adds with a pained laugh. “Anyway, I think you would be excellent parents.”

He instinctively glances at you out of the corner of his eye, only to see that stunned look on your face he hasn't seen since he asked you to move in with him. The two of you have never talked about having kids, the relationship wasn’t at that stage yet, so he has no idea what your stance is when it comes to this topic.

Not like he has thought about this before meeting Missy.

Before you could say anything, the social worker comes out to tell you the little girl is ready to meet you, although she makes a side note to Hotch that she would like to know if she could play with Jack another time too.

His boss pats him on the back with a short laugh, then turns to the social worker to tell her it would be great if she could attend that soccer match his son invited her to. And, with that, he wishes you two good luck and heads to his office.

Spencer inhales and exhales slowly before looking at you. “Ready?”

Good question. Are you ready?

You don’t have much experience with kids, especially with ones who went through something this traumatic. What if she doesn’t like you, what if she doesn’t even want to stay with you? You can’t force her, you can’t tell her to suck it up and do as you say.

But this whole plan deserves a chance, because Spencer is right, being in foster care can be tough if the kid is unlucky, you’ve read some horror stories about it. You both have good jobs with a great salary, you could give her anything she needs, and if she really is as intelligent as your boyfriend says, she could use his help to learn.

Gulping, you finally turn to him and nod.

The social worker leads you to the conference room, where the young girl is sitting by the table in the middle and reads a book in silence. It’s a thick book, something you normally wouldn’t expect from a kid her age, but knowing the stories from Spencer’s childhood, you’re not surprised to see that.

She looks up, a small, friendly smile showing on her face as she waits. For what? For you to say something? Maybe you should be the one to break the silence, after all the other two adults are watching you with supportive smiles on their faces.

“Hello, Missy,” you begin as you step closer, then you introduce yourself as you sit on the chair next to her. “What are you reading?”

“Les Misérables,” she responds as she shows you the cover, then puts a bookmark where she was before closing the book and pushing it away from herself. “It was Mom’s book, I picked it up when they took me back to our house to pack a few things. Are you working with Spencer?” she wonders.

A short laugh leaves you as you shake your head. “No, not even close. I’m his girlfriend.”

She looks up at Spencer, then back at you. “Then why are you here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you look back at the other two adults, silently asking for their help. You expected this conversation to go in a different direction, but she’s already showing her no-bullshit personality. She’s smart. She knows when the adults are beating around the bush.

It’s your boyfriend who pulls a chair next to yours before sitting down. “You know your parents aren’t coming back, right?” he asks hesitantly, his voice kind and gentle, not sounding like he was testing her.

“They died,” Missy responds as she gulps and nods at the same time.

It’s kind of scary how well this six year old understands what death means, and how casually she can talk about this despite suddenly losing both her parents. You know it’s not normal, you have a feeling this will come back and manifest in panic attacks or nightmares in the near future, maybe in something worse.

But Spencer is right, all she needs is stability and adults who unconditionally love her.

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Remember when I told you we have a lot in common? Well, we were thinking, and we would be happy if you decided to move into our home.”

Missy’s eyes widen before she moves her gaze to you, then the social worker who nods in confirmation. “Now?” she asks incredulously.

“Yes, now,” you tell her with a smile.

Spencer reaches out for your hand, squeezing it twice in reassurance. He knows you’re nervous, and he can probably tell she is also a little uncertain. Spending a few nights in a group home after the murder must have been tough, but you can see the intelligence in her eyes, the same thing you see in your boyfriend’s every single day. She will know what’s for the best.

Suddenly, the girl jumps up and rushes to the social worker who instinctively leans down to hear what she has to say. They exchange a few hushed words, while you and Spencer only watch them in stunned silence. What if she says no? Now that you met her, you just know she belongs to your home.

No, you can’t replace her biological parents, but you can do your damn best to give her all the love she deserves.

“Okay,” you hear her small voice from across the room.

Before you know it, she picks up her book and runs out, heading to Hotch’s office where the lights are still on, probably hiding the Hotchners behind the door. Maybe that crush isn’t just a one-sided thing, you think with a smile. You both turn to the social worker, who walks over to occupy the chair Missy was sitting on.

“Some children are quite resilient. She’s intelligent, she can find the logic in this mess of a situation,” she explains with a warm smile. “Dr. Reid and I prepared the paperwork, all I need is your signature, then you can go home. But what is important to point out is that this is an emergency placement. There are a lot of things to do until you can adopt her, but I think you have good chances.”

As your eyes are scanning the pages of the small stack of documents in front of you, you can’t help but think about her genuinely surprised reaction when she found out she can come home with you. She doesn’t hate you, which is good, and hopefully this means the three of you will get along well.

On the way out Spencer is pulling the pink suitcase that hides Missy’s belongings, while you have the honor of telling her it’s time to go home. The two of you are standing in the door of the office, watching as the two kids are sitting on the leather couch, with the girl going through the pages of her book to find a paragraph that she wants to show him.

Hotch flashes a knowing smile at you when he notices the suitcase, and he tells the kids playtime is over for now, playing the bad cop this time. When they bring up the soccer match, all of you agree to meet there on Saturday, and Spencer throws in the idea of having lunch together too, so they would have time to play.

Well, this is your life now as parents.

But this kid deserves it.

note: There's no taglist, but I reblog my new pieces on @izzygoesdarkreblogs.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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