#fic: hello mr. monster

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears. 

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening. 

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.  

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.  

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.  

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

The Ultimatum | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! I've been BUSY as fuck with school lately, y'all. It is truly a nightmare. I'm talking tests on tests on tests on finals on finals. But I'm almost done with the semester and I FINALLY finished this fic that I've been working on for-fucking-ever. It's got the angst and the yearning and the pain with a happy ending, which is my fave. Thanks for reading and thanks for being patient while I suffer through school :)

Word count: 9.6k

Warnings: implied emotional abuse, manipulative boyfriend, anxiety, general sad vibes (but happy ending, as always <3)

At this point, Bucky had almost forgotten how to react to a knock at the door. He stood almost frozen, not quite recognizing the sound of knuckles against the wood. It seemed to him like a foreign, otherworldly occurrence. Like something newsworthy, something he’d see on the front page. He didn’t ever get visitors- well, at least not anymore. 

It struck him as odd, the thought of an unsolicited visitor dropping by- and so late; it was almost eleven. And though he didn’t feel like making small talk with the old lady who lived across the hall, he figured he should open the door. Maybe his elderly neighbor needed help. Maybe she locked herself out and needed somewhere to wait for the landlord. And who was he to ignore her? She was always sweet. She treated him not like a monster, but a human being. And to Bucky, that was a novel experience- something worthy of backpay. So, if she needed to hang around his apartment for a while until the landlord arrived to unlock her door, he’d let her.

But when he opened the front door, he didn’t find old Mrs. Beverly. A sharp inhale barreled into him at the sight of you waiting on his welcome mat, the same one that you always joked about; you told him time and time again he should’ve called it a “go away mat”. 

Everything inside Bucky came screeching to a halt. No heartbeat, no thoughts. Just shock. A rush of goosebumps flashed over his skin at the mere sight of you within arm’s reach once again. An immediate smile splashed across his face- a smile he hadn’t worn since the last time he saw you. Butterflies swarmed inside his stomach and wriggled into his lungs, their wings constricting his breathing. Seeing you again was the first day of spring after a seemingly never-ending winter. The first rays of sun poking through frost riddled branches and dead leaves. This was salvation. 

“You said…” This was harder than you expected. Seeing Bucky again warmed parts of you that you didn’t know had gone cold. Just the sight of him helped you breathe easier. He made you lighter, calmer. He brought you a sense of comfort you stopped searching for months ago. Around him, all your sharp edges softened. But you didn’t know how to talk to him- not anymore. At one time, he was your safe place- the safest place you could imagine. During the bitterest of winters, he was your hearth, your home. You shared a secret language spoken only by the two of you. 

But not anymore. Not for a while now.

You weren’t the same person you’d been when you knew him. To some, it was an imperceptible change. But you felt it every day. Missing Bucky wormed its way into your cells, tangling itself with your DNA. It became a building block of your very being. Losing him damaged your soul, leaving the edges frayed and torn. 

The stark silence of the empty hallway made Bucky’s ears ring. He stared at you, his mouth slightly ajar, a look of bewilderment on his face. He took in the mascara smeared beneath your eyes, the soaking wet clothes hanging from your body. Only the quiet drip drip drip of water leaving your drenched hair dared disturb the silence.

The words you rehearsed on your way over dissolved. They abandoned you without a trace, leaving only one clumsy sentence in their place. “You said I could always come here if I needed you,” you finally said.

All Bucky could do was nod.

“Well… I need you,” you threw him a sheepish smile. “Can I come in?”

Again, Bucky nodded. His thoughts raced and collided with each other, filling his mind with noise. But he managed an “of course”; he needed you to know you were welcome. Of course, you were welcome. You were always welcome. He just hadn’t had the pleasure of inviting you into his home in what felt like a lifetime. 

A deep sigh of relief left your chest. Part of you expected him to slam the door in your face. You squeezed past him, careful not to brush against his clothes and get him all wet- though he wouldn’t have minded. He was just happy to see you again.

The sound of your wet sneakers squeaking across the hardwood set your nerves on edge. But being back in his apartment eased them right away. This space used to be your home away from home, the place you felt most comfortable. Sometimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you thought about its worn, wood floors or the orange light that poured through the windows at sunset. Just thinking about the way this place cloaked you in safety and warmth remedied your anxious mind and eased you into a peaceful sleep.

Everything sat in nearly the exact same place as the last time you were here. That was just like Bucky- constant, consistent. But as you let your gaze drift over the room, you noticed a few foreign pieces of décor. He’d gotten some new furnishings since you last visited. A cozy-looking blanket lay strewn across the couch. A large armchair- perfect for reading- sat next to the window. 

All this time, you worried about Bucky. You wondered how he was getting along, how he was handling things on his own. But he was okay. He made good on his chance at a new life. You only wished you could’ve been a part of it.

A thousand questions swarmed inside of Bucky’s brain. He had so many things to ask you, so much he wanted to catch up on. But one question sat at the top of his list. It was his first priority, his greatest worry: “Are you okay?”

A large huff left your chest, “I got into a big fight with Alex.” Part of you feared you were being dramatic. Bucky would never judge you- you knew he wouldn’t. But showing up out of the blue, late at night, drenched from head to toe because you argued with your boyfriend felt ridiculous. Maybe even pathetic. “He got mad- he didn’t want me to go out with my friends tonight,” you sighed. “Because I didn’t ask him first.”

“Because you didn’t ask him first?” Bucky nearly scoffed, “What- is he your father?” He checked himself immediately. A soft, “sorry” followed his less than subtle dig at your boyfriend, his attempt to assuage his mistake. He didn’t want you to put you on the defensive or make you regret your decision to reach out. Clearly, you needed him. And Bucky wasn’t about to ruin your attempt at seeking help.

But a quiet laugh pushed its way past your lips, easing Bucky’s worries. He always knew how to validate your feelings. “He was just being so-” you dragged your palms down your damp cheeks and thought back on the argument. “He’s so difficult. Sometimes, I feel like I’m on a leash or something. A short leash.”

Bucky didn’t like the sound of that. He mulled over his next words, careful not to let another outburst escape without his permission. But a pressing thought jumped through his lips without warning. “Wait- why are you all wet?” Bucky said. “Sorry, I- we absolutely need to talk about what happened. But… you’re soaked. What happened?”

With a swipe of your hand, you rid your forehead of a few water droplets that tried to escape your hairline. “Well, it’s pouring,” you gestured toward the rain-spattered window. “And I walked here.”

His eyes went wide, “you walked here? From your place?”

You nodded. 

Your demeanor was all too casual for Bucky. With decent weather- in the daylight- the walk wasn’t that bad. But in a torrential downpour at 11pm, it was dangerous. It was far. “Jesus Christ…” Bucky couldn’t believe you did such a thing. It wasn’t safe- not with the rain, and especially not with the suspicious men that lurked the city streets at night. He thanked the universe you hadn’t been preyed upon on your journey to his apartment. “Why’d you walk?”

“Alex wouldn’t give me my purse,” you punctuated your sentence with the crossing of your arms. “We were fighting about me going out with my friends. And then things kinda blew up and he took my fucking purse.” The anger smoldering in your chest scorched through every blood vessel, broiling your cells. “He thought that if I didn’t have my keys or my wallet, he could stop me from going out.” 

Bucky matched your eye roll with one of his own. He could practically see the short leash you mentioned only moments ago. He couldn’t believe Alex took your things. Well, he could believe it- he just didn’t want to imagine you in such a situation. It seemed to Bucky that Alex wanted to keep you locked away like a princess in a tower; and Alex played the role of the fire-breathing dragon. 

“And then I missed out on dinner and dancing with the girls anyway cause our argument blew up.” A swift sadness snuffed out your sizzling rage. “So, I guess he won after all…” This night out with your friends was the one thing keeping you sane the past few weeks. Every time Alex did something to hurt you, to disrespect or belittle you, you thought about seeing your friends. About having a glass of wine or two and spending a few hours with the women in your life. You wanted to hear about their promotions, their wedding planning, their upcoming vacations. But most of all, you wanted their comfort. 

And he stole that from you.

Bucky wanted to wring Alex’s neck. He wanted to make him disappear. He wanted to cut you free from the cement blocks Alex tied to your feet. But the sharp shiver that rocketed through your body put those thoughts on pause. 

“Here, let’s get you some dry clothes to change into, alright?” 

“Oh… that’s-” You shook your head. Sure, you wanted to change out of your sopping wet clothes and into something cozier. But you didn’t deserve Bucky’s kindness or concern. Not anymore. You couldn’t let him do this for you, not after you showed up unannounced. Not after what you did. “That’s okay. I’m fine.��Really.” 

But Bucky clocked the shaking in your fingers, the way you fought to keep your teeth from chattering. “Come on, it’s okay.” He reached for your icy hand and gave it a squeeze, only for a brief second. But it was enough to warm you from the inside out. “We both know you’re freezing. Just let me give you something to wear for a while. Okay?” He sensed the trepidation in your expression, the way you avoided eye contact. “It’s not an imposition or anything like that- just a friend helping a friend.” The patience and understanding behind his warm smile was so genuine, so authentic- you couldn’t help but believe him.

And though you knew it wasn’t right to accept his kind gesture, you couldn’t help yourself. The cold pierced through your bones and chilled you to the very soul- you weren’t strong enough to resist his offer. And, selfishly, you wanted to wrap yourself in Bucky’s clothes. They were always cozier, more comfortable than your own. The fabric seemed to hang on to his warm scent; you never realized you could miss a smell so much until it vanished from your own clothes. Your hair. 

“Um, okay. Yeah,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

Your acceptance of his offer made Bucky beam- but you were still stuck on him referring to you as a friend. After all this time, after what you did to him, you couldn’t believe he’d still regard you with such affection.

You slipped out of your sneakers and socks and followed Bucky down the familiar hall to his bedroom. The memories embedded in these walls were your favorite days. Your most comfortable nights. Coming back to Bucky’s place allowed you to visit them all once again- something you never permitted anymore. Conjuring those memories brought you the greatest comfort and the sharpest, most soul-crushing pain. Seeking salvation in the past only served to remind you that Bucky was no longer part of your present, nor your future. And that hurt worse than any gunshot wound.

Just to be safe, you secured those happy memories in vault and buried it deep inside your mind, never allowing them to escape or see the light of day. 

But it was a crushing loss. 

“So, um… why didn’t you call?” Bucky looked over his shoulder for a split second, as though to make sure you were following him. “I would’ve picked you up, that way you wouldn’t have had to walk in the rain…” 

Of course, he would’ve. He would’ve given his remaining arm for you. 

You pulled at your soaking wet t-shirt, desperate to distract yourself. This was too awkward, too pathetic. 

“I was afraid that…” You cleared your throat. “I um, I didn’t think you’d answer. Cause of what I did.” The wet hem of your t-shirt gave you little relief as you picked at its stitching to stem the anxiety. “I thought it was better if I just- you know, if I just came here. If I just showed up.” You rolled your eyes at your own logic, “if I called, there was a chance you wouldn’t answer.”

Bucky shook his head, “I would’ve-”

“I didn’t wanna chance it,” you said. “Cause if you blocked my number and that’s how I found out, I might’ve walked into traffic.”

Bucky knew you too well, knew you were making a joke to hide your very real fear of his rejection. “Well, I didn’t block your number,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know how.” And before you could spiral, Bucky turned to face you. “I would’ve answered. I will always answer.” His words were so genuine, so steadfast, that you nearly stopped breathing. 

“I think I knew that…” you said, your voice almost imperceptible. “I think it scared me.” 

Even after all this time apart, he remembered the way your voice grew thin when shame got the best of you. If he were being honest, he thought about the sound of your voice every day. 

He knew you well enough to know when you were nervous. When you couldn’t stand to make eye contact. And so, he turned his back to you and continued in the direction of his bedroom, giving you a moment to yourself.

“Here we are,” Bucky pushed open his bedroom door and gestured for you to enter, allowing you to go ahead of him. But he sensed your hesitation, your uneasiness. He clocked it in the way your eyes just missed his, the way your fingers pulled at the fabric of your shirt. The two of you stood there in the hallway, stalling outside his bedroom door as though trapped in wet cement. Bucky broke free first.

“Alright, let’s find you something comfortable!” He dipped his words in positivity and 

threw a too-cheery affectation on top for good measure. He just wanted to make you feel more at ease, more relaxed. But he knew a dry shirt and some sweatpants couldn’t fix the damage Alex did. 

It was more than that, though. Bucky could feel the uncomfortable tension radiating off you like rays of the sun. You didn’t know how to act around him now, didn’t know how to navigate the crumbled ruins of your relationship. It was obvious. You didn’t readily enter his bedroom- how could you? You didn’t feel entitled to that space- or any space of his- anymore. And Bucky was going to change your mind or die trying.

“Okay, so you definitely need a pair of socks…” He rifled through his top drawer until he found a pair thick enough to keep you warm.

“And sweatpants? Yeah?” He looked at you expectantly, awaiting your approval.

You nodded. You’d accept anything he gave you- or didn’t give you. You didn’t have the right to his help, his clothes, or his comforts. 

But he pushed on. Happily. He scrounged around the shelves in his closet and in his dresser drawers, searching for a pair that would fit. 

And as he dug through seemingly every article of clothing he owned, you gave the room a once over. He’d gotten a small, slightly shabby bookshelf in the time since you last saw the place. An army of novels with cracked spines and distressed covers lined the warped wood like soldiers protecting him from the nightmares. He still only had one pillow, and his sheets were the same dark gray cotton. But his bedspread was new; it was the same one you advised he get for the colder months. At the time, he said he didn’t need anything heavier than the thin blanket that adorned his bed. And you knew it was just another way for him to punish himself, to refuse even the slightest comfort.

But the insulation in his cheap apartment did nothing to provide a reprieve from the biting winter. And clearly, he caved to your recommendation- even after things between you went south. A small smile crept across your face at the thought. At least you’d been able to help him in some way or another. Because of you, he stayed warm. He protected himself from the frigid temperatures. It eased your conscience, no matter how slightly.

“I think these will work…” Bucky held a pair of sweatpants up to your body. “I mean, they’re still gonna be way too big, but they’re the smallest pair I have.” He outstretched his hand and offered them to you, “we can tie the waist really tight and roll ‘em up so they’re not too long- don’t want you to trip.” 

You hesitated for only a moment, unable to resist the dry, warm fabric of his worn sweats. 

“Oh- you need a top,” he said, making his way toward the closet once again, “I have just the thing…” He reached up toward the top shelf of his closet in search of something; and before he had the chance to show you, you realized just what he was looking for. 

It was what you used to wear at Bucky’s as makeshift pajamas or when it got too cold. He used to say it was yours just as much as it was his. Back then, you slept over by accident a few times a week. Sometimes, he needed you late at night. Sometimes, he just needed you to be there while he slept- he was more comfortable that way. You always made him feel safe. But after one too many nights of you struggling to sleep in uncomfortable clothes, Bucky presented you with this very sweatshirt. He wanted to give you something- anything- to make you more comfortable. And so, he dug around his closet for his coziest, most comforting crewneck.

It came in handy every time the heating failed and the shotty insulation left you chilled to the bone. Bucky always pulled it out for you and watched with a smile as you tugged the soft, green fabric over your head. Sure, the heat at your apartment worked great. At home, you didn’t have to dress in layers or drink endless ups of scalding hot tea to keep warm. 

But some days, Bucky couldn’t stand to leave the house. And you couldn’t let him rot away all alone. So, you made your way to his place, in rain or snow, and sat with him. Talked with him. Made him tea and brought him food. 

He hadn’t been able to touch that sweatshirt ever since you left. Didn’t even want to look at it. But he kept it clean for you- just in case. 

“Is this okay?” Memory after memory of you accepting this very sweatshirt flashed through Bucky’s head. It used to be a routine of sorts, but it felt foreign now. 

Something in you nearly cracked. This whole thing was too much. It seemed like you’d been dropped into a film about your own life, and someone behind the camera forced you to play out this scene just to hurt you. It made you ache for before. Before you left, before things fell apart, before you made the decision you knew was wrong. 

Bucky stared at you, an expectant look on his face. He waited for you to take the relic of the better days you once shared, hoping it would bring them back to life.

But you hesitated. You eyed the garment, fearing the fabric would send you into a spiral. The threads were heavy with memories. And after everything you did, who were you to accept this gesture of goodwill?

“This is- I really appreciate it. But…” you refused the sweatshirt. And instead, tried to hand the sweatpants and socks back to Bucky. “I can’t accept all this. It’s not-”

“Yes, you can.” Bucky’s words were definitive. He allowed no room for arguments. “You’ll be a lot warmer.” He offered you a gentle smile and once again stretched the sweatshirt in your direction. “Get changed and we can put your clothes in the dryer,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”

A nod and a quiet “thank you” were all you could muster. And as Bucky left the room and shut the door, you wondered how he could possibly treat you so kindly after what happened. Ever since you left, you berated yourself daily. It was part of your routine now, almost like you’d penciled it into your calendar. The guilt kept you up at night and distracted you during the workday.

But Bucky was a good person. And he’d never hate you the way you hated yourself.

Slipping into his sweatshirt felt almost criminal. You saved it for last, choosing first to shimmy into his sweatpants and wrap your feet in his warm socks. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t right- none of this was right. Allowing Bucky to treat you with such hospitality, such care, wasn’t fair to him- not after what you put him through. But as you tugged his sweatshirt over your head, your selfishness eclipsed that feeling of wrongdoing. 

It was just as you remembered it- oversized but not massive. Warm but not suffocating. The worn fabric eased over your skin and cloaked you in the kind of comfort you knew you didn’t deserve. And for the first time since you left, you experienced genuine comfort. 

“Oh, hey,” Bucky was waiting for you in the hall, just like he said he would. “I’ll take those,” he took your wet clothes and nearly recoiled at just how cold the fabric felt against his skin. You must’ve been miserable- and yet, you’d tried to refuse the dry clothes he offered. His heart broke for you all over again. He tossed the piled of sopping fabric into the dryer and shot you a kind smile.

Bucky stared at you as the machine began to rumble; part of him wondered if this was real. He’d had plenty of dreams about this moment, about your return to his life. But none were ever this real, this believable. And as he observed you standing there in his old sweatshirt, he decided that if this was all some strange, lucid concoction of his psyche, he never wanted to wake up.

But the trembling in your hands caught his attention once again, pulling his smile into a deep frown. The warm, dry clothes did their best to shake the chill, but to no avail.

“Let me make you some tea,” Bucky gestured toward the kitchen. “I have some-”

“Oh, that’s okay.” You tucked your shaking hands into the long sleeves of Bucky’s sweatshirt, flashing him a forced smile. “I’ll warm up in a minute.” 

His old, familiar eyeroll brought a real smile to your face with ease. The two of you fell back into your old habits, your old way of relating, far too easily. Before you left, he always tried to give you things or do things for you when you hung out at his place. He knew his apartment was shitty, that you gave up time with your friends and boyfriend for him. And to compensate, he always had an offer in his back pocket: tea, takeout, baked goods from the place down the street. He had to make up for the burden he placed on you. And every time, you refused. The two of you would fake argue and banter until you finally conceded. And, with a smile, he’d make you a cup of tea or braid your hair the way Shuri showed him. 

You knew how much it meant to him to be able to give you something in return for your kindness- no matter how many times you told him your friendship wasn’t transactional. 

“I’m making you some tea, d-” Bucky caught himself, cutting off the word that rested on the tip of his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t call you ‘doll’ anymore. With a forced clearing of his throat, he pivoted. “I have some jasmine. Is that still your go-to?”

You nodded. Deep within you, an ache for your old nickname stirred. 

Bucky busied his hands with mugs and sugar and spoons. He always kept your favorite jasmine tea on hand, just in case. It stayed in the cupboard, front and center, ready for your return. But the box sat untouched. He hadn’t made any- not since you left. Just the smell of it was enough to break his heart all over again.

Every time he opened that cabinet, your tea stared back at him. And though seeing it threw him back in time and punched him in the gut with longing, he couldn’t get rid of it. Throwing it out would mean that you’d never come back, and he couldn’t accept that.

Bucky put the kettle on and tiptoed into rocky territory. “So, can I ask…” he toyed with a spoon, avoiding eye contact, “why didn’t you call an Uber or something?”

A pang of embarrassment jolted through you like lightning. Admitting the truth of your relationship only served to make you feel stupid. You’d lost count of the number of times your friends gasped or booed when you told them about something Alex did or said. And though you knew that the urge to hide his less-than-loving tendencies was a blood red flag in and of itself, you couldn’t help it. 

But you didn’t have to hide with Bucky. Ever.

“I deleted my rideshare accounts,” you sighed. “Or- Alex did. He doesn’t like me using them cause he doesn’t trust that I won’t-” 

You cut your next thought off at the knees. Months ago, Alex confronted you about your use of ride share apps. He suspected you of cheating, of sneaking away. His words dripped with contempt as he spat accusation after accusation your way, never stopping to listen to the truth. Sometimes, you needed a ride to work. Or to your sister’s house. But he didn’t care. “I know you’ve been going to see him- to see Barnes,” he’d said, “I know you’ve been going to see that psycho.”

That night, while you slept, he deleted your Uber and Lyft accounts and forbade you from ever downloading the apps again. 

“He also cut up my Metro card,” you said, your voice quieter now. Admitting these things felt traitorous. Treasonous. Like giving intel to the opposing side. Alex didn’t like Bucky. And Bucky didn’t like Alex- rightfully so. Spilling your guts supplied Bucky with enough ammo to destroy the man you supposedly loved. But Bucky didn’t fire a single shot.

He, instead, wrangled his negative thoughts about Alex and locked them away for the time being. The strong urge tear your shitty boyfriend apart rattled inside Bucky’s brain. It clawed and thrashed at the bars of the cage in which Bucky trapped it. Talking shit about your boyfriend, while satisfying, wasn’t important. You were Bucky’s top priority. He needed to make sure you were comfortable, that you felt safe. There was something in the way you spoke about Alex; a not-so-subtle tinge of anxiety- of fear- that tarnished every word you said about him. And thinking about the cause turned Bucky’s stomach.

He just wanted to be there for you, whatever that meant. If you needed to vent, Bucky would listen. If you needed to cry, he’d offer you his shoulder. And if you needed to sit in silence, drinking your tea, and pretending your boyfriend didn’t exist for a while, Bucky would join you in the quiet.

“Oh. Um…” Bucky didn’t know what to say. His anger toward your boyfriend boiled under the surface, but he didn’t dare let it overflow. Instead, he pulled the kettle from the stove just as it started to sing. “Well… I’m glad you made it here safely,” he said. It was all he could think of. 

You shrugged, “I kinda ruined your Saturday night, though.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave you a laugh, “you could never ruin my night.” 

Without a second thought or a moment’s pause, he prepared your tea just the way you liked it. Even after all this time, even after the issues with his memory, he never forgot. He delivered a perfect splash of milk, a flawless dose of sugar. It was as though he’d done this just yesterday- and all the days before.

“Plus, do you really think I had plans tonight?” Bucky said as he handed you your tea. 

“Hey, I don’t know…” you sipped your tea; it was even the perfect temperature. “Maybe you’re a real social butterfly now. Maybe you have a weekly poker game or plans with Sam.” You shrugged, “maybe you have a girlfriend.”

Things fell quiet after that. Bucky sipped at his tea. You scratched absentmindedly at the tile counter. Neither of you knew what to say or how to say it. And it crushed you. Before, the conversation between you and Bucky flowed so easily, so smoothly. You read each other’s’ minds and anticipated nearly every word. And in the silences, things were comfortable. Cozy. Content.

This was awkward, tense. It sent a shiver up your spine.

“You’re still freezing.” A worried scowl carved a deep line in Bucky’s forehead. “Come on, let’s get you under a blanket, okay?” He wrapped an arm around you back- loosely- and guided you toward the living room. 

The gesture almost made you tear up. Bucky was always so kind. So gentle and soft and warm. It was a warmth you hadn’t experienced in a long time. But part of you almost wanted to distrust his kindness. It seemed to you like an omen, a kind of warning. Or even a trap. At home, sweet gestures like these always meant trouble brewing beneath the surface. They led to shouting and crying. To accusations and fear and distrust. 

They came with a catch.

Bucky didn’t.

He simply held your tea while you got comfortable on the couch. He wrapped you in a blanket and asked if you wanted another. And when he was confident that you were, indeed, warming up, he joined you. 

“This might sound pathetic,” Bucky said as he settle into his spot on the couch, “this is the best night that I’ve had in a really long time.” He knew you were only in his home due to unfortunate, unkind circumstances. He knew he shouldn’t be celebrating your showing up sopping wet at his apartment late at night, not when he knew what made you do so. 

But he so was happy to see you. 

Things fell quiet after that. You left all of your peace behind the last time you left Bucky’s apartment. You ripped it from your chest and piled it in a corner, abandoning it for your new life. Sure, it hurt. And it left you feeling empty. But it had to be done, didn’t it? 

All your life, people emphasized the importance of marriage. Of settling down. They told you that relationships are always hard, that they aren’t like fairytales. And so, you accepted Alex’s empty promises and twisted definition of love. And even when you expressed to your parents that you weren’t sure about Alex, they talked you into staying with him. They cited your age, how difficult it would be to find a husband as you got even older. They scared you into accepting less than you deserved. They scared you into leaving Bucky behind. 

Yes, it was you who ultimately made the decision to end your friendship with the kindest person you’d ever known. But you knew you’d never let go of the grudge you held against those in your life who convinced you to settle for Alex. To cut Bucky out of your life. They robbed you of so much time with him, time you’d never get back. And just the thought of all those lost days sent you into deep, endless grief. 

Bucky spoke up after a while, “Do you wanna talk about it?” He didn’t want to pry or come on too strong; something in him feared it would scare you off. If this was where you sought solace, if this was where you felt safest, who was he to disturb your newfound sense of peace?

“You don’t have to,” he said, “but you can if you want.”

You did want to talk to Bucky about what happened. You wanted to spill your guts and vomit every less than blissful detail about your life with Alex. Talking to your girlfriends was nice and of course, your therapist was helpful- but there was something about Bucky. He was the only person who really understood you, who could read between the lines and grasp the feelings you struggled to put into words. 

But pulling at that thread was dangerous. You’d already tugged at a few pieces, unraveled some shameful details about how things were at home. And if you gave that frayed thread another yank, you feared that every damaged, knotted strand would fall on full display at Bucky’s feet. The prospect scared you more than your late-night walk to Bucky’s.

And who were you to dump your relationship issues on him, anyway? Who were you to disappear with barely any warning, only to show up and vent on his couch? It wasn’t right- none of this was right. Sure, parts of this night were irreversible. You were already there, wearing his clothes, drinking his tea, and sitting on his couch. But you could stop yourself from burdening him any further. You could sew up your leaky wounds and snap your mouth shut, saving him from any more of your grief.

You sidestepped his offer, “No, it’s okay- catch me up on things with you. I wanna know everything.” 

Bucky gave you a look. Even after all your time away, he could still read you like the Sunday paper. He knew how badly you needed to simply let go, to unburden yourself. But he knew you wouldn’t.  

Your reluctance to share wasn’t a question of his listening skills or your level of comfort with him; it was the shame. He could practically see the guilt oozing from your pores. You didn’t feel as though you deserved to bare your soul to him. It was obvious, perfectly illustrated in the way you yanked your lips into a tight smile each time he looked at you. Showing up at his place unannounced after a seemingly eternal bout of radio silence was one thing. But dumping your problems in his lap? Burying him under your relationship drama? That was simply not allowed.

And so, he told you all about his life- the version that didn’t include you. He told you about the missions he’d been on and the injuries he sustained. The amends. The shitty, court appointed therapist who treated him more like a criminal than a client. The boat he fixed up with Sam. The old man with whom he ate lunch every week. 

He almost seemed happy. Almost. He actually had a life now. A friend who wasn’t also a coworker. He went on a date. Sure, there were things to be desired. He still had nightmares. Anxiety. He still wrestled with the ghosts of his past and the fear of his future. But he was doing better. And while it was all you ever wanted for him, it stung knowing you didn’t get to see him make these strides in real time. 

“Wow, you’ve been busy,” you said when he finally finished. “I gotta know more about your lunch dates with this Yori guy- that is adorable.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and laughed his first genuine laugh in months. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I met him as part of my amends, but I-”

A harsh knock at the door cut him off. Both your eyes and Bucky’s slid in the direction of the sound. And though neither of you said a word, the air in the room changed. It grew thick and heavy, weighted down with an almost sickening dread. 

Bucky locked eyes with you, his stare tunneling through your skull. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he said, keeping his voice low.

You nodded. 

A guttural groan clawed and kicked at your throat, but you refused to set it free.  

His voice was low, his volume calculated, “We’ll just be quiet.” Bucky glanced at the door once more, waiting for another round of knocks. “He won’t know we’re here, okay?”  

You could barely hear him over the hum of the fridge, the sounds of the city. You gave a slow, subtle nod, fearing the sound even the slightest motion might make.

“I know you’re in there, Barnes,” Alex’s voice punched through the door. “I saw your bike downstairs.” He knocked again, his knuckled booming against the door. Your blood stopped in its tracks. You could’ve sworn you felt it settle in your veins.

Bucky stood from the couch with a nearly silent, “It’s okay”. He hated the way your face dropped, the way your knuckles changed color as you gripped the pillow in your lap. 

“Barnes!” Alex practically growled through the door, “open up!”

“Come with me.” Bucky’s voice was barely audible, but still the most comforting sound you’d ever heard. He helped you from the couch, steadying you as the anxiety sent tremors through your every nerve. He guided you to his room with quiet, careful steps. He noted the way you yanked your shoulders upward, the way you kept your eyes on the floor. 

Bucky hated the effect Alex had on you. He turned you into a hollow, fragile version of yourself that Bucky found nearly unrecognizable. He chipped away at your confidence and self-esteem, using precise, masterful blows to your weakest points. He reduced you to a pile of dust and shards of your old self. 

Bucky wished to turn Alex into nothing but a memory.

“Just stay in here till he’s gone. Don’t come out,” Bucky said once you reached his room. He rested a palm to your cheek for the briefest of seconds, “I’m gonna take care of it, okay?”

And before you had a chance to relish in the warmth of his skin against yours, he vanished.

His footsteps grew more distant as he made his way to the front door. With each centimeter he put between the two of you, you grew more anxious, more uncomfortable. He was your safety blanket, your rock. Without him, you’d learned to cope. You survived. But you never truly thrived. And now that you got your fix of him, being without him for even a second left you unable to breathe.

Bucky opened the door, feigning a look of surprise, “Alex- wow, hey. How are you? Haven’t seen you in-”

“Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood.” Alex’s tone sliced clear through Bucky’s attempt at casual levity. “Where is she?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “What?”

You could practically see Alex rolling his eyes, curling his hands into fists. “Don’t gimme that- you know what I’m talking about.”

Bucky gave pause and shook his head. “I really don’t…” Part of him feared he may be doing too much. He knew he had to perfectly toe the line without overplaying his role of ‘confused ex-best friend’. The last thing he wanted was to fuck this up, to let it slip that he was harboring you in his home. He knew it would be bad for you, that Alex would make your life a living hell if he found out. And he was damn sure not going to let that happen. “Is everything okay, man? It’s pretty late.”

Alex’s glare tunneled through Bucky’s skull, “Where’s my girlfriend, James?” 

It wasn’t a question- but an accusation.

“What do you mean?” Bucky coatedhis words in a thick layer of concern. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, she’s-” Alex huffed. He was over it. His paper-thin patience shredded into sharp, tiny pieces. “I know you know where she is. I know she probably called you or something.”

“She didn’t-”

A knowing look crossed Alex’s features and quickly devolved into one of betrayal, of disgust. “Is she here- she’s here isn’t she?”

Bucky’s heart sank into the swirling pit in his stomach. He couldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t ruin the sanctuary you sought in his home. This was your safe place, your peace. And he had to protect it. “Is she here? No. Why would she be here?”

“Don’t lie to me.” 

 “I haven’t seen her.” Bucky raised his hands in surrender, “We haven’t spoken in- she hasn’t contacted me in over a year.” Saying the words out loud hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It prodded at him like a fireplace poker, hot from the flames. God, he missed you.

“Right…” Alex rolled his eyes. “Of course. Just fuckin… whatever, man. If you so happen to see her, tell her to get home. Soon.” He turned on his heel and backed out of Bucky’s doorway, a snide look on his face.  

Bucky wanted to separate Alex’s head from his body. This man didn’t wish for your homecoming as a concerned boyfriend. He didn’t hope for your safe return or ask for help finding you. Not a sliver of worry even came close to piercing his arrogant, callous surface. He’d let you spill out onto the late-night streets, hurt and distraught, as a torrential downpour drowned the city. He didn’t care that you had no means of transport. No wallet. He didn’t care that your clothes didn’t protect you from the freezing rain. 

And he walked away from Bucky cocky. He left threats hanging in the air. He wanted you home as a means of control. Of punishment. 

But at least he was gone. He stalked off, mumbling something about you “learning your lesson”. It made Bucky nauseous. He wanted to keep you in his apartment for as long as possible. At least, that way, he’d know you were out of Alex’s reach. 

He didn’t want to think about how your return home would play out, how Alex would treat you when you finally walked through the door. Something- a lot of things- about Alex didn’t sit right with Bucky. Alex struck him as a manipulator, a narcissist. Someone to fear. He could understand why you’d walk far too many blocks in the freezing, torrential rain just to get away.

Bucky shut the door and turned the deadbolt. He secured the chain. Even checked through the peephole to make sure Alex hadn’t returned. He couldn’t be too careful- not when you were involved. “Alright, he’s gone,” Bucky called as he headed in your direction. “He’s an intense guy, I didn’t-”

But as Bucky entered his bedroom, he found it empty. “He’s gone, I swear. You don’t have to hide anymore.” Bucky popped his head into the closet and bathroom but found no sign of you. “Hey, where’d you go?” 

The sound of the dryer door, however, tipped him off.

He discovered you in his small laundry room, retrieving your clothes from the dryer. 

“Oh, I don’t think those are all the way dry yet. You know this thing is kinda old,” he gave the dryer a gentle kick. “You should probably leave your stuff in there a little while longer.”

You didn’t answer. 

Bucky watched you fish your underwear out of the bottom of the dryer. He offered to help when your shirt got tangled with your shorts. But you stayed quiet. You kept your back to him and your gaze downcast, focused on the wet fabric in your hands.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Bucky placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know Alex showing up wasn’t exactly ideal, but he’s gone. And I-” 

Without a word, you turned to face him; only then did he notice the tears streaming down your face. They met under your chin and curved down your neck, dampening the fabric of Bucky’s sweatshirt. He’d never seen a more sorrowful, gutted expression cross your face- save for the last time he saw you. 

Sharp, shallow inhales shook in and out of your chest. And even if you wanted to, you couldn’t force yourself to meet his eyeline.

“Oh no-” Bucky’s heart shattered. His chest tightened and his stomach dropped. He hated seeing you upset, seeing you cry. Immediately, he wondered what he’d done to make you feel this way.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice was gentle, his tone soft. He didn’t demand an answer, like Alex so often did. No, he simply helped guide your words to the surface. He was patient and understanding as you caught your breath, didn’t make any condescending comments about your emotions. Bucky was always kind, always empathetic. He never rushed you. Never forced you to speak before you were ready.  

And when you finally found your words, they came out quiet, shameful. “I heard what you said…”

Bucky quickly ran through his conversation with Alex and came up empty. What did he do? What did he say that hurt you like this? But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the answer. “Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I- what did I say?”

“About us not talking-” You lifted your head, showing Bucky your red, glassy eyes. “About me not contacting you for over a year.”

Bucky shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I was just-”

“I shouldn’t be here.” You dropped your damp clothes on top of the washer and tugged at the knots Bucky tied in your sweatpants. “I shouldn’t be wearing your clothes-” You struggled to free yourself from the tightly knotted drawstring. “I shouldn’t be complaining to you. And I shouldn’t- I just shouldn’t be here.”

A low groan rumbled out of your throat as you gave up untying Bucky’s skillful knots. All you wanted was to get out of his clothes, out of his apartment, and out of his hair. A storm of guilt and shame pummeled you, drowning you in regret. Coming here was wrong. Selfish.

“I have no right to be here,” you said, slumping against the dryer and sliding to the floor. “I have no right to come to you for help.”

“What do you- Yes, you do.” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Of course, you do. You will alwayshave the right to be here.”

Another tidal wave of tears poured down your cheeks. Bucky was so kind- too kind- to you. Too forgiving. Too understanding. Too good. All you could do was shake your head and apologize. Vehemently.

“I’m so sorry…” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky took the spot next to you on the floor, close enough for you to feel his familiar body heat. “You don’t have to be sorry-”

“Yes, I do- I fucked up. I chose him.” You dried your tears with the sleeve of the sweatshirt Bucky held onto just for you. “He gave me an ultimatum and I- I chose wrong.”

Bucky took your hand in one of his but didn’t speak. He simply let you ride out your latest wave of guilt and grief. He swiped this thumb over your knuckles every now and then, keeping you grounded. And when you finally caught your breath, he spoke.

“I don’t think… I don’t think it was ever about you choosing between dating Alex or being friends with me,” he said. “You needed to choose yourself. To choose what was best for you, what would make you happy. And at the time,” Bucky shrugged, “you thought being with him was for the best. So that’s what you did. I can’t fault you for that-”

You scoffed. It came out ugly, bitter, full of the disdain and contempt you held for yourself. “But I knew who he was. Even then.”

Bucky shrugged, “they call ‘em rose colored glasses for a reason-”

“Stop!” Your voice violently bounced off the walls of the small laundry room. “Stop making excuses for me- I want you to be mad at me!” Desperation clawed at your throat. You ripped your hand from Bucky’s, too overwhelmed by the kindness you didn’t deserve. “Be mad at me for abandoning you when I said I never would- be mad at me for being a horrible friend! Be mad at me for being stupid- and selfish!” Your balled up fists landed blows to your legs, your chest. If Bucky wasn’t going to berate you, the least you could do was deliver to yourself a fraction of the pain you deserved.

But two hands- one warm, one cold- wrapped gently around your wrists, stopping the abuse. You locked eyes with Bucky, tears blurring your vision. He’d never seen a look of such intense desperation.

“Just- be mad at me…” you stared at him, pleading. “Please.”

Bucky shook his head, “No.”

“Please… be mad at me. Yell at me. Do something.”

Bucky couldn’t help but think back on the old days. How many times had the two of you sat on the floor of this apartment? How many times had you helped Bucky off the literal and metaphorical ledge when his anxieties grew too strong? How many times had you exorcised the demons Hydra saddled him with? How many times had he tried to punish or hurt himself? And how many times had you stopped him?

Now, it was Bucky’s turn to do the same for you. “I was mad. Does that make you feel better?” He shot you a wink; it pulled the smallest of smiles from deep within you. 

He intertwined his fingers with yours, anchoring you to reality, to him. “But I wasn’t mad at you. I was just mad because- because I met you so late in life, you know? And I barely got any time with you. It wasn’t enough for me.” His voice grew thick with longing. He spent so any nights thinking about you, losing sleep over how much he missed you. He often wondered if you missed him, too. Wondered if you thought of him when you took the train or went to the market. Wondered if you ever walked down his street, just because. 

“But I was never mad at you. I’ve never been mad at you for pursuing the things with Alex. Or for going along with his ultimatum. I didn’t like it- I didn’t think that it was fair to you, but…” he shrugged. “I wanted- want- you to be happy.”

“But I left you-”

“I’ve lived a long life,” Bucky said. “Too long.”

You squeezed his hand, “I wouldn’t say that- I wouldn’t say ‘too long.’”

You always knew how to make Bucky laugh. “What I mean is… I’m living years that aren’t mine. I was never supposed to have this much time. But these years are meant for you. This is your life. And you’re entitled to go after the things you want.”

“But-”

“No. No ‘but’.” It wasn’t a reprimand, but a reminder. “What kind of friend would I be if I got mad at you for pursuing a relationship with someone you loved?”

 “But I didn’t just pursue that relationship-” a harsh flashback of the day you left ripped you apart from the inside out.  You remembered refusing Bucky’s invitation inside. Handing him the key he had made for you. You remembered biting back tears as you told him of Alex’s ultimatum, and your subsequent decision to go along with it. You remembered the look of utter heartbreak on Bucky’s face. He was gutted. Torn apart. Seeing him so despondent nearly made you sick. “I cut you off. Completely.”

“I know. But…” he shrugged. “You deserve to go after the things you want. And you wanted him. And I- I just wanted you to be happy.”

A sharp huff left your chest, “But I could’ve been stronger. I should’ve- I should’ve handled things better.” These same words swarmed your mind like angry bees on a daily basis. So many would’ves and could’ves and should’ves launched themselves at you, illustrating everything you did wrong. “I mean, jesus christ, I’m an adult! He gave me an ultimatum- I didn’t have to go along with it. I chose to. I’m in the wrong just as much as he is-”

“Hey- no.” Bucky’s intensity caught you off guard. “Look, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but he’s a manipulator. Everything you ever told me about him screamed ‘manipulative’.”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I let him manipulate me-”

Bucky shut you down, “No. No, that’s not how manipulation works. Sure, you chose to be in a relationship with him. But you didn’t choose to be treated like shit. I saw-” Bucky’s free hand scratched at the fabric of his jeans. “I saw the way he acted tonight- if he’s like that all the time, I don’t blame you for going along with his ultimatum.” He grimaced, “I’m sure the consequences would’ve been bad if you chose otherwise.”

Bucky’s level of understanding and empathy almost made you angry. How was he this kind? How could he grant you this much grace? You felt yourself nearly going mad. He sensed the eyeroll, could practically feel your rebuttal bubbling below the surface. And before you could throw another ‘but’ at him, he continued. 

“You wanted to be with him. You thought- or hoped- that he was someone better. That’s not a crime. And I’m sure you wish you could go back in time and tell your past self not to get mixed up with him, but-”

“Yeah, but I-” you let loose a deep sigh. “I really just wish I could go back in time and tell past-me to stick with you. Always. To put you first.” A few more tears broke free from your lash line and rolled down your cheeks. “Cause you’re the person I care about most- you’ve always been then one who matters most to me. And I’m sorry I didn’t act like it. I’m sorry I didn’t make that obvious to you.”

“It’s all okay,” he nudged his shoulder with yours, “we’re okay.”

After a few deep breaths, you allowed your body to fall against his. Your head lay on his shoulder, your hands still intertwined. This was always how things were supposed to be: just you and Bucky against the world. No pain, no heartache, no ultimatums. Just trust. Kindness. Empathy.

“I’ve missed you every day,” your voice came out tight, barely audible as your tears made another appearance. 

Bucky unwound his hand from yours and opted instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders. “I’ve missed you too.”

“I regretted it, you know?” You lifted your head and looked him in the eye with intense urgency, “I regretted it instantly- I knew I shouldn’t have chosen him.”

He gave a simple shrug, “But it’s okay that you did.”

It was going to take some time for you to accept that Bucky didn’t hold a grudge. That he didn’t fault you. And that journey started there, on the floor of Bucky’s laundry room, with your body resting against his.

“I’m glad that… I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer to come back here.” You nestled closer to him, desperate to make up for lost time. “I’m glad it wasn’t too late.”

He stared down at you, confused. “Too late for what?” 

“Well, I’m sure you would’ve written me off after a certain point, you know? If I was gone for… five years, or something.” Just the thought of being away from Bucky that long made you miserable. “If I showed up here after all that time, it would’ve been too late for you to forgive me.”

Bucky shook his head, “First of all, you don’t need to be forgiven- you didn’t do anything wrong.” He hated the way you blamed yourself and dismissed your own difficulties over the last year. And he knew you too well to be able to ignore the heartbreak in your eyes, the pain behind your voice. You suffered in your relationship with Alex. He cut you off from your best friend, isolated you, sabotaged your self-esteem. You were a victim, even if you refused to believe it.

“Second of all- and this is important-” Bucky turned to face you dead on, and pressed his forehead to yours. “There is no ‘too late’ with us, doll. Ever.”

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

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[junghelioseok]

miss taken.

↳ you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l ◇ 20.3k [1/1]

❛❛ our kids are bitter rivals and the only time we ever meet is when we’re both called to the principal’s office and whatever maybe i think you’re kind of cute but your kid’s a monster and ALSO someone keeps buying the last everything bagel at my favorite coffee shop 2 minutes before i get there in the morning and has heard about my plight and has started leaving me bragging notes about it ❜❜

notes: fic number two in the serendipity series is here at last!!! this took me like a million and a half years to finish because Real Life happened but here we finally are! also, i changed the type of bagel that the story is centered around, because i honestly didn’t come to like everything bagels until relatively recently and i will still only eat it if it’s part of a bagel sandwich because? just having cream cheese or whatever on an everything bagel feels kind of unhinged to me! but that’s neither here nor there and no one is here for my bagel opinions so! hope you enjoy the story!!! 💕

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dilf!jk, some kissing and hand stuff, ✨sexual tension✨ but nothing too terribly explicit tbh

Silence has never sounded louder. 

You drum your fingers against the armrest of your chair, nails clacking against the cheap plastic. On the wall, the second hand of the clock completes yet another revolution, and you glance over when your companion sighs, plucks off her reading glasses, and sets them down on the desk beside the placard that houses her title: Principal Pamela Baker, Hybe Academy. 

A woman nearing her fifties, Pam has sandy blonde hair cut into a neat bob and an enviable ability to pull off any lipstick color, no matter how bold. You’re lucky enough to call her both a friend and a mentor, and when she mutters a curse under her breath, you chuckle. “Late again,” she huffs, offering you a wry smile before leaning back in her seat and casting her gaze skyward. “Typical.”

“You know what these corporate types are like, Pam,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “They have zero regard for anyone else’s time. He was twenty minutes late to our parent-teacher conference last semester, so don’t take it personally.”

“Believe me, I know plenty of men like Jungkook Jeon,” Pam says with another sigh, this one heavier and longer than the last. “I even married one, you know. But that was before I came to my senses and divorced his ass. Best decision of my life, right after getting my tubes tied.”

“Three kids was enough for you?” you tease, and Pam snorts out a laugh. 

“More than enough,” she replies. “What about you, though? Thinking of having another kid anytime soon?”

“I don’t think so… well, not anytime soon, at least. Ask me again in—” 

The sound of a doorknob turning stops you in your tracks, and a moment later, the door to the office swings open with a dull click. 

“Principal Baker. Miss {L/N}.” Jungkook Jeon is standing at the threshold in a wool coat the color of charcoal, the buttons of which are undone to reveal the undoubtedly designer suit underneath. His dark hair is parted neatly across his forehead, still sprinkled with lingering snowflakes from his journey here, and you bite back the urge to remark on his tardiness. Instead, you stand when your boss stands up, mustering up every ounce of professionalism you possibly can.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “It’s nice to see you again. Please, take a seat.”

You incline your head in Jungkook’s direction as he lowers himself into the plastic chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor in protest as he adjusts his position. “Hello, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for finally joining us.”

If Jungkook notices the snarky inflection of your tone, he doesn’t let it show. He merely levels you with a cool gaze, blinking lazily before turning to your boss. “Excuse my tardiness,” he says, smoothing down the lapels of his black jacket and straightening his slate blue tie. “I got here as fast as I could. Where is my daughter?”

Pam gestures toward the door. “Daeun is down the hall in the library, under Mr. Kim’s supervision. I thought it best if we spoke without the children first.”

The dark-haired man hums. “What happened, Principal? You were rather vague on the phone.”

Pam nods, and you exchange looks before she turns her attention back to Jungkook. “Yes, well, as I explained on the phone, there was an incident. Daeun forcefully took her classmate’s book during the free reading period, and refused to return it when asked.”

At that, Jungkook casts you another glance. “I see. And I presume the classmate was Miss {L/N}’s daughter?”

“It was,” you confirm, taking care to keep your tone even despite the irritation simmering in your belly. “This is the second time Trixie’s been targeted by your daughter, Mr. Jeon. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting into a displeased frown. “I'm not sure I like what you’re implying, Miss {L/N}.”

The iciness in his voice is unmistakable, but you have fifteen minutes’ worth of annoyance festering in your belly—annoyance that has amplified with every second that he made you wait. That, combined with his behavior last semester is enough to stir that annoyance into full-blown anger. He’s been short with you every time you’ve called to talk about his daughter’s progress in class, and you very nearly canceled his eight o’clock appointment to meet with you during December’s parent-teacher conferences. You remember pulling up his contact information nineteen minutes after eight, thumb hovering over the call button on your phone when he finally burst into your classroom. No preamble, and no apology. He just sat down, as if nothing was amiss, and began asking about Daeun’s grades in math.

It’s no wonder you’ve never heard so much as a word about a Mrs. Jeon. The nosy part of your brain wonders about Jungkook’s home life on occasion, and the more vindictive part relishes in the fact that he’s no doubt a single parent. Any woman would have to be a saint to put up with Jungkook Jeon, you reason, because as far as you’re concerned, he’s the devil. 

The devil dressed in head-to-toe Armani, who is currently fixing you with a look that could temper steel. 

“Mr. Jeon.” Pam, as always, is quick to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled over her office. “No one is implying anything here. We just want to have a frank, civil discussion about Daeun’s behavior, and see if you can think of anything that may be causing her to act out. A recent change in her life, perhaps? Something new that she hasn’t quite adjusted to yet?”

You take a deep breath, releasing it through your nose before putting your professional mask back on. “Her shift in behavior was extremely sudden,” you chime in, watching out of the corner of your eye as Pam inclines her head in agreement. “Laughing when Trixie and another classmate slipped and fell on the ice, and now this? I don’t believe for a minute that this change came out of nowhere—something must have caused it. Daeun is a smart girl, Mr. Jeon. She’s outgoing and a little rambunctious, but she’s always been kind to her classmates in the past. Today’s behavior was incredibly out of character for her.”

A beat of silence passes, as your words fade into silence. Then Jungkook shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he turns his full attention to you. “We keep talking about Daeun as if she was the only child involved in this incident, Miss {L/N}. Why don’t we talk about your daughter instead? Trixie, is it?”

And just like that, your mask begins to splinter at the edges. “Trixie was reading quietly at the table when Daeun approached her,” you reply coolly. “She didn’t instigate anything, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Jungkook huffs out a humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “I think you, of all people, might be a little bit biased.”

Fury flares in your belly, hot and bright. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon,” you manage between clenched teeth. “I care about all of my students equally, and treat them as such. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but your boss stops him before he can utter a single syllable. “I think that’s enough for today,” Pam says, rising to her feet and stepping around her desk to shake Jungkook’s hand. Even in heels, she only comes up to his chest, and you would have laughed at the height disparity if it weren’t for the rage still bubbling through your veins. “Like I said before, the girls are just down the hall with Mr. Kim. If you’ll follow me…”

Pam ushers Jungkook out of the office, chattering mindlessly about the cafeteria renovations that are underway—funded in large part by Jungkook himself, you’re certain. As much as you’ve grown to dislike the man, you know that he cares deeply about education and donates a rather large sum to your school every year. Trailing after them by a few paces, you listen as Pam points out a row of plaques hanging on the wall, honoring distinguished students and teachers alike.

The library, when you reach it, is empty save for three figures seated at one of several rectangular tables that occupy the middle of the room. Taehyung Kim, the copper-haired librarian, springs out of his seat upon your arrival, and you wave tiredly as he approaches with a warm, affable grin. 

“Welcome!” Taehyung says, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “You must be Daeun’s dad. I’m Taehyung Kim, the librarian here at Hybe.” 

“Jungkook Jeon.” Then Jungkook’s gaze flits past him to where the two children are seated opposite one another. Daeun is a slender, petite girl with dark hair braided neatly down her back and round, brown eyes that are narrowed in concentration as she colors in a picture of a lion. Quietly, Jungkook strides over to his daughter, kneeling down beside her chair until he’s eye-level. “Hey, Daeun,” you hear him murmur. “What happened today, hmm?”

You, meanwhile, join your own daughter at the table, sitting down in the chair Taehyung abandoned and taking in the paper and coloring utensils scattered across the surface “Hey, jitterbug,” you murmur. “Were you nice to Mr. Kim while I was gone?”

“Tae read us a book about butterflies,” Trixie replies, shrugging her little shoulders. “He taught us about migration.”

You chuckle. “Migration, huh? That sounds interesting. You want to tell me all about it on the drive home?”

Trixie nods, her pigtails bobbing in time with the movement. Then she glances over to where Jungkook is instructing Daeun to pack up her backpack, tucking books and notebooks neatly inside while Daeun collects her crayons and puts them into a sparkly little pink case. “Are we going home now?”

“Soon, bug,” you promise. “I just have to finish up with Mr. Jeon and Principal Baker, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie says agreeably, returning to her drawing. Pam gestures for you to join her and Jungkook near the library doors, and you meet Taehyung’s gaze as you brush past where he’s pulling a few books down for a display. Good luck, he mouths, and you suppress the urge to make a face. Instead, you mouth a quick thanks back, offering Daeun a quick smile as well before joining her father and your boss at the door. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, casting a surreptitious glance toward Daeun and Trixie before lowering her voice. “I don’t think you should ignore this behavior from your daughter. If there’s something in her home life that is making her act out, I can recommend a few counselors who would be more than happy to speak with the two of y—”

Jungkook shakes his head, a lock of dark hair coming loose from whatever gel he’s used to style it. “With all due respect, Principal Baker, I don’t appreciate my parenting abilities being called into question. I think it’s probably best if Daeun and I take our leave.”

Pam sighs. “Mr. Jeon, I don’t mean to offend. But Daeun did take a book out of Trixie’s hands.”

“And I’ll be sure to discipline her for that,” Jungkook replies. “But if this is all over a book, Principal, I think the solution is simple. I can easily buy her whatever book she needs.”

“I’m not so sure it’s about the book itself,” you point out. “Tae—I mean, Mr. Kim—has multiple copies of Charlotte’s Web available for the students.”

Jungkook hums and turns up the collar of his wool coat, pulling it snug around his throat. “Nonetheless, I think we’re done here. Daeun, we’re leaving.”

The six-year-old looks up from the book Taehyung has checked out for her and immediately runs over to grab her father’s extended hand. “Are we going home?” she asks quietly, and he nods. 

“Yeah, we are, sweetheart. Come on. Say bye to your teachers.”

Obediently, Daeun waves to you and Taehyung before bidding Pam goodbye as well. Jungkook offers you a stiff nod, and Pam resignedly offers to walk the duo out. They depart together, and you watch as they disappear around the corner of the hall before turning to Taehyung with a heavy sigh. Trixie is still engrossed in her coloring, and you lower your voice as you join Taehyung where he’s begun re-shelving books from a cart of returns. 

“Thank god that’s finally over,” you murmur.

Taehyung glances both ways, ensuring the coast is clear. “Yeah. That Jungkook guy is a total wang.”

///

By the time you pull out of Hybe Academy’s parking lot, rush hour has well and truly begun. Silently, you curse Jungkook’s tardiness as you merge onto the main road and almost immediately come to a complete standstill amongst the traffic. Glancing back in the rearview mirror, you take in the sight of your daughter, buckled neatly into the backseat with her face pressed against the window.

“What color are we looking for today, bug?”

“Red,” she replies, her nose scrunching against the glass. Every day, your daughter picks a color and counts the number of cars she sees in that particular shade. She’s taken to keeping a running tally on the refrigerator—working toward the answer to a research question that only she understands. Her work is accompanied by a variety of figures and diagrams as well, which she’s plastered across the remainder of the refrigerator door and are slowly encroaching on the freezer door as well. You’re pretty sure she’ll need a larger surface soon enough—the wall of the hallway leading to the bedrooms would probably suffice—but until then, you have no plans to interfere with her creativity. If anything, you sometimes wish you could see the world through a child’s eyes again—to view every new experience as an adventure, and delight in the simple things. It’s one of the many reasons you love working at Hybe, even if you do have to deal with the occasional entitled parent.

Unwillingly, your mind wanders back to Jungkook Jeon. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, even if you’re reluctant to admit it and refuse outright to say it aloud. He’s blessed with the kind of face that angels could rhapsodize about—his dark, expressive eyes set above a strong nose and an enticing mouth. His jawline is sharp as a knife, and you’re fairly certain the devil himself sculpted his thighs. Even beneath the drape of his expensive suits, you can see the definition of his musculature as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. You wonder—more often than you’d like to admit—how his workplace hasn’t deemed his suits obscene. Maybe he needs a dress code, you think to yourself, easing off the brake as the cars in front of you begin to inch forward. Baggy clothes only from this point forward. The more skin covered, the better. 

“Oooh! Found one!” Trixie exclaims, tapping the glass vigorously. “And look, there’s another. It’s a darker red, though.”

You hum and nod toward the traffic up ahead, where you can glimpse the corner of a cherry red bumper. “What about that one up there? That makes three, right?”

In the mirror, you see your daughter nod. A few minutes pass, the two of you calling out when another red car is spotted, and traffic eventually eases up enough that you can continue your way home. 

“So, what did Mr. Kim teach you about butterflies?” you query as you make a right turn. “Something about migration?” 

Trixie nods absently, still fixated on the cars driving by in the opposite lane. “Yeah. They go south for the winter to stay warm.”

You glance at her reflection in the mirror again. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah.”

Up ahead, the light turns green. You hit the gas, debating whether to bring up Daeun or not, but your daughter speaks again before you can dwell on it any further. 

“It’s weird,” Trixie says, her face still pressed against the window and her breath misting the glass. “Daeun was never mean to me before. We weren’t friends, not really. But now it feels like she’s picking on me on purpose and I don’t know why.” 

Something in your chest splinters at the tone of her voice—subdued and small. She’s dragging a finger through the fogged up glass now, tracing the crooked outline of a butterfly, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again.

“We’ll figure it out together, then, jitterbug. Now, why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner?”

///

Mornings are always a little chaotic in your home. Trixie is sprinting around the entirety of the two-bedroom apartment looking for her favorite scrunchie, a half-eaten piece of toast clutched in one hand and her backpack swinging from the other. In the kitchen, you’re going through a mental checklist of all the places your daughter could have possibly left the accessory while sipping on your morning coffee. The mug nearly slips from your hand when your pet cat, Taco, slinks past your legs on her way to her food bowl, and you hiss out a sharp curse.

“Fuck!” Hot liquid dribbles down your knuckles. The calico cat gives you an unimpressed look, and you glance both ways to make sure Trixie is out of earshot before wagging a reprimanding finger. “Manners, Taco. You’re better than this.”

Taco merely flicks her tail and turns back to her own breakfast, rebelliously batting her water bowl with a paw before settling down to eat. Sighing, you finish the remainder of your coffee and rinse out the mug, listening as Trixie darts in and begins rummaging through the silverware drawer. 

“Bug, I don’t think your scrunchie’s in there,” you remark, earning yourself a shrug in response.

“Can’t be too careful,” she says in a startlingly accurate impression of you, and you can’t decide whether to laugh out loud or roll your eyes. Coming up empty, your daughter runs off again, and you return your attention to your bag, rifling through the folders and assignments within. “Aha!” you hear in the distance, and smile. Trixie comes bounding down the hall a few seconds later with a sparkly holographic scrunchie in hand, and you obligingly help her wind it around her ponytail as she wriggles in place with excitement.

“Ready to go?” you ask once finished, and she nods eagerly. “Have all your homework?” Another nod. “What about those books you have to return to Mr. Kim at the library?”

Trixie heaves a dramatic sigh and fixes you with a look. “Yes, Mom. Can we go now?”

You chuckle and extend your hand for her to take, heaving your bag onto your opposite shoulder. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

Locking the front door, you and Trixie take the elevator down to the ground floor of the building and exit out into the wintry air. Your car is parked on a nearby side street, and immediately, you see that the windshield is coated in a light layer of frost. Sighing inwardly, you head toward the trunk where you store the ice scraper. Trixie releases your hand when you pop open the lid, and you turn to watch as she skips her way down the sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want a ride to school?” you call.

She stops, her nose wrinkling. “It’s lame to go to school with your teacher, Mom.”

You feign offense, slapping a hand to your heart. “Oh? I’m lame now, am I?”

“Don’t take it personal,” Trixie replies, shrugging. “All adults are kinda lame.”

With that, she waves and darts the rest of the way down the sidewalk, making her way to the bus stop at the end of the block. You watch her go, waiting until she safely joins the other half-dozen kids clustered on the corner beside the stop sign, before turning back to your car and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

There’s something calming about your morning commute—something about the low hum of the engine and the whir of wheels against asphalt that soothes your soul. The route downtown is a familiar one, and you navigate it with ease. A glance at the clock on the dashboard tells you that you have just enough time to grab some breakfast, and at the next intersection, you opt to turn left instead of right. Three minutes later, you’re pulling up to your favorite coffee shop in the city, snagging one of the few remaining parking spaces on the street and braving the chill one more time as you head for the brightly painted front door beneath the cheery sign that reads, Bean There, Done That!. 

The smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla washes over you as soon as you step inside the coffee shop. There’s a relatively short line, and you pull out your phone as you join it, scrolling through news articles and notifications until you reach the counter. “Good morning, Bonnie,” you greet the middle-aged woman working the cash register, before waving at the man who’s already brewing a fresh espresso in the corner. “Morning, Jin.”

“Hiya, {Name},” Jin replies. As the owner of the shop and a dear friend of yours, he knows your usual order like the back of his hand. “Got your coffee going right now.”

Bonnie smiles at you, nodding as Jin plops your finished drink down and joins her at the counter. “Morning, hun. You’re too late again, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?”

You glance over at the glass display case where all the baked goods are housed, disappointment sinking into your stomach when you see the empty row in the bagel section. “No cinnamon streusel? Again?”

“Some guy beat you to the last one,” Jin answers as Bonnie rings up your coffee and slides it across the counter into your waiting hands. “Same one as last week, actually. He comes here pretty regularly.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean the same jerk has taken my bagel three times now? How is it that I haven’t run into him yet?”

“I dunno—dude’s an early riser, I guess. You missed him by about ten minutes this time, but sometimes he’s in here even earlier than that.” Jin shrugs and jabs a thumb toward the back where you can just barely see the kitchen through a small window. “We’ve got more bagels going right now though, if you can wait five minutes.”

The time on your phone’s screen tells you that you cannot. “Sorry,” you tell him. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for school.” Turning, you nod at Bonnie and drop a few bills into the tip jar. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Jin pats down his apron pockets and fishes out a crumpled napkin from within. “I almost forgot. The guy—he left a note.”

“He left… what?” You frown. “Why?”

Awkwardly, Jin clears his throat. “I, uh, may have let it slip that he kept beating you to the last cinnamon streusel bagel on Friday. And then he asked if he could leave you a note, so….” Uncrumpling the napkin, he extends it toward you. “Here.”

You can’t help it—curiosity roots in your belly and winds its way to your fingers as you carefully accept the note and smooth it out on the countertop.

Better luck next time ;)

“That prick.”

Jin winces. “Yeah, I know. I mean, he does always leave a twenty in the tip jar, but yeah, totally. I’m with you. Guy’s a wang.”

You’re barely listening. Scowling, you fumble for the pen in your purse, taking the napkin that Bonnie wordlessly hands you and scribbling out your own note so fiercely you nearly rip through the papery material.

Game on, mister.

///

The rest of the week seems to drag by, until Friday arrives at long last and shepherds with it stormy gray clouds on the horizon. You’re already feeling rather grumpy—no doubt thanks in part to the collection of snarky napkin notes you’ve accumulated over the past few days—and the sun’s absence only serves to exacerbate your foul mood. Even worse, you had an unfortunate run-in with one Mr. Jungkook Jeon yesterday, meeting with him in the principal’s office following an incident where Daeun took and hid Trixie’s favorite holographic scrunchie. Thankfully, it was recovered quickly, but even now the mere thought of Jungkook Jeon’s stupid, condescending face is enough to tank your mood. Scowling, you lock your car and head in the direction of Bean There, Done That!, carefully eyeing every person who exits in an effort to discern whether they might have purchased a cinnamon streusel bagel and hoping that none of them have snagged the last.

You’re running a full forty-five minutes early today—all in an attempt to beat the damned bagel thief. Half an hour hadn’t been enough—you found that out the hard way yesterday, when Bonnie had greeted you with an apologetic smile and Jin had wordlessly doubled the usual shot of espresso in your coffee without charge. Looking back, your initial attempts to be a mere fifteen minutes earlier were feeble at worst and laughable at best. But today, you think, today will be different. 

The bell over the door jingles pleasantly when you step inside the coffee shop, and you immediately deflate when Jin catches your eye and shakes his head. He’s there to greet you when you finally reach the front of the line, and you sigh as you accept the folded napkin he hands over. “He beat me? Again? Does this guy not sleep?”

“He was super early today,” Jin replies with a shrug. Groaning, you unfold the note and smooth it out on the counter, sucking in a breath when you read the words scrawled there. 

What’s that saying again? Something about the early bird always getting the worm? ;)

“That fucking asshole,” you grit out. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Testy,” Jin says, clicking his tongue. “What’s got your panties in a bunch today?”

You sigh. “School stuff, mostly. I had to meet with the father of one of my students yesterday, and he’s a real piece of work. And then I was up late grading homework.”

“You could always assign less,” Jin offers up unhelpfully, which earns him a snort and an eye-roll from you. Relenting, he instead begins pouring your coffee, chattering on as the hot liquid splashes into your cup. “So, about this guy’s impending doom. How exactly do you plan on murdering a man when you don’t even know what he looks like?”

“Stop being logical,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Just then, the coffee shop door flies open, letting in a gust of chilly wind. You turn to see Bonnie bustling inside, wearing a bright pink woolen hat and ushering along her eleven-year old son, Caleb. “Hi, hun,” she greets you, her nose scrunching when she sees your frown. “I take it you still haven’t found your mystery bagel man?”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t think I can get DNA off of his notes, so no. I have no idea who this guy is, which means I have no way of tracking him down and giving him a piece of my mind.”

Bonnie tuts sympathetically and pats your arm. “Sorry, hun.” Giving your elbow an affectionate squeeze, she slips past the counter and into the back room to grab her paycheck. Jin finishes up with your drink, and you thank him as you take a long sip. Then you turn to Bonnie’s son, who’s taken a seat in a nearby booth and is doodling on a piece of scrap paper. 

“Hey, Caleb. How’s it going?”

The boy, normally quite talkative, just shrugs. Taken aback, you decide not to press the issue and instead turn back to Jin, who’s wiping down the espresso machine and whistling something that sounds vaguely like “Never Gonna Give You Up” under his breath. Bonnie returns then, and you give her a quizzical glance as she pours herself a to-go cup of coffee and adds two generous pumps of caramel syrup. Is something up with Caleb? you mouth, and watch as confusion flits across her face before realization dawns.

“Don’t worry about him,” she whispers, approaching you so you can hear. “He’s just a little bummed from yesterday. Misspelled ‘serendipity’ in the school spelling bee, and it cost him the win in the end.”

You wince. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“Yeah, that sucks real hard,” Jin chimes in from his spot at the espresso machine. “Little guy didn’t even try to steal a cookie from the display like he normally does.”

Bonnie chuckles. “I’ll grab a couple to-go, then—a double chocolate and a snickerdoodle, if you please. But then we’ve really got to head out. School starts in twenty.”

At the reminder, you pull out your phone and glance at the time. “Yeah, I need to leave soon too. Give my best to Caleb, okay? There’s always next year’s spelling bee.” Turning to Jin, you hand over your credit card to pay for the coffee before grabbing a pen and a napkin. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what you want to write, and then another few to scrawl out the note:

Don’t forget, the tortoise always beats the hare in the end.

Straightening up, you hand the napkin over to Jin, who accepts it wordlessly and tucks it into his pocket. And once he’s handed your card back to you, you wave goodbye to both Jin and Bonnie before heading out.

It’s typically a five-minute drive to Hybe Academy from the coffee shop, but this morning, it takes you almost ten. Every red light in the city has seemingly teamed up in order to make you late, and you make it through the door of your classroom with mere minutes to spare. Thankfully, the first bell hasn’t rung yet, and to your surprise, Taehyung is still lounging in your desk chair when you enter the room. The two of you have a longstanding tradition of having breakfast together in the mornings—even if breakfast just turns out to be two extra-large cups of coffee with anywhere between zero and four shots of espresso added in. Taehyung occasionally brings in some of his kitchen experiments as well, and you’ve had to politely decline his offer to share on more than one occasion. 

“Hey, there you are!” Taehyung grins and props his feet up onto your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I was just about to leave.”

“Really? It looks like you’ve made yourself pretty comfortable,” you reply, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing into the chair he’s pulled up beside him. “Must be nice, not having to worry about being on time for first period.”

Taehyung nestles deeper into the back of your chair and lets his eyes drift shut. “Sure is.”

You snort and take a sip of your coffee. “Jerk.”

“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes remaining staunchly shut.

Shaking your head, you instead direct your attention to the tupperware container that’s sitting on the desk in front of your friend. You can see what looks like some kind of pastry inside, and prod curiously at it before poking Taehyung in the shoulder. “So, what’s this? Don’t tell me you tried to make croque monsieurs again.”

“Excuse you, those weren’t even that bad,” he defends, his eyes flying open. “And no, I didn’t. I made quiche this time.”

“Right,” you say suspiciously. “And what’s in it?”

“Bacon, cheese, onions,” Taehyung lists with a shrug. “Oh, and a few baby carrots I had on hand. I didn’t really know what else to do with them.”

It’s far from the strangest combination your friend has come up with—a sentiment you voice aloud as you pry open the edge of the container and accept the fork he hands over. “This feels shockingly normal.” Cautiously, you dig into an edge and bring it to eye level so you can examine the filling. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m going to start force feeding you if you don’t stop teasing,” Taehyung threatens, grabbing a fork for himself and helping himself to a generous bite. “Seriously, give it a try—I promise it’s good. I didn’t even drop any eggshells in it this time.”

Laughing, you bring the quiche to your mouth. The pastry is flaky and the filling is smooth, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the harmonious balance of seasonings that you taste. Taehyung watches in satisfaction as you go in for a bigger piece, and pushes the tupperware closer when you nearly drop it. 

“Told you it was good,” he says smugly, and you can only nod your agreement and raise your coffee in silent commendation. 

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments—until you remember the napkin shoved in your pocket and pull it out with a grimace. You’ve ranted to Taehyung about your new nemesis on more than one occasion by this point, and he doesn’t even blink as he flattens out the material and scans the words scrawled there. “I’ve gotta say, the guy’s got good handwriting,” he remarks, and you immediately fix him with a scowl. 

“Really? You’ve got to say that?”

Taehyung holds up his hands innocently. “Just an observation,” he says. “How many of these notes do you even have now? Three?”

“Five,” you grumble. “And I’m still no closer to figuring out who he is. I don’t suppose you have access to a police database or anything, right? Some way to match this guy’s handwriting?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” is Taehyung’s blasé reply. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything, even if you do figure out who he is. You’ll just keep stewing until something else comes along, so why even bother with the manhunt in the first place?”

You sniff. “I’m raising Trixie to be a strong, determined woman who can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. What kind of example would I be setting if I can’t do this one thing?”

Taehyung doesn’t even bother trying to disguise his snort of laughter. “You’re so full of shit. Jesus Christ.”

The bell rings, then—signaling that students have five minutes to make their way to their classrooms. You sigh, and Taehyung wordlessly stands up and begins gathering his tupperware back into his bag, tucking the cutlery in last and grabbing his remaining coffee as he turns toward the door. 

“Catch you later,” he says at the threshold, and you wave him off before brushing a few stray crumbs off your desk. Finishing off the last of your coffee, you pull your planner from your bag and absentmindedly shove the napkin note in its place—putting away any and all thoughts of your bagel nemesis as students slowly begin filtering into your classroom. Trixie briefly catches your eye as she files in with a couple of her friends, and you smile as you rise from your seat and begin outlining the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard. 

There’s no doubt that Fridays are your favorite. Friday afternoons at Hybe Academy are dedicated to the arts, and listening to the soft strains of music coming from the orchestra room and the various solo instruments taking lessons brings you boundless joy. You love seeing the new paintings on the walls the following Monday too, and often stay a while after school lets out on Friday to hang up the pieces produced by your own class. 

But this particular Friday—it isn’t going as planned at all.

You’re beginning to think that this morning’s strike from your bagel thief was an omen. Up until two hours ago, it’s just been the usual inconveniences and minor drawbacks—a misplaced pencil here, or a spilled bit of juice there. But now, halfway through the schoolday, you feel like you’re drowning. Your stomach is growling and your hair is in disarray, and it’s all thanks to the fact that you currently have twice the amount of students you normally do occupying your classroom—all of whom are seemingly intent on covering every available surface with splatters of paint. 

You can’t blame Miss Kumar, of course. Family emergencies are just that—emergencies. They can’t be predicted or controlled, and when she was called at lunchtime with unexpected news, you understood that she had to leave immediately. In an unfortunate turn of events, none of the Academy’s usual substitute teachers were available, and you soon found yourself haplessly watching on as her first-graders filed into your room with chairs in tow, taking up residence two to a desk alongside your own students. 

And even though you’re doing your absolute best to maintain some semblance of order, you know you’ve lost when one of Miss Kumar’s students—Nicholas, you think his name is—upends a little plastic canister of paint onto his desk and splats both hands into it. Blue paint goes flying in every direction, and as he giggles, the other children quickly begin to follow his lead. 

“Guys, no, wait—” you try to say, but it’s too late. A fully fledged paint fight has broken out, and you watch in horror as Daeun flings a dollop of yellow paint straight onto Trixie’s Hercules shirt. 

If there’s a bright spot in all of this, it’s that Principal Pam Baker works fast. You’d called her mere minutes into the fight breaking out, and she’d done her part by calling the parents of the students you’d named as instigators of the fight. Those who could came in right away, and once you managed to settle everyone down, you brought their kids down to Pam’s office so that she could have a group meeting with both the parents and students alike. The remaining children you took to the library to be watched by Taehyung while you cleaned up your classroom. It’s an absolute disaster zone, and you’ve only just begun spraying down the first desk when the door flies open.

“Most of the children are at the library,” you say without turning around, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of red paint on the corner of the desk with a wet wipe. “If you’re looking for your child, you’d best head over there.”

“Actually, I’m here to speak to you,” a familiar voice says, and dread pools in your stomach as you turn and find yourself face-to-face with none other than Jungkook Jeon, his dark eyes unreadable. On his wrist, just barely concealed beneath the sleeve of his charcoal overcoat, you can see his expensive silver watch glinting in the fluorescent light.

“Mr. Jeon,” you manage once you’ve found your voice again. “How can I help you?”

For a few long seconds, Jungkook remains silent. He steps over the threshold and into your classroom, taking in the paint-splattered walls and the chairs scattered haphazardly about. Then his gaze settles on you, his nose wrinkling slightly as he speaks again. 

“It smells in here.”

“It’s the paint,” you answer shortly, stepping over an upended cup of brushes and making your way to the window. Fumbling with the lock, you struggle for a few seconds before finally managing to heave it open, letting in a welcome gust of cool wintry air. 

Jungkook watches all of this in silence. Then he hums, faint amusement lacing his voice. “I see that.”

Irritation blooms in your belly at his blasé tone. “What did you want to talk about, Mr. Jeon? If you’re looking for Daeun, I’m afraid she’s down the hall in Principal Baker’s office.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Jungkook takes a step forward, the heels of his sleek black oxfords clicking against the tiled floor. “This is the second time you’ve lost control of your classroom, I believe. And tell me, Miss {L/N}, why has my daughter been sent to the principal’s office two days in a row, now?”

You glance up from where you’ve begun wiping at a spot of hot pink paint on the windowsill. “With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, I think that’s a question that only Daeun can answer.”

“Daeun.” There’s outright laughter in Jungkook’s voice now—but it’s the humorless sort that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “Right, of course. The blame is always on my daughter, isn’t it? Never any of the others. Never your own.”

For a moment, you can only stare at him. Then, without even fully realizing what you’re doing, you begin walking forward. First one step, and then another—until the tips of your sensible block heels are mere inches from the tips of his oxfords. Emotion is building steadily in your chest—a cocktail of exhaustion and anger topped off with the day’s frustrations—and all of it comes flooding out as you raise your chin and look Jungkook Jeon square in the eye. 

“Unlike you, I saw what happened today, Mr. Jeon. Several students were responsible for instigating and perpetuating this fight, and unfortunately, Daeun was one of them. I don’t appreciate you implying that I favor any of my students over others, and I certainly don’t appreciate you questioning my ability as a teacher.” Your chest heaves as you pause to take a breath. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon. Maybe you don’t think so, but I am. I’ve been teaching for nearly a decade, and I’ve spent almost every day with these children for the past year. You don’t get to come in here and disrespect me in my own classroom. I don’t care how much money you give to this school. I’m not beholden to you or your money, and I’ll thank you to not come in here with unnecessary attitude and finger-pointing.”

Your blood is rushing in your ears by the time your speech comes to an end. Jungkook is silent, staring down his nose at you for three long seconds before he deliberately raises a dark eyebrow. “Are you finished?” he asks. 

You shiver as his hot breath fans against your cheeks. “No.” And then, in a surge of stupid, adrenaline-fueled bravery, you add, “I kind of want to cuss you out, to be honest.”

The other eyebrow rises to join the first, as a huff of wry laughter escapes his lips. “Oh?”

You deflate slightly, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. It shouldn’t be so easy for a parent to get a rise out of you, but Jungkook seems to do it so easily—and so often. “I’m not going to,” you murmur. 

“No?” Jungkook’s gaze darts down to your lips, then up to your eyes, and then down to your lips again. “That’s rather disappointing.”

Unwittingly, you’ve drifted even closer to him since you first started talking. You can see each fleck of amber in his irises, and could probably count each of his individual eyelashes if you so cared. This close to him, you can see that one of his eyebrows is pierced—his dark hair brushed back just enough to reveal the silvery metal embedded in his skin. You don’t pull away though, and neither does he. If anything, he seems to be willing you closer—his lips parting and his tongue darting out to moisten them.

And then he blinks, and you pull back as if burned. “If… if that’s all, I should really get back to cleaning up,” you stammer, hating the wobble in your voice as you return to your desk and grab a fresh wet wipe. “Principal Baker’s office is down the hall on the left.”

“I remember. I was there yesterday, after all.” The faint amusement has returned to his tone. Straightening his tie, he begins making his way to the exit, only to pause in the doorframe and glance at you once more over his shoulder. “Oh, and Miss {L/N}?”

You look up. “Yes?”

“You should really look in a mirror. It looks like a Smurf exploded on your face.” 

///

Saturday brings with it clear blue skies and a sweet, sweet reprieve from the chaos of the week. You’d promised Trixie that you would make ratatouille together over the weekend—just like in the movie—and now you’re making good on that promise as you push a shopping cart around the grocery store with your daughter skipping happily by your side. “Ooh! We need these, right?” she exclaims, pointing at a display of zucchini, and you nod, watching as she carefully selects two and plunks them into the cart. 

Together, the two of you finish up in the produce section and head for the aisles that house all the baking goods. Trixie peruses the shelves as you stock up on the essentials—flour, sugar, and a couple boxes of baking soda. Then you grab a package of chocolate chips, laughing when Trixie immediately perks up at the sound of the bag crinkling and whirls around to look at you with wide, eager eyes. 

 “Can we do chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her chest. 

“I think you’re pushing your luck, young lady,” you tell her, but relent when she selflessly offers to bring the extras to class on Monday to share. 

Ten minutes later, you’re heading toward the checkout line when you suddenly realize that you’ve forgotten something. “Tomatoes,” you say aloud, glancing down at Trixie apologetically. “Totally slipped my mind. Let’s go grab some, bug.”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but turns toward the produce section nonetheless. Faster than you can blink, she trots off, leaving you to trail after her with the shopping cart. Maneuvering around a particularly tall display of onions, you pull out your phone to check the grocery list one more time—only to be interrupted by the metallic clang of your shopping cart hitting another. Immediately, you open your mouth to apologize, but stop short when your eyes meet the owner of the other cart.

“O-oh,” you stammer, your head spinning as you try to recover your full vocabulary. “Mr. Jeon. I… I didn’t see you there.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That much I gathered.” Then he nods toward Trixie, who you can just barely see two aisles and a crate of watermelons away. “Doing some shopping, Miss {L/N}?”

You don’t respond. Your brain is in overdrive, struggling to reconcile the Jungkook standing in front of you with the one you’d seen just yesterday in your paint-splattered classroom. His dark hair isn’t parted neatly across his forehead for once—instead, it falls in soft waves around his face. Rather reluctantly, your brain acknowledges that he looks good—irritatingly so. You’ve never seen him in casual clothes before—only neatly pressed suits that cost more than your entire paycheck—and the change is jarring to say the least. His purple sweatshirt is baggy and his black joggers are just tight enough to show off the definition of his thighs, and—

—hang on, is he wearing Birkenstocks?

Trixie, thankfully, comes to the rescue as you gape at Jungkook’s feet for several seconds too long. “Is this enough?” she asks, lugging a plastic bag bulging with at least a dozen heirloom tomatoes. Still a little shellshocked, you look down at her, blinking dumbly before bursting into laughter.

“That’s plenty, bug. In fact, we probably need to put some back, unless you want tomatoes in your cookies too.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Trixie says thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Or we can make marinara and have spaghetti and meatballs tomorrow!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to huff out a laugh of his own. “Spaghetti and meatballs, huh? Great minds must think alike—Daeun suggested the exact same thing for our dinner tonight. Only thing is, we’re apparently making everything by hand, even the spaghetti. And we’ve never made pasta before, so…” He chuckles. “You can imagine how well that’ll probably go.”

You glance around the nearest visible aisles. “Daeun’s a proper little chef, I see. Is she here with you?”

The dark-haired man gestures toward the back of the grocery store. “I tasked her with grabbing some milk and eggs while I get the onions. She won’t go near them until they’re cooked, so I figured this would be most efficient.”

You grin. “Divide and conquer, huh?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook answers with a surprisingly boyish smile. You note with amusement that his front teeth are more prominent than the rest, just enough to give him the resemblance of a rabbit. Rather unfairly, it somehow manages to work in his favor when put together with the rest of him. Your cheeks warm when you register again just how handsome he truly is, and you quickly suck in a deep breath as you search around for a distraction.

You’re in luck. Daeun rounds the corner of a nearby display of cantaloupes with a wide grin, a gallon jug of milk and a carton of eggs in either hand. Her grin widens when she spots you, and you chuckle as she tries and fails to raise her jug-bearing hand to wave.

“Hi, Miss {L/N}!” she exclaims as she comes to a stop alongside Jungkook’s cart and deposits her goods inside. “What’re you doing here?”

“Dae,” Jungkook chides gently, but you laugh and wave him off.

“Hi, Daeun. I’m doing some shopping with Trixie, just like you are with your dad. Speaking of which—you probably have a lot of cooking to get to.” You return your attention to Jungkook. “I mean, I know we do. Somehow, I was talked into making two types of cookies this weekend, so we should really head out and get started.”

“Wait—hang on a second.” Jungkook speaks again, and maybe it’s your imagination but you think you hear a tinge of desperation in his tone. “I’m actually glad we ran into you today. We were going to do this on Monday but since you’re both here, Daeun has something she’d like to say to Trixie. Isn’t that right, Dae?”

Daeun’s gaze drops to where she’s scuffing her sneakered feet against the tiled linoleum floor. Jungkook reaches down, giving her an encouraging nudge, and she hesitates for a second before looking back up and glancing between you and Trixie. “I’m sorry,” she begins shyly. “I shouldn’t’ve thrown paint at you. Or taken your book.” And when Jungkook nudges her again and lifts an eyebrow, she continues again. “And… I’m sorry for laughing when you fell down on the playground. It wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t being nice. I’m really sorry, Trixie.”

There’s a beat of silence, as Daeun falls silent and looks at your daughter hopefully. You glance between the two girls, then up at Jungkook, who still has a hand on Daeun’s shoulder and seems to be holding his breath. Trixie, for her part, looks to be deep in thought, her face scrunched in contemplation as she taps a finger against her lips. Vaguely, you wonder if you should say something, but decide against it.

And then Trixie beams, toothy and bright. Daeun’s answering smile is still tentative, but it transforms into full-blown giggles when your daughter rushes forward and clasps one of her hands in both of her own. “I forgive you,” she says shortly, giving her hand a shake like a little businesswoman. You and Jungkook watch on as the two girls proceed to skip off, hand-in-hand and singing “Baby Shark”. 

“Wow,” you remark, turning back to Jungkook. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. What brought that on?”

Jungkook begins to look rather sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. “I actually have a bit of a confession to make. Not to mention, I owe you a huge apology. I talked to Dae last night, and… well, you were right. She wasn’t acting out for no reason. She… she was actually jealous of Trixie."

You frown. "What?"

He nods. "Yeah. See, I got promoted at my job a while ago. Right after the holidays, I had to start working longer hours, which of course meant less time at home with her. And I guess all of that took its toll, especially since I had to stop taking her to school every morning.” He sighs. “She didn’t adjust very well to that. I tried my best to make things work, but there’s only so much I can do, you know? Eventually I had to set up a morning carpool with some of the neighbors. And I tried to ease the transition as much as I could, but…” He trails off with another sigh. “Guess I did kind of a shit job there.” 

Your mind is reeling at all of this new information, but you manage to find your voice again after a few moments. “You did your best,” you tell him, resisting the sudden urge to reach out and touch his arm. “And you’re still trying. That’s all that matters, you know. You’re trying to make things better. Daeun can sense that, and believe me, it’s paying off.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you. I’m just glad that Dae has a good school and good teachers. Actually, you’ve always been her favorite, did you know that?”

You didn’t. “Really?”

“Really.” 

You aren’t sure what to say after that, so you opt to look around instead. At some point—you aren’t sure when—the two of you must’ve started walking around the grocery store again because all around you are shelves full of bread and baked goods. Mindlessly, you grab a bag of everything bagels and smile when Jungkook follows your lead and drops a bag into his own cart.

A few minutes of meandering later, you find Trixie and Daeun together in the snack aisle, deep in discussion about their favorite candies. The conversation winds down as you and Jungkook approach, and you decide not to comment when Trixie not-so-surreptitiously slips a package of chocolate caramels into your shopping cart.

“We should probably get going,” you say instead, pulling out your phone and glancing at the time. “Gosh, there really aren’t enough hours in the day. You ready, bug?”

“Yep!” Trixie replies cheerily, turning to wave goodbye to Daeun and Jungkook. “Bye, Daeun! Bye, Mr. Jeon!”

“See you Monday, Trixie! You too, Miss {L/N}!” Daeun exclaims. And as you and Jungkook exchange smiles and farewells of your own, you feel lighter than you’ve felt in days, as if an invisible weight has lifted.

///

Like clockwork, Monday morning finds you at the counter of Bean There, Done That! with an apologetic Jin offering you your usual coffee in a size larger than the one you’d paid for. “Again?” you exclaim as you accept the cup and take a generous sip. “I can’t believe this. You opened like, twenty minutes ago.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth twitches. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produces a full tray of cinnamon streusel bagels from somewhere beneath the counter, picking out the best-looking one before sliding the tray into its spot in the display. “I just wanted to see the look on your face,” he admits as he slips the bagel into a paper bag and hands it over. “These are fresh—still pretty warm, in fact. Surprised you didn’t smell them when you came in.”

“I did smell them,” you tell him, wagging a finger. “But the blueberry bagels are always kind of overpowering and this whole place tends to smell like vanilla anyway, so excuse me for taking you for your word when you said you were out.”

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed,” Jin sniffs. Then he gestures to the stack of napkins next to the cash register and waggles his eyebrows. “Care to leave a snarky note of your own?”

A slow grin spreads across your face as you start fishing in your purse for a pen. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

///

The rest of the day goes smoothly, and you’re pretty sure it’s all thanks to the cinnamon streusel bagel you’d had the time to truly savor this morning. You’d even bought an extra for Taehyung, who for his part contributed a tupperware full of bacon strips and a pitcher of mixed berry smoothie to your breakfast. For lunch you’d made sure to eat a healthy dose of vegetables, and as you head into the final period of the day, you feel more than ready to give a room full of children their next big assignment.

“All right, class,” you say as your students filter into the classroom and start taking their seats. “We’ve been learning about the animal kingdom for the last few weeks, and it’s finally time to put everything we’ve learned so far together. I’m going to go around and hand each of you a card. Take a look at it—you’ll either see a picture of an animal, or the name of an animal.” Grabbing the stack of cards off your desk, you begin distributing them, slowly making your way up and down the rows of desks. “Then, I want you to get up out of your seats and find the card that matches yours. If there’s a picture of a zebra on your card, you want to find the person with ‘zebra’ written on their card. And that person will be your partner for this project. Does that make sense to everyone?”

Nods and exclamations of affirmation all around. Satisfied, you hand out the last of your cards and return to your desk, gesturing for your students to stand up and find their partners. You watch as the children mill around, exclaiming happily when they find their match. Much to your satisfaction, you see that Daisy—a little girl who always has her blond hair corralled into a neat braid—and Josiah—a well-mannered boy with a different-colored polo for each day of the week—just so happen to be partners. You hadn’t planned it that way, but you’ve always gotten the feeling that there was a hint of a little crush there.

Another pleasant surprise comes in the form of Daeun, who’s plopped herself in the seat beside Trixie and is animatedly gesturing at her card. Even from your spot in the front of the classroom, you can read the big block letters that spell out “penguin” and see the corresponding line drawing on Trixie’s card. And as the girls begin to chat, it’s as if the issues of the last few months hadn’t happened at all.

Your class spends the last few hours of the school day in the library, working on their newly assigned project. You’ve set up shop at the table nearest Taehyung’s desk, which you’ve always kind of envied. Perfectly round and situated in the center of the room, it allows for a 360-degree view of the entire library if he so much as spins in his chair. “Honestly, I could get so much done if I had one of these,” you lament to him as you watch Josiah sharpen Daisy’s pencil for her out of the corner of your eye. “I’d set up the best frickin’ assembly line you ever saw.”

“You sound like a workaholic,” Taehyung replies, doing yet another lazy revolution in his seat. “Or a lunatic. Same thing, really.” 

Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him, you settle for rolling your eyes instead. The final bell of the day rings, and you shepherd your students out of the library with your friend on your heels. As the children disperse to their lockers, you trail after Trixie and Daeun, waiting for the two to say their goodbyes so you and your daughter can walk to the car together. It’s still odd seeing the two getting along so well, but you aren’t about to question it as you and Taehyung follow the girls to their lockers—which happen to be in the same section of the hallway—and then out and into the bright afternoon sun. Smiling, you listen to them chattering excitedly about the project even as Taehyung launches into a tirade about his latest rent increase.

“Seriously, I should just move at this point—it’s fucking ridiculous. I don’t even use the conference center, and the indoor pool is just a waste of space when there’s a public one that’s twice the size three blocks away. And that one even has a hot tub! Not to mention—”

You sigh, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Jeez, Tae, just move. You’ve been threatening to for over a year now, and it’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay. You don’t even like the neighborhood, for god’s sake. I don’t know why you stuck around for that long.”

Taehyung sniffs. “Moving’s just such a hassle, you know? I really wanted to avoid it, but I guess I can’t this time around. A 22% rent increase… fucking hell. You’ll help me pack, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you’re so good at packing! And you have all that bubble wrap and the box of styrofoam peanuts hoarded in your closet—”

“Stored in my closet.”

“Whatever,” he says dismissively, waving you off. “I’m not here to debate semantics with you.”

“No, you’re here to guilt me into helping you move,” you reply. “What’s up with that, anyway? I thought you swore off of renting U-Hauls for good after last time. You were googling moving companies and getting quotes for weeks.”

“Yeah, I definitely lost that spreadsheet,” Taehyung admits. “Besides, money’s a little tight right now. Every last bit of spare change we have is going toward Jimin’s new pilates studio. We’re saving wherever and whenever  we can.”

You nod in understanding at the mention of his fiancé and his new business venture. “How’s all that going, anyhow? I know Jimin’s been super busy—we haven’t been to bar trivia in weeks.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” Taehyung says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Starting a business is hard—who knew?”

“Who knew, indeed,” you echo. You’re about to say something else, too, but any semblance of coherence flies out of your head when you glance at the girls again and see that they’ve come to a stop. There’s a sleek black Mercedes-Benz idling at the curb, and leaning against it is none other than Jungkook Jeon—dressed in a sharp navy blue ensemble with his hair slicked back and dark sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s impossible to tell whether he’s seen you yet, and it’s all you can do to tear your gaze away before you get caught staring. Turning back instead to Taehyung, you raise a hand in farewell. “Well, it looks like this is my stop.”

“Seems that way,” your friend hums, casting a curious glance at Trixie, who’s enthusiastically greeted Jungkook with a Hi again, Mr. Jeon! and is now giggling with Daeun about how they can see their reflections in his car. “See you tomorrow. Don’t get into too much trouble!”

You roll your eyes at the flagrant wink Taehyung sends your way, surreptitiously flipping him off from behind your tote bag. Then you make your way over to your daughter, who’s still engrossed in conversation. Coming to a stop behind her, you lay a hand on her shoulder, smiling as she looks up and flashes you a big grin. “All righty. You ready to go home, jitterbug?” you ask.

Trixie juts her bottom lip out into a pout. “Can I go to Daeun’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through his phone. Then you return your gaze to your daughter, taking in her eager, bright eyes. “I don’t know, bug. Have you asked Mr. Jeon if you can come over?”

Daeun pipes up then, her pigtails bobbing with every word. “He says it’s okay, Miss {L/N}! Since we have a project to work on and all. He even said we can order takeout for dinner!”

Again, you look at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses, but when he feels your gaze he glances up, tucking his phone back into his pocket and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Dae’s right—I did promise the girls takeout. Sorry to catch you off guard with last-minute plans like this, Miss {L/N}. If you’d like, you’re welcome to join us as well.”

You blink. To say that the invitation has caught you off guard would be a massive understatement, and as your brain races to catch up, you suddenly realize that he’s willing to let you come to his home. You would be in his space—where he lives, eats, sleeps. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

“I—I don’t want to impose,” you finally manage after what feels like an eternity. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I have a lot of homework to grade, and…” You trail off, hesitant, and Jungkook waits a beat before chiming in.

“No imposition at all,” he says, offering you a small smile. “Honest. I’ve spent two of the last three weekends hosting sleepovers for Daeun’s friends, and I’m not convinced I remember what adult company is like anymore.” Then his smile widens—just enough to offer a glimpse of his endearingly prominent front teeth and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Remind me?”

You aren’t sure if you’re imagining the flirtatious edge in his tone, but you push the thought to the very back of your head and straighten the hem of your blouse before grasping for the phone tucked in your bag. “I… I suppose that would be all right,” you begin hesitantly as you pretend to check for new notifications. “You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

“None at all,” Jungkook reassures. “Here, I’ll give you my address for your GPS, but it might be easier if you just follow me. Where are you parked?”

You gesture toward the staff parking lot, which is usually separated from the main lot by a row of neatly manicured hydrangea bushes that bloom in bursts of pink and blue and purple during the spring and summer months. Right now, there are only a few sparse yellow daffodils, pushing up through the dirt and signaling that spring is not far off despite the lingering chill in the air. “I’m about three rows in. I can drive over and meet you here, if that works?”

Trixie chooses that moment to pipe up, instinctively raising her hand like she’s still in class. “Can I ride with Daeun and Mr. Jeon?”

You hesitate, glancing over at Jungkook, who shrugs as if to say fine by me. Turning your attention back to your daughter, you nod and reach down to adjust the glittery pink scrunchie in her hair. “Be good,” you order. “Don’t distract Mr. Jeon while he’s driving, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Trixie hums, already turning toward the sleek black Benz and tugging on the door handle. “See you there, Mom!”

You wave, watching as the girls climb into the backseat before turning and making your way to your own car. Unlocking the door, you slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. Then, you take another. And a few moments later, you take a third.

Even as you mentally play back the events of the afternoon, you still can’t wrap your head around how it came to this. Here you are, about to drive to Jungkook Jeon’s house. You’ve seen his address in your files, and you know from the street name that he lives downtown, in the part of the city that’s dominated by high-rise buildings and five-star hotels. It’s an area that you don’t visit often, having no reason to unless there’s a particular restaurant that you’re looking to try out—and have the money for. It feels odd inputting his address into your phone’s navigation app, but you do so nonetheless, watching as it calculates the optimal route. 

Steeling yourself, you start up the ignition and ease up on the brake. As you pull out of your parking space, you crane your head to see if Jungkook’s car is still where you’d last seen it, which it thankfully is. Slowly, you make your way over to where the Benz is idling, pulling up alongside him and giving him a little wave. Jungkook has donned his sunglasses again, but he lowers them when he sees you and nods in acknowledgment. Ready to go? he mouths, and you nod even though it’s a lie. You aren’t ready. You aren’t sure you ever will be. But Jungkook is already pulling ahead and out of the parking lot, and you’re forced to push aside your intrusive thoughts and follow. 

The first stretch of the drive is easy. Jungkook is a measured driver, and you can tell that he’s taking care to turn only when there’s enough room for both of your vehicles. The second stretch, however, proves far more difficult. Now that you’re downtown, there’s an abundance of one-way streets and pedestrians. Traffic lights sit on seemingly every corner, alternating between red, yellow, and green at random, as far as you can tell. You nearly lose Jungkook twice on particularly short green lights, and only narrowly avoid hitting an overeager dog dragging its hapless owner into the crosswalk before the walk sign has changed. 

The third time, it finally happens. Dismayed, you watch as Jungkook’s sleek black Benz cruises past a green light, just before it turns yellow for a split second and then flips to red. You’re forced to brake far faster than you’d prefer—way too fast to be safe, for sure—and watch as Jungkook disappears around the Starbucks on the next corner. Muttering out a quiet curse, you drum your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you wait for the light to change again. Thankfully, you’re only about two minutes from your destination. 

After what feels like an eternity, the light finally turns green. Releasing your foot on the brake, you take the turn that Jungkook had taken, glancing between your phone and the surrounding buildings to identify your destination. There’s a string of restaurants, a pharmacy, and a post office. You cruise past a dentist’s office and a few dry cleaners, and then your phone is directing you to turn right onto a street that boasts a long row of glass-fronted office buildings. 

Two blocks later, you’re pulling up to a tall, sleek chrome building. The first floor is occupied by a seafood restaurant and the second and third seem to be a gym, but as you crane your head upward you can see that the floors above that seem to be condominiums. Letting your head fall back against the headrest, you glance down at your phone one more time, confirming that this is indeed your destination. Then you take a long, deep breath before you begin following the little blue signs that claim to lead to a parking garage beneath the building.

To your relief, the garage itself isn’t difficult to find. You take a ticket from the machine as you descend down the concrete ramp, keeping an eye out for any open spots that are designated as guest parking. Seconds pass, and then minutes. Your heart flutters nervously in your chest as you descend deeper into the parking garage, seeking a break in the rows of cars that never comes. You’re seconds away from giving up and turning around, when finally, you see an open spot. It’s a little cramped and it’s right next to a concrete pillar that’s just a little too close for comfort, but you manage to squeeze into the space. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, you turn off the ignition and tuck your keys into your purse, taking a moment to gather yourself before exiting your car and locking it behind you.

That’s when you encounter your next obstacle: figuring out how, exactly, to get out of the parking garage. You can’t find a single sign to guide your way—only a locked dark green door that you assume is some kind of mechanical room. Groaning, you spin in a full circle, taking in your concrete surroundings. Maybe if you just start walking, you’ll find a sign that will point you to the elevators. You’d even consider taking the stairs at this point, no matter how many floors down you are (you’re pretty sure it’s seven or eight). 

Just then, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see Jungkook Jeon (Daeun’s Dad) emblazoned across the screen and immediately swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, obvious relief coloring his tone. “I’m sorry I lost you back there. Where are you now?”

“I’m in the parking garage below your building,” you reply, idly scuffing your foot along the concrete floor. “I’m parked pretty far down, and now I can’t seem to figure out how to get upstairs.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll admit the signage isn’t great down there. Let me see… can you see any doors?”

“Just this green one, but it’s locked.” Reaching out, you try the handle again to double-check. “Other than that, nothing.”

Another hum from the man on the other end of the line. “Okay, walk away from that door. Try and head toward the middle of the garage—that’s where the elevators are. There’s four of them, and they’re in this big concrete circle. Can you see them yet?”

“Maybe?” You can see a break in the rows of cars up ahead, and a rounded concrete wall in the distance. Speeding up, you make your way around the edge and blink as a bank of elevators comes into view. “Oh, wait—yeah! Huh. Weird. I didn’t expect the doors to be orange.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Each floor’s color-coordinated, yeah. Orange means you’re near the bottom, though. Didn’t you see the guest parking on the first floor?”

You blink. “No, I don’t think so. Did I miss something?”

That draws another chuckle from him. “Probably. There’s a row of spaces off to the right as soon as you enter the garage, but it can be pretty easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it. I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you enter the elevator and hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I could’ve asked.”

Bidding him farewell and assuring that you’ll see him soon, you hang up and tuck your phone back into your pocket. The elevator ride is relatively short despite how high you’re going, and before you know it you find yourself standing in front of a navy blue door with a polished brass knocker. Raising your hand, you’re about to knock when the door flies open, revealing Daeun and Trixie standing there with identical grins.

“You’re finally here!” your daughter exclaims, bounding forward to take you by the hand and lead you inside. “Mr. Jeon said we had to wait for you to get here. He says he’s gonna give us a grand tour!”

“It’s really not as exciting as they’re making it sound.” Jungkook’s voice comes from around the corner, and the man himself steps into view a moment later. He’s taken off his jacket and removed his tie, leaving him in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt with the first few buttons undone. Your gaze lingers a little too long on this newly exposed sliver of chest, but you forcibly tear your gaze away when Trixie gives your hand a squeeze. 

“Come on, Mom! You can see everything from the window. It’s like you’re on top of a mountain!”

Laughing, you follow your daughter deeper into the apartment. She points to the closet off the foyer, where you obligingly hang up your coat next to her periwinkle one. Then she leads you to the far end of the foyer, where it opens into a wide hallway. On the other side of the hall is an archway that leads to a spacious kitchen with white cabinets and polished granite countertops. You take note of the bright yellow bar stools at the kitchen island, chuckling when Daeun loudly declares that she picked them out—and that Jungkook had caved to her despite wanting boring gray ones instead.

As you continue your tour, it becomes abundantly clear that Jungkook has caved to his daughter on multiple occasions. The furniture in the living area is neutral—shades of beige and dark wood that pair well with the polished floorboards and modern floor-to-ceiling windows. But scattered throughout the space are pops of color and quirkiness that you can confidently attribute to Daeun—having graded several of the art pieces that you now see hanging on the wall and adorning the sleek glass coffee table. There’s the lopsided clay vase painted with streaks of hot pink and specks of bright yellow, and there’s the papier-mâché snowman with his jaunty orange hat. You see more and more of Daeun’s influence everywhere you look—the watercolor butterfly paintings on the wall, and the red floral accent chair that you’re sure Jungkook didn’t pick out himself. 

“That’s Daddy’s room,” Daeun says, pointing to a nondescript white door beside the bookshelves that flank the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. Then she points down the hall, past the kitchen where you can see a few more doors. “And that’s my room down there, next to Daddy’s office. Do you want to see?”

You nod. “I can’t wait. Lead the way.”

Cheerfully, Daeun gestures for you to follow after her as she skips toward the door at the very end of the hall. She opens it with a flourish, allowing all of you inside, and as soon as you step past the threshold you’re transported to a fantastical world. Daeun’s bedroom walls are painted to resemble an enchanted forest, complete with delicate fairy lights wrapped around the wooden four-poster bed. A white desk and an accompanying green chair sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the pale pink curtains opened to let sunlight stream in. Along the sill is a collection of stuffed animals, ranging from a tiny butterfly to an elephant that you’re pretty sure is taller than Daeun herself. Opposite the bed is a gallery wall, composed of colorful floral prints and Daeun’s own art—a charming, eclectic mix of animal paintings and landscapes. It’s the kind of bedroom that you would’ve loved as a child, and your daughter is equally taken with it if her awed expression is anything to go by. 

“This is so cool!” Trixie runs to the window to peer out at the city below, before twirling in a circle to take in the art on the walls. “I can’t believe you live here. It’s like a magic forest!”

“It’s a beautiful room,” you remark, nodding your agreement. “And all of these drawings are amazing, Daeun. You’re a talented artist.”

Daeun flushes at the compliment, thanking you with a shy smile. Then she and Trixie are off again, speeding down the hallway to look at something else in the apartment. You and Jungkook trail after them slowly, until he opens another door off the hall to reveal his office. It’s smaller than Daeun’s bedroom and far more simplistic in its decor, but it’s a cozy and inviting space nonetheless. One wall is lined with mahogany bookshelves, and a polished wooden desk is pushed against the opposite. A plush burgundy armchair with a matching ottoman sits in the corner beside a tall potted plant, creating the perfect space for reading, and you can tell from the indentation in the seat cushion that it’s been well-loved over the years.

“I’ve definitely been bringing my work home too much lately,” Jungkook admits. “I’ve been cutting back though. Ever since Daeun’s behavioral problems…” He trails off. “Well, you know all about that already. And I do want to apologize for giving you a hard time. It’s just… I guess it’s not all that fun being told that you’re failing as a parent.”

“You’re not failing as a parent,” you reply, laying a hand on his arm before you can think to stop yourself. “You’re doing your best. It’s all we can do, isn’t it? Do everything we possibly can for our children?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking down at your hand on his arm, and you blanch inwardly as you quickly pull back and pretend to brush invisible dirt off your skirt. “We should go find the girls,” you murmur. And just like that, the tour is over. 

The two of you rejoin the girls in the kitchen, where they’ve begun assembling themselves a snack of peanut butter and crackers. Jungkook slices up an apple and a banana for them to share, and they barely take the time to thank him before disappearing into Daeun’s bedroom to work on their project. You and Jungkook find yourselves alone in the kitchen, and when the silence between you has stretched on for just long enough to be awkward, you decide to speak. “So. I guess I should probably grade some homework while I’m here.”

Jungkook blinks and shakes his head a little, as if coming out of a trance. “Right, of course. I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up myself. Please, make yourself comfortable. You’re free to work in the office, if you’d like.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude.”

He nods, then gestures out toward the dining table, which sits in a little nook between the main living area and kitchen. “Well then, feel free to make use of the table. Or the kitchen island. Or even the couch, if you’d prefer.” He pauses. “Wait, where are my manners? I haven’t even offered you anything to drink! Did you want anything?” 

“Oh.” You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook begins making his way to the refrigerator, regardless. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. I have coffee, tea, banana milk, and I think there’s probably a carton of apple juice in here too. What do you usually drink when you’re grading?”

“Tea,” you admit. “Any kind. I’m not picky.”

“Tea it is.” Jungkook sets about grabbing two mugs. “Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring it to you.”

For a moment, you wonder if you should ask if he needs help. But he’s already preoccupied with the kettle, his back to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his broad shoulders taper into his slim waist. In an attempt to distract yourself from gawking, you walk back out to the dining table. Pulling out a chair, you settle your bag on the floor beside you and take a seat. And by the time Jungkook comes out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, you’re already halfway through grading the first math worksheet in your pile.

“Here you go.” Jungkook places a mug by your elbow, and you glance up at him with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.” “No problem.”

To your surprise, he takes his mug to the opposite side of the table and sets it down. Then he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with his laptop in hand. You try not to stare as he sets up shop across from you, a loose lock of dark hair flopping across his forehead as he logs in and begins reading something, his dark eyes flitting across the screen. His piercing in his eyebrow glints in the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window.

Ripping your gaze away, you force yourself to focus on the homework you need to grade. And after a few minutes, you’re fully immersed, thumbing through sheet after sheet and writing down your notes.

Before you even realize it, two hours have passed. You only become aware of how late it’s getting when Jungkook shuts his laptop with a click, stretching his arms overhead and working a few kinks out of his neck. “It’s almost dinnertime,” he remarks, glancing out the window where the sun is steadily dropping closer to the horizon. “Did you have any thoughts about dinner? I can order some pizza or something.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” you begin to protest, but Daeun and Trixie choose that moment to dash in like mini tornadoes, whirling around the dining table. 

“We can still order takeout for dinner, right Daddy?” Daeun gazes up at Jungkook with pleading eyes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “And Trixie and Miss {L/N} can stay if we do, right?”

Trixie looks at you, lower lip already beginning to jut out in a pout. “Please, Mom?”

Jungkook gives you a meaningful glance across the table, and you can only shrug and relent. “Yeah, all right. Since takeout was already promised, we can stay for dinner. But we’re going home after that, okay? It’s a school night.”

The girls burst into cheers. After a brief discussion on what kind of food to order, you all settle on Jungkook’s initial suggestion of pizza. As he puts in the order, you begin tidying up the dining table, clearing it of your graded homework. Daeun points out where the plates are kept, and together, you and the girls set the table for dinner. 

“Estimated delivery time is half an hour,” Jungkook says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket and joins you at the dining table. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Let’s play Candyland!” Daeun exclaims. 

Trixie gasps. “I love Candyland!”

And just like that, it’s settled. The four of you settle around the coffee table for the game—you and Jungkook making yourselves comfortable on the cream-colored sectional while the girls sprawl out on the shaggy rug on the floor. The pizza arrives just as Trixie reaches Candy Castle, and Jungkook goes to answer the door while she celebrates her victory. Then, the four of you sit down for dinner.

It’s strange, sitting in Jungkook’s undoubtedly expensive apartment and eating pizza. But even more strange is how okay it all feels—natural, even. You aren’t sure when you became so comfortable in his presence, but you aren’t about to question it. You’re grateful for the lack of awkwardness.

An hour later, the last slice of pizza is finished. You volunteer to do the dishes, and Jungkook clears the table while you take up residence at the sink. You’ve tasked Trixie with gathering up her things so you can depart after you’ve finished in the kitchen, and can hear her giggling off in the distance with Daeun. “Thanks for hosting us today,” you murmur to Jungkook.

He chuckles, waving off your gratitude. “It’s no problem, seriously. I had a good time.”

You smile at him before returning to the dishes. Just as you’re putting away the last plate, the girls run back into the kitchen—Trixie with her backpack in tow. 

“Can Daeun come to our house next time?” she asks, and you laugh.

“Sure, jitterbug. You’re welcome to come over whenever you’d like, Daeun.”

And with that, you and Trixie say your final goodbyes. You slip back into your shoes and grab your coats from the closet. Jungkook gives you directions for the easiest route out of the parking garage, and you thank him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

You’re barely listening to your daughter’s ramblings as you climb into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. All you can think about is Jungkook and this strange, newfound warmth that stirs in your belly whenever he seeps into your thoughts.

///

“You wiped that part of the counter already.”

Trixie’s voice barely registers in your mind, but the washcloth in your hand slows nonetheless. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning with hardly a cloud in the sky, and Jungkook and Daeun are due to arrive any minute. You’ve been cleaning for the past hour, and even though you know you’ve already gone through the kitchen, you can’t help yourself. This is the first time Jungkook will be seeing your humble abode, and you—ostensibly—want to impress.

“Bug, can you set the table?”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but complies nonetheless. Grabbing four plates, she places them down carefully before returning for four glasses. You join her at the table with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, straightening out one of the striped blue placemats as you set it down beside the vase of flowers that serves as a centerpiece. 

You’ve just started frying bacon when the doorbell rings. “Got it!” Trixie calls, darting to the door, and you listen as she enthusiastically greets your guests. A few seconds later, Jungkook rounds the corner with both girls, decked out in jeans and a gray cable-knit sweather and carrying a plain white cardboard box in his hands. 

Curiously, you tilt your head. “Mysterious box you’ve got there.”

He laughs. “Hello to you too.” Then he puts the box down and pops open the lid. “I brought my favorite bagels—I hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You smile at him. “Of course it’s okay. I was just planning on making some toast, but bagels are way be…” You trail off as the bagels in question come into your view. 

Perfectly golden, with a dusting of cinnamon sugar and streusel crumbles on top. You’d recognize them anywhere. 

“{Name}?” Jungkook sounds concerned. “Are you all right?”

You blink and shake your head, mind still whirring. “Are these from that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?” 

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, have you been?”

You nod. “This… this might sound crazy and I might be way off base. But do you stop there every morning for a bagel?”

Jungkook blinks. Then he blinks again, his lips parting wordlessly. A beat passes, and then another. “Wait,” he finally manages, his voice a croak. “Hang on. Is it… I mean, it can’t be… can it?”

You reach into the drawer next to the stovetop and pull out a wad of pen-stained napkins. “Did you leave me these?”

For a few seconds, it seems like Jungkook can only gape at you. “Holy shit,” he finally breathes, before slapping a hand to his mouth with wide eyes and glancing around to make sure the girls aren’t within earshot. “I was leaving you notes this whole time?”

You can only laugh in disbelief. “You were the one taking my cinnamon streusel bagels?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken them if you’d gotten there earlier,” he teases. Chuckling, he picks up a napkin note and uncrumples it, scanning across the text. “Damn. Small world, huh?”

“The smallest,” you agree, mind reeling from this new development. Still chuckling, Jungkook steps past you to get to the stove, and you belatedly remember that the bacon is still sizzling in the pan as he picks up your tongs and carefully flips each strip. 

“I kept your notes too,” he says after a moment. “I shoved both of them in my glovebox.”

You huff. “Both. Yeah, okay, you beat me to the last bagel way more than I beat you. You don’t have to rub it in, Jungkook.”

“Oh, come on.” He grins, toothy and bright, and you’re momentarily distracted by the endearing prominence of his teeth. “I think I have to rub it in a little.”

“Hmph. As long as it’s only a little,” you concede as you join him at the stove with another pan and begin scrambling eggs. Together, the two of you finish making breakfast, piling eggs onto one plate and bacon on another. You grab the bowl of fruit salad you’d prepared last night out of the fridge, and Jungkook grabs the box of bagels and calls for Daeun and Trixie to come eat. Then, he surprises you by sitting beside you, leaving the girls to sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

Breakfast is a relaxed affair—even if Taco keeps trying to jump up on the table to steal some bacon. You’ve eaten several meals with Jungkook and Daeun since that first dinner—usually at Jungkook’s apartment, but also once at the food court in your local natural history museum, where you took the girls to see the ocean exhibit’s penguin display. Since this is the final weekend before their group project is due on Monday, you’ve promised to take them to the zoo to see real, live penguins and complete the last of their research. Both girls already have their backpacks packed and ready to go, and you task Jungkook with checking to make sure they have all their notes while you clean up in the kitchen. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way to the zoo. Jungkook has volunteered to drive, and you can’t help but gape a little as he unlocks his sleek black Mercedes-Benz and opens up the passenger door to reveal cream-colored leather seats and shiny silver hardware. “Wow,” you remark, catching his eye as he walks around to the driver’s side. “This is like the Batmobile or something.”

“Hardly,” he says with a laugh. “I wish I had rocket boosters and ejection seats. That’d be cool as hell.”

“Daddy!” Daeun gasps, scandalized. “That’s a bad word!”

Jungkook has the decency to look properly abashed. “I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar when we get home,” he promises before pretending to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key. Satisfied, Daeun clambers into the backseat with Trixie on her heels, and Jungkook shoots you a conspiratorial little wink as he takes his own seat and starts up the engine.

The drive to the zoo takes only about fifteen minutes. It’s already beginning to get crowded by the time you get there, but Jungkook still manages to find parking with little difficulty. Together, the two of you usher your daughters out of the car, reminding them not to run too far ahead when they immediately make a beeline for the entrance. 

After a short wait in line to buy tickets, you finally make your way past the lion statues flanking the front gate. The wide concrete pathway leads to an open plaza where people are milling about—some looking at the directory located at the far end while others rely on the colorful signpost in the center, reading through the various directional arrows before heading off to their destination. Along the edges of the plaza are a multitude of stalls—selling everything from footlong hot dogs to stuffed animals to cotton candy. There’s a couple of artists painting faces, too, and Daeun only has to give Jungkook one wide-eyed, pleading look before he caves and pulls out his wallet. Aghast, you try to protest, but he waves you off and sends them both off with some cash in hand. 

“Consider it payment for all the bagels I’ve deprived you of,” he says, and you relent with a laugh.

Slowly, the two of you make your way around the plaza, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the girls at all times. Half an hour later, Trixie and Daeun come skipping back your way, their faces bright with colorful paint. Daeun has an intricate pink and blue butterfly, while Trixie has opted for the distinctive orange and black stripes of a tiger. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, and you nod, bopping her fondly on her painted black nose. 

“I don’t just like it, jitterbug. I love it.”

Pleased, she rejoins Daeun, who has successfully diverted Jungkook to the cotton candy stand. Following after her, you hand the vendor your credit card to pay for both snacks before Jungkook can get a word in edgewise. Reluctantly, he tucks his wallet away, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

Once the girls have had their fill of the main plaza, the four of you head off in the direction of the penguin exhibit, stopping to look at the zebras and giraffes along the way. Photographs are snapped, and Trixie even flags down a nearby couple and asks them to take a photo of all four of you together. The girls jostle into place in front of the giraffe enclosure, and you suddenly find yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook, the warmth of his body radiating off of him like the sun in the sky. Your resulting smile feels forced—especially when the girl starts taking multiple photos from different angles—but gradually relaxes. And now, even as you enter the penguin exhibit, you can’t stop sneaking glances at the last photo. 

Because in it, you and Jungkook look like couple. You’re standing close enough that anyone who saw it would construe it as a family photo, the two of you beaming with your giggling daughters in front of you, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

Swallowing, you let your phone screen go dark and tuck it back into your pocket. You’re coming up on the penguin exhibit now, and the girls can barely contain their excitement as they run ahead to the outermost edge of the enclosure where a massive glass wall allows for a clear view of the penguins swimming about underwater.

“They’re so fast!” Trixie exclaims. She stops at one of the numerous placards lining the glass wall, her little face scrunching as she slowly reads it out loud to Daeun. “It says here some can swim over twenty miles an hour!”

As the girls pull out their notebooks and begin taking notes, you and Jungkook find an unoccupied bench near a rocky outcrop occupied by several bronze penguin statues. “Look,” Jungkook says, patting one of the upright penguins. “You can see how many people have rubbed this little guy’s head. It’s turned gold.”

“Must be good luck,” you remark, running a finger along the golden beak of another penguin. “Or maybe I should make a wish? I don’t really know what this situation calls for.”

“I’m pretty sure you make wishes when you throw a coin into a fountain,” your companion replies, brushing a dark strand of hair off his forehead. “Actually, I think I saw a fountain back there. Should we check it out later?”

“I don’t think I have any change on me,” you reply, peeking into your purse to make sure. “Seriously, who even carries coins anymore?”

“Not me,” Jungkook agrees. “I do usually have at least a little cash on me, though. It’s nice to have sometimes.”

“Mm, yeah. You never know when you’ll need it.”

Just then, Trixie and Daeun run up, gesturing toward the brown building at the very back of the enclosure. “There’s a penguin movie playing over there!” Daeun says. “Can we go see it?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “How long is it?”

“I think it runs every twenty minutes,” you reply when Daeun frowns and scratches her head. “Come on. If I’m remembering correctly, we should be able to see more penguins inside too.”

Daeun and Trixie beam. “Cool!” they exclaim in unison, before galloping off and leaving you and Jungkook to follow after them as quickly as you can manage without breaking into a run yourselves.

Your memory proves correct, as you enter the brown building and immediately see that the walls inside are glass as well. A penguin dives off of a rocky island and into the clear blue water, and you watch as it goes all the way to the bottom of the pool before coming back up for air. 

After doing a lap of the building, Daeun and Trixie decide to go into the theater to see the fifteen-minute short film. Meanwhile, you and Jungkook find a quiet little alcove near the entrance, chatting softly while watching the penguins behind the glass on the opposite wall. 

“I haven’t been to the zoo in ages,” Jungkook admits. “Dae’s mom used to always take her, though. They always came back with a stuffed animal from the gift shop—you might’ve seen them in Daeun’s room, actually. She loves them.”

You nod. “I remember, yeah. It’s quite an impressive collection.” Then you hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip as you consider your next words and debate whether you’re being too nosy. “Daeun’s mom… can I ask what happened between you?” You pause, then quickly speak again. “And feel free to say no, obviously! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m probably just poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jungkook smiles at you, but there’s a faraway quality to his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Nah, it’s okay. There’s really not much to tell, if I’m honest. Evelyn and I, we started dating when we were nineteen. We got married at twenty-three, had Daeun a couple years later, and then one day we realized that we’d become entirely different people and that we weren’t really in love anymore.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what else to say. “I-I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs and sighs, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “No need to be sorry; it was a mutual thing. Totally amicable. We’re still friends, and we’re a pretty kickass co-parenting team too.”

The conversation continues, and you find out that Evelyn’s job took her overseas last year. According to Jungkook, she currently lives with her new boyfriend, who’s a little pretentious but completely harmless. And despite the six-hour time difference, Evelyn still finds the time to FaceTime Jungkook and Daeun every Sunday afternoon. Because of those calls, she’s apparently heard all about you, too—you’re her favorite teacher, remember? he’d said with a laugh.

“What about you, then?” Jungkook glances over at you inquiringly, his eyebrows raised. “Is it my turn to pry?”

You can tell from the melodious lilt in his tone that he’s teasing. “My story’s far less interesting than yours,” you answer, fiddling with a stray thread on your jacket sleeve. “I don’t have an ex-partner or anything like that. I’ve just always wanted to be a mother, so one day I decided that I was going to do it. I used a donor, got pregnant, and here we are.”

Jungkook takes this in slowly, nodding. “Do you… I mean, do you know who your donor is? Have you met him?”

You shake your head. “No, it was an anonymous thing. I got a profile and some information about his appearance and hobbies and stuff, but not much beyond that.”

“I—” Jungkook begins, before trailing off. “I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions. I don’t know a whole lot about the sperm donor thing, but I’m glad it worked out for you. Trixie’s an amazing kid.”

“She is,” you murmur. “I love her more than anything.”

“And you’re an amazing mom.” Jungkook’s voice grows softer, and when you turn to look at him, he seems closer than he was before. “I don’t know how you manage it all, teaching and parenting. But you do, and it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

You aren’t sure who leans in first. All you know is that one moment, you’re staring into Jungkook’s earnest brown eyes, and then in the next, you’re kissing him.

It starts soft. Cautious, even. His lips press against yours gently, once, before he pulls back for a breath. You can feel him exhale, the warmth fanning your cheeks. And then you pull him back in by his collar, fisting one hand in the knit material and finding the soft hair at his nape with the other. 

Time slows to a standstill. Jungkook groans against your lips, and you feel the way it rumbles through his chest, the sensation sinking into your skin and settling straight in your core. His hands find your hips, and you wind both arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

And then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, time starts ticking again. Reality crashes down around you in the form of familiar, boisterous voices rapidly heading your way. You and Jungkook only barely manage to untangle yourselves before Trixie and Daeun round the corner of the alcove, chattering excitedly about all the new penguin facts they’ve learned. 

“Can we go to the petting zoo next?” Trixie asks, seemingly oblivious to your lingering embarrassment at nearly being caught.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. At your side, Jungkook is faring no better, shuffling his feet and refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah, sure, bug,” you finally manage when you find your voice again. “Lead the way.”

///

Monday dawns cloudy and gray. The weather app on your phone promises thunderstorms later in the afternoon, but that isn’t enough to dampen your mood one bit. Instead, you thumb back over to your messages, your heart skipping a beat when you see the text still sitting at the very top.

[6:54am] Jungkook Jeon: Make sure to stop by bean there, done that before school. Left you a surprise ;) 

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response:

[6:56am] You: I’m a little scared. Should I be scared?

His answer comes in immediately. Nah. It’s a good surprise, I promise.

[6:58am] You: Sure it is… 🤨

Biting back a grin, you tuck your phone into your bag and head toward the front door of your apartment, nearly tripping over Taco along the way, who has chosen that moment to start slinking between your legs. 

“Really, Taco?” you ask the unperturbed calico cat at your feet. “What if I fell and cracked my head open? Who would feed you then, huh?”

As usual, Taco merely gives you an unimpressed look before flicking her tail and wandering off. Sighing, you call for Trixie to hurry up before turning to check your appearance in the mirror leaning against the wall of the entryway. It’s a large, vintage piece—a gold-framed, flea market find that you treasure dearly and swear makes you look good no matter how awful you might feel.

Satisfied, you hike your bag higher on your shoulder and smooth down the lapels of your coat. Trixie rounds the corner and gives herself a quick once-over too, and you give her a thumbs-up. “Ready, bug?”

“Yup!” she replies, tightening her grip on her and Daeun’s project—a carefully constructed shoebox diorama that shows a group of penguins in their natural icy habitat. 

“Let’s go, then.” Opening the front door, you let her through before locking it up behind you. Together, you head out to the car, and Trixie ensures that her diorama is completely secured in the seat beside her while you check your mirrors and turn on the ignition.

The drive to Bean There, Done That! takes only about ten minutes. Jin waves cheerily when he spots you walking up to the counter, but his face positively lights up when he sees Trixie is with you. He absolutely adores your daughter—Trixie loves him too—and on the occasional instance you’ve had to call on him to babysit, the two of them always end up stuffed with food on the couch and giggling over bad puns.

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Jin asks, directing the question at Trixie, who beams at him before turning to look at you with pleading eyes.

“Can I have a double chocolate cookie?”

“That… actually sounds really good,” you admit. “Make that two. And Jin, did someone leave something here for me earlier?”

Jin grins. “Thought you’d never ask. This here is from one Mr. Jungkook Jeon.” Reaching beneath the counter, he pulls out a box and watches as you open the lid to reveal half a dozen cinnamon streusel bagels with a neatly folded napkin on top. Unfolding it, you can only laugh at the words written on it:

Hope you have a mug-nificient day!

“Just so you know, he stole that line from me,” Jin says with a sniff. “I’m not letting him take the credit.”

“Duly noted,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide your smile as you look down at the note again. After a couple beats, Jin clears his throat, and you glance up to see that he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

“Sooo,” he begins slowly, dragging out the single syllable, “I imagine you want a fresh napkin and a pen, unless… are you going to see Mr. Jungkook Jeon at some point?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as best you can. “Trixie was paired with his daughter for a school project, so we’ve been meeting up for the past few weeks so they can work on it. Now that that’s over with… I don’t really know. We’re both pretty busy.”

Jin scoffs. “That’s a lame excuse, especially since he’s clearly flirting with you. And—”

Unfortunately, Trixie interrupts before he can finish his sentence, skipping back over from where she had been examining the pastry display cases along the wall. “Can I have a lemon bar?”

You fix her with a stern look. “You already asked for the double chocolate cookie, remember? The lemon bars can wait until next time.” Then you turn back to Jin, reaching into your bag for your wallet. “We should probably get to school, anyhow. What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” he replies, handing over a paper bag with your cookies and a bottle of apple juice. “It’s already been taken care of.”

From the wink he sends your way, you know that it must have been Jungkook who doled out the extra cash for your breakfast. “Thanks, Jin,” you reply, handing Trixie the cookies and juice before accepting the cup of coffee he hands over. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” is his response. Trixie waves goodbye, and together, the two of you head back out to the car. It’s started drizzling since you arrived, and you thank your lucky stars that you’d managed to snag a parking spot right up front.

Your daughter seems to be deep in thought as you help her buckle her seatbelt, her lips pursed in concentration. Then, out of nowhere, she asks:

“Do you like Mr. Jeon?”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“Mr. Jeon,” she repeats patiently, and you’re thankful that she’s not looking at you—instead, she’s focused on the raindrops splashing against the window and racing each other down the glass. “You spent a bunch of time with him when Daeun and I were doing school stuff. What’d you do?”

“Adult stuff,” you reply, before cursing inwardly at the potential implication behind your words. “Mostly, I spent my time grading homework. And he had some things to do for work, too.”

Trixie hums, apparently satisfied with this answer. “He’s nice,” she declares. “He buys us food and he has a cool house.”

“Sure,” you agree. “He’s a very nice man.”

And with that settled, you finish buckling her in her seat. Shutting the back door, you suck in a deep, calming breath before circling around to the driver’s side and setting off on the familiar route to Hybe Academy.

///

“... Miss {L/N}, are you listening?”

You blink and sit up a little straighter in your chair. “Yes, of course. Please go on.” Hastily, you scribble down a few random words, hoping that will placate the parent sitting across from you. It’s parent-teacher conference week—and you’re beyond grateful that it’s Friday night as Mrs. Greene rambles on and on about how the school isn’t doing enough for her precious baby boy. She’s talking about how the school day should be extended now—or at least how teachers should watch after the children whose parents can’t pick them up right at three-thirty. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to understand. I mean, my husband is a very busy man, and I have my own business to run. I can’t be expected to drop everything in the middle of a client meeting to come pick Derrick up…

It takes everything in you not to snap at her. You know for a fact that her “business” is selling bejeweled keychains on Etsy—and that they’re incredibly poorly made, if the reviews are anything to go by. Instead, you bite your tongue—hard enough to taste metal—and remind her that the school’s operating hours are not for you to decide. 

After what feels like an eternity, the clock strikes seven, marking the end of her reserved time block. Standing up, you shake her hand and wish her a pleasant evening before opening your planner and checking to see if you have any more meetings. Your parents have Trixie for the night and there’s a bottle of wine on your kitchen counter calling your name, and you cannot wait to get home and relax in the bath with a glass. Maybe, you think, I’ll even do a face mask.

The final name written in your planner stops you in your tracks. You haven’t seen him in over a week—not since that Monday when he left you half a dozen bagels at the coffee shop. The girls had insisted on meeting up that evening to celebrate turning their project in, so you’d all gone to a popular taco joint. 

And then there’s a knock on your door, the three raps pulling you right out of your musings.

Silhouetted there in the doorframe is Jungkook Jeon, decked out in a polished charcoal suit and wearing a smile that makes your insides lurch dangerously in your chest. His dark hair is parted on the side, and you catch the slightest glimpse of his brow piercing glinting behind the hair that’s loose across his forehead. “Hi,” he says, his voice low, and you have to remind yourself that it’s impolite to stare as you find your voice.

“Hi yourself.”

He grins, baring the adorably prominent front teeth that you hate to admit you’ve grown rather fond of. “You look like you weren’t expecting me.”

“Oh, no. I just wasn’t expecting you on time,” you retort, gesturing to the plastic chair sitting across from your desk. “Your track record is questionable, at best.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. I made sure to leave plenty early this time, just in case I ran into traffic. Or if Bobby decided to corner me in the elevator again—that guy really doesn’t know when to shut up.” He pauses. “Wait, I told you about him, right? Works on the development team, owns one singular tie? Balding but tries to hide it with a bad combover?”

“That rings a bell,” you reply. “The tie is red and Christmas-themed, right?”

“Sure is.” Jungkook chuckles. “I thought they might’ve been polka dots the first time I met him, but nope. Christmas ornaments, even in the middle of July.”

You laugh. “Odd fashion choice.”

“Seriously. Don’t even get me started on the rest of his clothes,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “Here, let’s change the subject. Have you eaten yet?”

You gesture around your classroom, artificially lit with fluorescent light even as the sun begins to dip closer to the horizon. “Nope. I mean, I had about twenty minutes between the end of the school day and the start of my first meeting, so I scarfed down an apple in the break room. But that was hours ago.”

“Perfect.” At your look of disbelief, he chortles and quickly amends his phrasing. “Sorry, I just mean that I’ve got you covered. Here, look.” And he begins pulling things out of a paper bag that you hadn’t noticed him carrying before. Crackers, sliced baguette, an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, grapes. He produces a bottle of wine next, and you very nearly start clapping. 

The last thing he pulls out is a single red rose, his smile soft and warm and dizzyingly affectionate as he presents it to you. “I—wow.” You aren’t sure what to say. “Thank you. I… I feel like I should’ve prepared something. Stolen an apple for you from the teacher’s lounge, at least.”

Jungkook snorts. “Well, here’s something you can help me out with. I don’t actually have glasses for the wine. Totally spaced and forgot that we’d need them. Any ideas?”

You’re on your feet before he can even finish asking. “I teach elementary schoolers, Mr. Jeon. I always have cups.” 

Making your way to the cabinet by the window, you grab a box of little paper cups and pull out two. Jungkook accepts them when you hand them over, and you watch as he unscrews the cap on the wine bottle before pouring out two generous helpings. Together, you lay out the food he’s brought, spreading it across whatever empty space there is on your desk. “Cheers,” Jungkook says once you’ve both taken your seats again, raising his paper cup to tap against yours.

“Cheers.”

For a moment, there is silence as you both take a drink. Then Jungkook speaks, glancing up at you as he carefully begins crafting himself a mini salami and cheese sandwich. “So, where does Trixie stay while you’re doing all these meetings? Do your parents have her?”

You nod, taking another much-needed sip of wine. “Yeah, my mom picked her up after school. They actually have her until Sunday—my dad’s going to teach her how to fish tomorrow, and then I think they’re going to build a pillow fort.”

Jungkook chuckles around a mouthful of gouda. “I love a good pillow fort. Dae insists on building one at least once a week, and at this point, I’m honestly surprised there isn’t one permanently in her bedroom.”

Grinning, you reach for a cracker and some cheese. “Taco manages to destroy every pillow fort Trixie and I try to make. She either decides it’s a trampoline, or that it’s a good time to start scratching everything she can reach. We can’t win.”

“Sounds like you need better defenses,” Jungkook replies, waggling his eyebrows. “That, or you can come over whenever you need a pillow fort fix. I’m sure Dae and Trixie would create something truly epic together. I mean, that penguin diorama was pretty fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

“Very fucking cool,” you agree, and both of you burst into laughter.

Deep blue twilight settles outside as the two of you continue chatting over your makeshift meal. The cheese begins to dwindle, only a few lonely grapes remain on their stems, and when you go to top of your wine, you realize there’s less than a quarter of the bottle left. 

“Wow, we really put a dent in this thing,” you remark, holding it out for Jungkook to see. “And it’s already dark out. The time kind of got away from us, huh?”

“You won’t catch me complaining,” Jungkook replies, tipping the last of his drink into his mouth. “I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his earnest honesty. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you rise from your seat. At the same time, Jungkook stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk, making his way around to meet you halfway. And then his mouth is on yours, warm and firm in a way that makes your heart do a backflip before plunking straight into your churning stomach.

Jungkook’s hands find your hips, palming along the flowy material of your dress before finding a resting place just above the soft curve of your rear. Your fingers delve into the soft hair at his nape to tug him closer, and he groans against your lips when your nails rake across his scalp. Slowly, he begins trailing kisses from the line of your jaw down to the column of your neck, pausing to lavish attention on any spots that make you gasp or squirm in his grasp.

The growing hardness against your lower belly is growing more and more evident with each passing second. Deliberately, you slide one hand down his chest, admiring the toned ridges of his abdomen that you can feel through his white shirt, before making your way down past his silver belt buckle. Jungkook inhales sharply when you cup his hardening cock through the charcoal material of his slacks, and, emboldened, you thumb across the head and relish in his resulting groan.

Any caution you may have had is thrown to the wind. Adjusting your grip, you shiver when you realize that he’s now fully hard beneath your fingertips, his erection thick and hot through the fabric. You try and visualize what it looks like underneath it all—the color of the flared head, the veins that run along it, the curve of the shaft, if there is one. And then you realize that you don’t have to imagine—you can look. You can rip his clothes off and explore every inch of his body in the way you’ve been itching to since you first kissed at the zoo last week. Your hands scrabble for his belt buckle, fumbling with the silver prong embedded in its notch.

“W-wait.” Jungkook’s hand lands over yours, and you note the breathlessness in his voice with satisfaction. “I… this is probably cheesy, but this isn’t how I pictured this happening. Not that I don’t like what’s happening, but I just… I’d like to take you out first. On a proper date, I mean. Without our girls in the next room, or down the hall, or in the museum playplace wreaking havoc.”

“That does sound nice,” you admit. “Actually, I’d really enjoy that. I haven’t been on a proper date in years.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Jungkook says. “My babysitter’s already been paid to watch Daeun until midnight, and your parents have Trixie. This is kinda perfect.”

You can’t help it—you drag your thumb across the head of his still-hard cock again and revel in the way his breath hitches just a little bit in his throat. “Midnight?” you query with an innocent tilt of your head. “Were you expecting something to happen tonight?”

“Hoping,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “And wait, let me ask you out properly. It just wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

Confused, you let him stand from his seat and slip around you to retrieve the paper bag on the ground. Understanding dawns when he reaches inside and grabs a napkin, and you watch on in amusement as he takes a pen from the cup on your desk and begins writing. And after a few seconds, he wordlessly presents this to you:

Drinks? Dinner? Maybe dessert? ;)

And you can only laugh. “Game on, mister.”

#jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts #bts smut #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #kpop scenarios #single parent au #teacher au #single parent!au #teacher!au #lia writes

[that---one---kid]

The cold snow

Coriolanus x Reader

AN: Sorry it kinda progressed really fast and I should’ve wrote him getting gradually more obsessive, but I’ll write another like that. Do yall think reader should relate more to teens nowadays though? Should I put her hitting a vuse in the next fic?

Smut, non-con, dub-con, arranged marriage, dark!Coriolanus, baby trapping, mentions of murder, threatening, reference to domestic violence, drugging, loss of virginity

Not once did you feel love for a man. Not once did you plan on getting married. And not once did you ever consider marrying a man from the capital, they were all the epitome of stuck-up, heartless and cruel bastards dressed up to hide it with a thick veil of elegance, but, alas, when did things you wanted ever go your way. You hide a scowl as the man you had heard far too much stood in front of you next to your father. “..and I'm sure she’s looking forward to the dress!” Your father laughed. “I’m quite sure my cousin is just as excited to help with the design.” The snow-haired boy- no, monster, said, turning to face you, his cold blue eyes look unnerving in the dim light of your dining room. You wondered if he had that same look in his eyes as he came up with ways to monetize innocent deaths. You give a forced smile, directed towards your soon-to-be husband. “I can’t wait to see what she comes up with!” Your voice sounds more strained than intended. Your father's hand lands heavy on your shoulder and he gives you a squeeze before speaking. “Coriolanus, it’s been an absolute pleasure as always, but I hate to keep you too late. University I’m sure is tiring enough and you’ll have Y/N to talk your ear off soon enough.” You shift your shoulder and shake his hand off. Your father gives you a look and Coriolanus smiles before taking your hand and raising it to his lips, bowing slightly he kisses your hand softly, the feeling of his lips on your skin makes a chill run up your spine. “Right again Mr. L/N, but I do look forward to having someone else to talk to aside from Gran’mam and Tigris and Y/N is a wonderful conversationalist.” Your father makes his way to the front door alongside Coriolanus while you snake away as they’re too preoccupied with a conversation of politics and wedding arrangements. You quietly make your way upstairs, narrowly missing a maid in your hurry to slip out of your dress and into a bath, washing the filth you felt from that monster touching you off of your skin. You weren’t naive to Coriolanus Snow. Despite a year his junior plenty of people had talked of the tenth games, of Coriolanus’s ideas, and even reminiscing on it made your blood boil even more so the fact that your father would not only condone his actions but praise them. He talked nonstop of Coriolanus’s genius and innovative brain, paired with an influential name is precisely why he was so eager to offer you up as a bride for this up-and-coming president. A soft knock on your bedroom door alerts you. “I’m in the bath!” You yell. Hearing a soft creek, footsteps slowly follow. “Hello?” You yell, a brunette female avox holding a silk robe enters your bathroom. You shift to cover yourself, despite having servants since childhood you never did get used to their lack of speech and dead stare. If your tongue got cut out you wouldn’t have much light in your eyes either, you suppose. “Thanks, just leave it on the counter.” The silent woman robotically moves towards the counter and places it down before leaving, swift footsteps and a quiet door closing signaling it was time for you to get you. Quickly standing and pulling the drain, the cool air on your skin gives you goosebumps. Slipping on the robe, there's another knock on your bedroom door. “Yeah, just one minute…” You pause, trying to recall the avox’s name, but drawing a blank.

Had even you dehumanized these indentured servants so much that you never learned their names? “Y/N?” Your head perks up from the thought. “Uh, you can come in, Mother, I just got out of the bath.” The door closes and you make yourself decent before walking out into your bedroom. Your mother sits at the edge of your bed, her thin frame barely sinking into the plush sheets. Your mother, although barely giving out any more than the bare minimum of maternal comfort, had always been a confidant for you. Rarely speaking unless spoken to, dressed to your father's liking, and eating the rations for a mouse on your father's request, you had always had a soft spot for her. You knew from a young age you wanted nothing to do with men, and never wanted to be trapped in a marriage like your mother was, loveless and cold it was no wonder you were an only child. She motions for you to sit next to her. “Grab your brush and let's talk.” Grabbing your brush off the vanity beside you, you walk over and stiffly sit next to your mother, handing her your brush. She grabs a lock of your hair and begins working her way through the tangles. This goes on for a few minutes before she breaks the silence. “I know you’re not happy about the marriage.” You roll your eyes and let out a huff. “Forgive me for not wanting to marry the malicious Mr. Snow, I know I’m sooo lucky to get a shot with someone who can make such a spectacle of child murder.” The sarcasm that made you bite your tongue around your father was let loose around your mother  She brushes out a knot with more force than she should, making you let out a wince. Sighing she continues on to another section of hair. “No need to be smart.” She puts down the brush and turns you towards her. Her pale, perfectly curated mask of makeup cracks up close. Her tired eyes and creases from many nights of poor sleep cannot be hidden, no matter how much concealer and powders are applied. “I was much more naive than you are when I married your father. I had the stories and the glory days of the capitol, but I was wrong. I know we haven’t set the best example of marriage for you, but please take this away if nothing else.” Your mother looks at you with a stern and pleading gaze. “You need to submit yourself to this fate.” Her voice is desperate and you can only give her a deadpan stare, “I’m not like you, mother, I have no interest in-” A stinging pain floods your senses, your cheek beginning to get hot accompanied by what you're sure is a brilliant red handprint. Your mother composes herself, fumbling with her hands in her lap, a blank stare adorns her tired face. “Unless you want to feel that and much worse from a hand much heavier than mine, I suggest you heed my advice.” Quickly and quietly, your mother stands up and walks to the door while you sit still in a somewhat shocked state from the normally docile woman's slap. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, I don't want you to go through what I did.” And with that she leaves, leaving you to recover and slip into a nightgown before lying in bed, a futile attempt to make sleep come quicker as your head swims through questions, realizations and your inevitable fate of entrapment.

A week comes and goes, you fill your time with work from the academy, struggling to get through dinners and talks with your father about marriage and the upcoming wedding. Your mother, to her credit, uncharacteristically changes the subject from time to time, giving you few and far-between sympathetic glances. You're grateful for that, at least. “I have business to attend to in District Two for a while, your mother and I will be away for at least a week, maybe more.” Your father says in between bites of sirloin. “Will Arthur be coming around?” Arthur was your uncle, a distant relative your father would like to forget, but it was the one fight he lost to your mother, her absolute refusal for him to isolate her completely from her eldest brother was what a majority of their fights were about in your childhood. Despite that, Arthur always made things more lively, less constrictive, and was the rare times you saw your father intimidated. Your father pauses before speaking again. “He is not, I see it fitting that Coriolanus comes and stays with you while we are away. He will escort you to school and come with his driver to pick you up after his university classes.” You clench your fork, and anger and something akin to nervousness twists in your stomach. Steadying your mind before speaking, you look to your mother who sips her wine, refusing to look at you. “Does that not seem improper, Father. I mean we aren’t to be wed for two more months. What image would that look like?” You try finding any loop, using the family image as leverage wasn’t ideal, but it was a last-ditch effort. “Since when have you cared about your public image? It sets a strong front up for the two of you. I want you to be seen with him as a young respectful woman from a strong house, someone the people can see as the first lady of Panem and I trust you will do as told.” There’s emphasis at the end of his words, more like a threat. Your mother clears her throat before excusing herself to the restroom. The rest of the dinner was sat in tense silence.

A knock at the door causes you to shoot your head up from your book in the living room.  Your parents had left early in the morning and it was now early afternoon, you tried easing the building nerves in your stomach by reading non-stop since before the sun was up, with time put aside to make sure your hair and makeup were perfect because despite hating you fiance and dreading his arrival, some small part of you still wanted to be desired by him.  You set down your book before whispering yelling at the avox passing by. You could see a small glimpse of Coriolanus waiting at the door from the window, but the tree would make it hard for him to see you. As childish as it sounded you asked the avox to wait until she heard your bedroom door from upstairs to close before letting coriolanus in. Like a child caught sneaking down stairs to get a glimpse of Santa, you ran quickly and quietly upstairs, praying silently that Coriolanus didn’t look through the windows next to the door only to see you scampering upstairs to hide in your bedroom. As quickly as you could you make it to your bedroom and slam the door just loud enough so that it could be heard downstairs. From there you crawl into your bed and under the covers of your bed, but instead of hiding from the monsters under the bed like when you were a child, you’re hiding from the monster downstairs, the one who comes to strip you of what little freedom you had left. Hearing the stairs creak makes the dull anxiety turn into panic as the creaking disappears, meaning they’ve now made it to the second floor, meaning they, who you were hoping weren't Coriolanus, were most likely heading for your door. Thinking quickly, you feign sleep, hoping that the oldest trick in the book will work on whoever came to disturb you.  A knock on the door makes you flinch, but still you lay as silently as possible, trying to control and calm your breathing. The door knob turns and the door is pushed open ever so slightly. A heavy footstep echoes through your quiet room followed by a closing door.

Glass against glass is heard before being placed by your bedside followed by a weight on the bed and hot breath tickling your ear. “Sleeping at noon? Come on now, Y/N, I’m not an idiot.” Coriolanus’s voice comes out smooth like honey, but cold like the harsh whip of winter air when you first step outside. You turn over, bleary eyed and fake yawning. “What are you doing in my bedroom uninvited?” Your voice is meant to be accusatory and confident but comes out meek and wavering. Coriolanus backs up, his perfectly slicked back hair doesn't falter even when he brushes it back, a smirk that spells nothing but no-good unnerves you. “I’m your fiance, I think we’re past courting formalities, Y/N, plus, I’ve brought you tea.” Smiling Coriolanus gestures to the white porcelain cup. “Thank you, Coriol-” “Call me Corio, please, the formalities and all are far behind us.” You smile, picking up the tea cup and taking a sip out of it to try and fill the awkward silence that weighs heavy in the room. The bitter taste catches you off guard, scowling as you take another sip, trying to gauge what kind of tea it is. “Corio, what is this, it's such a..strange flavor?” Smiling Corio pushes the cup up to your lips again. “It gets better with taste, and old recipe Grand’mam taught me.” Downing it as fast as possible as to not offend his Grna’mam’s tea you feel yourself get light headed as the world gets blurry. “Corio, what is this..” You trail off, your words are slurred and speaking feels like a chore. Your senses are so numbed that you don’t think twice when Corio gently pushes you back against the feather pillows. “Don’t you think it’s funny that we are engaged and haven't so much as kissed yet?”

 Even through your haze you can see the way the blonde is looking at you. His eyes are hungry, like a predator eyeing up its prey. “I’ve been thinking about you like this for a long time, Y/N, by my side, taming you and your defiance.” Coriolanus slips off his shoes and begins unbuttoning his shirt as he climbs on top of you. “I’ve been eyeing you up for awhile, Y/N, before the arrangements, at the academy, the way you look in your uniform, the way you think outside of the box..” Slowly he begins shedding his shirt, his hands snaking their way up your thigh, hiking up your skirt. “And I see the way the other men in the capital look at you, young, beautiful, rich, pure as snow…you’re a very desirable girl.” He’s made his way to the top of your skirt, slowly pulling it down, leaving you in your top and lacey panties. Now shirtless, Coriolanus begins working at undoing his own pants, leaving him in nothing but boxers on top of you. You try moving your legs but they give up after a few tries. It takes all of your energy to fight to stay awake,your heads not spinning anymore, but even if you could move, Coriolanus would easily overpower you. “S-stop.” You muster out weakly, trying and failing to push him off you, your weak arms are pinned to your side quickly by his own. “I don’t like the thought of another man but your husband taking you, and I intend to fulfill my role as your husband before you retaliate.”

Using one hand, Coriolanus unbuttons your shirt, button by button you feel your cheeks heat up and a growing arousal in your panties throws you off. You had never been touched like this by anyone other than your own hands in the dead of night before. Coriolanus swears under his breath as he exposes the rest of you, eyes wandering back down to your panties. “I’ve known about you far longer than you have of me, Y/N. I’m ready to have a loving marriage w​​ith you, but you just need to accept me.” He trails off as he unclasps your bra, rambling more about how he couldn’t wait and all the long dinners with you were driving him mad. Now fully exposed and more out of it than ever you feel his hands cup your breast. His erection pressing hard against your stomach as he leans down for a desperate kiss. He’s rough, trying to take in as much of you as possible.. Panting, his hot breaths send shivers down your spine, you feel your own wetness as you feebly rub your thighs together, weakly and with as much force as you can you push on his shoulders so he is sitting up straddling you. You tell yourself it’s to get him off of you, but in reality if so he’ll give attention to the rest of your body and not just your now abused lips. Coriolanus has the eyes of a madman as he quickly sheds his boxers and pulls down your panties. Using his thumb to tease your clit, you jolt slightly. Feeling foreign hands on you was a strange yet pleasurable experience. “Corio..” your soft moan of his name made him all the more possessive of you. He wanted to only ever hear you say his name in such a way, and he wanted to hear more of it. Taking out his hard cock, he lined it up with your entrance.  Coriolanus leaned back down, kissing you much more softly as he pushed into your virgin cunt. You moan into the kiss as you feel his cock pushing into you. “God, you’re so tight, you were made for me.” He moaned, head spinning Coriolanus wasn’t sure when, but he was holding your hips down as he fucked you, the way your breast bounced and your hair fell in your face as you moaned his name in breathy gasps made his head spin. “Corio-ah, fuck, Coriolanus..” Your meek voice just made him want to fuck you harder, to draw out more symphonies of his name, to make it known to not just you, but the world that you were Y/N Snow, and nobody except him could take you this way.  In between moaning your assailant's name and begging for more, you had a few moments of clarity, where you knew this was wrong but your body betrayed you. Moving on instinct you lift your legs towards your chest, begging to take the blondes’ cock deeper into you. In Coriolanus’s mind, you were begging for him to make you his, for him to not just claim you in name, but claim a life, a life that both of you created. Slamming your hips against his own Corio could feel himself coming undone, letting out breathy moans of your name you felt his hot cum spilling inside of you, begging for your own release which soon followed. Coriolanus fell on top of you, feebly keeping himself stable above you before rolling over to look at you. Rosy cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat cover you as your hair curls and frames your face in an almost angelic way. You were exhausted, trying to think but coming up blank, the drug affect starting to weigh on you, you allow yourself to block out the blonde lying next to you and let your heavy eyes close, drifting off to an inviting deep sleep while Corio stares at you, content with himself and that you’ll never be able to leave him now, especially with the child he and you would have, tying you to him forever.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #smut

[five-rivers]

Daedalus

@regular-dog Hello! I am your holiday truce gifter this year! I hope you enjoy this labyrinth-themed fic. Happy New Year!

.

Only three years in, and it was already impossible to tell how big Amity Park was.  Normal methods of surveying didn’t work.  Physical maps were either always right or always wrong, and sometimes both at once.  Driving across the city at a constant speed didn’t help, either.  The outgoing trip and the return trip never seemed to match, and there simply weren’t enough one-way streets in Amity Park for that to be the answer to the problem.  

Asking the residents didn’t help, either.  They couldn’t even agree on how big the city they lived in was.  Some of them acted like Amity Park was the second coming of Chicago, others expressed confusion when Amity Park was referred to as anything but a small town.  

(The census data was almost worse.)

But no matter what version of Amity a particular resident believed they lived in, there were always similarities.  There was always Casper High, and its Ravens, and every student went there, and learned from Mr. Lancer, and heard the rumors about Sydney Poindexter.  There was always the Nasty Burger, and Valerie Gray working one of the many distasteful jobs that the place had to offer.  There was always Amity Park Park, confusingly named and full of even more confusing paths, whether it was a city park or a county park, or something else altogether.

There was always Fentonworks, rising tall and strange from a small, ordinary neighborhood.

There was a heaviness there, around that particular building.  A weight that drew in other things, that twisted.  It was the heart of a labyrinth of streets, of old roads and new, of forest paths and disused hiking trails.  It was the heart of Amity Park.

And it should be said that, at the heart of any labyrinth, there was a monster.  

And it should be said that, at the threshold of every labyrinth, there was a princess.

And it should be said that the one thing that every labyrinth waits for is a hero.  

.  

Samantha Manson wound golden string around her fingers, thinking.  It glowed faintly in the dark of her room, like the thinnest, purest beam of sunlight cast through morning mist and a thick canopy of leaves overhead.  

However, her eyes didn’t linger on it.  Instead, she looked out the window over her– garden– conservatory– greenhouse– private park– the place where she went to grow plants, and be among them, that may or may not have changed in nature and size while she was looking.  Which may or may not have had many natures and sizes.  

She closed her eyes.  Insight was useful, as vital as the blood in her veins and the lightning in her nerves, but it had its drawbacks.  

When she opened them again, a hedge maze stood dark and tempting beneath the light of a moon that should not be full and should not be there and had never been that big, in any case.  The lights of Amity- rising high with skyscrapers or low to the ground and scattered among farmhouses– laid beyond it.  

In her hands, the string hummed, as if it had been held taught and plucked.  A single, clear note filled the air.  

“Do you think it will work?” she asked.  

There shouldn’t have been anyone in her room, and there wasn’t.  But her nearest neighbors could be five miles from the walls of her home or five feet, and she rarely spoke to them.  The distance between friends was greater, but also infinitely less.  

Tucker looked up from his computer, which sat at his desk, in his own room, in his own house, the light from the moon shining in from the window behind him.  His glasses reflected the pale, bluish light of his computer screen.  The wheels of his desk chair rolled across the carpet of his room - so different from hers - with a squeak.  

“You’re not getting cold feet now,” he said.  It wasn’t so much a question as an exclamation.  

Sam sniffed.  “Of course not.  But I’m not the one taking the biggest risk, am I?”

There was a third room.  This one dark and starry.  The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to every available surface were normal.  The patterns they were in were not.  Nor were the eyes that stared out from beneath star-spangled bedsheets.  Nor was the moon, gleaming from windows stationed on either side of the bed.

“I’m not sure if it actually matters if it works,” said the owner of those eyes, blinking slowly.  “I mean, if it works the way it’s supposed to work.  We’ll just go back to plan A if it doesn’t.”

“No offense, Danny, but plan A sucked,” said Tucker.  

“How am I not supposed to take offense to that?” whined Danny.  “Plan A is fine.  It’s a normal plan.  I know my city.”  The last was said with a casual but deep possessiveness.

“Plan A wasn’t even really a plan,” said Sam.  “Your plan was to just fly in and find them, never mind all the other things that are happening.”

“That’s not so different from this plan,” protested Danny.  “It’s basically the same.  It’s just the how that’s different.”

“Pretty big how, though,” said Tucker.  “And I thought you liked this plan.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Danny.  “I’m just saying, I’m just saying that even if it doesn’t work, we won’t be any worse off than we were at the beginning, before, you know.  The research.”  He pointed vaguely in the direction of his window.  

Somehow, Sam knew that he was, in fact, pointing at the stack of thick books sitting on her desk.  Only, instead of pointing at them across the there-not-there division between their rooms, he was pointing in their true direction, across the streets and forests of Amity Park.  

The covers of the books shouldn’t have been legible in the darkness.  Sam could read them anyway.  Greek mythology.  Sympathetic magic.  Recurrence.  Narrative causality.  Daedalus, Icarus, Theseus, Ariadne, Asterion.

Four days ago, New Athens High School had sent a bus bearing the fourteen members of their track team and their coach to a meet in Elmerton.  On the way back, the driver had made a wrong turn, knifing straight through the heart of Amity.  The bus, the driver, and the coach had come out the other side.  No one knew what had happened to the track team.  

Danny had spent three of those days looking for them.  Amity Park had spent those same three days winding itself more tightly than the ball of string sitting on Sam’s desk.  Whether it was downtown, or the forest, or the suburbs, the part of Amity New Athens’ bus had passed through was a maze.  

A labyrinth.  

They’d thrown themselves into research, then, begging for information from their allies.  Or, rather, from Danny’s allies.  Most of them, with the exception of Dora, were there for him more than for the rest of them.  Pandora was the one who had finally noticed the connections, the links with old stories, the resonance.  

There was a labyrinth.  There were sacrifices.  Other roles–

“Or, if you don’t want to leave it, you could send Tucker in,” said Danny, shrugging slightly.  “If it doesn’t work with just me.  You know.”

Sam’s fingers slipped.  

Sam was the obvious choice for the role of princess.  Danny was the obvious choice for the role of hero.  

He should have been, anyway.  

“Hence why I’m asking if you think it’ll work,” said Sam, sharply.  

“I hope it’ll work.”

Sam huffed.  “Not what I’m asking.”

“It won’t hurt to try.”

“It might,” said Sam.  “The monster dies at the end of the story.  The princess is abandoned.  Even Theseus doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“And we aren’t those characters.  It isn’t as if Tucker is going to cut my head off.”  Again, Danny waved in Tucker’s true direction, rather than across the emptiness of his room.  “We’re the ones making the decisions.  We’re just using the stories for– For narrative clout.  Or however you described it.”

“Danny…”

“It’ll be fine.  I mean,” he looked up at her with those too-bright eyes, the rest of his face black with shadows, “if you’re having second thoughts, it’s fine.  We can try something else.”

“I’m not having second thoughts.”  Sam began to unwind the string from around her fingers, wrapping it around the rest of the ball.  The maze outside her window had become a winding garden path, and the neighbors were once again nearby.  

Tucker cleared his throat.  “First thing in the morning, then?  We ride at dawn and all that?”

“Before dawn would probably be better, honestly,” said Sam.  

Danny sighed.  “I’ll set my alarm clock.”

.

It might have been neater to enter the maze in Sam’s backyard, or to start from the spiraling center that was Fentonworks, but that wasn’t where the bus had disappeared.  The bus had disappeared going through downtown Amity Park.  

Well.  Insofar as the bus had disappeared in any particular location.  And insofar as Amity Park had a downtown.  

The lack of permanence of place made discussing things like this somewhat difficult.  

Still.  At the moment, there was a downtown.  A historical shopping district, as a matter of fact.  As he walked down the sidewalk in the crisp, gray, predawn light, Danny could feel beneath his feet a hum.  The shopping district here was the mainstreet of small town Amity, even as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and the layers felt real enough for Danny to reach out and rub them between his fingers.  

(They weren’t really, but they felt like it.)

He stopped in front of an alley that smelled of cinnamon and sea salt.  Here, the layers parted, and you could slip between them, into the interstices and forbidden places of Amity Park.  

“Is this the place?” asked Tucker.  

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “I think so.”  He motioned them to the mouth of the alley, where they’d be covered by shadows and next to unnoticeable by those who were firmly in any one version of Amity Park.  “Sam?”

She teased out the end of the golden string and cast it towards Danny.  As it flew through the air, it twisted and knotted itself before falling over Danny’s head.  The loops shrunk around his neck, creating a narrow golden collar.  

Danny raised his hand to touch it and made a face.  “It’s tight,” he said.  

“Sorry,” said Sam, glaring at the ball of string as if it had betrayed her.  “I don’t–”

“It’s fine,” said Danny, waving it off.  “Just unexpected.”

“Right,” said Tucker, stepping forward.  “Your sword, Theseus.”  He handed Danny a Fenton invention that had a passing resemblance to a lightsaber.

Danny rolled his eyes and took the small cylinder.  “Thanks.  But don’t call me that.”

“Hey, that’s the story we’re trying to tell.”

“We’ll give it a tug if we run out of string,” said Sam.  

“Mm,” said Danny.  “Well.  Might have to give it more than one.  Don’t let me drag you in.”

Sam snorted.  “What, like you drag us into everything else?”

“Seriously.  Just let me go if I start pulling too hard.”

“No way,” said Tucker.  “We’ll just tie you onto some building or something.”

“I have been known to bring down buildings.”

“Well, don’t,” said Sam.  

“Wow.  No sympathy here, I see.”

“Nope,” said Sam and Tucker together.  

“Now go save the tourists,” said Sam, pushing him forward.

“They’re not really tourists,” said Danny.  But even so, he stepped across the line and into the gap.  

Into the labyrinth.  

.

The in-between spaces of Amity Park did not immediately look like they were the in-between spaces of Amity.  Danny sometimes liked to imagine that they were what Amity Park used to look like, before it became a dozen different, mutually exclusive places.  That had to be impossible, though.  There was too much, too many different things, afterimages and fantasies and illusions.  

People walked on the streets, and cars drove, but they were transparent, projections from the layers of Amity immediately bordering this space.  Sometimes, they walked through each other, not noticing at all.  

Danny still flinched when it looked like cars were about to run into one another, and let out a breath of relief when they instead seemed to phase through each other.  

So he walked.  

He walked, and as he walked, the road began to change.  He began to change.  Facades paled.  Grecian columns reached up the sides of skyscrapers and ranch homes.  Brick turned to marble.  Danny’s t-shirt and jeans slowly, gently, became a chiton and chlamys, trimmed in red.  The Fenton Saber became a sword of green-tinted bronze, strapped to a belt around his waist.  His shoes became sandals, laced up to his knees.  

It wasn’t the first time Danny had worn clothing like this.  He did visit Pandora.  But he’d never worn it in Amity Park.  It was a little embarrassing.  The ancient Greeks’ idea of underwear was… lacking, in Danny’s opinion.  But it wasn’t as if anyone here could see him.  

The act of walking here also felt strange, and Danny couldn’t understand why this was needed.  Not really.  Not the act, not the ritual.  By virtue of his nature, he could duck in and out of anywhere in Amity whenever he wanted.  Mostly.  At least, he could find places to duck in and out whenever he wanted.  

He should have been able to find the missing students without any problem.  

But he hadn’t.  

And he still wasn’t finding them.  There was no pull.  No indication of what direction he should go, what direction he could find them in.  

Danny sighed, and the sky above boiled with stars.  

He looked up, not having expected that, then shrugged and continued to walk.  Things here were strange.

There were words on the walls, now, carved into the marble alongside window displays for cell phones and stationary.  Ἀστερίων, Ἀριάδνη, Θησεύς.  He traced Ἀριάδνη with his fingers.  It sparked gold, the same color as the string around Danny’s neck.  

And then the string flexed.  Pulled.  Spooled forward, winding into a ball in front of Danny.  A short thread was thrown off of the rapidly spinning ball and settled on Danny’s head before solidifying into something heavy and cold.

(Elsewhere, the end of the string tears itself out of Sam’s hand, disappearing into the rift between.)

“Oh,” said Danny.  He bit his lip and closed his eyes, and mentally apologized to his friends for worrying them.  “Theseus was from Athens.  Ariadne wasn’t just rich, she had authority over Crete.  We had the roles wrong.”

(Not that Danny really wanted authority over Amity Park.  That… just wasn’t his thing.  He didn’t want to be in charge.  He just wanted to protect.)

But this meant…  He needed to find one of the New Athens kids and get them to be Theseus.  

He didn’t want to do that.  He was here to rescue them, not to force them to rescue themselves.  And… iIf he could find one of them, couldn’t he find the others?  Finding them was the problem he’d started with.  If he could find them, he could bring them out.  

He stumbled as the section of string wrapped around his throat tightened.  That actually hurt!

Then it loosened and Danny took a deep breath.  

Narrative weight, right.  They were already trying this story.  Changing it or aborting it halfway would have consequences.  Ones that Danny didn’t want to deal with.  

He swallowed.  He couldn’t help but remember that in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, many people, many Athenians, had died before Theseus had finally defeated the Minotaur.  When it was Danny in the role of Theseus, that hadn’t been a concern.  He was certain he could fight any monster, any ghost in the role of the Minotaur.  

But some random kid from New Athens?  One who had probably never seen a ghost, and who had been stuck here for days?  

That… that he wasn’t at all confident about.  

Sam had been right to be wary of the risks.  It was different, when someone else was facing them.  

He rolled the ball between his hands, feeling it over.  Power thrummed between his fingers, brighter and sharper than before.  A thin stripe of gold ran down the sidewalk, twisting over on itself and turning away from the main street.  

Danny sighed, and started to follow.  

.

Danica was starting to panic.  

One moment, she’d been on the bus, falling asleep after a difficult meet despite how risky it was to fall asleep anywhere near Georgie and his so-called ��artistic impulses.’  The next thing she knew, she was waking up on a sidewalk in some kind of nightmare city.  A nightmare city full of things that looked almost like people but were transparent and walked right through her as if she weren’t there.  

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, trying to figure out how she’d gotten here, where the bus was, where everything else was, but it felt like hours, at least.  She was starting to get hungry.  

She was starting to wonder if she’d gone crazy.  Or if this was what it was like to be dead.  And that was before the buildings started to melt into weird, semi-Greek-Revival messes.  

It was weird here, and she hated it.  She wanted to go home.  She wanted her mom.  She wanted to quit the track team and never have to deal with anything like this ever again.  

“Hello?” called a soft voice.  

She whipped around.  Up until now, this place had been eerily quiet.  

Standing just a few feet from her was a boy, one who could have stepped out of a history textbook.  He was wearing something like a cape, and a Greek-style tunic, white trimmed in red.  Tangled in his hair was a thin, golden circlet.  But the strangest thing about him was the ball of glowing golden string in his hand.  One end of it was wrapped around his neck.  

“You–!” said Danica, suddenly more furious than frightened.  “Did you bring me here?  Why?”

The boy shook his head.  “I didn’t bring you here.  Actually, I’m hoping to help you get out.  You and the rest of your teammates.”  

“They– They’re here, too?  And the coach–?”

“No, just your teammates,” said the boy.  He made a face.  “You guys kind of… Ran into a story.”

“A what?” demanded Danica, incredulous.  She’d also, incidentally, started to back away from the boy.  

“A story.  Have you heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?”

.

“What if I don't want to do this?” asked the girl, after Danny had finished explaining.  “What if I can’t do this?”

Danny stared at her, a bit baffled.  The thing about being a ghost, even half a ghost, the thing about thinking like a ghost… Sometimes it was hard to wrap his head around other perspectives.  Especially when his friends, the only people he really talked to, were just as eager to jump in and help as he was.  

He hadn't wanted to make anyone risk themselves.  He wanted to bring them to safety without that.  He also hadn't expected that anyone would just… not want to help.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose you could follow me until I found one of your classmates who could?” he said.  “Although… I’m not sure if we can do that with this story.  It might be that I have to find someone alone and then they find everyone…  In which case you’d just have to wait for them.  Speaking of which, how long has this been for you?  On the outside, it’s been a few days, but you look a little too good for that.”

“I– What?  Days?  I haven’t been here for days.”

“Not from your perspective, maybe.  Time is weird.  Even without all this…”  He waved his hand, trying to indicate ghost weirdness in general.  “... stuff, even with just the things we can look at scientifically, it’s still relative.  Right now, you’re basically in a dimensional pocket.  Pocket dimension?  Whatever.  The point is, is time running at different rates really that strange, comparatively?  At least, it made it so that you didn’t starve before me and my friends were able to figure this out.”  He raised the ball of golden string, ignoring how the movement pulled on his neck.  “Right?”

The girl gave him a ‘why are you using science-fiction terms in what is clearly a fantasy scenario’ look.  At least, that’s how Danny chose to interpret it.  

He sighed.  “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Danica,” she said, then looked angry at herself and shrugged.  “Or Dani, I guess.”

“Huh, small world,” said Danny.  “That’s my sister’s name, too.”  Not to mention his.  Maybe Theseus’s story wasn’t the only one being echoed, with a coincidence like that.  

The girl continued to stare at him, this time with a ‘why the heck are you bringing that up while I’m having a crisis’ look.  Probably.  Danny tended to make a similar expression from time to time.  Usually when the ghosts he fought started having lovers’ quarrels in the middle of a fight.  

“So,” he said, awkwardly.  “You can come with me, of course, just to… test out what will happen?”

“Oh!” said Danica, suddenly.  “Just– Just give me that!”  She held out her hands for the ball of string.  

Danny beamed, and passed it to her.  It glowed even brighter.

“Now what?” she asked, staring at it nervously.  

“Now, you need this,” Danny said, taking off the sword and holding it out to her, hilt first.  “And then you search for your friends, and when you find them…”  He pinched a length of the string between the finger and thumb of her free hand.  “You follow this back out.”

Danica was much more reluctant to take the sword than the string.  But that was fine.  One of the two was for holding things together, the other was for taking things apart.  Danny knew which was easier, and which he was more comfortable with.  

“That's it.  Remember, it's just the members of your track team, okay?  The coach and the bus driver got out.”

“Okay,” said Danica.  She took a deep, steadying breath.  “Okay.  I can do this.”

Danny nodded encouragingly.  “Yes,” he said, “definitely.”

.

Danny stepped out of the in-between, back into the alley he'd left Sam and Tucker in.  Except, it wasn't an alley anymore, but a thin dirt path between hedges.  

He was immediately tackled.  

“We thought we'd lost you!” said Sam.  Then she pulled back and examined him closely before looking pointedly behind him.  “Where're the track kids?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck.  “Well.  In the story, Theseus is from Athens, remember?”

Sam groaned.  “They're having to do it themselves?”

“Yeah.  A girl named Danica.  Dani.  Believe it or not.”

“Wow,” said Tucker.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Danny turned to look behind him, tracing the string where it twisted away from reality and into not-space.

Tucker sighed.  “This is going to take a while, isn't it?”

.

It took Danica surprisingly little time to find her teammates.  For all the time she’d spent wandering on her own, after she’d accepted the sword and the string, she’d located everyone in what felt like an hour.  Some of them were even in groups!

The problem was, she found too many of them.  

.

“Mm,” said Danny, still worried.  “Probably.  I hope she doesn’t have to fight anything.”

.

There had been fourteen of them.  She knew there had been fourteen of them, because the coach and the driver had both done headcounts, because of the number of people they were allowed to field in each event at this particular meet, and because she remembered that someone had been sick.  But there were, including her, fifteen kids now huddled in something that aesthetically hovered in-between the Parthenon and a shopping mall.  

She couldn’t remember who had been sick.  No one could.  But everyone wanted to convince her that it wasn’t them.  

Probably because she was the one with the sword.  

.

“I think that if there was anything, it would have gone after Danny when he was searching earlier, right?” asked Sam.  

“Maybe,” said Danny.  “Unless it was scared of me.  I am pretty powerful.”

“And if Danny’s Ariadne in this, he was Ariadne at the beginning,” pointed out Tucker.  “The story was already going.  Ariadne never fought the Minotaur.”

“Astarion,” said Danny.  

“Huh?”

“That’s the Minotaur’s actual name,” said Sam.  She frowned slightly.  “He was Ariadne’s half-brother, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, slowly.  “He was, wasn’t he?”

.

“Listen,” said Danica, trying to mask the shake in her voice, “I’m sorry, but– But based on everything, you aren’t who you say you are.”  

There was nothing she could do about how badly the sword was shaking.  

“I am!” said the girl, who couldn’t be there, because Eliza had taken the one place in the 100 meter, and Jaylynn did the javelin, and Lachandra had done the high jump, and no one remembered her competing at all.  “I really am, I promise!”

It was convincing, her act.  But it had to be an act, it really did.

“Dani,” said Lachandra, “is it really that important?  I mean, if we take her with us?  We just want to get out.”

“But she could eat us,” said Kevin, who was a bit of a mythology buff on top of being a track nerd.  “She could– If this is the Minotaur story–  She’ll try to kill us and then–”

“I won’t!” shouted the girl.  Her eyes– For a moment, they changed color.  Red.  Her teeth were sharp, too.

Danica gritted her teeth and swung the sword down.  

.

Danny caught her wrist, panting.  He’d followed the string back.  

“Wait,” he said, breathless.  “Wait.”

“Where–” said Danica, jerking back.  “Why–?”

Danny turned towards the ‘Minotaur.’  “Hi,” he said, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible.  “You’re one of Vlad’s aren’t you?”

Their face shimmered for a moment, and then– It was like looking into a mirror.  This wasn’t Dani - his Dani, Danielle - but a boy with red eyes.  He wore a chiton like Danny’s, but he looked starved, pale, terrified.  

He nodded.  

“There is,” said Danny, cautiously, “another story about escaping from the labyrinth.  How would you like to be Daedalus?”

.

“What was that?” hissed Danica, as they walked away from… whatever that was.  “Why are you here, now, leading us out, when you couldn’t before?”

“Story is different now,” said Danny, tightly.  “And I was leading you out before.  Just with the string.”

“What if you get lost?” asked Kevin.  

Danny grinned at him.  “I won’t.  He isn’t trying to keep you in anymore.”

“Who isn’t?” asked Danica.  

“Daedalus.  Him.  He just wanted out, I think.  Sorry for– I’m sorry about all of this,” said Danny.  “I didn’t want to get other people involved in Amity Park stuff, and I especially didn’t want to get you involved in family stuff, but…”  He shrugged, then caught sight of an out.  It looked, from this side, like a slightly darker than expected gap between stately white pillars.  “Here we go!  And I think this one is next to the police station, too, so just, you know.  Check yourselves in.”

“Just like that?” asked Danica.  

“Just like that,” said Danny.  “I will need those back, though.”  He nodded at the string and sword.  

“Right,” said Danica.  She shoved both at him.  “I can’t believe– I would have kill that– Whatever– Whoever–”  She stopped, looking very much like she wanted to cry.  

“I’m sorry,” said Danny again, softly.  “But it is over now.”

The New Athens kids walked into the gap and vanished.  

The string dissolved into golden, glittering light and then settled in his hands as a pair of equally golden wings.  Danny laughed.  

“Okay,” he said.  He turned, bouncing a little.  “I get the picture.  I think we can avoid the Icarus problem, being ghosts and all.”

#danny phantom #holiday truce #holiday truce 2023

[jksprincess10]

Joel Miller masterlist

✰ : contains smut

☾ : contains dark themes

☁ : contains fluff

ϟ : contains angst

dividers by @saradika

Mini Multi-chapter fics (completed)

*for multi-chapter fics, read warnings on each chapter's page

My boyfriend's parents (Tess x Joel x reader): After Chad cheated on you, his father shows you what a real man is like. His wife joins in.

My boyfriend’s dad

My ex boyfriend’s parents 

The neighbor’s daughter: (dad’s neighbor! joel x reader, no outbreak AU)

 Home, sweet home

Pool party 

Hello again   

She knows   

Trust

Lucky for me, I run on spite and sweet revenge (Joel x ennemy ! reader)

 Lucky for me, I run on spite and sweet revenge 

I can sabotage me by myself 

Everyone is a bad guy 

The handyman (Jackson ! Joel and reader) : You break your bed and you ask Joel to fix it.

The handyman

The handyman part 2  

Birthday: (dbf!joel x reader) : You meet your dad's best friend at the bar where you're celebrating your birthday.

Mr Miller’s birthday gift

Happy birthday, Mr Miller 

Long Multi-chapter fics (completed)

Dressed for revenge (Joel x nb!oc): A cult. A lost human wandering like a ghost. A world infested by cordyceps. A care taker. A little girl who’s immune.  A newly formed trio on a quest to vengeance, but also on a quest to find themselves.

Masterlist for dressed for revenge

Long Multi-chapter fics (in progress)

Something in the shadows When a girl is found by Ellie just outside of Jackson, covered in what seems to be scratches from a beast, the community realizes that the infected might not be the only monsters out there.

Masterlist for Something in the shadows

Oneshots and requests

Big man, little dignity ✰ ϟ: Joel saves your hopeless ass and he gets stuck with you for a while, but it doesn't seem to bother him.

Rooting for the antihero ✰ ϟ: You and your “business” partner, Joel, go out of the QZ for a deal. Everything goes to shit and feelings are revealed.

I’m starvin’, darling  ✰ : dbf!joel insists that you sit on his face.

Famous last words ☾ ✰: you're Joel's ennemy and he has you trapped to perform sweet torture on your body.

Save your cowboy ϟ ✰: You learn that Joel is from Texas and you take pleasure in calling him cowboy.

Looking for love  ☁ : You're a divorced mother who takes wood working classes in hopes to find the right man.

The first time you met a clicker ϟ ☁ : You and Joel get attacked by a clicker.

Horseback flirting ✰: You get excited and flirtatious during a horse ride with Joel.

Bella  ☁: Taking a bath with Joel.

No bullies : Professor!Joel defends plus size!reader who gets bullied.

Surprise party ϟ ✰: Sarah is your best friend and you've been in love with her dad since forever.

Warming you up  ✰ : Joel warms you up at night.

Only angel  ✰: You ask Joel to take your virginity before a date with another man from Jackson.

5+1  ☁: 5 times Joel Miller did something for you and 1 time he did something for himself.

Cardigan ϟ ✰: You fall in love with your dad's boss and it's a beautiful disaster.

Epiphany ϟ ✰: Your new neighbor is a war veteran with a lot of scars

Attraction spell ✰☾ : Vampire!joel stalks you and takes you for himself.

Devour ✰: You make Joel dress up as a werewolf on Halloween and you pay for it.

Sleep ✰: Joel fucks you in your sleep.

Evening softness✰☁ : You and Joel talk about your respective days at work.

Doing the work ✰: Joel's back hurts and he wishes he could please you. So you offer to ride him.

Tis the damn season ✰☁: You finally hope to get Joel Miller's attention at your annual family Christmas party (dbf!joel)

Playing Santa ✰☁: Joel dresses up as Santa for the kids of Jackson. It shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

A bad deal ☾✰: Joel disrespects you and you make him pay for it. (non con, dark fic)

Take it✰: Your ex-girlfriend's father punishes you.

#masterlist #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

[schmem14]

Hello friends! Recently, I participated in the fourth HP Rare Pair fest, and with 81 unique and beautiful entries it was a veritable FEAST for the eyes and heart and soul. (Check out the whole collection here)

I wanted to take a moment to post highlights of the fics that just really brought me to my knees in hopes that you’ll fangirl/boy/person over them with me!

1. Evergreen by @thecouchsofa (23k)- Harry Potter x George Weasley What would happen if Harry asked George to go to the Yule Ball with him instead of Parvati? This GOF Yule Ball AU is sure to slay you with sheer adorableness. I couldn’t stop smiling and squealing through the whole thing. This rare pair is one of my favorites, and this fic went above and beyond, plus it’s the perfect holiday read! Rating: T

2. Lonely Creatures by @apricitydays-lazynights (5k)- Severus Snape x Giant Squid The prompt to put these two together could easily have been pure hentai crack nonsense (which is a brilliant option) but this story did things to me that I can’t even put into words. It’s tender, melancholy, and cuts to the heart of Severus Snape’s isolation and longing to be seen and loved. The details of this are so richly woven, and I particularly enjoyed the authors’ focus on Mermlish/Merfolk. Standing ovation to this fic! Rating: E

3. Slice of Night by SquibNation10 (9k)- Aurora Sinistra x Severus Snape This was the fic that took me the most by surprise. I love the creativity in taking a character who gets very few canon details and making them real and beautiful and believable. Auror Sinistra is divine in this, and I’ll give some honorable mentions to both Argus Filch and Rolanda Hooch as excellent supporting characters that also don’t typcially get a lot of spotlight. What a gorgeous slice of life fic! Rating: T

3. Quick Quotes and Quibbles by RainstormRadish (3k)- Luna Lovegood x Rita Skeeter Rita and Luna have to work together to cover the wedding of Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson. There’s just something about a story told in unconventional medium that will always ALWAYS pull me in! This unlikely pairing comes together in the sweetest way, their strong personalities balancing each other out until they become a formidable team.  I particularly loved the graphics and paper trail memos/epistolary style storytelling. Rating: T

4. Your seat, it’s the best seat by @the-houseryn (17k)- Ron Weasley x Draco Malfoy MOVE OVER only one bed, there’s a new trope in town and it’s the ONLY ONE SEAT trope!! This was sexy, flirtatous, and hot AF. I’m always down for a Dron fic, but this one is one of the best I’ve read in a while, with some delicious pining and a predictably oblivious Ron. Do yourself a favor and indulge in the lap-sitting fic of the year! Rating: E

5. Vivaldi and Hot Chocolate by @patriceavril (6k)- Percy Weasley x Stan Shunpike What was Percy up to in OTP/HBP? What a lonely life that must have been! This fic was soft and sweet, giving some much-needed love to a character that we all wrote off in canon for being a stuck-up prick. I love how Percy seeks out the warmth and comfort of the Knight Bus, coming back for more because of the kind-hearted and bubbly Stan Shunpike, who always insists on giving Percy free hot chocolate. I never expected to be so enamoured by this pairing, but I am! Rating: T

6. The monster you feed by @ghostfelicis188 (11k)- Regulus Black x Remus Lupin This canon-compliant fic tore me to shreds. TO SHREDS. Like, I am such a simp for tragic Remus romances, and this took the cake. Features: pining artist Remus, and shit-eating cruel Regulus who toys with Remus the whole damn fic. If you like hurt no comfort, this is the fic for you. *Chefs Kiss* Rating: M

7. Gilded Web by @emilyrickman AlihotsyTotsy (8k)- George Weasley x Blaise Zabini I cannot believe that this understated fic packed such a punch in 8,000 words. George agrees to an undercover operation to investigate the mysterious deaths of Mrs. Zabini’s deceased husbands. He is so pure in this, his characterization charming and believable, I just need more of this George! Bonus points for references to “the Sting” Rating: M

8. Sleeping with Ghosts by @ghaniblue (21k)- Harry Potter x Regulus Black x Draco Malfoy My initial thoughts when encountering this relationship tag was something akin to a bewildered head scratch but OMG the best thing about this fest is having expectations completely upended! This fic slayed hard with a slow burn, found family, semi-sentient house renovation angle that had me completely melted by the end. Rating: M

9. The Last Trial of Peter Petegrew by @sleepstxtic (20 k)- Peter Petegrew x James Potter If possible, I’d like to ram this fic down the throats of all my mutuals with a plea to PLEASE READ THIS FIC. I can’t begin to describe in a tiny paragraph what this did to me. Often Peter Petegrew is relegated to the traitor bus in fandom (understandable) but this took every mean and traitorous part of his character and made me almost like him despite his treachery! The format of this was also a delight to read, and I love that Hermione presents the case for Peter Petegrew in this meta purgatory-style courtroom drama. Rating: M

10. Anatomy of a memory by @venom0usbarbie (9k)- Ginny Weasley x Tom Riddle This story was pure poetry wrapped in a sinister diary-shaped package. I love the self-fulfilling prophecy nature of this time loop style storyline, as well as the toxic obsession and manipulation played out between Ginny and Tom. What a mindfuck ending that was, too! Kudos to the “Tom Riddle is his own Warning” tag. Rating: M

11. Sweet Boy by @maraudersaffair (6k)- Narcissa Black Malfoy x Harry Potter A not-quite-fake dating fic with lots of smut, thirst, and mommy/praise kink? Yes, please! I was literally panting by the end of this, Harry and Narcissa are so hot together! Rating: E

12. Growing Suspicion by nocturn (1.8k)- Neville Longbottom x Marcus Flint Someone keeps mutilating Neville’s plants, and he’s going to get to the bottom of it OR that time Marcus expresses feelings but doesn’t understand proper plant care. This fic was A-DOR-ABLE. Love me a good Hogwarts professors/staff fic, and this was just a bite-sized delight to read. Rating: G

13. For Your Burning Gaze by SquibNation10 (22k)- Neville Longbottom x Pansy Parkinson The fic that I most want to see a sequel for award goes to… this Twilight Zone post-war marriage law fic complete with creepy house elves and a very troubled Pansy, who seems to be the only one realizing that something is not quite right! This is one of the best Panville fics I’ve read, I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. Rating: E

Thanks to @hprarepairfest for putting on another amazing fest!

#HP Rare Pair Fest IV #Schmem Recs #HP Rare Pairs #Neville x Pansy #Panville #Neville x Marcus #Narcissa x Harry #Peter x James #Ginny x Tom #Harry x Regulus x Draco #George x Blaise #Regulus x Remus #Percy x Stan #Ron x Draco #Dron #Luna x Rita #Severus x Aurora #Severus x Giant Squid #Harry x George #Firebolt

[lestappenforever]

Do you have any lestappen fanfic recommendations? :)

Hello my lovely anon! ❤️

I was unfortunately shit at bookmarking fics when I first started reading Lestappen fics, and I still haven't had time to sit down and read through everything that catches my fancy in the pairing tag on AO3 again so I can do a proper job of bookmarking fics I really enjoyed, and creating a complete fic rec list. But, I am absolutely planning on doing it as soon as I have time at some point next year!

As for right now, I can definitely recommend the fics I have remembered to bookmark while reading/re-reading!

Below you will find some of my absolute favorite Lestappen fics:

---

And That's How I Foksmashed Dad's Championship Trophy Teen And Up Audiences | 6,500 words | Complete By the legendary queen PrincessElectra (AO3)/@il-predestinato (Tumblr)

Summary: All of that would have been forgivable if not for the Green-Eyed Monster’s complete disregard for the pre-contracted occupation rights of Max’s lap. Such rights had long been pre-determined and belonged to Sassy (and occasionally to Jimmy, she admitted begrudgingly). However, no amount of quiet hisses and vicious glares seemed to penetrate the creature’s thick skull, and he would greedily occupy Max’s thigh for more than 95% of any given afternoon. Sometimes with his head, sometimes with his feet, and a few times he even straddled his entire body over Max; the latter could not have been comfortable for Max, as the Green-Eyed Monster was enormously overweight compared to Sassy.

(Jimmy had insisted that it was not nice to shame another living creature about their weight, but she was not wrong. With her compact size and considerably more reasonable mass, Sassy was confident that she was much more comfortable for Max to have on his lap than that horrendously oversized creature.)

---

Keep to the Line Mature | 13 696 words | WIP By the incredible fancastik (AO3)/@nico-di-genova (Tumblr)

Summary: “Red Bull Racing have announced that Gianpiero Lambiase will not be returning as Max Verstappen’s race engineer for the 2023 season. Taking his place will be Charles Leclerc, former Scuderia Ferrari performance engineer.”

His hands had shook around his phone as he read the announcement, his breath firmly lodged in his throat. Charles has known he had the job since he first sat down across from Christian Horner and accepted the offer, alongside a Red Bull polo, with hands that felt bloodied. But reading it from the official F1 socials is something else entirely. It is real.

“At twenty-five, Leclerc will be the youngest race engineer in Formula One history.”

He had barely managed to get to a trash can before vomiting up his lunch.

Or:

The Engineer!Charles AU no one asked for

---

P19 Explicit | 5 619 words | Complete By the exceptionally talented leafycats (AO3)/@sennaverstappen (Tumblr)

Summary: “Charles,” it comes out soft, worried, upset. Charles will light himself on fire. He hears Max take a few steps towards him, feels two warm, winning, arms wrap around his fast-breathing chest. He’s still wearing those golden shoes. Max snuggle into his neck. “I’m here for you.”

And Max had won, and he’s winning the season, and he’s P19, and losing this season. And Max is winning, and he’s not even talking about it – choosing to comfort his Charles instead.

Every little thought converges into a single, red-hot one.

He’s going to fuck the pole sitter so hard he’ll be sore tomorrow.

“Max,” he whimpers, trying to find his voice, find his grip, find his footing in this world. Max tightens his grip around his waist. “Yes, angel?” And he can feel Max frown against his nape, soft breath against his earlobe. It turns his body white-hot.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

---

The Nights Are Long (But It's Easier Together) Explicit | 43 759 words | Complete By the amazing f1writingbyme (AO3)/@f1writingbyme (Tumblr)

Summary: “Oh, God, what is it?” Max groans. “It’s Mr. Corvetto, right? I knew it. I’m telling you, never move into an apartment next to elderly people. It’s just– Why does she call me? What the hell can I do? Doesn’t she need to call an ambulance or something? Or, I don’t know, her family, or–”

“Max.” Charles interrupts Max’s ranting. He ends the phone call, cutting off Mrs. Corvetto’s panicked yelling with a simple press of his thumb. He stares at the blue-eyed man in front of him. “Your apartment is on fire.”

Or: The fire in his apartment is only the beginning of a long list of misfortunes that await Max. Fortunately, he has Charles by his side to help him through it. That is until Charles is the one that gets targeted.

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you and me, just us (and your teammate sergio) Teen And Up Audiences | 3 377 words | Complete By the wonderful averyverse (AO3)/@oscar-fastri (Tumblr)

Summary: Checo was fully aware of what he’s walking into. Still, he seriously doubts that anyone could have been prepared for the full force of Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc being heads over heels in love with each other and not even trying to hide it.

Or: 5 times Checo thirdwheels Max and Charles + 1 time it's everyone else's turn

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Temptation's Trajectory series Explicit | 25 009 words | Complete By the incredible pongsfootxlily (AO3)/@cupidskissx (Tumblr)

This series consists of two equally amazing fics that I've lost count of how many times I've read.

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more than fun, you're the sanctuary Mature | 21 813 words | Complete By the wonderful lestalos (AO3)

Summary: “Because I love you.” He said it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it doesn’t crush him to admit it, like it doesn’t scare him that it won’t be reciprocated. Or, Charles loves Max but he's scared. Max is bold enough for the both of them.

#Asks #Anon asks #Lestappen fic recs

[princesssmars]

a night in the castle

a vampire jessica and oscar x reader

wc: 6.010 (?>?????/)

working as a tired maid in your town, you have a horrible night and end up at the mysterious castle on the hill. the two owners give you a dinner unlike any other.

contains : fic set in the nineteenth century but its barely written that way. reader is a maid is shunned by the village which includes some misogynistic remarks. polyamory with vampires aka the dream. said vampires do in fact drink blood. threesome with said vampires. oral sex (m>f, f>f), unprotected penetrative sex. reader isnt all there (rightfully so) and the vampires love it.

a/n : yall know i had to do it. this took me forever sorry i cant write smut. enjoy.

living as a maid in your town, you weren't afforded many pleasures in your day to day life. you slept in a shabby room with a creaky and stained bed, spent a large portion of your day cleaning after people who treated you like the dirt you scrubbed, just to go to the bar to drink with the few friends you had until you felt numb.

it was pitiful but it was your life. but one of the major luxuries you weren't afforded was rage.

and as you walk up the muddy path on the hill on the edge of town, your legs burning and your skin shivering, that burning hatred was all you felt.

you had spent an uncountable amount of hours cleaning after one prominent family, the morgan's. you'd spent the most amount of time cleaning their home, and they were fairly kind to you, even if it was mostly their son who spoke to you.

but that didn't do you any favors when the young morgan was accused of having an affair and placed the blame on you to protect his mistress, which led to you being publicly shamed and thrown out of the home, mrs. morgan calling you a harlot who would never find a home to work at in town again.

your mind is running so fast you don't even notice you've picked up your pace, your feet making wet thuds as you head to who knows where. at this point you can be bothered to care, even when a stray branch knicks your ankle.

it feels like an eternity until you finally reach a destination, your body nearly running straight into a large set of dark doors. you look up in surprise to see where you are, your eyes widening when you process where you are: darkwood manor.

you always heard stories as a child about the manor up on the hill on the edge of town, the massive estate looming over where you lived like a constant reminder of the past. your grandmother would tell you tales of it before bed, prattling about the monsters who lived inside who would take away young girls who didn't behave.

eventually your grandfather would come in and assure you your grandmother was teasing, and that the manor was just inhabited by the two reclusive owners and their staff. you'd had more nightmares about it than you cared to admit.

but standing outside of the manor, you don't even feel a smidge of fear. you're too tired mentally and psychically to care about what the owners might do to you for trespassing.

you aren't afforded too much time to dwell in your exhaustion before one of the doors creaks open, soft yellow light pouring out before being blocked by a small frame coming into your view.

"hello, are you alright, dear?" a small voice asks you as your eyes finally adjust to the light to see the person in front of you. its a woman, much older than you judging by the many grey streaks in her hair. she's wearing a simple maids uniform and is staring at you with kind eyes and a smile. the sight of it nearly makes you crumple to the floor, your hurt legs giving out on you as she tries to hold you up.

"its ok, dearie, you're ok now," she soothed, her body nearly wrapping entirely around yours. "how about we go get you cleaned up, hm?"

you nod, rising with her as she wraps one of her arms around you to lead you inside the manor. you barely register the interior of the grand home, your eyes bleary with tears and rain. you can make up the large staircase that swirls upwards into the next floor, and how the walls are dark and filled with intricate designs and paintings.

eventually the elder woman leads you to sit down at a stool in what seems like a wide kitchen, some younger workers scurrying off when she gives them a muffled order. but the mental toll of the days events are starting to settle into your body, your eyes drooping and head tilting to the side.

"now now, don't fall asleep on me now, hun. how about i help freshen you up and you tell me what happened to lead to you coming all the way up here in this weather?" she asks gently, patting you on the shoulder at your tired nod.

and so, as the woman who tells you her name is agnes and that she is the head maid for the lord and lady of the manor softly cleans your face and arms with a damp rag, you slowly start to explain what happened in town for you to end up at the estate at such a late hour. as you repeat everything that happened it hits harder that your life, no matter how much you disliked it, would never be the same after tonight.

right before you start bawling you look up at agnes to see her staring at you so kindly it nearly makes you break. she reminds you of your mother before she sadly passed from an illness when you were young. the maternal way she acts helps to soothe you, even if its just enough to not cry at this moment.

"there, all better. now you look like a proper young lady." agnes smiles at you, tilting your head from side to side to check if she missed any smudges. "well, its safe to assume you can't go back down the hill. you stay right here and give me one second, alright?"

you nod again to assure here you'll stay where you are before she smiles and leaves through another pair of doors on the outside of the kitchen. after she leaves you take in your surroundings, noticing just how big the kitchen really is for just two people, though you suppose its normal for such a large home.

feeling better now that you're clean, you figure agnes wont be upset if you explore the kitchen a bit, getting up and admiring the kitchen. the walls are composed of a patterned brown wallpaper, with the floor being a brown wood and counters made of a darker brown wood. you trail your hand across the top of one of them, noticing how smooth and clean they are. the kitchen is impeccably clean, actually, even thought supper time was merely a few hours ago and there is'nt a pot or pan in sight.

just as the thought crosses your mind, the sound of the door opening causes you to whip around, holding your hands behind your back guiltily. you expect to see agnes but instead see someone that nearly makes you pass out in nervousness.

instead of agnes a woman stands in the doorway, her fancy clothing telling you she is the lady of the manor. she's wearing a a gown, the black and red fabric standing out against her pale skin and red hair. her eyes stay on you while you observe her, the pale blue staring into your own. when she entered her face looked furious before she saw you. your hands start to fidget under her gaze.

"oh, dear, why are you up and about? i told you to stay sitting so you would'nt tire yourself out anymore!" agnes worries, moving from behind the lady and rushing over you to guide you back to the stool.

she turns toward the lady. "i'm sorry, ma'am. she's just a little bit out of it because of what happened."

"that's quite alright, i cant imagine what it must be like to have gone through all that she's been through." the woman says, her voice low and almost haunting. she steps closer, bringing her fingers to grip your chin and tilt your head to look at her.

"my name is jessica, the lady of the manor. i reside here with my husband, oscar. i'm sure you might have heard of us?"

"y..yes i have. just stories as a child." you whisper.

she smiles, almost like she knows exactly what you speak of. "i'm aware of the tales. but i can assure you that no one in this house is a monster." you briefly catch the faint smile on her face and the look she shares with agnes.

"but i can assure you that in this home you will be cared for. agnes will arrange a room for you and some fresh clothes for you to change in to."

before you can even object agnes walks out of the room and jessica takes your arm in hers to lead you to another part of the house. seeming to sense your curiosity, she encourages you to ask questions about the house and its architecture, answering any question you ask no matter how silly it sounds in your head.

she leads you up the staircase to the second level, taking you down a long hallway before stopping before a slight open door, opening it and gesturing for you to head inside.

following her direction, you slowly walk in to the room to see a bedroom straight out of your dreams. its big but not too large to feel overwhelming, having a four poster canopy bed, some dressers, a nook near the window presumably for reading, and a quaint sitting area near a fireplace.

"i hope its to your liking. we can have you moved to another room if you'd like-"

"no!" you nearly shout, slightly embarrassed at how you cut her off. she does'nt seem to mind though, simply looking at you in a way you cant interpret.

"its amazing, thank you. i swear soon i will hopefully be back on my feet and out of your way."

"nonsense, don't rush yourself, precious," she assures, stepping forward to rest her hands on your shoulders, continuing that unbroken eye contact from before, "you are welcome to stay in our home as long as you'd like. we rarely get guests from the town these days, so its nice to see a new face. especially one as lovely as yours."

the shock of her words makes your heart take a beat so suddenly you're scared she will be able to hear it. you feel bashful, not used to getting many compliments about your attractiveness. you cant help but want her to compliment you more, feeling like you'd give anything for her to call you beautiful.

"alright, there's something on the bed you to change into. another maid will be waiting outside if you need help getting dressed. she'll lead you to the dining room when you're done." she explains.

you're eyebrows knit in confusion, her face amused at your confusion. "you'll be having a meal with me and my husband. its only right you meet him and get some food into your system. trust me, he'll adore you so don't be worried."

you don't voice how that makes you worry more, instead telling her "thank you again for everything." before she leaves the room and you're left by yourself yet again.

the weight of what's happening finally settles in and you feel euphoric, struggling to quiet yourself as you jump on the bed and cheer for yourself. from a maid rejected by town to a guest at a local manor in the span of an hour. this is crazier than your wildest dreams.

composing yourself, you stand up and move to the dress that's been left for you on the end of the bed. picking it up doesn't help quell your excitement, the clothing being prettier than anything you've ever worn or even been able to afford. better yet its beautiful, being a white color with hints of f/c.

when changing you do have to invite your helper, catherine, inside to help you do up the back of your corset and the rest of your undergarments before finally helping you into your dress. your initial shyness fades as you begin to speak to each other, the both of you being around the same age and seeming to have the same interests. most of your friends looked away when you were thrown from the morgans, so it's nice to have a new one here in this strange place.

once you've finished getting dressed catherine leads you back down the hallway and stairs, through a new wider set of hallways before you eventually arrive at the dining room.

it's massive, to say the least, and the ceiling is covered in a gorgeous mural that trickles down the walls to keep the room regal yet creative. there’s a large table in the middle of the room, enough fancy chairs to seat at least 20 people.

“and you must be y/n,” a voice booms, pulling your attention from admiring the room to the person now speaking to you. he walks over to you faster than you can comprehend, seeming to cross the room in a manor of seconds. you don't have time to dwell on it before he clasps your hands in yours, shaking then up and down in a peculiar handshake. “my name is oscar, welcome to our home. i hope my wife and our staff have show you enough kindness to persuade you to stay.”

the lord is greeting you so nicely but you feel bad for barely paying attention to his words to take in his looks. you can see why he and his wife are married, to say the least, as he is incredibly handsome. he has slightly curled dark brown hair with eyes to match. he's wearing a suit just as extravagant as his wife's, mostly black with red and white accents. the coloring stands out greatly against his tanned skin and better unifies him and his wife as one. he lets out a little laugh as he notices your staring.

"um, yes. they've been nothing but kind to me," you manage to stutter out, slightly embarrassed at how you let yourself be so rude. "thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your home. i'm sure you've heard of my predicament, so i'm more than willing to pay off your kindness with service."

"y/n, you're our guest. we want you to enjoy your stay here. don't worry about any of that now." jessica projects from her seat at the table, watching your entire exchange. she gestures to the chair across from her for you to sit, oscar quickly guiding you to the end of the table to take your seat which he politely pulls out for you and pushes back in.

as soon as the lord sits in his seat, a few servants exit the kitchen to start laying out the meal. before you can even blink a full plate of food including some of the best-prepared meat you've ever seen, a fresh steaming bun of bread, and a good heap of vegetables is laid in front of you. you notice how the lord and lady aren't laid meals, instead, both of them are poured a dark red wine into their glasses.

"aren't you both going to eat?" you ask, trying to be as polite as possible.

they share a look and softly laugh to each other, in on a joke you cant understand.

"don't worry about us darling," jessica comforts, raising her glass to her lips and taking a languid sip before licking the leftover liquid off of her upper lip, "we'll be just fine like this. don't be shy and enjoy the meal."

and so, you dig in. the food is phenomenal, your eyes nearly rolling in to the back of your head much to your hosts amusement. after giving your compliments to the chef, they start up a shared conversation. they ask numerous questions about your life, what you loved and enjoyed doing, and more. it made you just a tad uncomfortable to be the center of attention, but a part of you deep inside craves more of it.

"i cant believe that woman would do something so cruel to a pretty little thing like you." oscar says, his face pinched in anger as he takes a long swig of his wine.

"precisely what i was thinking darling. y/n seems far too sweet to do such a thing. we are deeply sorry that happened to you, dear." jessica agrees, rubbing her hand up her husbands arm while looking at you.

"well its not completely..i-i guess she had a little reason to worry," you stutter out, your shoulders hunching as the two of them stare at you in signal for you to keep talking. "someone had blabbed about something that happened a while ago with a friend of mine. me and her son had started to get close so i guess she presumed that i would...try to do something with him."

"hm. it looks like you were wrong, my love," oscar hums to his wife, "she's not as innocent as you thought."

jessica chuckles, brining her glass back up to her wine stained lips. you notice how dark and thick the wine looks and cant help but want a taste. "i'm alright with being wrong this once. you know how i love a surprise."

"if you don't mind telling us, y/n," oscar calls you back into the conversation, " what ever happened with your friend for the townspeople to assume you would do something wrong to the morgan's son?"

the dining room goes silent when you don't answer, only the faint sounds of the workers in the kitchen being heard throughout. you contemplate how to explain to your hosts that about a few weeks prior you admitted to your close friend that because you'd been so busy with working these past few years you'd yet to lay with, let alone kiss, anybody else. after laughing and assuming that you were joking, they'd reassured you that it was ok and even offered to be your first kiss as a friendly gesture.

things escalated and before you knew it you had gotten yourself into a heated makeout session with your closest friend. you swore each other to secrecy but you assumed they had told one of your other more gossipy friends who spread it through the grapevine.

“you do not have to tell us if you do not wish to, dear,” jessica comforts, “the last thing we would want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“thank you, but i don't mind. i trust you.” your eyes strain as the words leave your mouth. you’ve only known these two for a few hours at this point but there is something about them that calms you. t makes you feel safe with them. “i kissed one of my friends a few weeks ago because i never had kissed anyone at that point. i thought they wouldn't tell anyone but��word got around.”

“im sorry that happened to you, y/n. something like that should be sacred. the act of giving yourself to another person should be special, especially for someone as sweet as you.” the redhead moves her hand ross the table to clasp it with yours, wearing a soft look on her face.

“exactly. if that were us we definitely wouldn't betray your trust in such a way.”

“oscar please, you sound so vulgar.” jessica chastises him, the man giving her a rogue grin that sets off a spark in your lower stomach. “anyway its getting late, do you think you'd like to head to bed, y/n?”

your mouth opens to reply but nothing comes out. your thoughts are conflicting, a tug of war between your head and…something else. something darker.

“what did you mean when you wouldn't treat me in that way?”

the couple share a look as oscar tries to hold back his smile from broadening.

“would you like us to show you?”

.

.

.

when you were a teenager, your grandparents had given you the much-dreaded talk about marriage. how unless you would get a job they would have to marry you off to one of the wealthier men in town. your grandmother didn't see any reason to be avoidant of the conversation and decided to inform you about what most men wanted from women, and what would happen to you on your wedding night. she seemed to have avoided the worst of it with her husband since they were very much in love, but she had heard stories from other women whose husbands weren't so understanding.

fortunately for you, your new partners were nothing of the sort.

after your inquiry and frankly embarrassingly enthusiastic consent to what they wanted to show you, the lord and lady had gently guided you up to their bedroom before softly undressing you while praising you and your body.

“do you know how beautiful you are, my love?” jessica runs her slender hands up your arms, the woman standing in front of you as her husband undoes your stays behind you.

“i wouldn't mind hearing it some more.” you smile, letting out a squeak when you feel oscar’s hands squeeze your sides.

“how lucky are we, my love, we’ve got a gorgeous maiden with spunk all to ourselves.” oscar smiles.

“look’s like someone’s heard our prayers,” jessica whispers into your neck, the feel of her lips on your skin driving your mind hazy and your eyes to shut in bliss.

oscar finishes undoing your clothes and brushes the shoulders of your dress off of you to the ground, your hands instinctually coming up to cover your chest before the man holds them to your sides.

“don’t be shy, you're gorgeous,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to the other side of your neck and your cheek. at your nod, he continues his hold on your arms as he sits on the bottom of the bed, sitting you in his lap before wrapping his arms around you.

jessica sits at his side, her body turned so she can still hold and touch you. her hands move up and down your shoulder, as she presses a featherlight kiss to it. when she pulls away you take her wrist in your hand and bring up her hand so its in front of your face. she watches you as you admire her, the smooth lines and wrinkles of her hands and bring it to your lips for a kiss.

“such a sweetheart. we really did get lucky, my dear.” she says to her husband.

“and she tastes even sweeter.” oscar agrees, biting your neck and chuckling at your small yelp. “i say we indulge in her, frankly im sick of waiting.”

jessica places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “i love it when we think alike, darling.”

before you know it you're lying down on the soft covers of the bed with jessica resting near your head oscar settling between your legs. it’s slow but intense, the way they kiss and suck and bite every bit of your skin until your skin and your brains are on fire. its made worse but so much better when the man drags his tongue up from your entrance up to your clit before giving it a long suck.

“oh my god-” your moan is cut off by jessica’s kiss, her tongue quickly entering your mouth and dispelling any thoughts in your head. the burning feeling at the pit of your stomach grows hotter when her hand trails from your cheek down to your neck before resting on your left breast, circling the nipple before giving it a rough squeeze that makes you let out a squeal.

“you’re so sensitive, my dear,” oscar mumbles into your cunt, using his hands to spread the lips of your pussy and stick his tongue straight into your hole and groaning at the moan it pulls from your throat. before this evening you rarely had thoughts of hurting another person, but its happening again when he pulls away from between your legs and your arms jerks to pull him by the hair back down.

you're given only a few seconds of recuperation before the two of them switch spots at record speed, oscar giving you a heated kiss while jessica throws your thighs over her shoulders and starts to eat you out just as ravenously as her husband did.

its only a few more minutes of pleasure before the look in jessicas eyes from between your legs and the sting of oscar’s teeth as he bites and sucks your neck before you feel yourself come to a release.

“thats it, oh that's perfect, baby,” oscar’s voice rings in your ear, the gentle comforting in your ear making your climax all the more powerful. you don't even notice your hand is trembling until he grasps it with his own.

the lady comes up from the apex of your thighs and brushes the red hair out of her face. when her eyes meet your own she smiles, and you clench your thighs together at the sight.

she giggles and squishes the fat of your thigh with her hand, moving forward to give her husband a quick kiss to his cheek, “i believe our dear is still a little pent up, my love. i think it’s time we seal the deal.”

the way they talk about you while barely acknowledging you causes your core to clench harder than you’d like to admit, a whine coming for your throat that brings their attention back to you.

“dont worry, sweet girl. our fun isn’t over yet.” the lord runs his hands down your chest and torso as he and his wife swap places yet again, his body hovering over yours. he smirks as he sees your eyes go blank with the feeling of his cock pressed against your stomach. “just give us the word and we’ll stop for the night.”

“no!” you shout, laughing at your own outburst. “i don't want to stop. i want you. please.”

oscar smiles down at you and gives you a kiss so sweet it starts to make your mouth and heart ache. he pulls away and uses his large hands to push your thighs apart to rest between them. able to tell that you’re getting in your head, jessica moves one of her legs to the other side of you, the sight of her bare in front of your face making your heartbeat skip.

“while he’s making love to you i'm going to show you how to pleasure me, is that all right?”

you nod your head so quickly you fear you’ll sprain something.

she smiles at you before moving some hairs from in your face gently cupping your face as she moves to rest her cunt over your mouth, her soft command of “lick” drawing you to stick out your tongue out to lick a long line from her entrance to her clit, and the sound of her moan ignites a fire in you that just wants her to feel as good as she made you feel. you bring your hands to wrap around her thighs and push her further into your mouth and the noise she lets out is nothing short of primal.

your main focus is on bringing the lady to orgasm until you feel something soft and large rub up and down your entrance, the feeling of it rubbing against your clit making you hum into jessica’s mound.

“take a deep breath.” oscar’s voice comes from behind jessica’s body, and she pulls her body away despite your pawing at her thighs to watch your face as oscar’s cock enters you, the sight of your eyes widening and mouth opening ina forced moan making her wetness grow.

they take a few minutes to allow you to adjust to the new feeling, waiting for your nod before oscar starts to thrust at a steady pace as jessica sits back down on your face to muffle your moans. you go back to grasping her thighs with your arms and wrap your legs around oscar’s waist to pull him in closer, the feeling of him inside you driving you up the wall.

all the while the pair are praising you, whispering it over the sounds of skin slapping and moans.

“that's it, carino, lift those hips up. show me how much you want it.”

“you’re tasting me so well, my sweet. just a little harder-oh yes, just like that.”

“gods above you’re gripping me like a vice. better than i’ve been dreaming of-”

you don't get to ask what he means before you feel the same pressure from earlier building up in your lower stomach, but it feels different. you’re squealing and squirming as it builds before you hear jessica let out a drawn-out moan as she squeezes her legs around your head, the taste of her arousal flooding your mouth. she’s panting and her skin is shiny with sweat and you swear you've never seen a person more beautiful.

she moves her body to lay on her side next to you, moving her hands down o rud quick circles on your clit as oscar speeds up his thrusts, lifting your hips to rest your bottom on his thighs to fuck inside you at a deeper angle. you cant even be embarrassed by the loud moans you're letting out before you're reaching your climax. the lovers moaning at the sight and feel of your cunt squirting onto oscar’s lap and chest.

the next few minutes are a blur, the physical toll of the night and the sex finally seeping in and making you drowsy. you feel a soft damp rag wiping down your body, each stroke being followed with a feather-light kiss and whispers. about how long they've waited for this, for you, and how they promise to never let anything hurt you again.

its the best sleep youve had in months.

.

.

.

when you wake up you stretch your arms and take a minute to just relax. its been years since you've woken up and had nothing to immediately do. its nice. you could get used to it.

getting up you see some nice clothes laid out for you, including a note left on the bedstand once you finished getting dressed.

dear y/n,

when you awaken, please come downstairs. we'd like to discuss some things with you.

j & o

the neutral tone of the note forms a cold feeling in your chest. from what youve seen you dont think the couple are the type to take down on their luck virgins, take their innocence and then kick them out. but after yesterday's events you cnt risk putting all of your trust into someone.

after you finish getting ready, you head downstairs, your mind instantly leading you to the large living area downtairs that you pass on your way to the dining room. the floors in the hallways are hard and the sound of your footsteps alerts your hosts to your presence.

"ah, you're finally awake! come, sit with us. we've got some tea and muffins here if you're feeling hungry." oscar welcomes you, motioning to a spot on one of the plush red couches and the treats on the table surrounded by them. jessica is sat lounging on one of the couches, a thick book in her hand.

you give a strained smile, walking over to sit on the couch before pouring yourself some tea and chewing on one of the muffins. they watch you while you eat, the gazes going back to feeling almost haunting compared to the heated way they made you feel last night.

"as you already know, we have some things we'd like to discuss with you, my dear." jessica scoots closer to your seat, setting her book down on the table and giving you her full attention. she must be able to see the fright on your face because she immediately gets up and sits next to you, wrapping one of her arms around your shoulders to cuddle you. "trust me, it's nothing bad."

"at least nothing bad for you," oscar snickers, dodging his wife's light slap to his leg.

"all we ask is that you hear us all the way through, alright?" jessica asks and cuddles you closer when you nod.

you understand her request when they explain what's been happening to you. apparently, they had been visiting the town in secret for a few months now, and after seeing you in a bar on their first trip they'd gone back frequently to watch you.

the way they explain it makes it seem like they're practically enamored and your heart is starting to hurt with how fastly it's beating.

but they know and give you a moment to relax and take it in, because they can tell when you're upset or overwhelmed. because they also tell you that they are vampires.

it takes everything in your power not to burst out laughing, but as they look at your face it all starts to make sense. the way they only apparently to drink a dark red wine, so thick that you wondered how it could be possible, how they were already enjoying their day in the middle of the night. the coldness of their skin.

"we understand it's a lot to take in. but we have one more thing to ask you." oscar questions while cozying up to the other side of your body.

you nod your head, figuring it couldn't become more shocking than what they've already told you. you're surprised at your calmness, thinking back on how you from a year ago would most likely be running for the hills now.

"we dont want you to just be a maid here. we want you to become one with us," jessica explains, the hopeful smile on her face near blinding, "vampire culture is a bit different than regular human culture so you can marry us if you'd like."

"but we would never rush you." the lord takes your hand in a gentle kiss.

"of course not. we just...we've never felt this way about anyone but each other. but your kindness and your character and your beauty...we couldn't help but to fall in love with you."

you can feel the start of tears forming in your eyes. despite a small rational part of your brain telling you its a trick, that they might just be doing this to reel you in and drink you dry, you believe them. you cant help to when they look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"i...yes. i want to be with you." you sigh, letting out a string of giggles when they hug you from each side. it's suffocating and warm and it's the best hug you've ever had.

"gods, you're perfect. this is perfect, we'll tell the maids to prepare more on things to get you accommodated, we made you a few outfits just in case but you'll need more, not to mention more of your favorite foods and-"

you and jessica share a fond but teasing look at her husbands' rambling, the man quickly rushing out of the room as he calls for some of the maids to make preparations.

despite your happiness, you let out a strained sigh at the bubbling anger you felt from last night. everyone on the village called these two beautiful beings monsters in the night while they had treated you poorly based on a liars word of mouth. it fills you with a rage you don't know what to do with.

"what is it, y/n?" jessica inquires at your sudden change of mood. when you explain your anger she agrees, telling you how the worst part of looking at you from afar was seeing how people treated you like less than them.

"among our kind the art of killing humans is rather taboo these days. nothing like how it was when we were children."

"what if it was for a good reason?" you shock yourself with your question, and jessica too based on the look on her face.

she slowly starts to smile. "i think you're going to like it here with us."

#oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac #jessica chastain x reader #jessica chastain #oscar isaac x jessica chastain x reader #smut #fluff #polyamory #vampires #vampire x reader #vampire couple #vampire sex #rpf #oscar isaac rpf #jessica chastain rpf

[safarigirlsp]

I was so excited to see the ask game going around. I hope it perks up around here again 💛

Do you any HCs to share for Flip, Kylo, Jacques, and Mills??

🍔

🍕

Hello!! Thank you for sending this in! Today feels like the good old days with this dumpster fire hopping and the bs flying! I love it!!

🍕What's your favorite comment you've received on a fic?

Omg @iamburdened absolutely kills me with her comments. I have re read them 100 times and I smile like a lunatic every time. She's so dark and hilarious and I love her!

Here is just one example of her awesomeness on my fic Sinners Welcome!

@vedavan leaves some of the most involved and thoughtful and incredible comments I've ever received and I am so beyond floored at the amount of thought she gives. I am so thankful for her encouragement and support!

This comment on Here There Be Monsters made me swoon

Ahhhh!! Your stories are always such a thrill, a joyride from beginning to end, and this one was no exception. I loved every word, and your gift for action scenes and gorgeous descriptions shone so brightly here. I loved all the side characters too: from the colorful ragtag assortment of pirates and whores, to Legris' trusted crew and of course the legendary Pierre; the elegantly villainous Talvington and the mysterious, bewitching Grey Lady. Even the ship herself, the Belle Dame, was a character in and of herself. And of course as always I appreciate Carroughes disgusting appearance and his inevitable demise. Your obvious love and passion for the subject matter and for the characters (no one writes a better, hotter, more delicious male MC than your Legris 🔥🔥🥵) made this such a joy to read, and I was almost sad when it ended. Action, romance, drama... your stories have it all and I'm completely addicted. Perfection! ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

@reveluving inspires me to write more insanity by her support and beautiful comments on my stories!

This is so hard actually, but I have to shout out to my favorite people here and the most supportive and amazing people I know who always spur me to keep churning out my bs and do more!

You, of course! @queeniebee and all the other friends I have here who instantly come to mind when I think of support and wonderful people! @babbushka @lumberjack00fantasies Silky!! @gabesprincess @mrs-gucci @rynwritesstuff @mythrielofsolitude @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus

🍔What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet?

Kylo knew you were the one when he found he could fight with you and argue without losing his temper. He has a famously hot temper. He's a notoriously violent man. But of course, he could never hurt his girl. That doesn't mean that he wouldn't lose his temper with her, or so he thought. He thought it would be a challenge, that he would feel his blood pressure rise and his teeth grind when you angered him, because naturally you're going to. It can be a little thrilling to push his buttons. But he never has lost his tempter with you, despite your best efforts. He gets hot and bothered in other ways, ways he channels to improve both your moods.

It's true what they say, that Beauty tamed the Beast.

No one can debate that Jacques has a winning personality. He's fun, lively, exudes charm and charisma, and has no hesitation putting on a grand show for his girl. However, like so many highly charismatic people, his charm was hard-earned and developed for survival. A self-made man, he had no name or fortune and had to claw his way up the food chain until he became a man of power. He remembers going dirty and hungry and cold, sleeping on the ground, awaking to a muscles that ached from cold and a growling stomach that couldn't be sated. Charisma was another skill he learned along the way to survive. Just as necessary to gain power and fortune as being able to fight, red in tooth and claw, was the ability to mingle, to befriend, to charm to amuse. He had to make himself useful in all ways to his betters until he outstripped them all.

With you, he finds that he doesn't need to act at all and that it's all natural and second nature. It makes him swell with pride when he puts a smile on your lips. He realized you were the one when he realized that making you happy made him happier, giving you pleasure made his heart soar. He will also ensure his girl, his family, will never know the feeling going hungry or cold, nor of being shunned and kicked aside. His table will always be bountiful and his arms always warm and loving for his woman. When he smiles for you, when he laughs and entertains, its genuine and it makes him love you more.

Flip was raised outdoors and helping on his family's ranch, breaking horses, branding calves, cutting timber, chopping ice, hauling hay. All the things his size and rambunctious temper were good for.

His upbringing made him a die hard western movie fan. Clint Eastwood is his favorite with John Wayne a close runner up and he's watched their entire filmography at least five times over with his dad. He's ensured his girl has seen all of his favorites and plenty of others too. True Grit, The Outlaw Josey Wales, El Dorado, Unforgiven, to name a few.

Westerns are his favorite movie genre. However, he is also quite a bit of an ornery jackass. As such, his favorite genre to watch with you is horror. He loves setting the stage, making sure the house is nice and dim, the temperature a little cool, a fire crackling in the fireplace. The ambience is perfect for a movie night in, and all strategically geared to make you want to get nice and close to him, against his chest and inside his arms. He will tease you mercilessly and goose you during the jumpy parts. Then he will laugh - bray- like the jackass he is. He deals with killers and criminals in real life. Horror movies don't phase him. Some big ungainly bastard with half his vision obscured by a mask, coming at him swinging a chainsaw that's telegraphed a mile away is hardly a challenge. Flip would have fun taking your average slasher out in spectacularly ballsy fashion. Flip loves horror movies and chill. He chills while you get chills.

Mills is tenacious and hard working in all ways. He will go the extra mile and work harder and longer than anyone. Complaints aren't part of his vocabulary and he never shies from any quantity of blood, sweat, and tears it takes to see anything through once he sets his mind to it. He's determined to the point of self destruction and will push himself far past the bounds of comfort and even good sense.

The area in which he's happy to put in the effort and diligence is for his girl. Once he sets his sights on her, nothing will deter him. He will tilt windmills and make every overture, simple and grand, to win her heart. As a lovesick teenager who didn't know a damn thing about girls, this took the shape of embarrassing acts like clumsily strumming a guitar and singing off key below his intended's window at odd hours of the night until angry fathers ran him off. He considered it a badge of honor when one particularly enraged father took a shot at his feet with a .12 gauge.

Thankfully, he has learned a thing or two and now applies his tenacious enthusiasm in better ways. He will cook for you and rub your shoulders until his hands ache. He will bring you flowers and take you out for a picnic that entails a ride in his bush plane out to a mountain lake to spare you the hike. He will carry you to bed when you're tired and hold you all night. He considers it a personal failure when he doesn't make you cum before him, and is dauntless when it comes to making you moan and sigh. He is the ultimate Golden Retriever Boyfriend. He will work every day to make you smile and never let the new wear off.

#my stuff! #my writing #hearts #kylo #jacques #flip #65 #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #jacques le gris x reader #jacques le gris x you #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader #commander mills x reader #commander mills x you

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

#morpheus x reader #fic: persephone's devotee #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x oc #fic: hello mr. monster

[totallynotaraccoonindiscuise]

hey guys do you wanna have a flash fic of dean doing the Gay Crisis Tango?

of course you do have some destiel highschool au where Dean sees Cas and cannot cope

Italicized stuff is flashbacks, sorry if theirs eyestrain!!

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Dean sat on his bed, starting at a wall across from him. It was his first day of school in this new shitty town and he was already starting to hate it.

The teachers were annoying, the classes were hard, and he was learning things he wasn't ready to know about himself.

"And this is our new student Dane Winchester!"

"Its Dean." Dean corrected, not in the mood to deal with annoying teachers.

"Right, Dean. Sorry." The teacher corrected himself.

Dean grabbed his hair and let himself give into gravity, falling onto his bed in the motel room he'd be staying in with Sam for supposedly only two weeks, but he knows his dad isn't good about that stuff.

"Alrighty Dane, you'll be over there with Mr. Novak."

"Its Dean." He insisted as he walked over to the desk the teacher, whos name he hadn't bothered learning, had gestured to and sat down.

It wasn't their first time staying in a town so small that the middle, elementary, and high school were all in the same building, having to share desks and only moving from class to class maybe three times a day, one of those being to go to lunch, but, this was definitely the most interesting iteration.

He sat down and looked over at his new desk mate for hopefully only two weeks, and immediately took back that last notion.

The man next to him, Novak, was it? Was... hot. Beautiful in ways Dean hadn't seen in anyone before. Messy brown hair stuck up in every direction, a grim look to his already stubbled face. Bright blue eyes, so blue they pierced Deans heart, lay heavy-set into his skull. Chapped, large pink lips that made Deans mind wander.

Dean immediately looked away, his face growing red and his heart pounding.

'What the fuck?' Dean thought to himself.

'No, no no no no no no no. I am NOT gay. I like women! I've had girlfriends! I am NOT into a guy ive never talked to.'

Dean laid now, after a long, tiring day of seeing that handsome guy he now knew as Castiel roam from class to class and going across rooms and sitting and- Dean had been watching him all day.

Walking back to the motel from school Sam had brought up his staring, as he was now also in highschool and noticed his brothers odd behavior.

Dean new better than to push his brother away and decided to open up.

"I think I might be bi."

Dean had always been aware of being gay and bi and such but his dad had made him think that things like that were just as unnatural as the monsters he hunted.

Sam, of course, immediately told him he was cool with it and asked him why he'd decided to tell him now.

Dean had told him the truth.

And now he's here. Wondering what the fuck changed to make him suddenly bi.

He thought back all the way to his first memories, as far as he could go. In his digging, he remembered the fourth grade, where his dad told him liking men as a man was as wrong as sucking blood. Why had his dad said that?

Then, it clicked.

He'd told his dad he had a crush on a boy in his class. He remembered now. How his dad had freaked out and beat him. Kicked him out of the house for a night. He couldn't believe he could forget something like that.

"Uh, hi?" Dean had said to the man next to him.

"hello." Jesus, even his voice was hot. Rough and deep with a twinge of sincerity.

"Fuck."

#dean winchester #destiel #destiel fanfiction #deancas #castiel #sam winchester #john winchesters a+ parenting #john winchester tw #bisexual dean #bisexual #bisexual pride #fanfiction #my work #authors of tumblr

[2jaeh]

Last Summer / Kim Doyoung 

Genre: smut, angst 

word count: 16k

f! college student reader, aged up! Doyoung, slight badboy!Jaehyun and fwb!Jaemin

warnings: dilf!, age gap, old money fic!, cheating, affair, public!, unprotected, daddy!, alcohol!, blackmail!, gaslighting?, multiple smut scenes, let me know if I miss anything. 

A five week business vacation with a bunch of elite families, filled with gossip, rumors and people doing anything to climb the social ladder. But through all the chaos the last thing you suspected was a whirlwind romance with your friends father. 

appearances: college friends : Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, Sungchan, Jaehyun 

aged up! Johnny and Kun. 

A/N: hello! its author SIN here! I haven't wrote a monster fic since FREAKS but im here for old money Doyoung after so many requested a full fic of Country Club. Sorry i've been so IA i hope you enjoy this one !

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It was that time of year again and you and your mom were being dragged to one of your father’s business vacations which entailed around five weeks of your summer at your family’s world renowned resort. Now anyone else would be joyous that they’d be spending a luxury vacation at the hot spot for celebrities in the Summer, but now entering your twenties, and spending almost every summer of your life at this place, you figured it had lost its wow factor.

“Why couldn't we go to the Maldives or Greece like normal families” you groaned, slipping into a cashmere sweater that matched with a pair of capri pants and tennis shoes. You watched your  mother frantically  order the resort employees to prepare the bungalow to her liking until her eyes rested on you.

“Darling I thought I told you to throw those tacky shoes out” she sighed, coming over and giving you a tight squeeze, “and…you can go to Greece on your next semester break okay ? right now we need to mingle with your father’s investors, big smile!”

You gave her your best fake grin before returning back to your room and exchanged your shoes for a more high quality taste. You had no idea why your mom was being so particular about your dress code  being it was only day one and the more important guests only ever arrived in the second week.

You folded your arms and returned back downstairs to the lounge area when a familiar face completely caught you off guard.

“Jaemin!” you squealed, running into the toned man’s arms as he lifted you into a tight hug and engulfed you with his Givenchy perfume. Jaemin, your friend or rather fling whom you actually met via one of your father’s parties, was the son of a very big tech company CEO and your father’s current favourite golf buddy.

Mr. Kim Doyoung, the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on.

Jaemin released you from the hug and you took the opportunity to smile at both Mr and Mrs Kim as they briefly greeted you before returning to the conversation with your parents. You watched as Mr Kim pushed his glasses up as he laughed at some joke your father supposedly told, his gummy smile broke his stoic character and for a second you almost forgot your surroundings.

“Quite the surprise hey” Jaemin snapped you out of your trance and you quickly nodded. “You guys never do summer vacation, what's the special occasion ?” you questioned the dark haired man.

Jaemin chuckled and shrugged. “Dad said there’s a huge investor visiting this time and he doesn't want your dad to fumble any business proposals.” You hummed and looked back at the parents and watched your dad enthusiastically show Mr Kim around.

“Hey Doyoung it's a win win hey” your dad boasted, “our wives are happy, our kids are happy and we get to have a rematch of that golf game you cheated me out of last month.”

“Cheated?” Mr Kim smirked, “are we still running with that ?”

You gulped at his cockiness. Yes this was wrong. Entirely wrong because this was your friends father for fuck’s sake, but you’d been crushing on him for years, way before you met Jaemin. You hated to admit it but Mr Kim was your first real crush.

It all started on the night of your 18th, when he came to the party on his own because he and his family were going to leave on a business trip the next morning. He only stayed about 20 minutes, most of it was spent talking to your father and then he came over, introduced himself and placed a gift in your hands before planting a sweet kiss on your cheek.

“It's Viviene Westwood, your dad said you’re a big fan” His voice was so light and smooth. “My son starts at the same university as you next year, I hope the two of you can help each other out.”

And with that he said his goodbyes and you’d only see him at very special events after that. He did attend your 21st this year, but you and Jaemin had already established a friends with benefits situation and you decided that crushing on a man twice your age who now happens to be your fling’s father was not the path you were seeking.

“Do you think I’d have to sneak into your room every night ?” Jaemin pinched your side and you playfully pushed him before bringing your arms around his neck.

“Honestly our parents are going to be so blackout drunk every night im sure you could walk straight into my room and do whatever you want” you bit your lip and Jaemin smirked in return, enjoying the challenge.

The first two days were pretty much uneventful even with Jaemin railing you into your bed the very first night. Luckily for the two of you your dad managed to get the Kims’ the bungalow right next door and Jaemin made good use of the maintenance ladder and your balcony.

You were grateful you had Jaemin around until the morning you heard a voice you wished was in your head. The voice you thought you’d only hear when University resumed.

Lee Haechan.

“Jaemin hurry up, my arms are killing me here” You heard him say as you stepped out on the balcony to oversee the commotion. Your uni friend, well rather Jaemin’s, was standing outside their bungalow with luggage that definitely exceeded a five week stay which meant that it was likely computer equipment.

Great.

“What are you doing here ?” making sure your voice was definitely unwelcoming. “Wow y/n way to be hospitable to your good friend” he dropped his bags and clapped sarcastically. You watched the workers scramble for the luggage as Jaemin stepped outside to greet his very annoying friend.

“His parents kicked him out for the summer” Jaemin looked up apologetically.

“Can't say I wouldn't do the same” you scoffed while Haechan stuck out his tongue. “My boy and I are going to build a gaming pc, you know good old fashioned bonding” Haechan threw his arm around Jaemin while your poor friend knew you weren't in the slightest happy about this new arrangement.

“Great” you sighed, “hope you two lovebirds have a lovely vacation.”

“You can join us, you know, it's really fun.” Jaemin tried to look hopeful but he already knew you'd rather eat dirt than spend more than two hours with Haechan and build a damn pc on top of that.

You unenthusiastically waved them off and returned to your bedroom and threw yourself on your bed ready to dive into a solemn state until you heard a voice coming from downstairs.

His voice.

You tiptoed down the wooden stairs and you saw Mr Kim sitting at the corner bar with your father both adorning golf wear and engaging in conversation when your father quickly noticed your presence.

“Hey sweety, you're not hanging out with Jaemin today ?” he said while taking a sip of his scotch whiskey.

You groaned while approaching the two men, making sure your attention was on your father and not Mr Kim. “Haechan is here and they're going to spend the entire vacation building some stupid pc” you complained with a pout and your ears perked when you heard Mr Kim chuckle.

“Sorry about that, Haechan can be pretty persistent and I just wanted to help his parents get him out of their hair for a bit” Mr Kim smiled sweetly and you could tell he was genuine with his apology. “If you're bored why don't you come out for a round of golf, make sure your dad isn't cheating.”

“Uhm I don't want to impose…” you began to say and your dad quickly jumped to his feet and threw his arm around you. “My angel will be the best judge I can assure you!” he squeezed your shoulder, “go get ready sweetheart we will leave in 20.”

You stood under the caddy’s umbrella shielding yourself from the blistering summer heat as you watched Mr Kim and your father tee off on the fifth hole. Most of the banter was inside jokes they had going on and honestly you almost regretted joining their session until you saw how immaculate Mr Kim was at playing golf. His form, the way he stuck out his tongue slightly as he concentrated on his next shot and ofcourse how accentuated his muscles were through his golf gear as he swivelled his body every shot.

The heat wasn't that bad after all.

“Sir you have a call at the front desk” the caddy held the phone up for your dad to receive it.

You watched your father’s frown turn into a wide smile signalling it was either a big investor or one of his work buddies. “Hey Doyoung Johnny is here, i'm going to check him in before our wives make a big deal about his sudden appearance” your dad chuckled and hung up the call.

“Ah yes the wives biggest enemy, i'm surprised he actually showed up” Doyoung rested his hands on his golf club. “He didn't bring…her…did he ?”

Your eyes followed Mr Kim’s to your fathers and your dad quickly shook his head as he began handing his equipment to his caddy.

“Oh you know he wouldn't do that, gosh imagine what the investors might think.”

Now this story you were definitely clued up on thanks to Haechan practically interrogating Johnny Suh’s nephew, Sungchan. Mr Suh was a high end lawyer and had been working with your father’s circle of friends for years. He was a prominent figure, anyone and everyone fell in love with him and that's exactly how he got into trouble.  You're not sure of the timeline but according to Haechan Mr Suh had an affair with a young divorcee who’s case he’d been working on. Almost everyone expected his career to plummet after the news broke but it just made him more popular amongst young naive women who thought they too could bag the richest newly divorced big time lawyer.

Your mom couldn't stand him especially because she and the other wives were friends with his ex wife. But your dad never bothered since he’d always say that his ex wife was a gold digger and would have ‘ran him dry’ eventually. Surprisingly Haechan noted that Sungchan was also more than happy to know that his uncle was finally free from that woman.

There’s two sides to every story you guessed.

“Are you really leaving in the middle of the game ?” Mr Kim sighed, “this isn't just an excuse to get out of losing again is it ?”

Your father scoffed and waved his hand. “Oh please we are picking this up tomorrow, but for now why don't you get a little practice with my daughter ? she's got a wicked right swing!”

“Dad I don't think-”

“Let's do it.”

You turned to face Mr Kim who was now holding out his golf club to you as a stunning smile spread across his face. You swallowed hard as your father zoomed off in his golf cart and left you alone with just Mr Kim and the unattentive caddy.

“Mr Kim I'm not the best player so-”

“Hey my rivalry is with your father not you” Mr Kim waved his hand and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’ll go easy on you.”

You refused to be a stuttering mess so you tried your best to concentrate on the task at hand. It should be easy since there’s nothing the two of you could really talk about besides your father or Jaemin.

Oh you hoped he wouldn't bring up Jaemin.

You took your first swing and honestly like you expected it wasnt that grand. You turned to him apologetically while he let out a charming chuckle before joining you on your walk to the next hit.

“You're too tense” he commented and tapped your shoulder. “Since we're just practising, how about I coach you and next time you can win against your father.”  

You watched as he consulted the caddy on the perfect golf club and watched him stroll back over to you and replaced the club you clutched in your hands. The next movement almost had you weak at the knees as he slowly moved behind you and placed his slender fingers on your shoulders and squeezed lightly.

“Relax y/n” he calmly said in your ear. He may have been thinking this was just a friendly exchange but God your mind was thinking very different things. Vile almost absurd things. You nodded and did as he said, exhaling deeply while your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

“It's all in the hips you know” he said before clearing his throat, “May I ?”

You nodded again and within seconds his hands were on your waist. It was all very PG but anything he did always felt erotic. You kept your concentration on your posture making sure he wouldn't pick up on your strange behaviour but every touch, every breath coming from behind you felt like electricity.

“Now be gentle, allow your body to lead you to the shot rather than the strength of your hit” He continued and stepped back to watch you take your next shot.

The next shot was better but again you were no Lydia Ko. Mr Kim however seemed to be a perfectionist because yet again you were given another club and his hands returned to your waist. This time it felt a little different. You felt his breath against his neck and his hands were a lot more firmer as he guided you to redo your shot. “Now I know you can do better than that” His voice was low and you felt a sensation develop between your legs. You had no idea how you let your impulses get the better of you but you allowed yourself to arch your back a bit until your ass pretty much grazed against his crotch. You know it was evident too because you heard him suck in a deep breath but you didn't dare turn around.

“Like this..?” you managed to say and heard him hum before slowly stepping away and allowed you to take the shot.

Surprisingly that one was the best you had all day and it even ignited excitement out of you as you jumped in celebration, completely forgetting what had happened a mere seconds ago. “Oh my God did you see that ?!” you squealed and turned to face Mr Kim who had been chewing on his bottom lip before it turned into a sweet smile.

“I knew you had it in you, you're a natural and a quick learner” He held his hand out for a high five but as your hands collided, his fingers entangled with yours and your eyes met his in probably the most intense unspoken exchange in your life. You had no idea what was going on in his head and you were unaware that his thoughts mirrored yours. He had no idea why he did what he did and his head swarmed with so many unresolved questions.

This was his friend's daughter. His son’s college friend.

The caddy called the two of you up to drive over to the next hole and you both silently jumped in the backseat, hoping the situation was just an awkward exchange and nothing more. The drive was bumpy and unusually long. Both you and Mr Kim opted for looking in the opposite direction until the caddy hit the brakes causing Mr Kim to quickly shield you from impact.

“God what the fuck?” Mr Kim cursed and you mentally hated that it gave you another reason to find him attractive. There was no hope at this point.

“S-sorry sir there was a rabbit crossing the path” the caddy looked up into the rear view mirror and you swore you saw fear in his eyes. Mr Kim sighed and muttered that it was okay and to keep moving but as the trip resumed you realised his arm was still draped across your lap.

You adjusted your seating which pushed your tennis skirt higher and now his hand was exposed to your thigh as you waited to see what his next move might be. Mr Kim cleared his throat and you almost gasped when you felt him squeeze your exposed thigh before the caddy finally came to stop.

“I need you to go to the front desk and get more water and please let them know that the rabbits are roaming free on the course at this hour, it's quite dangerous for everyone involved” you watched Mr Kim tap his resort card on the payment machine and watched the caddy leave  you and Mr Kim completely alone.

“What do you study again y/n ?” Mr Kim asked casually as if nothing suspicious had happened all day and set up his next shot. You wiped the beads of sweat forming on your head. “I…study accounting Mr Kim.”

His chuckle made your eyes narrow as he took an effortless shot and turned around to face you. “Call me Doyoung, you do call Kun by his first name don't you ?” his new demeanour confused you. Was he just being friendly all this time and you were mistaking it for something else ?

“Yeah well Kun has been my dad’s friend for ages so-”

“So am I a stranger then ?” he poked his tongue into his cheek, “I guess we have to work on our relationship then.”

Mr Kim, Doyoung gestured for you to set up your next shot. Seeing as you were unsure of his intentions you decided to test the waters again. What was the worst that could happen anyway ? Him peacefully rejecting you would actually solve a lot of your current problems.

“Can…you help me again ? I kinda forgot the posture thing” you battered your eyelashes at him and you watched as his jaw tightened for a brief second before he nodded and came over to his usual position. You wasted no time in pressing back into him but this time you turned your head slightly to see his reaction.

“W-what are you doing y/n?” his low voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“What do you mean, I'm just..playing golf” you replied innocently and you heard him chortle in amusement. You felt his fingers press into your hips as you practically settled in his crotch, a bit proud that you had him a little flustered.

“You’re…a very naughty girl” he hummed as he straightened himself and allowed his fingers to dance on the band of your skirt.

You sighed and hummed in agreement. “I know Mr Kim and it seems like you're not so innocent yourself.”

Doyoung raised his eyebrow at your snarky comment yet mentally cursed his inability to keep his arousal in check. He was in dangerous waters but his head was too clouded with how this was about to play out for him to think about any consequences right now.

“Are you saying that this….exchange has you a little excited as well?” he queried and you felt absolutely delirious with lust.

“You can find out for yourself if you want” you curved your back a bit standing like an open invitation for him to do as he pleased. You expected him by now to at least lecture you that the two of you were out in the open and this whole ordeal was just absurd but instead he carefully stood behind you as your hands tightened around the golf club and his fingers ghosted its way up your skirt.

Doyoung’s breath was deep and steady as he caressed the skin of your inner thighs before taking his index finger and grazed it over your soaked panties. You heard him groan at your wetness while you bit down on your lip at the contact. You thought it would stop there but you almost collapsed when he pushed your panties to the side and allowed his long cold digits to feel your arousal.

“Fucking hell” he cursed as his other hand held onto your hip to keep you steady.

“Mr Kim…please..more” your voice quivered, not sure what you were asking for exactly but whatever was happening couldn't end right now, not like this.

Doyoung was completely immersed in how wet you were for him. He loved how your folds felt between his fingers and you were like putty in his hands. You gasped when he inserted a finger into your core and he heard him groan once more this time in frustration.

“Youre so fucking tight, id ruin you sweetheart” his words were like venom in your ear as he continued to finger you at an agonising pace.

Euphoria quickly came to an end when you heard a golf cart and it was Doyoung’s caddy returning from his errands. Doyoung quickly wiped away his hands and the two of you stood innocently as the caddy jogged over.

“Sir, they are requesting the both of you back for brunch” the caddy spoke and immediately began collecting the golfing equipment and packed the cart. You looked up at Doyoung trying to search his face for what all of this meant and whether it might happen again but he returned back to his stoic self. His eyes never met yours and he was silent and to himself the entire way back up to the resort.

If you thought your crush on him before was dangerous, well you've just entered a new territory.

By the time you washed up and arrived at the restaurant your father had picked for lunch you noticed everyone was already settled in. Doyoung sat right next to his wife and chuckled along with your father, Mr Suh and your father’s long time friend Qian Kun. Doyoung glanced up for a millisecond but returned to the conversation as if nothing had ever happened on the golf course.

“Darling, what took you so long ? Doyoung said you guys arrived two hours ago” your mother embraced you before one of the waiter’s pulled out your chair next to Jaemin.

“I had to take a shower” you pressed your lips into a smile and looked over at Doyoung, “It was extremely humid down there.” You watched his fingers twitch around his wine glass but it wasn't enough of a reaction for anyone else to notice. Your eyes drifted to Mr Suh who flashed you a friendly smile that you forcefully returned back before leaning into Jaemin.

“Why the hell is he here ? I thought our mothers hated him” you questioned as Jaemin rubbed the small of your back.

“Apparently his ex wife had been cheating on him too, way before he started his affair” Jaemin popped a cheese cube into his mouth. “Yeah right that’s what he wants everyone to believe” Haechan chimed in and you weren't going to admit it but you definitely shared his sentiments.

You looked up and noticed that Sungchan, Mr Suh’s nephew had also joined the trip as well as Kun Qian’s son, Chenle. You weren't too familiar with Sungchan despite him being in the same university as you but you knew Chenle really well. The two of you practically grew up together.

“I thought you were going to Dubai for the summer” you took a sip of your white wine while the ash blonde boy shook his head and sighed.

“Yeah I thought so too” he scratched his head, “My mom convinced my dad to come to the resort this year for the big networking party, God are they not tired of doing business ?!”

“Who else is gonna pay for your trips to Dubai ?” Haechan mused and Chenle rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he retorted, “What are you even doing here anyway Lee Haechan? I thought your parents were going to London.”

“They went without him,” Jaemin snickered, earning a shove from Haechan.

“I would've done the same,” Sungchan added.

“That's what I said” you giggled and Sungchan gave you a thumbs up while Haechan erupted in a long groan.

“Face it, without me, you losers wouldn't have any fun” he pouted.

For a minute you too had completely forgotten about Doyoung, lost in the childish banter of your friends until the memory flashed back and you felt your stomach turn. There it was. The guilt was finally settling in as Jaemin squeezed your thigh under the table while he entertained whatever conversation they were now engaged in. How could Doyoung just sit there, as if nothing had ever happened. Was what he did just something to overlook?

You couldn't have been more wrong as Doyoung’s thoughts were completely scattered from the very moment he saw you in your tennis outfit. He was engaging in conversation but wasn't really retaining any information. He couldn't help himself but to steal glances at you from the other end of the dining table. Doyoung thought he was being subtle enough until he felt a tap on his shoulder from none other than Johnny Suh.

“Gonna take a smoke break, wanna join ?”

Doyoung stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the pool area as he twirled his red wine in his glass and exhaled deeply.

“Doyoung Doyoung Doyoung, you dog” Johnny blew a cloud of smoke into the sky as he erupted into laughter, “I didn't think you had it in you buddy.” “What are you talking about?” Doyoung muttered, leaning against the marble balustrade. Doyoung’s eyes shifted to the window making sure no one was paying attention especially since Johnny’s voice was the equivalent to a megaphone.

Johnny took a step closer with a smirk spread across his face,  “Doyoung, do you know who you're talking to ? I am the King of reading the room, especially when it comes to sneaky glances at your good friend’s hot daughter.” Doyoung’s jaw tightened again and he looked back into the restaurant before gulping down the last of his wine.

“I don't know what youre talking about,” he answered coldly.

Johnny narrowed his brows and cleared his throat, “Okay so she walks in, directs a very weird innuendo at you after you two played golf alone all day and you two have been eye-fucking each other for the past half hour.”

“Would you lower your damn voice ?!”

“So it's true ?”

Doyoung ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and pulled Johnny aside. He had no choice but to come clean but luckily for him Johnny would never ever spill the beans on his adultery seeing as Doyoung had been hiding Johnny’s string of affairs for ages. Yes there were more than one and no his now ex wife and all his friends have no idea about them.

“She baited me” Doyoung wet his bottom lip, “came up to me like a fucking minx and I-”

“You fucked her on the golf course ?” Johnny asked amusingly.

“No,” Doyoung deadpanned, “I…used my fingers for a bit but the caddy interrupted.”

Doyoung hated the smug look that spread across Johnny’s face and honestly actually explaining the situation only made him feel more guilty. He was the older, more mature one; this was entirely his fault and not yours at all.

“That’s your son’s friend oh my God you're worse than me” Johnny grinned and Doyoung turned back to look at you in a hearty conversation with his son and your friends. Johnny was right. This was so much worse than whatever he has done, but he could end it right here right now.

“It’s not going to happen again, I made sure to get my point across to her very quickly” Doyoung chewed on lip.

“Oh please, you said your wife hasn't given you any in a long time and I still have the divorce papers you filed for last-”

“Throw them away” Doyoung cut Johnny off.

“What ?!” the taller man exclaimed.

“There’s no need, I'm not going through with it” Doyoung replied calmly despite his thoughts still scrambling about both his marriage and you. Johnny ashed his cigarette and shook his head as the two of them entered the restaurant.

“Whatever man, all I know is that just a small taste of that kind of adrenaline doesn't go away that easily.”

Doyoung slipped back in his seat and put on his best smile but Johnny’s words still stuck with him like a thorn in his side.

Would he be able to stop ?

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A few days had passed since the golf course incident and you were grateful that your dad had been entertaining his friends on his own as they attended seminars and did God knows what until late hours of the night. It was one of those nights where all the parents had gone out to one of the bars at the resort and you and your friends figured you’d also drink the night away.

“God Sungchan I swear if you don't finish your drink I will push you into this pool” Haechan threatened as the younger boy grimaced at the taste of his 8th drink of the night. Honestly having all of them around this year wasn't that bad because usually you'd either be babysitting your parents or drinking with the resort staff.

You sipped your cocktail and danced along to the music blaring from the poolside bar in your Miu Miu two piece wrapped in a mesh skirt. Jaemin threw his arm around you and you could tell by his slurred words and sloppy kisses that he was needy.

“Are you not fucking Haechan tonight ?” you rolled your eyes.

“Don't ever say that again” Jaemin groaned while his hands ghosted over your thighs and moved to grope your ass.

“Ew get a room” Chenle spat and you sighed. As much as you’d love to get railed right now you couldnt stand that this arrangement with Jaemin only worked when he was in the mood rather than it being mutual. You already knew he’d be in your room for the night and you won't see him the entirety of the next day unless you were out looking for him.

“Yeah totally not in the mood doll” you pried his hands off your figure and took a sip of your drink, “you should call it a night, don't want to be hungover when you have a pc to build.”

Jaemin never bothered to argue back. He knew how stubborn you could be and honestly he needed to get Haechan back to the bungalow before he ended up swearing at the bartenders. You waved off Jaemin, Haechan and Chenle who went along since his accommodation was on that end anyway while you took care of Sungchan.

“You all good there buddy?” you joined him on one the loungers as he gulped down his third glass of water.

“I'm alright, sorry i'm still getting used to the whole alcohol thing” he smiled sweetly.

You giggled and tutted in response, “don't force yourself if you don't want to, Haechan may think he is the boss around here but trust me he’s a pushover.”

Sungchan nodded shyly until you saw his eyes perk up. You followed his gaze and from all people in this entire goddamn resort in walks Johnny Suh and Kim Doyoung.

Just great.

“Hey Nephew” Johnny greeted, his face absolutely red indicating he was definitely more drunk than his dear nephew right now.

You looked up at Doyoung briefly who just stood awkwardly while Johnny babied his nephew, smothering him in hugs and compliments. Sungchan stood up and stabilised his uncle, praying he wasn't going to be stubborn about heading back to their bungalow.

“Come on Uncle Johnny, time for bed” Sungchan held him by his waist while Johnny pinched his cheeks and coddled the younger boy.

“Doyoung isn't my nephew just the cutest ? He's the cutest right ?” Johnny slurred as Sungchan bid his farewell to you and guided Johnny back to their bungalow.

You wasted no time in making sure there were no awkward silences and grabbed a new drink from the bar and began heading down a dimly lit path. You couldn't look at him. Especially since he had ignored your existence for most of the week.

“Where are you going ?” he questioned, as you heard his footsteps follow close behind.

“To the beach, leave me alone” you replied carelessly. Did he expect you to respect him as your father’s friend after the stunt he pulled ?

“You are not going to the beach in the middle of the night drunk and on your own” he lectured, still following you down the path until the two of you reached the white sandy area that met the moonlit shore.

He watched attentively as you turned around and removed the mesh skirt as you soaked in the moonlight and the salty sea breeze.

“You're not my father Mr Kim” you groaned, “I can do whatever I want.” “Do your parents know where you are right now ?” Doyoung questioned as he shook the sand that filled up his sandal.

You walked over to one of the beach recliners sighing that the umbrellas were all down and sat down your drink on the table. “My parents think I'm at the overnight spa, smart of me don't you think ?” you smirked as you struggled to open the umbrella that was twice your size.

Doyoung massaged his temples before walking over and helping you open the umbrella before taking a seat on the opposite recliner. He knew he was doing the right thing by taking care of you while you were acting recklessly, but a part of him wondered if being around you in that scantily clad bikini and the amount of alcohol running through his veins and yours, was a good idea.

“What are you drinking ?” Doyoung watched you take a sip of your cocktail as you laid back in the recliner and crossed your legs.

“Rum and Coke” you replied, handing him the drink.

You were amused by how much he drank, and watched as he set the glass aside and shook his leg anxiously while his entire body tensed up.

“For someone who told me that I'm too tense you're really one to talk” you commented and pointed to his fidgeting fingers and anxious leg. Doyoung quickly took notice of his actions and gathered himself. He turned his focus to the dark sea, while you studied him wondering what the hell was going through his head right now.

“You know any normal married man would be back home laying next to his wife after a drunken night” you sighed and Doyoung’s eyes quickly darted to yours.

“I'm here to make sure you get home safely,” he said in a calm tone.

“Oh please” you scoffed, “you had no idea I was out here until you guys stumbled across us at the bar. Mr Kim it seems like you love to keep your distance from your wife regardless whether I'm here or not.”

Doyoung’s jaw tightened at your words. He knew you were not  taunting him because everything you mentioned was pretty much how it's been for the past few months in his marriage. Most of the time he met with your family on his own and your father had always commented on how divided the two of them had become after Jeno had turned 18.

“Its probably why youre so needy too, when was the last time youve even fucked anyone ?”

“Is this a joke to you ?” Doyoung retorted, “Do you not see how wrong this is ?”

You rolled your eyes, finishing the last of the drink, and sat  it back on the wooden side table.

“Honestly I dont,” you shrugged, “I did at first ofcourse, hell Ive been wanting to fuck you since my 18th birthday but now that I know youre miserable  in your marriage I dont see the harm in it.”

Doyoung pondered on your words and of course he was miserable but his reasoning for coming onto you wasn't because he needed a quick fix. God he saw beautiful women at so many investor parties but nobody had him riled up like you did. For him though it was your 21st birthday, when you wore that Elie Saab sequin dress and you carried yourself with such poise and class that he’d never taken notice of before. There was always a mystery surrounding you and with that neverending curiosity he disciplined himself into keeping his distance.

That was until a few days ago.

“You’ve been wanting me since then ?” Doyoung asked in that low voice that always hit the right spot.

You pushed yourself up from the recliner and stood up to hover over him. Doyoung’s eyes dragged over your body until his eyes locked with yours as you placed your thumb under his chin.

“Oh Mr Kim I fantasise about having you every…single..night” you mused and with that you pressed your lips against his and sighed into the passionate kiss. Doyoung quickly pulled you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours as you straddled him and immediately gripped onto his dark locks.

“I'm not going to be able to stop this time y/n” Doyoung groaned into your neck as you pushed your body further down into his lap, already feeling his hardened member against your clothed core.

“Don't stop…please dont stop” you moaned into his kisses as he grabbed your ass and buried his face into your chest, littering your collarbone and breasts with kisses. You both knew that taking your time would only raise concern so you were in agreement that it needed to be done as soon as possible.

You fiddled with his dress pants as he unbuttoned his shirt revealing the very toned body you were suspecting. God the sight of him alone like this could've made you orgasm. Doyoung quickly pushed down his pants and then suddenly pulled away.

“Fuck…Fuck!” he cursed.

“What is it ?” you looked around thinking one of the employees was lurking around.

“I don't have protection. '' Doyoung looked up at you and bit down on his lip.

“God i'm on the pill please just fuck me already” you whined and returned your lips to his desperate to regain the momentum you had earlier on.

“Are you sure this is okay sweetheart ?” He asked once again his voice filled with concern. God the age difference thing was really showing right now because everyone around your age was careless and dumb. Any guy in their 20s (and probably Johnny Suh) would be ecstatic to know they'd be able to do it raw.

You found his concern endearing.

“Do whatever you want Mr Kim, I just need you inside me” you whispered and Doyoung literally felt dizzy with ecstasy at your lewd words. He quickly responded by pushing aside your bikini bottom and rubbed circles on your clit before entering two digits into your core, preparing you for what's to come.

You were so lost in the magic he was putting in his fingers that you almost gasped at the difference when he inserted his member inside you. He was much bigger than you imagined and the biggest you ever had. He was right when he said he’d ruin you.

“Oh my fuck-” you moaned in his ear as Doyoung guided your hips to ride him. He wasnt sure if it was the impromptu fuck, the lack of sex he’s had recently or the girl on top of him right now but it was a fucking hell of a experience. You moved your hips roughly against his, expertly making circles with your hips as you built up your orgasm. Doyoung’s moans were like music to your ears as he groaned according to your movements as his nails dug into your thighs.

“Doyoung im-”

“Is my angel close hmmm” he hummed and the pet name just inched you closer to your high. Doyoung moved his hand to the front so his thumb had access to your clit, stimulating you until you were ready to give in. Doyoung watched in awe as you beautifully threw your head back and came so hard on his cock that he wished he could do it again almost immediately.

You rode out your high and to Doyoung’s surprise you removed yourself from his lap and settled between his legs. Your hand grabbed hold of his member as you looked up at him and pumped his member.

“You know, so you don't have to stress about coming inside me,” you brought your face down to meet his tip, “well coming inside me in a different way.”

Doyoung leaned back in his seat and grabbed a fistful of your hair as you went to work on his length. He knew he wouldn't last long, not with already fucking you and now with your tongue skillfully pleasing him. You hollowed your cheeks as your hand met your speed and the grip on your hair signalled that he was close.

“Fucking hell” was all Doyoung could say when he finally released in your mouth and with heavy eyes watched you swallow every bit of him.

“We should get back before they close up the bar” you said, straightening up your hair and outfit.

“Yeah we should” Doyoung agreed and buttoned up his shirt and tucked himself back into his pants. God he wished he could at least help clean you up and lay in bed with you but unfortunately that could never be on the agenda. He honestly had no idea what to say or what to do. The two of you walked in silence until you reached the bungalows, making sure to stay in the shadows just in case anyone was awake at this hour.

“Well good night I guess” you folded your arms, slightly embarrassed that regardless of what you said you still felt a pang of guilt and jealousy that he still  wasn't yours for the night.

You were about to walk off when Doyoung grabbed onto your arm and turned you to face him. He placed a kiss on your forehead and then a softer one on your lips.

“Meet me tomorrow at the squash court at 2:30,” he whispered as his thumb stroked your cheek, “Only if you want to though.”

You nodded and smiled up at him before finally parting ways and leaving both of you revisiting one of the most incredible nights of your life.

—--------------------------------

The next morning you took your time to get ready, completely avoiding the voices of your hungover parents downstairs. You knew they'd pester you about where you were, what time you got home and most importantly who was the last person you were with last night.

That was the last thing you needed to be questioned about.

“Princess are you done pampering up, we're going to the gym” you heard Haechan’s grating voice call from outside your balcony. Of course you still had to pretend you wanted to hang out with them today but it just gave you a better alibi to showing up at the squash court. You quickly slipped into a cute Ralph Lauren polo shirt and bike short set and doused yourself with your Chanel no.5 before heading out to meet your friends.

“God I can smell you a mile away” Chenle dramatically coughed as the five of you strolled down to the fitness centre.

You sighed and stretched your arms above your head, “It's called perfume, you should try it sometime” you teased and the boy stuck out his tongue in return.

“Hey did you get home okay last night ?” Sungchan tapped your shoulder looking down at you sheepishly, “I needed to get Uncle Johnny home before he decided to extend his drinking hours.” You waved your hand and hooked arms with the taller boy, giving his bicep a tight squeeze as you stepped into the air conditioned wellness centre.

“It’s all good I went straight home anyway” you lied.

You and your friends were already welcomed with green juice, herbal tea and smoothie selections by the staff while you scouted the area for where you might bump into Doyoung. The centre was quite vacant, I guess not everybody could recover as fast as your family and friends as drinking to your limits never delayed the schedule of the next day. You walked through the essential oil aroma of all the various spa treatments until you finally reached the gym and caught your first glimpse of Doyoung laughing along with the rest of the parents.

God he looked extra hot today in just a pair of black track pants and a fitted white tee.

“Dude your uncle is jacked” Haechan gaped at Johnny Suh who was walking around in just a pair of training shorts, his sweaty toned body on display for everybody. God knows why. It's not like you didn't think he was hot, you would be stupid to think otherwise, but Mr Suh was never your type. He never had the sex appeal that Mr Kim had.

“Hey kids!” your dad waved as you all strolled over to join the gathering. You put on a friendly smile as your mom already pulled you into her side and gushed to the other mothers about how thankful she was to have a daughter or something along those lines. Your mother spoke but you avoided Mrs Kim’s eyes completely, while flashes of last night kept running through your mind.

“How about you gym buffs finish up and we’ll meet for lunch later” Mrs Qian spoke even though she knew her husband would rather join in on spa treatments than play any form of sport.

“Why are we doing sports on a vacation again ?” Kun Qian sighed as Johnny shoved a racket in his hands. “Come on now Kun, you gotta look good for Mrs over here” Johnny winked as Mrs Qian giggled shyly. Johnny Suh was truly a menace for any married woman.

“Well I'm guessing you're going to sweat it out with the boys” your mom fixed the headband on your head and sighed, “My dear daughter thrives on competitive sports, especially when it’s beating her own dad in them.”

“Not this time honey, I'm feeling lucky” your dad ended with his infamous catchphrase before he’d probably rage quit later on.

“Alright so I’ll be playing basketball with the fit young guys” Johnny threw his arms around both Jaemin and Chenle who both looked enthused by this idea. “Sure then I guess Kun, Doyoung, y/n and I will head to the squash courts” your father saluted Johnny as he began making his way to the back of the gym where a row of brightly lit squash courts lined up.

“Are we playing singles or doubles ?” Doyoung asked as he grabbed a baseball cap to push away the loose strands that fell over his forehead. He was pretty composed for someone who was literally fucking you raw on a beach a few good hours ago. You wondered what was going through his mind now that you showed up to his invitation.

“Doubles, my daughter and I verse you and Kun” your father called over an employee to bring over a few iced bottles of water. Your father suggested a round with each opponent and tally the score after.

Everyone agreed to the plan and you had your first round with Kun who was a pleasant opponent that always complimented your serves no matter how lazy they were eventually becoming. You liked Kun. He was such a good husband and father that you believed he truly set a standard for men everywhere. You always wondered how he even dealt with your father and his erratic friends but clearly it never bothered him.

“I'm going to talk your father into a quick foot spa before we get onto the next round” Kun said cheekily and you smiled sweetly as the two of you stepped into the hallway for the opponent swap.

“Did she go easy on you Kun ?” Your dad came over and high-fived you while Doyoung rolled his eyes. “Well you'd have to bet that she destroyed Kun after the beating I gave you” he said, the cockiness yet again in his voice drove your arousal.

“We both did just fine” Kun snapped back, “I'm just going to rest up a bit before the next round if you are planning on drinking tonight again.”

“Okay old man,” your dad conceded and followed Kun, “You guys coming with or going on with the game ?”

Doyoung waved his hand, “I know you two will never come back and I need to get my fitness in, go ahead.” He waited until the hallway was clear and followed you inside one of the courts in silence. There was tension in the air now that he was finally alone with you.

As soon as he was certain the two of you were alone Doyoung backed you up against the corner of court, a blind spot from both the entrance, hallway and the cameras above. He exhaled deeply as he grabbed onto your thigh, pushing your legs apart and settling his own leg in between for you to nestle on his toned thigh. His slender fingers ghosted up your body until his thumb brushed over your pouty lips, awaiting to meet his.

“I thought about you all night” he whispered before leaning in and peppered kisses along your jawline. He smelled exquisite, and  you had no idea that you were already unconsciously rubbing your heat up and down his thigh.

“Why’d you ask to meet here?” you whimpered into his touch, “we could get caught very easily.” Doyoung silenced you by pressing his lips against yours passionately, moaning into the kiss as he slipped his tongue inside and wrapped his hand around your neck ever so delicately.

“I thought I’d be able to control myself in a public setting and we could sneak out after, but I can't help myself” Doyoung pushed you harder onto his thigh and snaked his hand around you to grab onto your ass. He seemed way less in control than the first two times you two were in a situation like this. It was so out of his character to be the one to initiate such intimacy especially when his family were literally just a stroll down the hallway.

Doyoung had worked himself up to the point you thought he was going to recreate the golf incident  but something quickly brought him to his senses and he immediately stepped back and neatened himself while his eyes shifted to the entrance of the court.

“What’s going on ?” you frowned and looked into the empty hallway and back to the man who just had his tongue down your throat a few seconds ago.

“We cant do this, what the fuck this is just..its too much!” he was pacing the court and biting on his nail as if sanity had just hit him.

You groaned in frustration and gained some sort of composure before approaching the older man. “Are you serious right now ? you can't just do that and then tell me youre chickening out” you spoke in a low voice obviously frustrated that he was still so indecisive regardless of what had happened last night.

“Everytime I see you it's like I throw away my morals and then reality just…hits me” Doyoung frowned and his words really pissed you off, rightfully so.

“So what am I huh ? someone you can use until reality just hits you ?” you snapped back feeling your face heat up, “I have feelings too you know and I thought I made it very clear last night.”

Doyoung became stoic. You watched him grab a racket and ball from the floor as he got into position on the other end of the court.

“Let's Play” he said in a cold tone.

“Youre fucking unbelievable” you cursed and pushed open the clear door making your way back to your bungalow and as far away from Kim Doyoung as you possibly could. You hated that for him it was purely just physical and you had to deal with the emotional side to all of this. You had no idea how much you liked him until his attention drifted from you, until he was showing some affection to his wife or when he was just purely existing in the same space as you.

You hated it. You absolutely hated having feelings for Kim Doyoung.

You spent most of the day locked up in your room, catching up your best friend on the whole ordeal to which she just said ‘find someone new to fuck with and get over it’. It was easier said than done. Jeno was completely out of the question seeing as he was the son of the man you were trying to get over. Most of the employees were annoying frat boys and you weren't sure if any man would be able to satisfy you the way Mr Kim did.

“Honey get ready, we're having dinner at the Greek place tonight” your mother called from downstairs and you inwardly groaned. What was with these people and doing almost everything together. Sighing you got ready anyway because missing a dinner would not only have your parents nagging you about it you’d also be letting Doyoung know that the quarrel you had earlier was a lot more serious than you wanted him to think.

You needed him to know that you didn't care and you were going to be the one to move on. Pulling out your Versace black cocktail dress or the revenge couture collection as your friend calls it, you made your way  down to dinner making sure to keep your head up high and your attention off Mr Kim entirely.

You hoped.

“You guys finally made it” Johnny Suh’s voice boomed from the grand table that was set up on the fairy lit private deck at the back of the quaint restaurant. You began making your way over to your friends when you noticed an extra man had now joined the festivities and boy was he something.

He looked around your age, dressed in Prada with his hair slicked back which emphasised his sculpted face with the prettiest set of dimples you'd ever seen. His eyes immediately locked with yours as you took the seat across him and his lips curled into a friendly smile.

“Good evening everyone” you greeted and Sungchan quickly cleared his throat and gestured at the man seated next to him. “y/n this is my older brother Jaehyun, Jae this is y/n” he introduced the two of you and the man reached over the table to shake your hand.

“You're the infamous y/n then” he smiled, his voice was low and utterly charming.

“Infamous ?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “the beautiful heir to this luxurious resort, best believe you're talked about.”

You blushed at his words ignoring the irrelevant comment from Haechan and continued getting to know Johnny Suh’s other nephew, a true god sent distraction from Kim Doyoung. The two of you spoke for hours. You learnt that Jaehyun was an up and coming actor, and his family were in the textile industry. His hobbies were photography and collecting vinyls from his favourite artists all the way down to his great grandfather's favourites. You also learnt he frequented Milan for fashion shows, and it was his favourite city in the world. A place he already offered to give you a personal tour of.

“You know I heard that he goes to Milan just to fuck these old rich women” Haechan whispered as the two of you snuck around the back of the resort for a smoke.

“Why would he need to, he’s too rich to be a sugar baby” you rolled your eyes and drew in the freshly lit cigarette.

“Bro is just a milf hunter, it gives him bragging rights and those cougars love it” Haechan grabbed the cigarette from your fingers and brought it up to his own lips. You peaked around the corner and watched as Jaehyun conversed with the rest of the men, laughing along with their jokes. He looked so innocent compared to the perverse things you were now hearing about him.

“Probably runs in the family, streets already calling him Johnny Suh’s prodigy” Haechan ashed out the cigarette and used a tester cologne to mask the smell.

“God he is so hot though, you think he could retire milf hunting for just one night ?” you smirked as the two of you made your way back up to the restaurant. Haechan gave you a pat on the back as he followed your gaze back to Jaehyun.

“If he’s anything like his uncle he probably already fantasised you underneath him during dinner.”

All the scandalous chats with Haechan and the obvious flirting with Jaehyun completely grabbed your attention from Doyoung and you almost forgot about the argument earlier on. You took the opportunity to steal a glance but to your surprise his eyes were already on you and he barely bothered to look away. His stare was dark as he twirled his whiskey glass in his hand and ignored the conversations that were happening around him.

“Honey the girls and I are all packed and off to the overnight spa” His wife interrupted his stare and he gave her a sweet smile and never bothered to share his plans for the night. That's the kind of relationship they had. No questions, no suspicions, just a facade for the friends and family that everything was perfect.

The ladies said goodbye to their tipsy husbands and thanks to your white lie that you already spent time at the spa the previous night you got away scot free from the outing. Haechan, Chenle and Sungchan decided to hang out at the arcade with Jaemin following close behind, seeing as you hadn't paid him any attention thanks to the appearance of Jaehyun. Which meant it was just you, Jaehyun and your father’s friends still lingering around the restaurant and bar for the rest of the night.

“So y/n what do you guys do for fun around here ?” Jaehyun shot back the last of his drink and leaned back into his seat looking so goddamn inviting.

“Well,” you held up your glass, “we drink, we play sports nobody cares about and we complain about our embarrassing parents.” Jaehyun followed your eyes to your father doing his best impression of what looked like the moonwalk and chuckled.

“Hey he’s pretty good!” he mused while you shook your head and stood up.

“You wanna get out of here?”

You and Jaehyun strolled around the empty courtyards as all the restaurants started packing up for the night. The summer night finally began cooling down and Jaehyun’s body seemingly got closer as the two of you walked around aimlessly.

“Why don't we take a little pitstop?” Jaehyun smirked and pulled you behind one of the restaurants where both of you were out of sight to onlookers. You could tell he was an expert in these circumstances, he definitely was a man who always got what he wanted.

Consensually of course.

“I heard something about you” you bit down on your lip as he began giving you butterfly kisses along your jaw and down the nape of your neck. Jaehyun hummed as you felt him smirk against your skin. “Hmmm and what did you hear about me ?”

“That you’re a milf hunter” you giggled as he licked the weak spot he found just under your ear. Jaehyun pulled back and an amused smile spread across his face. “A milf hunter ?” he repeated your words as if it was the first time he was accused of such.

“I mean I generally meet older women,” he added, “but I don't actively search for….milfs.”

“So I'm not just a second choice for tonight then ?” you mused, pulling him back to your body by his half buttoned dress shirt. Jaehyun licked his lips as he stared down at you and his large hands massaged your thighs while you moaned in his touch.

“I came all this way after Sungchan sent me pictures of you guys hanging out, baby i'm here because of you” Jaehyun lifted your face to bring you into a deep sensual kiss that figuratively and literally had you weak at the knees. The kiss was amazing but it was still sub par in comparison to Mr Kim. Jaehyun was a lot like the guys you've met at country clubs and student events. They were all drop dead gorgeous but lacked the experience, the class you craved. The type that came natural to someone like Kim Doyoung.

God you were thinking about him while another man, your rebound was practically worshipping you right now.

“You wanna come back to my place ? my uncle won't say anything” Jaehyun asked in between breathy kisses while he tried to hike your dress up for better access.

You ran through the pros and cons of the indefinite possibility that Johnny Suh’s big mouth might spill your escapades to your father despite his nephew trusting him this much. The only pros you could think of were getting fucked by Jeong Jaehyun and possibly getting over Mr Kim.

Possibly.

While you were in a mini dilemma Doyoung’s mind was a mess. He obviously couldn't let go of how you had left him at the squash court earlier and secondly how you spent the majority of your night with Johnny Suh’s promiscuous nephew. He downed another round of brandy, wincing at the taste while his friends fooled around on the roulette tables.

With a free night away from his wife and the happy hallmark family agenda Doyoung assumed it was finally the night to let loose. But all he could think about was you and where you were right now. What were you doing ? Did you not want him anymore upon meeting Jaehyun ?

“Need a top up ?” Johnny tapped Doyoung’s shoulder and the dark haired man nodded and held out his glass. “Hey you good ? my man you’re free tonight be happy!” Johnny cheered but his smile turned into a frown when Doyoung just appeared more stressed than usual. “Hey is this about..” Johnny turned to look at your father, making sure he was at a good distance from the conversation, “y/n ?”

Doyoung nodded and Johnny sighed.

“It happened, we went too far and now all I can think about is my wife and my son,” Doyoung sighed, staring at the brown liquid in his glass. “I truly fucked up.”

“You know what's fucked up ? you and this trainwreck of a marriage” Johnny scoffed, irked at the fact that he had to have this conversation about his friend’s failed relationship once again. “She is not the reason your marriage is not working, honestly she has nothing to do with your marriage regardless.”

“I know I know” Doyoung responded and sipped his drink, “I just cant get her out of my mind.”

“My advice is spend actual time with her, not these little sneaky one hour sessions and see how you feel after” Johnny suggested and Doyoung was quite surprised that the advice Johnny had given wasn't a total waste of time.

“If you're genuinely interested in another woman, it will make signing those divorce papers much easier, that's all i'm saying” Johnny concluded and topped up his own glass with the remainder of brandy.

“What about her family, Jaemin God what would everyone say if-”

“We will get to that when it's serious enough” Johnny interrupted before Doyoung dug himself into more worries. “For now just figure out if you're finally ready to call it quits.”

Doyoung decided to take a walk to clear his mind and ponder on the advice Johnny had given him earlier. He knew very well that his marriage was pretty much doomed a few years back but he hated that he stuck around to the point where he felt guilty to be the first one to bring up a divorce. What was even worse was that during a conflict over dinner some time back Jeno had come up to him and told him he’d be okay if it happened and it was better than both of them pretending to be happy for other people.

It was that very conversation that prompted Doyoung to have the phone call with Johnny, ready to begin the divorce  process but his sudden interest in you made him retract it. He felt insane. Careless. He made himself believe that he was only interested because he was unhappy in his marriage.

But of course that was never the case. You were different.

Doyoung stepped down into the courtyard and just as he was about to retreat he caught a glimpse of your figure that was partially lit by the overhead light of the restaurant. You were up against a wall, pinned against it by Jaehyun as he ravished your neck with kisses and you grabbed onto him for dear life enjoying every second of it.

Doyoung felt his body heat up at the sight of you with another man. He had never experienced that amount of jealousy and just pure anger up until this moment. Did he have a reason to be ? no. Could he have walked away and allowed you to do whatever you wanted seeing as you weren't his ? yes.

Was he going to ? not likely.

“Sorry, uhm Jaehyun ?” Doyoung cleared his throat causing you and Jaehyun to quickly move out of the shadows and gain some composure. Doyoung’s presence made you roll your eyes as Jaehyun approached his uncle’s friend unaware of the tension between the two of you.

“Oh hey Mr Kim” Jaehyun grinned and Doyoung’s jaw tightened as he took in your lipstick stains all over Jaehyun’s swollen lips and neck.

“Your uncle…He is looking for you…probably needs help getting back home seeing as Sungchan is preoccupied at the moment” Doyoung reported as his eyes briefly met yours.

Jaehyun looked back at you and shrugged. “Hey my offer is still open” he winked and gave you a quick peck on the cheek before moving his lips to your ear, “if you still want me just knock on my bungalow.”

You watched him say his goodbyes to Doyoung before quickly disappearing into the resort in search of his uncle and began your own journey home before you were interjected.

“y/n..” he held onto your wrist as you looked up at him.

“What ? you want to take over from where Jaehyun left off hmm ?” you raised your eyebrow, “you want to use me for about twenty minutes and go back to your happily married life ?”

Doyoung chewed on his bottom lip and exhaled deeply. “Look,” he began, taking a step forward, “I apologise for making you feel that way but please understand that was never my intention. I would never hurt you or purposefully disregard your feelings y/n” he loosened his hold on your wrist and caressed your cheek.

“A Lot of it is overwhelming but I've never done this before and  you're not just some random hook up y/n, believe it or not I actually like you” Doyoung’s words made your cheeks heat up, not completely sure how to react to his confession.

“Now listen,” he continued, “I had time to think about it and If we're both on the same page that it's not just a physical attraction then I want to spend time getting to know you better.”

“But how would we-”

“I managed to get an extra room up at the hotel away from the bungalows and I'll schedule myself free time for ‘business meetings’ throughout the day for us to hang out” He answered by pulling out a hotel keycard as evidence.

“How did you get a room isn't it at all suspicious that you're not at your bungalow ?” you frowned, still trying to process everything he was suddenly offering you.

“Y/n, me sleeping in a different room let alone a different suite altogether than my wife is not all that surprising to anyone around me” he admitted as he stuffed the keycard back into his pocket.

“If your little white lies work as well as you say they do then this should be a breeze right ?”

Your head was muddled and you wondered if he was being genuine about getting to know you or just stringing you along until he had another guilt trip fiasco. You needed some type of leverage to not only save your feelings but to also prove that he was in this for real this time.

“If you change your mind and for whatever reason decide ‘this is too much’ during the rest of the vacation  i'm going to come clean to both your wife and Jeno” you folded your arms and stood your ground.

“Sure, you have every right to” Doyoung answered, quicker than you expected him to. “Even though I will be going through a divorce in the possible future, if there is truly something between us, I'll sign the papers as soon as the vacation is over.” His words gave you goosebumps. He was absolutely serious. He was ready to go all in ?

You looked up into his almond eyes and nodded. “Deal.”

The next two weeks were probably some of the best moments of your life. Not only could you indulge in mind blowing sex with Doyoung but the two of you started to develop a genuine emotional relationship through your scandalous affair.

“What’s with this obsession with Greece y/n ?” Doyoung brushed the wet hair from your face as the two of you soaked your naked bodies in the spa bath of his hotel room.

“I love Greek mythology” you shrugged, “from the time my dad took me over there in elementary school, I had a school project on a Percy Jackson book” you giggled.

“I didn’t care much for the fantasies of Percy Jackson until I saw the real thing in Athens, it took my young breath away.”

Doyoung listened to your little story as he always did while watching the water droplets cascade down your shoulders and disappear into the soapy water. He finally felt relaxed for the first time in God knows how long.

You noticed you were babbling on and turned around to face him, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Are you daydreaming about screwing me while I was talking about a treasured memory ?” You raised your brow and Doyoung chuckled.

“Well I wasn’t thinking of it until you mentioned it just now”

You pulled him into a deep sensual kiss as you settled into his lap and sighed as he wrapped his delicate hands around your waist. Doyoung moved his lips down to your neck and nibbled on the sensitive skin, smirking when you moaned out his name. He loved hearing you praise him.

“Baby let’s move this to the bed” he whispered into your ear before pulling you out of the tub and quickly dried the two of you up before carrying you over to his bedroom.

“Someone wants to take his time tonight” you hummed and Doyoung gave your thigh a quick smack, ordering you to get on your stomach.

“That ass has been grinding up against me for the past hour and I can’t help but want to get a piece of it” his words made you wet in an instant as you slowly arched your back, giving him what he wanted.

Doyoung’s fingers danced across your spine and with his index finger he pressed into your core, sticking his tongue in his cheek as you already begged him for more. “Does my Angel want a little more?” He asked innocently as his second finger came in contact with your clit.

“Please more” was all you could say and Doyoung granted your wish, pushing two digits into your core and feeling your core clench around him. You loved when he took his time but you hated that you couldn’t last long when he did. You were already feeling an orgasm building way too early and quickly reached for his fingers and pulled away.

Doyoung chuckled darkly behind you and realised you weren’t going to hold on for long tonight and began lining up his member and pushing deep inside you. He sighed as you let out a gasp and gripped onto the bed sheets as he moved in and out of you in a brisk movement.

“That feels so good Mr Kim” you mewled, knowing it drives him insane in the best way possible when you refer to him formally in this type of setting.

Doyoung grabbed a fistful of your hair as he pounded into you. Your back arched in the best possible way for him to find your sweet spot. You were going delirious with ecstasy as his cold fingers moved to your throat and squeezed lightly. He was a professional in knowing what made you weak at this point.

“Come for me my Angel” Doyoung spoke between strokes and you could hear in the strain of his voice that he was close too.

Doyoung bit down on his lip as he watched you draw circles on your clit to help you finish. You were completely fucked out and he loved looking at you weak under his touch. Your pants became faster and Doyoung held on a little longer so you could cum all over him before pulling out of you and brought your mouth to his tip.

“Open up pretty” he swiped his thumb over your quivering lip and slipped his throbbing cock into your mouth until he finally came undone. Doyoung watched you swallow every bit of him until he was completely cleaned up and he stroked your head in satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

The next day you had plans with all the moms while Doyoung attended a few meetings with his friends. Everything was finally running smoothly until what you had feared most had already begun stirring.

Jaemin got a text from his mother to retrieve her ipad from his father’s suite, where she assumed it would be considering her husband only hired the suite for work related activities. Jaemin showed his identification to the hotel and headed up to the room until he realised that he didn't have keycard access. Mentally cursing himself he pulled out his phone in order to text his father until he heard a trolley park behind him.

“You need access to your dad’s room bro ?” the young bellboy smiled and held up the employee master key.

“Yeah thanks man” Jaemin nodded and watched the boy open the room for him and disappear down the hallway.

Jaemin stepped into the apartment and he immediately had an unsettling feeling fill his chest. From the unmade bed to the alcohol and chocolates spread across the coffee table, this looked a whole lot more than a ‘work suite’. Brushing it off knowing his parents have their issues anyway Jaemin began searching for the ipad. He slumped into the couch and looked in the crevices until he pulled out a very interesting piece of material.

“What the fuck ?” Jaemin murmured as he inspected the lingerie until the set started looking familiar to him. There was no way he thought. His heart began racing as he looked around the room once more and everything started to make sense. Your favourite chocolate, your favourite champagne left on the table. There was a new edition of Vogue magazine laying on the floor, the same one he saw you with at the pool the other morning.

Jaemin felt lightheaded. Who was he mad at more? Was it you ? the girl he was sleeping with just before the summer break or his father. The man that raised him and the man he respected. He was angry but reality hit when he realised he couldn't react.  He couldn't  cause a scene amongst the hundreds of socialites that could probably ruin his university reputation. This was how their lives worked. Everything needed to get buried before anyone outside their circle found out.

Jaemin sucked in a deep breath and left the room in silence. He needed to discuss this with the only person who could bury this messy affair.

His father.

While you were blissfully unaware of the shitstorm that was about to come, you happened to bump into Jaehyun and Mr Suh in one of the conference room lobbies. Both of them smiled down at you giving you an uneasy feeling that you couldn't explain.

“Looking for someone?” Johnny Suh smirked annoyingly.

“M-my father” you lied, “where is he ?”

“I think I saw him head over to the pool bar with Kun” Jaehyun draped his arm over your shoulder and escorted you very far from a confused Kim Doyoung who had just joined his friend Johnny Suh. The more you seemed to converse with Jaehyun the more awkward things had become. Since the night you made out with him you ofcourse cut it off after your deal with Doyoung, but you wondered why Jaehyun never bothered to question your sudden disinterest in him. He just moved on. You greeted him during dinners and said goodbyes when he left, that was about it.

“So where do you disappear to at odd hours during the day y/n ?” Jaeyhun brought you over to a table, pulling your chair close to him.

“You expect me to hang around Haechan and friends ? no thank you” you scoffed and Jaehyun stuck his tongue into his cheek and shook his head.

“You never answer my question sweetheart”

“Is it any of your business ?” you raised a brow and you hated the smug smile that spread across Jaehyun’s face. Him getting you heated probably got him off or something.

Jaehyun leaned in and you caught a whiff of his overpowering Tom Ford perfume. “I know you’re fucking Mr Kim so cut the innocent act” he smirked, enjoying seeing the fear that now filled your eyes. There was no point in denying since he probably found out from his loud mouth uncle who Doyoung admitted to letting in on your little secret.

“Like I said, that’s none of your business” you kept your cool, waving at a waiter to order something strong to keep your nerves down.

Jaehyun politely waited until your order was received and again leaned in close enough to make you tense up.

“Let me cut to the chase here y/n” Jaehyun began, “this little secret might be the juiciest story in the last few years and if it gets out your dad’s reputation, Mr Kim’s reputation…”

“Nothing is going to happen because no one is going to find out” you cut him off. Jaehyun raised his brow as if you just challenged him.

“Help me out and I’ll keep your dirty little secret” he leaned back in his chair and smiled as the waiter brought over your drinks. You glanced over Jaehyun, trying to figure out what he could possibly want when he practically had it all.

“Remember I mentioned that the only reason I’m here is because of you” Jaehyun sipped his drink, “well turns out there’s a lot of perks in dating the heir of this resort.”

“Oh really like what ?” You rolled your eyes at him.

“There’s this film I want to star in and the director is obsessed with wanting to come to this resort during these ridiculous networking vacations” Jaehyun explained, “Now I don’t have the power and neither does my uncle have a say as to who gets an invite, only your dad.”

You frowned as you tried following what he was getting at.

“Why can’t I just tell my dad to invite the guy why do I have to be dating you ?”

Jaehyun sighed and placed an arm around your waist. “Wouldn’t it be just romantic ?” He smiled, “y/n and Jeong Jaehyun met at her fathers resort and now she’s accompanying him to the Cannes film festival officially as his girlfriend.”

“You’re delusional” you rolled your eyes.

“And you’re fucking your boy toy’s father let’s not play the morality scale here sweetheart” he smirked and honestly you wished you could punch him in the face.

“Remember, your fathers entire empire could come crashing down” he added and you felt a shudder go down your spine.

“..how can I be so sure you won’t say anything after the festival is over?” You asked in a small voice. This felt like a dead end situation.

Jaehyun pulled out an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of you.

“My uncles a lawyer and I’ll make sure this little agreement between the two of us stays equal and authentic, no fine print.”

You couldn’t believe this was happening. One minute you were in paradise with Doyoung and now you’re in a law and order episode with Jaehyun. But you couldn’t risk it. Not for Mr Kim and definitely not for your parents. Image was absolutely everything in this socialite world and one little mistake could ruin it all.

“What were the two of you planning to do after he divorced his wife anyway ? Get married ?” Jaehyun chuckled dryly beside you.

That was another question that always kept you up at night. Yes he was going to divorce his wife and be with you but the two of you could never go public. Your parents would be livid plus the press would have a field day. You could be dropped in university for your actions, the sin count was endless.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all.

You signed Jaehyuns agreement and decided to retire to your bungalow before contacting Doyoung about everything that had just happened. This may even be the last night you could spend with him.

While you were wrapped in your own thoughts Jaemin watched as his father got ready for the dinner party your father was hosting tonight. Everyone was invited but Jaemin already felt sick to his stomach that he’d have to be in the presence of both you and his father.

“Dad, are you almost ready ?” He knocked on the door as he watched his father scramble for a necktie.

“Yeah yeah almost done son” Doyoung chuckled as he finally picked one out, “gotta look good for the last big dinner here.”

Jaemin leaned against the door frame as he watched his father spruce himself up. He actually never noticed how much his mood had changed since they had arrived. He was dressing nicer, he was smiling more and honestly just felt like his old self again.

Jaemin couldn’t stand that he knew the reason for his fathers happiness.

“Okay let’s head out!” Doyoung draped his arm over his son's shoulder as he met his wife at the entrance and they made their way over to the grand dinner party.

All the investors were there and it seemed like they kicked off the drinking festivities quite early as the restaurant was brimming with lively chatter and clinking of glasses. You decided that despite your sombre mood you’d still dress for the occasion and stepped out in a lacy Versace midi dress that you had been saving for the end of the trip.

“Hey y/n that milf hunter has been lookin- wow you look great!” Haechan’s eyes widened as he took a second to look at you.

“Thanks Haechan, who knew you’d be the least hated person on my trip this year” you nudged him playfully.

“Character development” he winked before realising what he came over for, “oh I was saying that Jae-“

“Hello y/n '' Jaehyun approached you in a Prada custom, you figured at this point he was probably sponsored since that's the only brand he wore the entire trip.

“Hi Jaehyun” you forced a smile as he gestured for you to take his arm. Your stomach churned as you watched him flash that gorgeous smile to all your fathers elite guests, all the older women gushing and giggling when he acknowledged their existence.

“What’s going on with your brother and y/n?” Chenle asked Sungchan who just shrugged as he was just as confused as the rest of them. Jaemin was especially confused. Could he have been wrong about the woman his father had seen ?

Doyoung was a bit distracted by all the guests but he managed to catch a little glimpse of you when you were being introduced to a board member by your father.

You looked breathtaking and he couldn’t wait to tell you that. He wished he could just steal you away just for a minute and have you all to himself. He wanted to pepper your skin with soft kisses and tell you how beautiful you were. He wanted to show you off to everyone here that you were his.

But Doyoung’s smile faded when he saw Jaehyun slip beside you and his hand was placed on the small of your back as he joined the conversation. Jaehyun was behaving differently. He was attached to your side and now he had the distaste of watching Jaehyun press his lips against your cheek.

“Whatever he is doing I am not involved” Doyoung snapped out of trance to Johnny's voice beside him. The taller man offered him a whiskey as they watched the scene from a distance.

“I thought you said he’s not interested in her,” Doyoung said as he winced at the taste of his whiskey.

“You know how these kids are” Johnny shrugged, “one day they’re fighting next day they’re fucking like rabbits.”

Doyoung shook his head at Johnny's crude words as he continued to observe the strange interaction. That was until Jaehyun had locked eyes with him and he sent him a wink.

God he knew.

“You told your nephew ?” Doyoung pulled Johnny aside who was still pretty much oblivious to everything that was unfolding.

“Told him what ?”

“What do you mean! You know what” Doyoung shot back the rest of his whiskey in frustration. “Johnny, did you tell your indecent moronic nephew about y/n and I ?”

Johnny thought about it for a second and then raised his hands in defence. “He must have overheard me on the phone or maybe I….mentioned it while I was drunk.”

“You’re unbelievable” Doyoung spat and shoved the glass into Johnny's hands before making his way out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air.

Meanwhile you finally found an excuse to get away from Jaehyun who decided that his next target for the night was some film star from the 80s that he wanted as a mentor. You walked out into the courtyard and blew out a sigh of relief that you were finally free from that place.

“Y/n….”

You looked back and noticed Doyoung was making his way down from another exit, probably sick of this party as well. You were so happy to see him finally, he’s the only person you wanted to see tonight. Doyoung moved down a path that was dimly lit and away from anyone at the party and waited until you were able to make your way over to him.

“Doyoung” you practically ran into his arms as the two of you  embraced tightly under the moonlit sky. You didn’t want to let him go. Especially after everything that had happened earlier on.

“y/n what is going on?” He asked with concern as he studied your face.

“That bastard ugh” you cursed, “Jaehyun knows about us and now he’s blackmailing me into dating him for some film feature.”

Doyoung felt a burning sensation in his throat. Having someone like Jaehyun in on the secret meant it was done, it was over for everyone involved.

“Should I talk to him, what he says something after ? I could-“

“No” you replied, pressing your hands to his chest. “He made me sign an agreement that he wouldn’t say anything, as long as I do a few PR couple things for him.”

“This is my fault I should’ve never told Johnny I should’ve -“

“It’s not your fault” you cut him off again, “this relationship we have is complicated and after speaking with Jaehyun I realised that it’s going to be difficult regardless if he knew or not.”

Doyoung licked his lips as he figured what you were getting at. He never thought about how hard it would be to even start seeing you in your day to day life once he was a divorced man. Your father and him might ruin a good business relationship and opportunities for you could be removed based on what the public opinion would be.

“So this ends here then” he said defeatedly as he watched you fight back a few tears.

“I wish it could be different” you replied and looked up into his comforting eyes. Doyoung leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was sweet and soft, it reminded you of the one night you were able to sleep over and finally fall asleep in his arms.

It wasn’t long until the kiss became intense, and Doyoung had you up against the stone wall pressing his body against yours as he ravished you with kisses. There was absolutely no way the two of you could sneak off so you were okay to get whatever little time the two of you had left. Doyoung pushed up your dress in a hurry as you undid his pants and got into a position that would give him easy access in the short space of time. Groaning as he entered you, Doyoung pushed your hair to the side and left open mouth kisses along your neck and jawline as he pounded into you, a few feet from your father’s dinner party.

“Doyoung I can't hold on any longer” you panted as you chased your orgasm. Doyoung planted a soft kiss on your cheek before quickening his pace and his soft whispers made you weak at the knees.

“Baby i'm going to fill you up and don't you worry this won't be the last time, I promise” he grunted until he finally released inside of you and quickly grabbed hold of your waist to help your balance. That was probably one of the best orgasms of your life and you wondered if you’d ever feel something  like that ever again.

“Did you mean it ?” you asked in a soft voice as Doyoung helped you neaten up.

“That it won't be the last ?”

You nodded and he cupped your face with his large hands, smiling down at you.

“It's tough right now, but after things begin to settle we can try going on a little private vacation, just you and me” he promised with a kiss on your forehead, “look at it this way, being apart for a while will just build excitement to seeing each other again.”

You chuckled and nodded once more, softly embracing him before realising it was probably time to get back to the party. As you walked away you felt a lump develop in your throat because while his gesture was sweet, you honestly had no idea if you'd see him like this again. Doyoung shared your exact sentiments and only said what he said to give you a piece of mind.

He watched you walk off and decided to go in the opposite direction to use an alternate entrance when he noticed Jaemin had been sitting slumped on the terrace chair watching him make his way over.

“Son, what are you doing here?” Doyoung cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pocket to appear less nervous.

“Where were you dad ?” Jaemin deadpanned.

“I was..I was just-”

“How long have you been seeing y/n ?” Jaemin looked up at him and Doyoung’s chest felt heavy as his son looked at him with such disgust in his eyes.

“Jaemin what are you talking-”

“Look,” Jaemin cut his father off, “I went to your hotel room and figured it out, I didn't tell anyone and I don't plan to because I don't want to be embarrassed.”

Doyoung sighed and it felt like his entire world just crashed once more. From being a shitty husband the last thing on earth he ever wanted to be was a shitty father. He was selfish because he was unhappy in his marriage but not once did he consider how Jaemin would feel if, when he found out.

“I'm so sorry Jaemin, I really am and don't worry it started and ended on this trip” Doyoung tried to reassure the boy. “I made a huge fucking mistake because-”

“You wanted out of your marriage” Jaemin sighed and Doyoung nodded with guilt. Jaemin chuckled bitterly and looked off into the distance. “What’s more annoying is that Ive never seen you happier you know, I just assumed it was being away from the office.”

Doyoung listened intently as Jaemin shared his sentiments. “I cant believe the reason you had to suffer and stay in this awful marriage was probably because of me” Jaemin frowned and looked back at his dad, “Of course I hate that it was y/n but dad please live for yourself, I can't stand this person you have become in the last few years.”

Jaemin’s words surprised Doyoung but he hated that he didn't want him to think that you were the sole purpose for his new found joy. Being free was the root of his happiness and being with someone like you made him feel free.

“Look son, firstly us staying together was our choice and I apologise that you felt guilty for my change in character, that is not your fault and never will be” Doyoung reassured him and placed his hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, “y/n have ended what we have and shes with…Jaehyun now, don't worry about it okay?”

Doyoung would rather use Jaehyun’s blackmail to avert all attention all together and in turn that part of the deal seems more realistic and eventually everybody is happy. Almost everyone.

Jaemin felt a sense of calm that the affair was over and that you were moving on. He obviously hated Jaehyun but it was better to bury all of this and for it to never be revisited ever again.

“Okay cool” Jaemin finally said, “God I hate this resort.”

“That makes two of us.”

Back at the party you were practically on autopilot, doing the rounds of small talk with all of your father’s guests to distract your mind from Doyoung. This was what being a socialite was all about. Your lives were a mess just like anybody else but the media could only show the good side of it. The lavish parties, the power couples, the perfect children with the perfect grades.

That's all it ever was and will ever be.

The next day all bags packed you had your father’s closest circle had a grand breakfast then gathered in the lobby for the last goodbye.

“What a time huh?” Johnny Suh bellowed as he shook your father’s hand, “next time at the Maldives resort ?”

Were not fishing your drunk body out of the ocean Johnny” your father quipped as the two of them laughed in unison. You said your goodbyes to Chenle whose father was already rushing them into their car.

“Mr Qian is a true airport dad” Haechan shook his head.

“What is he late for ? He literally owns a private jet” Sungchan added.

You smiled as Jaehyun came over, you really played up the fake girlfriend thing because you had no idea what the psychopath was capable of next.

“Aw look at you, so sad to see me go” Jaehyun pouted as he moved a strand of hair out of your face.

“Hmm so sad” you gritted your teeth as you pulled him into a hug that involved a cheeky pinch to his side which only made him laugh. Jaehyun pressed his lips to your cheek and slipped his hand down to your lower back.

“Be a good girl now and I’ll be seeing you in New York next week” Jaeyhun smirked and made his way out with Sungchan and his uncle.

Jaemin shuffled awkwardly as it was now just your family, his and Lee Haechan. He watched as you and his father paid each other no mind as if nothing has or ever happened between the two of you. Doyoung tipped an employee that loaded their car and waited until his family had finished their goodbyes.

“Oh please do come to the next vacation, it was a pleasure having you” your mom hugged the Kims before Mrs Kim, her son and Haechan jumped into the vehicle.

“Yes Doyoung don't you dare go off and work in solitude like you always do” your father gave him a firm handshake.

“We shall see what the future holds,” Doyoung smiled before coming over to you. He almost felt like a stranger again with the way he stood his distance and held out his hand to you.

“I hope when you're not too busy we can play golf again” He smiled and you felt your heart flutter.

“I’ll let you know when my schedule is free Mr Kim.”

The End

#nct127 smut #doyoung smut #jaehyun smut #doyoung angst #nct smut #nct angst #nct scenarios #kim doyoung fic #jeong jaehyun #na jaemin #kpop smut #kpop fic #nct fic #2jaeh

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Mini Yuu is basically the Boo to everyone’s Sully and Mike(Monsters Inc.), and there’s something fascinating and very sweet about a found family that consists of a several non-humans and the only human of the gang

Yesssssss this!!! I love this so much!!!!

Found family is one of my favorite tropes in writing, but when you combine it with non-human characters and the only human (child or not)? My heart just melts into a puddle of mush 💞💗💞

Also since you mentioned it, I was going to have this happen in one of the fics I posted about working on where Mini!Yuu interacts with the different characters, and now I just can't get the image out of my head of little Yuu just...finding those who have thick and heavy tails and just picking it up to drop it just because 🤣

Just-

Malleus: *-minding his own business-*

*thump*

Malleus: "Hm...?" Ò.Ô *-turns to look at the source of the sound-*

Mini!Yuu:

Malleus: *-blinks-* "Why hello, Child of the Ancients. Quite the brave one, are you not?"

Mini!Yuu: *-giggles happily, wrapping their arms around his tail and hoisting it up as high as they can before dropping it again-* "Your tail is so pretty, Mr. Horns!"

Malleus: "...heh, a brave one indeed." (Trust me, he is smitten by the cuteness and adorable human charm)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #twisted wonderland mini!yuu #twst mini!yuu #still need to figure out what exactly he would call Yuu/MC/reader in this au #but for now this will have to do unless something better comes along! #malleus draconia

[pyr0graves]

Thimbleberry Pie Charts!

Hello!! This is a little fic thing I've had in the works for a little while and shared with a few friends, and I decided I should upload it!!

Criticism is much appreciated, I both want to get back into writing and want to get better!!!

Word Count: 896 Words

“-And that’s ten cases of card stock, an entire package of crayons, aand the mail-in day catalog for stamps! That’ll be a thousand smolleons, Mr. Joe!” … “What do you mean you don’t have that kind of money?! I should be charging you extra for wasting my time!! Good day! Sir!”

SLAM!!!

...

"Tough day?"

"You could say that,"

Pascal leaned against the pillows behind them, crossing their arms as they glanced at their ‘coworker’, humming silently.

After some time passed, Pascal started messing with an abacus on their makeshift table, they punched a few numbers into the toy calculator they were provided and finished off by flipping a few papers scattered around their workspace before speaking again,

“Hm, so far, we’ve made about a hundred dabloons from those teddy sales, a thousand and five hundred smoleans from the staplers and pushpins, pfft, aand a couple tens from whatever moolah is supposed to be,”

“Ah! This quarter has been a successful one I see! Maybe we could-” Frank began but was promptly interrupted with a “But!-”

“We’ve also got an order of big boards coming in,” Pascal said as they held up a receipt, “-and then a couple of crayons that are just…blue?” They looked up at Frank, “Do you know anything about this?”

Frank simply shrugged, to which Pascal simply huffed in response and got back to work. Frank set the books he was carrying onto the floor and then propped up the board on the two stacks for a makeshift table. A bit more time passed, Frank finally finished his desk.

“Take a look at that bookworm!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a bookworm on your shoulder,”

Frank looked to his right shoulder, lo and behold, he saw a little green worm staring up at him with comically large glasses atop its eyes.

“Oh! Look at you!” The puppet gently took the bookworm along his hands and showed it off,

“You know, Pascal. The Lumbricus Bibliostris usually appears in situations involving books, number crunching, and any busy work that involves reading! They often come in great handy when-”

“When keeping track of things!” Pascal finished Frank’s sentence for them with a smile.

“See? I pay attention whenever you talk about nifty little insects!”

Frank couldn’t help but smile knowing this fun little fact about their friend. They grabbed some knick knacks scattered around Julie’s house to place on their little makeshift desk while Pascal fiddled with their abacus and wrote a few things in crayon.

“Do you think we could convince Wally and Mr. Dear to join us next time?” “I doubt it, last time Eddie joined Julie and I in this little game, the poor mailman lost his marbles when Julie started wrecking things! As for Wally…I’m not too sure, maybe we could? He could draw those silly fruit-flavored pie charts Julie always needs for the board meetings!” “What flavor was it this time before I got here?” “Strawberry, but then midway through the meeting, she said it was supposed to be thimble-berry,”

“Do we even have that color?” Frank mumbled the question as he took the little bookworm to the open windowsill to let it outside, “I’ve never heard of such berries..” “Heck if I know! I’m only the accountant, Mr. Frankly, I crunch numbers and tell the head honcho about ‘em! Speaking of which, can you buzz in President Joyful? I finished countin' those numbers she was losin’ her marbles about earlier.” Pascal grabbed a stack of papers and set them next to their books. “No need to ring your lovely president in!! I’ve been here the whole time!” Julie spoke suddenly, appearing right in front of the cat puppet like it was nothing, startled by the rainbow monster’s sudden entrance. “Let me see those!” She snatched some of the papers and started rapidly flipping through them, mumbling nonsense to herself as she paced excitedly around the room, “These papers are quite overdue, Mr. Pushpin!” “Mhm..mhm…that looks about right…Wait!! Mr. Pushpin, why does the first hour say we sold fourteen crates of chuckler berries?? We don’t even have them in stock! And why do these papers say our stocks aren’t stocking?!” Julie yelled out as she scrambled to read the rest of the papers from Pascal’s desk.

Pascal looked up at the horned puppet in confusion and quickly grabbed the papers she had dropped, looking through them to check if Julie’s accusations were true. Frank got up on his feet and walked over to Julie, raising his brow in confusion. “What? What’s the matter?” He skimmed over the documents right next to Julie as buttons clacked in the background. Frank’s eyes widened, and they shared a look of horror with Pascal, who was holding the dropped papers as the two puppets wordlessly shared the same realization. “Our backburners aren’t in the back, and these pie charts aren’t blueberry flavored…The cans aren’t canned, and our doubloons aren’t even in doubles! This…all of this…” Julie rambled anxiously, mumbling more incomprehensible nonsense to herself. Pascal quickly dropped the papers they were holding and ran over to Frank to whisper one thing before chaos struck. “Mr. Frankly, it has been an honor working with you.” Without missing another beat. Julie threw the papers up in the air and gripped the sides of her head and cried out in despair,

"THIS COMPANY IS GOING DOWN!!!"

#welcome home #welcome home puppet show #welcome home fanfic #julie joyful #welcome home julie #frank frankly #welcome home frank #pascal pushpin #welcome home oc #writing #pyro has a story to tell

[kpop-stories-21]

Lobby - Introduction

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: ATEEZ x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Themes & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Sci-fi, Horror, History, Mystery/Crime, Fantasy, Adventure, Supernatural themes and creatures, aliens, vampires, gladiators, detectives, criminals, Dark & Light fae, princes, princesses, treasure hunters, monsters, demons

Content & Trigger Warnings: Strong language, Explicit sexual content(Minors DNI), themes of science fiction, horror, history, mystery, fantasy, adventure and the supernatural

Summary: After losing your job, you fear you won't be able to continue supporting your mother. Then you hear about the Library of Illusion and the fabled treasure housed within. Perhaps this is your lucky break.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @yoonguurt

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Event Masterlist || Main Masterlist

The ringing of your phone ripped you from your sleep, the shreds of a nightmare still clinging to your sweaty skin. You couldn't recall what the nightmare had been about, but an overwhelming feeling of terror lingered even now. Shaking your head to clear the cobwebs from your brain, you reached for your phone and answered the incoming call.

"Hello?"

"Y/N, where the hell are you?! You're 45 minutes late for your shift and Mr. Lee is losing his shit. You need to get over here as fast as you can!"

Looking at the time on your phone had your eyes in disbelief. How in the world had you slept this long? "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I'll be right over."

Cursing under your breath, you leap from bed and yank your uniform out of the closet. As you slapped on some makeup and dragged a brush through your hair, you prayed that your boss would be understanding and give you another chance. Throwing your phone in your bag and grabbing your keys, you raced out the door.

On the way to the restaurant you forced yourself to drive the speed limit, even though you wanted to go faster. Getting pulled over would just make you even later and that was the last thing you wanted.

Upon arriving you snatched up your things and ran across the parking lot to the back door. Flinging it open, you stepped in and were immediately greeted with Mr. Lee's bright red face. Freezing in place, you watched as a fat finger came up to wave in front of your face.

"I've had just about all I'm gonna take, young lady! I gave you this job because I'm a family friend and I felt bad for the position you've been put in. But compassion can only go so far, and I've given you too many second chances.

"At the end of the day, I have a business to run and it's not fair to me, the customers, or the other wait staff if someone has to cover your ass every time you oversleep. I really hate to do this, but today will be your last day working here."

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling as you watched him walk away. Deep down you knew he was right, and you felt incredibly guilty for disappointing someone who had been like a father to you. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to remain calm. The tears could come later, once you were alone. Right now you had a job to do, and you owed it to Mr. Lee to make your last day count.

As soon as you finished your shift, you headed to Mr. Lee's office to collect your final payment and turn in your name tag. The envelope he handed you was thicker than you'd expected, and you looked at him in confusion.

He smiled sympathetically. "Just because I fired you doesn't mean I stopped caring. I know things are hard right now, so I gave you a little extra to help hold you over until you find a new job."

You blinked, suddenly swallowing around a lump of tears. "T-Thank you Mr. Lee. I'm sorry things had to turn out this way."

Mr. Lee stood and hugged you tightly. "Me too. I'll still be checking in on you, so keep your chin up kiddo. Things will turn around one day."

Nodding, you thanked him once more and left the restaurant.

Back in your car now, you made the drive you've been making every evening for the last year and a half. After parking outside the hospital, you walked in and took the elevator to the cancer wing. You greeted the nurse at the nurse's station with a smile, after your many visits she had become something of a friend to you.

"She's in her room, having her dinner. She's expecting you."

You smiled at the nurse and walked down the left hallway. You'd memorised the room number by now. Pushing the door open, you smiled at the slight woman sitting upright in the bed eating her dinner from a tray.

“Hi Mom.” You said with a soft smile as you closed the door behind you.

Your mom looked up as you entered, her entire face lighting up at the sight of you.

"Y/N, my little dove, I was hoping you'd turn up soon! Have you eaten yet?"

You shook your head as you sat down in the chair situated next to her bed. "I came here straight after work, like always. I'll eat when I get back home." Reaching out to take her thin hand in your own, you changed the subject. "So, how was your day today?"

A grim look crossed your mom's pale features. "Dr. Kwang visited me this morning. He said the current course of treatment has stopped working, so they're going to have to start doing chemotherapy."

You felt your heart sink into your stomach. The chemo was going to be so much more expensive, and with you now out of a job there was no way you could pay for her to continue getting treated. Then you remembered the envelope in your purse with your wages plus the extra from Mr. Lee. You could keep a little out for yourself and give the rest to pay as much of the chemo as you could.

You spent some more time with your mom, then left to go find Dr. Kwang. He was in his office, probably expecting a visit from you due to the change in treatment.

“Ah, Y/N. I trust your mother told you about the chemo?”

You nodded and he continued.

“As we discussed previously, the chemo will cost more. Are you still able to support your mother's treatment?"

Taking the envelope from your purse, you flipped through the bills within, doing some quick maths in your head. Keeping back enough for you to get by for a little bit, you handed over the rest.

"This should be a good starting place until I can get ahold of some more."

Dr. Kwang smiled at you as he took the money. "I admire your drive, young lady. Most young people these days would just throw their parents in a home and never look back."

You blushed a little, unused to such praise. "She sacrificed so much to raise me all on her own, it's the least I can do."

"She must be so proud to have you as her daughter."

You blushed a little deeper, then put the envelope back in your purse and stood. "I'm proud to have her as my mother. Thank you for taking care of her when I could not. Good evening Dr. Kwang." You nodded to him once more and exited his office.

As you walked back to your car you ended up behind two young women not much older than you and happened to hear a part of their conversation.

"Have you heard that rumour about the Library of Illusion and the treasure that supposedly resides within?"

"I have actually. Isn't it supposed to be in the woods around the town?"

"Yeah it is! Maeri said she wanted to see what it was all about, so we're going up there this weekend to check it out."

Intrigued and wanting to find out more on your own, you stepped around the women and hurried to your car. On the drive home all you could think about was the "treasure" and how much it would help your mom with her treatment if you could get ahold of it.

Once you had returned home, changed into comfortable clothes, and eaten some food you booted up your laptop and Googled "Library of Illusion". The first result that popped up was a Wikipedia page containing the location, along with the sparse information known by the general public. Plugging the location into the GPS on your phone revealed that the Library was a good ways away from where your apartment was.

The town you lived in was in a bowl-like valley surrounded by mountains except for the cutout where the road was. The Library was nestled on a perfectly-sized plateau halfway up the tallest mountain in the eastern range, which put it out of reach for all but the most determined.

You hadn't been mountain climbing since your mom was first diagnosed with cancer, so you were rusty at best. But you'd do almost anything at this point to ensure your mom had the best possible chance of surviving. So you researched what gear you would need for such an arduous climb, then used the money from Mr. Lee plus some of what you had in savings to purchase everything.

It took several days for everything to arrive, but once the last package was delivered you began to pack things up and plan when you would begin your journey. You decided that the sooner you left, the sooner you'd be able to return. So you made plans to leave the following day as early as you could manage.

Your mind firmly made up, you went to bed earlier than usual. Tomorrow you would get that treasure and then you would be able to fully support your mom.

You woke the next day to the ear-splitting crash of thunder as rain pounded on the roof like it was trying to get inside.

"What a lovely day for mountain climbing." You muttered to yourself as you slipped from under the warm blankets to begin getting ready.

You dressed warmly to combat the cold rain and had a quick breakfast before grabbing your phone, gear and keys and heading out.

Twenty minutes later you arrived at the base of the mountain you would be climbing. Parking under a handy overhang of trees laden with thick ivy, you got out and began to gear up. By the time you were ready to start climbing, the rain had subsided and the sun was making its way out from behind the clouds. A smile rose to your face as you placed your hands upon the mountain and began to climb.

The next three days were a constant cycle of climb until dark, find a flat enough place to set up your tent, sleep until morning, then eat and begin the routine again. By the afternoon of day three you were starting to lose hope, thinking maybe this was all a dream and there was no library way up in the mountains.

Then you came to a flat place that seemed the biggest one you'd encountered yet, and your heart soared. Pulling your weary body up onto solid ground, you found yourself in front of a huge building that looked centuries older than it probably was. After a short rest and some food, you walked closer as a storm brewed overhead.

Ivy covered the majority of the brick walls, the gold on the door handles dim and tarnished. Taking a deep breath, you pushed them open and stepped inside.

The interior was far more well kept than outside, and if you didn't know better you'd have a hard time believing this was the same building.

The first thing that caught your eye was the front desk, or more accurately, the handsome man seated behind it. Feeling suddenly shy, you slowly approached him.

He was much more good-looking up close, bordering more towards beautiful than handsome. His hair was cotton candy pink, and slicked back stylishly. Chocolate brown eyes glanced up suddenly, amused at having caught you staring.

"May I help you?" His voice, almost as deep as the thunder roaring outside, jerked you back to the present moment.

"M-My name is Y/N, I heard about the treasure a-and…."

"And you wanted to see if the rumours were true?"

You nodded.

"Well, Miss Y/N, my name is Seonghwa and I am the Keeper of The Keys here in the Library. The rumours you've heard are more or less true. There is treasure here, but it is housed in the Restricted Section and requires several keys to access it."

Hope flared in your heart, and you leaned forward a bit. "How do I get those keys?"

"You must get them from the Guardians of the main sections within this library: Science Fiction, Horror, History, Mystery, Fantasy and Adventure."

"And how does that work exactly?"

"In each section there will be a special book that will send you into a dream-like state and transport you to wherever the Guardian is. The first time or two you might be somewhat aware that your surroundings are fabricated, but the deeper in you go the more real things will feel. Once you have obtained all the keys, bring them back to me and we can proceed from there."

Seonghwa led you over to a set of double doors and pulled them open. Inside you could see plaques announcing the many different sections. Determined, you stepped forward, deciding to go for the Mystery section first.

"I wish you luck Y/N." Seonghwa said as he closed the doors behind you.

#cultofdionysusnet #library of illusion event #kdiarynet #cacaokpop #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez members #maturefanfic #21+ #au #fanfic