Warnings: Description of attempted Assault on the reader
Summary:When Y/N’s art project lands her in Romania she is met with very peculiar circumstances. Such as a weird old man speaking mythical nonsense, murders of both people and animals, an oncoming threat to her life, as well as her mysterious yet very hot next door neighbor with a weird obsession with beetroot juice.
He could just leave… He could just pack up his vacant apartment and flee the country. That is what Bucky told himself. He knew that they were on to him. ‘They’ being Hydra. They made his life hell.
They tortured him for years on end, made him do their dirty work, made him hurt people. Innocent people who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Every life he took haunts him to this day. He tried to reason with himself saying that it was in the name of survival, but he couldn’t help that there might be a darkness in him that he may not ever be able to escape. That is until he met you. You were the light seeping through his brick wall. Not yet breaking it down but showing what possibilities he had if he were to let you in. He craves the warmth your light gives. He would compare it to the sun but now decades later he forgot what it truly felt like. His body was cold and his heart was hardened. He didn’t know if he could ever move past that. The thought that the Sun could cause irreversible damage, it having the possibility of killing him made his heart weep. His sister loved the Sun. You could always find her playing in the light just after a harsh rain. Those were her favorite times. She had a light in her too. That is why he cannot leave. You were here and now you are in danger and he was the one who put you here.
The moment he stepped into your apartment that day he knew they were here. He could smell them. So that day he decided to risk what the two of you had. He asked to use the bathroom to enact his plan of protecting you. He unscrewed the shower head and with a swiftness he quickly put Vervain inside before screwing it again. He even tested the water to see if it worked. It did. It gave him a harsh burning throughout his hand and the smell in the steam that it created burned his eyes and nostrils. He gave the excuse of your perfume and your demeanor changed. He read your mind and could see what he had done. He freaked you out and though it hurt he was thankful that he did. It wasn’t his past that freaked you out. So he guessed that it was better that way. So he left it at that and went to get his next meal. That being said he hadn’t seen you exit your apartment at all. He hadn’t seen you open your door either and it worried him. He didn’t see you on your balcony any more and he knew you use to love sitting in the Autumn air. He could hear your heart beat slow to a calm tempo when you did. When he heard that blood curdling scream he knew you were in danger, but the smell of a new yet familiar scent kept him inside. Once he had sensed that the two were gone he called out to you from the front door. He could have just walked in and unlocked it somehow since he was 'Invited in’ but he didn’t want to scare you even further. He decided to try a new plan to coax you out of your shell. He decided to go to the market and pick up some apples and flower and other things that are required to bake.
He decided to make his mothers old apple pie. Even though it has been over 70 years since he has seen her he remembered this recipe. It was a request that he and his sister as well as his old best friend Steve always asked for. He also wanted to give back to you. You have been nothing but kind to him and all he has been is skeptical. So he whipped all the ingredients together and has to wait maybe an hour or so before it is done. He doesn’t even know if you like apple pie or apples in general so he can only hope. As he waits he listens for you. He listens to the sound of your heart beat, to the sound of your breath, to everything. He knows it seems weird but he has this urge to protect you. He hears you shuffling around your room now. He hears you opening the door to your bedroom and he only hopes you stay out of your room just long enough for him to give you what he made. He must have been so lost in thought that time had passed and the pie was done. He quickly got the pan out using oven mitts and fans it with his hands trying to cool it down. He quickly gathers it onto a bigger tray so it is easier to hold without dropping it and heads outside and to your apartment. He knocks gently on the door as to not scare you
You jump at the slight knock and creep as slowly as possible to the door. Your roommate wouldn’t have knocked she would have walked right in. You think to yourself. 'What if it was the other guy? Brock I think his name was…’ You look through the peephole and see a familiar cap and brown jacket clad man. You make sure the chain is still on the latch attached to your door before opening it. “What do you want…” You ask quietly. James was silent for a moment. “I realized that I may have scared you the other day… You have always been so nice to me so I thought…” He moves the pie into frame and you look at it in confusion. “I thought you would like it… It’s my ma’s recipe.” He says slowly. You give him a small smile before shutting the door and unlatching the chain before opening it again. You open it wider to allow him to walk in. “Sorry I guess I have been a little on edge…” You say. “I uh… I heard you scream the other day. Were you okay? I came to check on you and you didn’t…” You shiver at the memory and cross your arms over your chest. “I… I-” You begin to curl in on yourself and walk into the kitchen. James follows after shutting the door and locking it before following you. “I don’t feel safe here anymore…” You say with a sniffle. “I-I am really scared and I don’t know what to do…” You say and James looks uncertain on what to do. “Would you like to talk about it?” He asks and you hesitantly nod. “My roommate has been acting weird ever since you brought over those flowers… She would stand outside my door and just wait…” You walk up to the counter and lean your back against it and face him. “I could hear her breathing through the door… I haven’t had good sleep in a few days…” You say rubbing your arms trying to comfort yourself. “A-And then the day you came over and left I decided I needed to take a shower… I walked out to see this man in my apartment…” You voice begins to raise up in pitch as you tell your story. “He went on about how d-delicious I looked and chased me… I was so scared. I was only in a towel and nearly fell a few times. I got a knife to defend myself but as he grabbed me he seemed to have burned himself somehow…” You reach over to your left arm and rolled up the sleeve to see the bruise he had given you. “It was awful… I have no idea what would have happened if my roommate wasn’t their… But she didn’t seem to care at all.” You feel tears begin falling down your cheeks as you try to wipe them away. James who has been listening intently raises and hand out to comfort you but you hold up a hand. “No… Please don’t touch me right now.” James nods in understanding and stays in his place.
You shake it off and wipe your eyes. “A-Any way… Let’s have some pie!” You say with a smile and he nods sending a small smile back to you. You turn around and get a knife from the block and hand it to him. You go over to the microwave and get the paper plates from the top of it and set it next to him. He cuts two slices as you set out silverware as well. Once the pieces are set you wait for him to take a bite. “It’s strange how tables have turned.” He says in a slight teasing tone as he takes the first bite. once you see that he isn’t choking or showing signs of dying you take a bite and hum in delight. You quickly swallow before asking. “This is really good! I didn’t know you could bake!” You say and he nods. “My ma taught me…” He says with a sad smile. “Where is your mother?” You ask and he shakes his head. “She died a while ago.” You frown and sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wou-” “It’s alright I have come to accept it.” He says with a small smile. You wonder what a genuine one looked like. He was already very handsome so you couldn’t help but wonder.“ You see his face flush red and you cock your head to the side. "Everyth-” “Where are your parents?” He asks and you nod. “Oh! Uh… They live in (Y/C) (Your Country). I guess you can say I am pretty far from home.” You say with a chuckle. He nods. “Yeah… Seems so. What made you come to Romania?” He asks and you sigh. “College… I am an Art History major. I love art and Romanian Folk Art has always caught my eye.” You say excitedly. “So as an assignment I am meant to write an essay and paint, draw, or whatever for an assignment. I just haven’t found the right subject yet.” You both take a bite of your pie. “Is it suppose to be in the Romanian style or?” You shake your head. “it is mainly our experience here. Something that spoke to me while experiencing the culture… I haven’t been able to do much of that though…” You mumble and he nods. “I just don’t feel safe here… I can’t tell my family because if I do they will want me to come home… This is a huge percent of my grade. I can’t go home yet!” You say with determination. James nods and takes another bite.
He begins to speak when there is a sudden jingle of keys. “Shit their back!” You exclaim. “You can’t be here!” You say and quickly grab his wrist. You pull him in the direction of your room and he pauses at the doorway. “Come on in! Hurry!” You exclaim and he walks in. You shut and lock the door and listen. You can hear two sets of footsteps and your breathing becomes labored. “Y/N!” You hear your roommate call out. You move away from the door and over to your window. You are only on the second floor of the building. “I’m sorry for kicking you out but you can’t be here!” You whisper shout. James nods and walks over to your window. “I… You don’t feel safe here. I don’t want to leave you alone here.” He says as you open the window. “Bu-” “What if that man comes back?” James asks. “I don’t want you to get hurt…” He says and you look down and away. “My roommate doesn’t like visitors… I will bring your pie tray back to you when I am done. Please leave…” You say sadly. You felt bad. This is the most he has ever talked to you and out of fear you are kicking him out. James nods and walks over to the window and dangles his feet out of it. He turns to you and hands you a piece of paper before jumping out the window. You look out at him then back at the paper. The paper reads:
'I hope the pie tastes good, Here is my number if you need anything. (xxx) xxx-xxxx’
You blush and smile before shutting the window. You go and sit by the door and listen until the footsteps stop. You then hear the familiar sound of your roommates breathing from outside the door and shiver. You sit there as it will be another night without sleep.
Summary:When Y/N’s art project lands her in Romania she is met with very peculiar circumstances. Such as a weird old man speaking mythical nonsense, murders of both people and animals, an oncoming threat to her life, as well as her mysterious yet very hot next door neighbor with a weird obsession with beetroot juice.
Warnings: An almost assault on the reader
You made it a point to avoid your roommate as much as possible. You wait until they go out before leaving your room. Sometimes you feel like they would stand in front of your door for hours on end. You barely slept.
You felt to paranoid that they would burst into your room for whatever reason but they haven’t yet. It was the third day of hiding from your roommate and they maybe left an hour or so ago. With your days of hiding you have actually started working on your project. You kept an eye on the news and noticed that more and more people have been going missing. You step into the living room and look around. No one is there so you decide to head to the kitchen. You notice that the majority of the food was still there. No one has touched it so that is weird. You decide to make yourself a small grilled cheese. You try and make it as quietly as you can. Despite the apartment being empty you still feel that you have eyes on you. You flip the sandwich and run it along the pan when you hear a knock coming from the front door. You tense up and slowly approach the door. You look through the peep hole to see James. You gasp and quickly open the door. “H-Hi James!” You exclaim. It was nice seeing a “friendly” face after all that has been going down.
“Uh Hi…” He says slowly. His voice sounds raspy. As if he hasn’t used it in days. “Is ever-” You both begin at the same time. “What?” You ask and James shivers slightly. “Has everything been alright?” He asks. You were slightly shocked. He was never one to ask about your well being, let alone ask about you at all. “Yeah… Everything is alright… Kind of…” You say quietly and James nods. “What about you?” You ask. “How have you been?” You say leaning against the slightly opened door. “Fine… It’s been fine.” He says and you nod. This is the most you have ever interacted with him before. You wanted to draw it out as much as you can before you have to hide away from the world again. “Well Wh-” “Have you been using the flowers I gave you?” He asks swiftly. “What? Oh! Yes I have! The tea is really good!” You say as your face begins to heat up. You forgot that he actually got you flowers. It made your heart flutter just thinking about it. He nods. “Okay…” He shuffles back and forth on his feet before he sniffs the air. “Is something burning?” He asks and you gasp. “No! My grilled cheese!” You say rushing to the kitchen. “Please come in! I will be right back!” If your back wasn’t turned you would see James looking around the frame of door before stepping inside hesitantly. He stays by the door with the door still open. He doesn’t want to invade your space or make you uncomfortable. You look behind you and see that he is standing at the door. “Uh You can come and sit at the counter if you’d like. No need to be a stranger. We are on first name bases after all.” You say as you take a knife from the drawer and begin scraping at the charred piece of bread in hopes of saving the food.
“So uh… What made you want to check on me?” You ask. James shuffles for a moment before responding. “You are the only person I interact with… And I uh…” You don’t interrupt as you wait for him to finish his statement. “I look forward to your visits…” He says mumbling. You feel your face flush red. “I look forward to our visits as well! I was actually debating on going to the market and getting more plums for you!” You say with a smile. He is looking down as his face is also slightly red. “Thank you (Y/N)…” He says and he begins to look around the room. You take a bite of your grilled cheese and grimace. “So is there anything you would like me to make?” You ask as you scrape the sandwich into the trash. James is silent for a moment before saying. “Those Polish cookies?” You nod and smile. “Would you like to make them with me?” James nods slightly. “Is it okay if we don’t do it today?” James says rubbing his gloved hands together. “Yeah don’t worry about it.” You say with a smile. “I need to get ingredients from the market. Is there a day that is good for you?” “I… I’ll let you know…” He says quietly and you nod. “Is it okay if I use the bathroom?” He asks and you look at him confused. ‘Isn’t he just next door?’ As if he read your mind he says. “I was going to leave after coming here…” He says and you nod. “Oh… Okay…” You say and begin to make a list of ingredients. After a few minutes you he comes out with his hand over his mouth and nose. “Everything okay?” You ask and he nods. “I am very sensitive to smells… I guess your perfume is very over powering…” You nod. “Oh sorry…” you say as you finish the list. “I got the list! So Just let me know!” You says ‘This guy is kind of creeping me out…’ You think to yourself. “Actually… Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to head out.” He says heading toward the door. “Oh okay. Have a good James!” You say with a nervous smile. He leaves after you say that gently shutting the door behind him.
It had been a few hours since James left and you decided to continue cooking some things before it all went bad. After you put everything in containers you decided that it would be best to take a shower. you grab your toiletries and head to the bathroom. As you do this you hear the apartment door open. You were sure you locked it so you just assumed it was your roommate. You undress and get into the shower. You were confused on what James was talking about. Did it smell over powering? Your perfume and things were kept in your room since the incident with your roommate so you don’t know what it could possibly be. You sniff a bit and notice nothing but that may have been because the steam from the shower. As you continue you hear shuffling coming from your roommates room. It started to get unnerving so you ended your shower quickly. You wrapped a towel around yourself as you put your toiletries into a bag that you brought in with you. You open the door a poke your head out looking down the hall to see your roommates door open. You shiver slightly as you turn the other way and head to your room when you bump into something. More like someone. You gasp and look up to see a man with dark hair and brown eyes. He had dark stubble along his face and jaw. His skin is tan and his face has some scarring. “Who are you!” You scream backing away. He follows you as you are backing away from him. “I’m a friend… And you look delicious…” He says as he reaches for you. You let out another scream as he reaches for you again. You make a bee line for the kitchen and maybe grab a knife. You felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder only to be ripped away as a scream is torn from the mans lips. You grab a knife and turn around to see him cradling his hand.
“Brock! Leave her alone!” You hear your roommate yell. “But Candi-” “Hush Brock… We’re leaving!” The man Brock looks you up and down again before shaking his hand and leaving. Your roommate looks over at you before leaving. You burst into tears as soon as the door shuts and drop the knife. You make your way to your room. You put on some underwear and a t-shirt before slamming, locking, and barricading your bedroom door closed. You rush over and make sure your window is closed and locked. Your breath is shaky as you climb into bed and hide under the covers in hopes that maybe you could sleep it off but you doubt it. You try and think about what happened. How did he get inside the apartment. You can only assume your roommate let him in. ‘What was it he called them?’ You think to yourself. ‘Candice? They have never gone by that before…’ You try and take deep breaths hoping that the tears would stop but all you could do was sob. You were alone in a foreign. A person you thought was your friend turns out to be very sketchy and possibly dangerous. The only person you can think of going to is James, but now you can’t be sure he is just as creepy. ‘He isn’t weird… He wouldn’t hurt me… Would he?’ Suddenly you hear a knock at the front door. You let out a light screech. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)? It’s James.” You tense up. ‘Should I let him in?’ You decide to ignore him and burrow under the covers and that is the last thing you remember.
Being able to talk to your soulmate telepathically, no matter how far away or preoccupied one or the other is. They always have that ability to go in and talk to the other. Feeling safe whenever the other is around even if it’s just the other talking to them when they’re not physically there.
Dean has lived under the pretence of being a switch since he presented as a teen twenty years ago. He gets by, but his body makes ignoring his true designation harder and harder the older he becomes.
Enter Castiel, a dom so different to everyone Dean has ever been with. Can he help him embrace his submissive side in a healthy way?
⇢ synopsis: celeritas; speed, swiftness. windswept hair and ripped jeans. kim jungwoo, mysterious neighbour and alleged street racer. just what secrets lie within this man? and can you match his speed?
⇢ release date: some time in april, exact date tbc
⇢ expected word count: 4k-8k
⇢ teaser word count: 0.9k
⇢ trigger warnings for full fic: car accident, blood, non-serious injury, swearing.
⇢ trigger warnings for teaser: blood, non-serious injury
⇢ a/n: this is my piece for the racer au collab, originally hosted by the lovely anie
send me an ask or message to be added to the taglist!
“Jungwoo?” you asked, peering at him. He was clearly trying to hide himself, but you knew it was him. You unrecognised his lips, and hoped that wasn’t creepy, but what deterred you was the swelling around the left side of his jaw. “Are you okay?”
“Hey, Y/N. I’m fine.” He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but winced as the action twinged his swollen features.
“You don’t seem too fine,” you commented, trying to peer at the rest of his face, under his hood.
“I’ve had worse,” he shrugged, wincing again. “Look, can we go inside?”
You frowned, pulling open your apartment door before ushering him inside and pulling down his hood, acting fast and catching him unaware, only to gasp at the state of his face. Along with his swollen jaw was a black eye, and a gash across his forehead that had recently ceased its bleeding, judging by the dark, dried blood around the site of injury
“Oh my god, Jungwoo, what happened?”
“Listen, I said it’s fine-”
“Come on, let me patch you up.” You grasped his arm, marching him towards the elevator, and he got the message that his protesting was worthless and you wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Once in your apartment, you pulled a chair out from your kitchen table and pushed Jungwoo firmly down onto it, before digging the first aid kit out of your cupboard.
Jungwoo was silent through the whole affair, and you sensed that some of this was surprise. It didn’t seem like he was used to this - being taken charge of, that was. He seemed like the type of guy who took charge of everything and everyone he encountered. Well, you supposed, he had met his match.
He was a good patient, and only flinched once, when you brushed his wounds with an antibacterial wipe. Finished your cleaning and bandaging, you leaned back against your kitchen counter, eyeing the man up. He said nothing, simply looking back at you with an undetectable look on his face. His lips were set in a straight line, though his eyes were soft.
“Do you want a drink?” you asked him eventually, breaking the silence. “I have decaf coffee, tea, hot cocoa-”
“Hot cocoa, please!” Jungwoo interrupted, looking excited all of a sudden, despite his injuries. You nodded, and went to prepare two hot cocoas. Silence fell again, and it was a strangely comfortable silence considering you were near-strangers.
“So,” you spoke after a few moments, “I know I said I wouldn’t ask questions. But I did just fix your face, so I think you kinda owe me a little explanation.”
“Hey, hey. This face? Could never need fixing. You can’t fix perfection.”
You gave him a look. “You’re avoiding the subject, Jungwoo.”
“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m a street racer.”
You paused for a few beats, looking at him. Searching his face for any sign of amusement, waiting for a gotcha!
It didn’t come. “A street racer?”
“You don’t believe me?” he asked. He sounded genuine enough. You were left wondering whether he was, in fact, a street racer… or a pathological liar.
“You don’t look like a street racer,” was all you said, as you handed him his cocoa. He took a sip.
“Then, what do I look like?” he questioned. A model, you thought. Outwardly, however, you simply shrugged, and tried to hide your blush by taking a sip of your drink, which was far too hot. “You can come see me in action if you want, baby. I’m racing again tomorrow night, midnight.”
You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Follow a mysterious man, who I’ve found covered in blood on two separate occasions? Come on. Even to you, that must sound a little shifty.”
Jungwoo shrugged. “You’re the one who invited me into your home, babe.“
You sighed - you couldn’t really fight him on that one. You wrapped your hands around your mug tightly. “I don’t know anything about you, Jungwoo. I don’t even know your last name-”
“Kim,” he interrupted. “Kim Jungwoo.”
You roll your eyes. “Fine. Well I know your last name, now. But still. How do I know you’re even telling the truth?”
Jungwoo smiled, his lips twisting upwards in the corners in the most endearing way possible. He looked into your eyes. “Y/N. Darling. Why would I lie?”
You give him a cynical look. “Really, Jungwoo? There are some serious creeps out there. Creeps who tell many different lies for many different reasons. And none of them are good reasons.”
“Just trust me, okay? Take a leap of faith.” You raised an eyebrow at him. Most creeps weren’t this pretty. “A leap right into my arms,” he continued, stretching his arms wide as an invitation.
Snorting out a laugh, you delivered a shove to his shoulder. Gently - you didn’t know the extent of his injuries. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Midnight, right?”
“Midnight,” he confirmed. He smiled at you, in a way that you couldn’t help but smile back. “See you then.”
With that, he was gone, leaving you alone in your kitchen once more. Jungwoo always seemed to come and go, much like a tornado, leaving you shell-shocked and windswept in his wake. Street racing, hm? You shook your head to yourself. Just what were you getting yourself into?
warnings: mafia au, strangers to lovers, descriptions of violence and death, minor character death, reader treated as commodity, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ | in this chapter: past trauma mentioned (past sexual abuse & trafficking mention but not described! past drug use, mention of blood and murder) pressured to use drugs, drug use, oral sex & fingering
When Yoongi said “we” would be going to the seaside, you weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t an entire convoy of vehicles. Yoongi drives you, and there are several cars surrounding you, with Namjoon and Hoseok taking the lead. It seems excessive, but you don’t question it. In fact, you haven’t said much to Yoongi since last night.
The outfit Namjoon left out for you to wear today is a white square neck knee-length sundress covered in floral print and white wedge sandals with a cork heel. Yoongi is dressed in a white double-breasted suit jacket and pants, with all white everything: shirt, tie, shoes. His hair is coifed off his forehead, giving major husband-at-the-end-of-the-aisle vibes, which you do your best to block out of your mind as aggressively as possible because fuck Min Yoongi and fuck how effortlessly sexy and soft he can appear despite being such a dick.
It’s an hour or so outside of the city when Yoongi finally decides to strike up a conversation. You’d been content staring out the window and watching the outside world go by while ballads play quietly on the radio, and hearing Yoongi’s deep, raspy voice spikes something in you—probably anxiety but possibly excitement; sometimes it’s hard to differentiate the two.
“You seem tense,” Yoongi mutters.
Your head flinches toward the sound of his voice, and you look from the corner of your eye, almost in disbelief that Yoongi still knows how to speak. You hum in response.
“Care to tell me why you’re so unhappy?” Yoongi asks.
Your shoulder jerks upward, and you can’t help the incredulous sound that leaves your lips as you shoot Yoongi a glare out of the corners of your eyes before you stare ahead once more.
You mutter, almost to yourself, “Oh, so now you care?”
“I never said it would be easy being with me—” Yoongi says, in a defensive tone, and you roll your eyes and cut him off.
“As if I had any fucking say in the matter.”
You can feel Yoongi looking between the road and you, and you indulge him once, meeting his gaze and watching him smirk before pulling your eyes away from each other.
“Would you be attracted to me if you had met me naturally?”
Yes, you think. Yes, of course you would; you’re not a fool. Yoongi is smart, funny, sexy, charismatic, and—even without knowing the full extent of his influence—gives off an air of being powerful. Your poor fucking heart wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Of course you’d be attracted to Yoongi naturally.
You clear your throat and mutter, “Probably.”
“Does it bother you that I’m as powerful as I am?”
No, you think. Not really. There are many facets to his power that make you uncomfortable, but you tell yourself that if he and his family men have managed to stay this powerful and this alive for as long as they have, then they’re clearly doing something right.
“I guess not,” you admit.
“So then what’s the problem?”
Oh, this really boils your blood. How quickly Yoongi can make you go from contemplative to furious is still a shock to you, and you can’t help but turn to him and stare him down, mouth agape as if you can’t fucking believe his audacity—because you truly cannot.
“Do you hear yourself?” you ask, mocking his tone from last night. “You kidnapped me, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi’s eyes move between you and the road. “You can leave if you want,” Yoongi states, and it surprises you. “I’m not forcing you to stay.”
You stare at the side of Yoongi’s face, and he stares ahead at the road, and god, you could fucking slap him if he weren’t:
a.) a mafia boss, and
b.) literally driving right now.
“There are men with guns following me around the property,” you remind him.
“For your safety. Do you really think Felix would shoot you in the back if you decided to leave?”
“W-well, n—”
“I can’t imagine Changbin smoking you as you waltzed off into the sunset, can you?”
Now you really want to slap him.
“You would really let me leave?”
Yoongi shrugs. There’s a glint in his eye, even if he won’t look you in yours, and you instantly know what he’s thinking. Sure, you could leave whenever you want, but can you carry all your things with you? Would you leave behind the new things you’ve been given? It’s not as if Yoongi would allow someone to stroll onto the property and help you move out.
Yes, you’re free to leave because Yoongi knows you have nowhere to go. Yoongi knows that, at the end of the day, you need to stay right where you are.
“I fucking hate you,” you mutter, and Yoongi laughs.
It’s a bright, hearty laugh that’s music to your ears, and you bite your lip, hoping that if you inflict enough pain on yourself, it’ll shield how much that fucking laugh affects you.
“Oh, darling. No, you don’t.”
Yoongi checks the two of you into a hanok on the seaside that is so beautiful it makes your heart skip a beat. It has a perfect mix of modern and traditional amenities, making it feel as if you’ve stepped into a different era that just so happens to have running water ahead of its time. There’s also a single bedroom with a smaller bed than you’re used to sharing with Yoongi, and being four hours from home and alone with him, makes you nervous because, try as you might to hate every fiber of Yoongi’s being, you find it impossible to keep your hands off him.
“There’s a night market along this street that starts at seven,” Yoongi informs as you unpack your suitcase, placing your items into the closet and dresser. “If you’d like to check it out, I can join you around nine.”
“Okay,” you respond, not fully taking in the information.
“Don’t change,” Yoongi says.
You turn to Yoongi and find him standing against the wall beside the door with one foot anchored against it and his arms crossed over his torso.
“Why?”
“I like that dress on you.”
You swallow a lump in your throat and consider changing out of it out of spite. There’s a part of you that wants to appease Yoongi and wear what he likes to see you in, and you curse that part of you. Yoongi approaches and kisses you on the forehead, sending a swarm of anxiety aflight in your chest, and you cave in to the feeling and stay in the dress he likes to see you in. You even dare to miss him as soon as he leaves you alone in the hanok.
The night market is nice, and you walk along the crowded street with Felix at your side, trying to decide what to eat. Everything looks and smells amazing, and the longer you take to decide, the more difficult a decision becomes.
It’s been a week and a half of being cooped up in Yoongi’s mansion, and it feels almost overwhelming to be out amongst a crowd. You blend in easily enough, and when Felix convinces you to try some corn dogs, you sit below ginkgo trees eating your fried treat feeling as if you’re spending time with a close friend and not your security detail. Felix is a lot more conversational without Changbin present—almost as if the other makes him shy—and you fall into conversation easily, talking about Felix’s life in Australia.
“What about you?” Felix asks as you reach the end of the market. You had been so lost in conversation that you hardly noticed you’d begun walking again, and you look around to take in your surroundings before asking, “What?”
“Where did you grow up?”
The topic of your upbringing is one you try to skirt around and give vague responses about whenever possible, and although it’s something you’ve done many times, it always throws you off-kilter—you never know what to say.
“I moved around a lot,” you respond. You attempt to describe your birthplace, but there’s not a lot you remember about being there, and a lot of the details of your childhood are fuzzy.
“I’m not really sure how I ended up here,” you admit.
“Do your parents live here?” Felix asks. You can tell that he has a lot more questions, but he seems to be taking your hesitance as a hint to not press. This question, however, is more difficult to respond to than the rest.
“I, uh—” you stare ahead at the crowded street and the brightly colored signs and booths that line it on either side. I was stolen, you think. I was trafficked in and out of cities around the world. Traded, bought and sold until I fought my way out. I couldn’t tell you what my parents looked like, but I could tell you how it feels to press a knife between someone’s ribs and watch the light fade from their eyes.
“They died when I was young,” you lie, twiddling your fingers nervously. “I didn’t really stay with one person long, and I spent my teen years between living in hotels or on the street.”
When you meet Felix’s gaze, he looks sad. You feel an overwhelming desire to comfort him and tell him that everything is okay despite not believing in the words yourself.
“That sounds difficult,” Felix says, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
You nod and scoff quietly, considering how funny it is that you fought for your freedom only to be taken captive once again. You wonder what it is about you that makes men stake claim. You wonder if your time with Yoongi will end the same way: straddling his naked body while the blood drains from his chest, hot and thick. The situation with Yoongi feels different because he hasn’t forced himself on you, but you wonder if that’s just part of the game to get you to trust him enough to give him what he wants.
“How do you feel about all of this?” Felix asks, and you know he’s not asking about the night market. The two of you begin to walk back the way you came, through the crowd.
You shrug and consider your words as your eyes flicker from booth to booth; sure, Felix has been nothing but kind, but he is one of Yoongi’s men. Perhaps you test him a little. “I’m not sure. I’m not stupid enough to think I have freedom, but I have enough freedom that I don’t feel the desire to escape, either. I’m in limbo.”
Felix chuckles. “How do you feel about Yoongi-hyung?”
You turn to Felix and raise an eyebrow at him, and he holds his hands up as if defending himself. “You don’t have to respond! Just making conversation. I don’t report back to him with anything we discuss.”
“Again, I’m not sure,” you admit. “He’s charming and handsome, and to some extent, his power and influence are intriguing. But it’s also terrifying. I don’t think I can fathom, yet, just how much power he does have. And what if I do fall for him? Does that put a target on my back?”
You worry you’ve said too much, but Felix seems unbothered. “Valid concerns. But you shouldn’t worry about a target; he’s more or less untouchable.”
“How?”
It’s Felix’s turn to raise an eyebrow at you. “That’s just the way it is.”
By the time nine rolls around, you’re back at the hanok, sitting on the bed and scrolling through the gallery on your phone. You had taken some photos of the stalls, capturing the bright lights of the neon signs as the sun began to set, and some close-up shots of rows of food. You consider posting one to social media just to keep up appearances with your handful of friends and acquaintances, but when you thumb through to find your social media apps, they’re all wiped. In fact, most of your apps are gone.
You wish you were surprised. The only thing that shocks you is that it took you so long to notice; they probably wiped your phone within the first 24 hours of your stay. There’s a part of you that feels annoyed, but you toss your phone aside and question whether it matters. You’re no stranger to being dead to the world, and there’s a freedom to it that feels comfortable. Maybe it’s better not to see the people and places you no longer have access to.
Yoongi returns, and when he enters the room, loosening his white tie, he looks anxious. You sit up and wait for him to address you, but he cards a hand through his sweaty hair and walks by toward the large wooden cabinet where your clothing has been unpacked into.
“Everything okay?” you ask, but Yoongi doesn’t respond.
Instead, he grabs a denim jacket and brings it back to the bed, setting it down as his fingers make quick work of the buttons on his white long-sleeve shirt. You’re disappointed to find he has a white tee underneath and consider distracting him, wanting to rub your hands over his body.
“It’s fine,” Yoongi finally says. When he looks at you, his gaze is less piercing. His pupils are dilated, and he doesn’t look in one place for long, tugging his shirt impatiently from being tucked into his slacks before dropping it to the floor, picking up his jacket and throwing it over his shoulders.
“It’s cooling down, grab a jacket,” Yoongi says.
“Where are we going?”
“Did you eat? Are you hungry?” There’s an eagerness in Yoongi’s voice, almost a frantic tone, and you study him a little closer.
“We had corn dogs,” you say, “but they weren’t filling. I could eat.”
Yoongi chuckles and lets out a sigh. “Corn dogs sound great.”
You sit up and reach out for Yoongi, and he gets close enough to let you hook your fingers in the belt loops of his white slacks and pull him close, stumbling to stand before you. You spread your legs around him, though your dress keeps you covered, and you rub your hands up Yoongi’s sides.
“Are we in a hurry?” you ask, looking up at Yoongi through your eyelashes. You’re not even sure what you’re doing or what it is you’re hoping to initiate, but you’re feeling touch starved, and you want to taste Yoongi’s lips.
Yoongi smirks and leans down and cages you in with his arms. “Why? What do you have in mind, darling?”
“Dessert before dinner?” you suggest. “I want to taste your lips.”
There’s a tremble to Yoongi, which catches you off guard as he leans down and pushes his lips into yours. You reach your hands up, gently grabbing onto Yoongi’s hair, and he groans into your mouth as you tease his tongue with yours.
Yoongi shrugs his jacket off, and it hits the floor in a loud smack as the metal fastenings strike the hardwood. Yoongi takes the back of your head in one hand and eases you back against the mattress, and you use one leg to wrap around Yoongi’s thigh and pull him close.
You squeeze Yoongi’s hair, and he moans, then kisses down your chin and throat, littering your neck with warm, wet spots. “What’s gotten into you?” he groans against your skin.
“Can’t I miss you?” you tease.
Yoongi stops kissing you, still anchored on one hand while the other cradles your head. He looks at you almost as if searching for something, then chuckles.
“Of course you can. You’re just so hot and cold; I can never tell what you’ll do next.”
This is pretty rich coming from Yoongi, and you want to tell him that, but you decide to take the less aggressive route and attempt to sound playful. “Excuse me for having complicated feelings for my captor.”
Yoongi’s jaw shifts, and he tongues the inside of his cheek, then stands up, letting you go. He runs a hand through his hair and nods his chin toward the door.
“Leave, then,” Yoongi says. His eyes are wide as if he’s challenging you.
You sit up, anchoring yourself on your elbows.
“If you want to go back to that prick in his shitty little apartment, you’re free to go.”
Of course you feel defeated because there is a part of you that yearns for something natural and comfortable between you and Yoongi, and you wish he wouldn’t be so cold. But then you remember he’s a mafia boss and, well…what should you expect.
You return the same expression—eyes wide and challenging—and ask, “What’s the point of taking me if you don’t want to keep me?”
Yoongi rolls his eyes and sighs, then scratches at one of his eyelids. It seems like a nervous tick, though you can’t imagine Yoongi being nervous. Then again, he was trembling earlier when you kissed him.
“I’m not arguing with you, darling. Either stay with me and learn your place in my house, or leave.”
“And go where?”
Yoongi shrugs. “Not my fucking problem.”
With a deep sigh, you crash back against the bed. Why must Yoongi be so fucking frustrating? You want to ask Yoongi why he’s so guarded and snippy. You want to tell him that you don’t even want to leave his house; you just need help feeling a little more welcome. You want to ask him if perhaps, the reason he’s single is that he captures women and then annoys them into moving out.
You settle on, “You make it so hard to like you.”
Yoongi surprises you with, “Elaborate.”
You sit up and cross your arms over your chest and watch Yoongi, who stands with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, impatiently tapping his foot like a cartoon character.
“Let’s start with the facts: You kidnapped me—”
“I didn’t kidnap you,” Yoongi insists, and you hold a hand up to shush him.
“You took me into a vehicle and brought me to your house. You had two of your men bring all of my belongings from my apartment into that home without consulting with me or, I don’t know, asking me whether I wanted to live there. You have armed men follow me around the property, and you make them check in with you before we do anything. I don’t have free will, Yoongi. You say I can leave, but you know damn well there’s nowhere for me to go.”
“Do you want to leave?” Yoongi asks, and for just a moment, he almost looks vulnerable.
“Honestly,” you take a deep breath, “No. I don’t think I want to.”
Yoongi’s stance loosens, and his hands drop to his sides.
“I like you,” you admit. “When you’re being nice to me. I enjoy the gifts and the dinners. And your pool, and all the other expensive, superfluous shit.”
“But?” Yoongi cocks his head to the side.
“But it’s a lot all at once. I still don’t know you very well, and you’re talking about finding my placeandbeing useful to the house and…I don’t know what any of that means. I would rather cultivate a real, caring relationship with you than be enamored by all the other expensive bullshit. This whole thing feels so backwards.”
Yoongi squints, and he watches you. He even opens his mouth to respond but then appears to think better of it and closes it, licking his lips. You want to ask Yoongi to spit out whatever is on his mind, but he bends and picks up his denim jacket and nods toward the cabinet.
“Grab a coat, and let’s go. We’ll talk more later; I’m starved.”
Hoseok drives you and Yoongi to an unassuming noodle shop along the ocean. You’re surprised when you’re led through the restaurant and into a private dining room, similar to Yoongi’s restaurant in Seoul. The servers don’t ask any questions, returning with bottles of soju, and you watch Yoongi, waiting for him to say anything. When Yoongi just stares ahead, chewing on the inside of his lip for far too long, you clear your throat and watch as his eyes open wide to meet yours.
“What’s going on with you tonight?” you ask softly.
Yoongi blinks heavily and stretches his arms above his head. “Had a meeting with some men. Nothing too important.”
“You seem out of it.”
Yoongi brings his arms down, folds his hands on top of one another over the table and studies you, squinting. He sighs. “It’s none of your concern.”
There he is, being difficult again. “Do you want me to find my place and be useful, or should I not be concerned? I don’t know how to do both at once, Yoongi.”
The edge of Yoongi’s mouth curves upward as if he’s going to smirk, but then he flattens his lips and rolls his eyes. “Prove yourself trustworthy, and I’ll be more transparent.”
Before you can ask how you’re supposed to go about doing that, waiters bring bowls of udon in a rich broth stacked with vegetables and seafood. You drink back the cup of soju that sits before you, and Yoongi refills it, and you eat in silence, savoring the dish and distracting yourself from continuing the earlier conversation. Maybe it’s best if you don’t ask.
If Yoongi’s men’s expertise—and by extension, his—are brothels, drugs, weapons and gambling, what could you possibly bring to the table that would make you more useful? You saw enough of the first three while trafficked and while living on the streets and hoped to move away from any lifestyle that would invite them back. Especially the drugs and weapons. Asking how you could be useful with regards to any of that just feels like inviting more trouble than you need. Although, if you don’t, then would Yoongi let you stay?
Three cups of soju later, you’re loosened up and ready to ask, against your better judgment. You drink the rest of the broth, leaving the bowl empty, and blot the edges of your mouth with your napkin before blurting, “And just how do I prove myself to be trustworthy?”
Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and smirks, and his eyes shine with a mix of darkness and mirth that makes you regret opening your mouth.
From the restaurant, Hoseok takes you and Yoongi shopping. Shopping with Yoongi is a surreal experience that involves walking into a boutique, picking out a series of dresses from a tablet, and then trying them on one by one as someone brings them out to you while Yoongi sits on a small leather sofa and sips on champagne. It’s past 11 PM, and you want to ask why they’re even open, but you assume that Yoongi and his money have something to do with it.
Each piece Yoongi chooses is a short cocktail dress that highlights at least some of your curves, if not all of them, and they all make you feel trepidation for the type of place you’re being outfitted for. These are not the types of dresses you would wear to dinner with Yoongi or anywhere but a nightclub—you’d probably only wear these dresses if you were on the prowl and looking for a hookup.
Yoongi insists on a black satin halter-neck bodycon dress that dips low in both the front and back and barely covers your ass. At first, you laugh because surely this must be some kind of joke, but Yoongi cocks his head and says, “Don’t worry, darling; we’ll find you more fitting shoes,” and waves you off to be led to another room by two employees who begin showing you selections of black strappy heels.
The staff applies makeup—a smoky eye look that you’re beginning to think it’s Yoongi’s preference—and they pin your hair back, twisting it from your face and letting the rest hang down in the back. Your original dress, bra, shoes and jacket are bagged up and you’re sent back to Yoongi feeling practically naked.
Once you return, Yoongi is standing in front of a mirror, adjusting a black leather harness that sits atop a new white satin button-up shirt. The harness has straps that go over both shoulders, then come straight down to two horizontal belts that wrap around his waist. His shirt is tucked into the tightest pair of skinny black jeans you’ve ever seen, and—to make matters worse—he’s in chelsea boots.
“Ready?” Yoongi asks, turning his head to you. Silver earrings dangle from his ears, and you are certain, at this moment, that Yoongi is far more dangerous than you could have ever imagined. How is it possible for him to get any hotter?
You nod and realize your mouth has been hanging open, so you close it and avert your eyes, but when you meet Yoongi’s gaze again, he’s studying you with his head cocked and his lips in a smirk. He clearly knows the effect he has on you, and, frankly, it’s unfair.
“Y-yeah,” you mutter. “Let’s go.”
Hoseok drops you off in front of a club with a large red neon sign that reads Serendipity. When you get out, Yoongi leads you to the front, past a line of folks waiting to get in, and the bouncer bows his head down as you pass. Inside, sexy down-tempo music blares, and you’re escorted through a hallway lit with red lights, past the main entrance to the club, where another security guard bows his head and opens a black velvet curtain for you to walk through. Up a short set of stairs and through a large black door, you’re led into what appears to be a VIP lounge that overlooks the rest of the nightclub.
Men and women turn to notice you and scramble to get up and bow their heads, and when Yoongi leads you to a large booth at the end of the room, you find three men sitting around a mirror, and one of them is snorting one of three racked up lines of cocaine.
“Fellas,” Yoongi says, and the men look up with alarmed expressions. “Finish what you’re doing and move along.”
You turn to look away, gazing out onto the artificial smoke-covered dance floor and watching people writhe under rainbow lights while the sounds of snorting and heavy exhales are heard from the booth. Leather creaks, and you hear the men get up and watch as they bow their heads to you and Yoongi while they scurry away, muttering “Thank you, sir,” as they go by.
Yoongi motions for you to get into the booth, and when you sit down, you notice the mirror is still there with a pile of cocaine, a business card that was undoubtedly used to rack the lines, and a short metal straw still sitting where the men had left it. You stay closer to the outside of the booth, away from the paraphernalia, and a server wearing a vest, slacks and tie with no shirt underneath brings you two glasses of neat, caramel-colored liquor.
“Mister Min,” the server says, head bowed down. Her hair, tied into a loose ponytail, falls over her shoulder, sending a delicate floral scent to you. “It’s our pleasure to see you again,” she continues and walks away.
Yoongi, who sits in the center of the booth, takes one of the glasses, pulls the napkin from under his drink and uses it to pick up the metal straw on the mirror, then folds it over and places it on the table away from him. He then uses the card to swipe all of the cocaine on the mirror off to one side, reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a metal vial. Your heart pounds, and you watch Yoongi with wide eyes as he removes a small cork from the top and tips the vial over the mirror, dumping out white powder of his own.
This explains his erratic, anxious behavior earlier. The dilated pupils and sweaty forehead. You should have known.
By the time Yoongi has taken out a card from his wallet and scraped the pile into two thick, long lines, your hands are clenched to the hem of your skirt, holding on tightly and sweating. You don’t do drugs—not anymore. And you certainly don’t want to start again in a crowded nightclub wearing a swatch of fabric with a man whose behavior is unstable at best. Drugs don’t exactly bring out the best in you, and there’s too much at risk. You’re so far from home.
“Yoongi, I—”
Yoongi has a 50,000 won note that he’s rolled into a tight cylinder and he holds it out to you. You know you must look terrified, and Yoongi seems unconcerned, staring into your eyes with one brow raised.
“I don't—”
“I thought you wanted to prove yourself trustworthy and useful,” Yoongi says, cocking his head to the side while his lips upturn. “Ladies first.”
Your eyes travel from Yoongi to the cocaine and back, and you swallow a lump in your throat. Where past you would have taken the note and slid over excitedly, snorting the line no problem, you sweat, and your heart pounds, and you feel the overwhelming urge to run.
Yoongi opens his arms and motions for you to join him in the center of the seat, and you let go of your skirt and attempt to wipe your sweaty palms on the dress, but the fabric is thin and useless, and the texture feels terrible against the moist skin. You place your hands, balled into fists, against the seat and slide in, and when you’re close enough, Yoongi wraps his arm around you and pulls you to him.
Fingers draw lazy shapes between your shoulder blades, and Yoongi uses his pinky and ring finger to tilt your chin to him, still clutching the rolled note between his thumb and pointer. You look up, meeting Yoongi’s gaze, lips only about an inch away, and Yoongi smiles sweetly. His cologne and the loud but sultry music of the club soothe you, which, in the back of your mind, sets off more alarm bells; nothing about this should be soothing.
“What are you afraid of?” Yoongi asks.
You swallow another lump and study Yoongi’s face—his sharp eyes, round nose and plump lips. Up close, he’s somehow more beautiful, and you wonder how someone so soft, so pretty could be the leader of something so dark and so cold. You don’t want to tell Yoongi about your past drug use or past anything, really. You don’t want him to know how closely the situation he has put you in mirrors the situations men had put you in for years and years. Although it was never your fault, you fear what Yoongi may think of you.
“Uh—I—” you struggle to form a thought. Your heart pounds, and you can tell you’re breathing more shallow than usual. You shake your head. “In the past, I—”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Yoongi’s voice is deep, low, and so quiet it could only be heard at the distance you sit from him. Yoongi uses his fingers to pull your chin to him, and you gasp lightly as your lips touch. It’s light and sweet, and it makes your shoulders relax. You turn your head slightly to the side to better slot your lips together and chase a deeper kiss.
“I’ll take care of you, darling,” Yoongi mutters against your lips.
You whine as Yoongi licks between your lips, grazing your teeth, and when your mouth falls open, inviting Yoongi to chase your tongue with his, you reach up and place your hands on Yoongi’s chest. You run your fingers over the leather straps, passing a fingertip over a nipple, and Yoongi gasps as the hand on your back pulls you closer.
“Trust me,” Yoongi whines, leaning his forehead against yours.
With a deep exhale, you sit back and accept the note from Yoongi. It’s just cocaine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this many times before. If Yoongi is as powerful and influential as he says he is—as untouchable as Felix claims—you shouldn’t have to worry about the quality of his drugs. With your free hand, you reach for your drink and take a big gulp. Whiskey. It’s smooth, but it burns the back of your throat and fills your chest with warmth.
You set your drink down and lean over the mirror, scooting it close to you, and Yoongi’s fingers continue to ease your mind, drawing lines up and down your spine, skin against skin. With a deep inhale and a soft, slow exhale, you lean forward, line the end of the note with one of the lines, press your nose close to the other end, and inhale.
The powder instantly hits your throat, and you continue to inhale the entire line. And although it takes no time at all for the drug to course through you, it’s the adrenaline of the situation that has your heart pounding dizzyingly. You tilt your head up and rub the back of a shaky hand against your nose and sniff, getting the powder that’s stuck to the inside of your nostril to travel back into your throat.
“That’s my girl,” Yoongi praises, pulling you close and kissing your temple.
Yoongi takes the note from you, and with his hand still on your back, he leans forward and inhales the second line in a quick, practiced movement. Sour mucus drips down your throat, and the air suddenly feels thick and heavy. You feel the urge to sink into the booth and will your soul to push itself up and out of your body. You want to dance and drink and fuck, and you tilt your head back against the warm leather and close your eyes, taking a deep breath.
“How do you feel, darling?” Yoongi asks. His breath is warm and close, and he runs a finger down the side of your neck.
Energy trembles and sparks through your limbs. It shouldn’t hit you so fast, but it has. “Electric,” you mutter, opening your eyes and staring at the dark ceiling.
“You won’t find anything this pure on the streets.”
The words swim around, but you can’t make sense of much. The lights are flashing, the music is loud, and your bodies are radiating heat. The cocaine did smell clean, almost floral, and you’re inclined to believe him; you’re used to shit smelling like gasoline.
“Care to dance?” Yoongi asks.
You look at Yoongi, searching his wide-eyed, smirking face. You nod your head, and Yoongi reaches for his drink and chugs it back, so you chug the rest of yours and let Yoongi pull you along as he slides out of the booth. Yoongi leads you through a door similar to the one you came through, but in the opposite direction, and you walk down a short set of steps, through a black velvet curtain and past a man whose head is bowed down. Then you’re led through an entrance into the nightclub, and Yoongi pulls you into the center of the crowd and wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close.
The music is slow enough that you sway your hips at a languid pace and pull Yoongi close, arms over his shoulders with your fingers twisting in the long hair at his nape. One of Yoongi’s hands holds your back, flayed open and radiating heat against your bare skin, and the other moves down to the swell of your ass, moving slowly over the fabric, hiking and dropping the skirt. You’re aware of how many eyes might be on you, but all you can do is look at Yoongi.
“Is it dangerous to be in a crowd like this?” you ask softly. You grazed a finger over a nipple earlier; Yoongi is not wearing a bulletproof vest.
Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “In my own club? No.”
Of course Yoongi owns this place. You chuckle and pull him closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling foolish for even asking.
“How do you feel, being seen with a man like me?”
And you thought your question was stupid; his is frankly astounding. You tilt your head back and meet Yoongi’s gaze, smiling as you roll your eyes to show him just how silly he sounds.
“How do I feel in the arms of the man who everyone in this room envies? The man who everyone wants to be, or wants to be with?” Yoongi’s eyes flash, dark and devious, and you pull him to you until your lips are close to touching. “How do you think I feel?”
You run your hands down over Yoongi’s chest, feeling his warmth through his shirt, and Yoongi smirks. The song blends into something new, something with a faster tempo, and Yoongi grabs you by the hips, spins you, and slams your ass against his body. Your head whips to the side as if trying to see Yoongi, and he takes it as an invitation to lean in and kiss your neck. Yoongi’s hands open and flay over your hips and the tops of your thighs, pushing and pulling the satin around, and you moan quietly, melting into the feeling.
“How do you like the coke, darling?” Yoongi asks against your skin.
Yoongi’s lips leave sparks on every spot they touch, and you reach your hands back to rub the sides of his thighs. “Good,” you respond.
“How good?”
The deep rasp of his voice sends a shiver along your spine, and Yoongi presses your hips back, grinding your ass against him, pushing the tense bulge in his very tight pants against you. Your breath comes out shaky, and your body is flooded with arousal.
“Sogood.”
Although you’re not really dancing, more like swaying, there’s a rhythm in Yoongi’s hips that has your mind going places. His long fingers come so close to rubbing past your thighs, ghosting near your pussy, and you swish your hips in opposite movements, rubbing your ass over Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi hisses and sighs behind you, and you can feel every inch of your skin break out in goosebumps. The song changes, but the tempo stays the same, and as each minute passes, you feel yourself becoming needier and needier.
“Want to go somewhere more private?” Yoongi rasps.
It occurs to you in this moment that this club most likely doubles as a brothel and that somewhere private could mean a lot of things. A lot of dangerous, enticing things. And god, you want to fuck Min Yoongi so badly. Mafia boss Min Yoongi who not only runs Seoul but apparently some of Busan too; his power feels immeasurable and scary, and you’re increasingly turned on by the idea that all eyes are on him and his eyes are on you. The cocaine energizes yet relaxes you in a delicious blend that has every nerve and sense on high alert, and you want nothing more than to be absolutely overwhelmed by Yoongi.
“Yes,” you mutter, and in an instant, Yoongi is grabbing your hand and pulling you along in the direction you came, through the entrance and toward the security guard. Only, rather than enter the black curtain at the end of the hall to go back to the VIP area, you stop in front of the guard, who steps aside and opens a black curtain you hadn’t noticed behind him. Red light fills the small stairwell, and you’re led down a winding flight of steps into another red-lit hallway.
The hallway is lined with heavy black doors, and although the music from the club upstairs comes through speakers and shakes through the ceiling, you can hear moans and grunts, slaps and gasps, and other salacious sounds from the rooms. Yoongi leads you to the door at the end of the hall, types in a long code on the keypad and swings the door open, guiding you with a hand on the small of your back to enter first.
Yoongi pushes a button on the wall as he enters, and the lights flicker on, purple and dim, as the door closes behind you. To the right is a bed with wrist and ankle straps snaked from beneath the mattress, making an X shape in the center atop the neatly tucked silk sheets. On the wall beside the bed is a rack with various whips, floggers and other striking tools. Shelves along the wall are covered in various toys and devices, and you hold back a chuckle at the sight of dildos and anal plugs standing alert, waiting to be used. In the center of the room is a large white couch facing the shelves, and on the left wall is a large bar stocked with bottles of liquor.
“Have a seat,” Yoongi offers.
Reluctantly, you make your way to the couch and sit. You can’t help but rove your eyes over the shelves of toys, landing on the row of monster-looking cocks with strange bulbous bases and tentacles covering the lengths. Yoongi goes to the bar, and you can hear the sounds of glasses on a glass surface, a bottle opening and closing, and liquid pouring, but your mind is clouded with everything this room has to offer. This is so far beyond what you expected—though, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure what you should have anticipated lies behind that door.
“This is the executive suite. Busan has some real kinky little fuckers; they love those monster cocks here.”
The creaking of the leather couch pulls your gaze from the dildo wall to Yoongi, who smirks widely. “Seems you’re intrigued by the monster cocks, too.”
“Please stop saying monster cocks,” you mutter, suddenly feeling shy and taking one of the glasses from Yoongi.
“Everything is sanitized, and staff are required to use condoms with customers, in case you—”
You hold up a hand, stopping Yoongi mid-sentence. “Yoongi,” you giggle, “I think I’m good but thank you.”
Yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek and chuckles, and you watch the rise and fall of his shoulders and try not to swoon. “If you insist,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
The mood you were in on the dancefloor seems to have all but dissipated, but you sip the whiskey and let your eyes fall over Yoongi’s face and throat, down to his chest, and—
“You should undo some of your buttons,” you suggest, meeting Yoongi’s eyes.
“I could remove the shirt,” Yoongi offers, taking a sip of his drink.
You take a drink and let the warm, slightly sweet, bitter liquid sink you further into the mental and physical calm that you chase. “Keep the harness on,” you say, raising an eyebrow, and Yoongi chuckles.
Yoongi drinks his whiskey down and sets his empty glass on a shelf next to a large black and purple tentacle dildo, and you drink back yours, setting the glass next to a red cock with a large knot in the center of the shaft. Yoongi takes your hand and tugs you to him, and you get onto your knees on the couch and straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your skirt barely covers you, and Yoongi runs his hands up your thighs, pushing the satin up and exposing your panties.
Suddenly, you feel nervous and drop your head onto one of Yoongi’s shoulders. You nuzzle against his skin and inhale his scent, and Yoongi chuckles and moves one of his hands, pushing your knee away so he can reach into his pocket and pull out the metal vial. As soon as you see it, it occurs to you that your high has more or less begun to wear off, and the come down has you feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable.
Yoongi opens the vial, sets the cork lid on the couch, and reaches into his shirt to pull out a necklace you hadn’t noticed he’s wearing. Hanging from a thin gold chain is an angel with big, open wings, and her hands are pulled into prayer with her head tilted slightly forward. Her legs smooth out into a stem and at the end is a small spoon. Yoongi hands the angel pendant to you, still hanging from his neck, and you dip the spoon into the cocaine and gather a small pile onto the end, then inhale it.
“Both sides, for good measure,” Yoongi mutters, and you oblige, dipping the spoon into the drugs once more and inhaling it into your other nostril. Yoongi delicately uses the pad of a thumb to rub away any excess cocaine on your nose, then takes the angel and snorts two piles before closing the vial and tucking the necklace back into his shirt. Yoongi leaves the drugs on the couch and runs his hands up your thighs, lifting your skirt again.
The buzzing, electric feeling starts to flow through you, and you rub your nose against Yoongi’s, watching as his lips tug into a smirk before pulling you in a deep, hungry kiss. Yoongi’s hands grip onto your thighs, and you grind your ass down against his half-hard cock, delighting in the hiss that falls between his lips.
“Fuck,” Yoongi groans. “You drive me wild. It’s so hard to hold back.”
“Don’t hold back,” you whine against Yoongi’s lips.
Yoongi rubs a thumb over your clothed pussy, sending a jolt of arousal through you, and you gasp into his mouth. He circles over your clit, pressing the thin, soft fabric against you, and you moan short, desperate sounds. His thumb slides over you, down over your folds, parting them, and back up.
“This what you want?” Yoongi asks, and you hum in response, though it sounds more like a moan.
“Already so wet for me, darling,” Yoongi groans, and you whimper in response, eager for more praise to fall from Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi taps your hip. “Get comfortable for me.”
You climb off Yoongi’s lap and sit, and before you can ask where he wants you, Yoongi slides onto the floor and crawls between your legs, spreading you wide and pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. He reaches for a throw pillow and hands it to you, and you put it behind your back but lean forward, pulling Yoongi’s face into a kiss. Yoongi licks eagerly into your mouth and sucks on your bottom lip, then pulls from the kiss and rubs his open hands up your thighs, spreading your legs.
Yoongi hooks your right leg over his shoulder as he litters kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. His lips are warm and soft, and the closer they get to where you want him, the more shattered your breath becomes. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you grip onto the edge of the couch and sink into the feeling, watching Yoongi get closer and closer.
Two fingers touch you, rubbing over your clit, and you whimper and exhale a deep breath. Yoongi’s lips are so close, and the sensation of his mouth, his fingers, his hair tickling the inside of your thigh, everything has you panting in anticipation.
Yoongi sits back, inches from your pussy, and reaches up with both hands, rubbing over your tummy and breasts. You whimper as Yoongi squeezes your nipples between his fingers and thumbs over the satin, and he smirks before pulling his hands back down, down, down, spreading your thighs again.
“I’ve been dying to taste you,” Yoongi rasps.
Long fingers dimple your skin, holding tightly, and Yoongi leans forward and licks you over your panties, slowly up and down and up again, and arousal drips through you, thick and saccharine. You moan and let your head crash back into the leather surface as Yoongi tugs your panties aside and gently, slowly parts your folds with his tongue, teasing you, making you unravel so delicately for him.
You knew that Yoongi would be skilled, but you’re still surprised by how quickly, almost effortlessly, Yoongi’s tongue has you melting just from teasing and tasting. By the time his tongue circles over your clit and his lips close over the bud, gently sucking, you’re moaning and whining and holding onto the edge of the couch like a lifeline. Every inch of you may as well be engulfed in flame.
Yoongi sets a rhythm with his lips and tongue that has every inch of you burning hot and eager with arousal. Pleasure pools and builds and threatens to swallow you whole, and Yoongi moans and hums as he savors you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of total collapse.
Two fingers tease your entrance, then press slowly into you, and your hips rock involuntarily as he stretches you around his knuckles and slowly thrusts into you. You moan and whimper and chant, “please,” under your breath, and Yoongi hooks his fingers and gradually begins to fuck them into you, fast and rough enough to have you seeing stars. Yoongi flattens his tongue and leans his head forward, and the thrusts of his hand have your hips rocking just enough that your clit grinds against Yoongi’s tongue.
“F-fuck,” you whine, feeling the quick, steady rise of an orgasm. “Please, don’t stop.”
Yoongi sucks your clit between his lips and fingers you faster, and that’s all it takes to have you grabbing onto his hair and crying out. Your voice blends with the squelch of Yoongi’s fingers in your pussy in a lewd cacophony of pleasure, and you cum hard, grinding against Yoongi’s face as your back arches and your legs tremble, and you feel as if you’re absolutely fucking drowning in pleasure. Yoongi doesn’t slow, and as your high begins to dissipate, leaving you overstimulated and sensitive, you begin to cry out and squeeze your thighs closed, but Yoongi keeps you spread, and he doesn’t stop.
“One more for me,” Yoongi groans, and you let your hands fall from his hair and grip the couch instead, doing your best to relax into the feeling and allow him to make you cum once more.
It takes no time at all for another orgasm to rise. Your thighs tremble, and you feel as if a haze has covered the room. You’re blissful and exhausted despite taut, intense coiling in your core that feels ready to burst and shatter you into thousands of pieces. Your hips begin to shake, grinding on Yoongi’s face, and you feel pulled in every direction, overwhelmed in the best way.
Yoongi’s phone rings. The sound almost yanks you out of the moment, but Yoongi’s fingers don’t slow, and he pulls his lips from you long enough to grumble, “What?”
You try to hold back your moans, but you’re so close, and they fall so easily from your mouth. From the phone, you hear Namjoon’s deep voice ask, “Bad timing?” and tense up at the realization that Yoongi has him on speaker.
“What do you think?” Yoongi growls back before sucking your clit between his lips, and holy shit, you are falling apart quickly. You try not to make too much noise, but your orgasm courses through you so fast, and you tremble and grind and whimper through the feeling.
“Are you at Serendipity? We have a problem.”
Yoongi hums loudly in affirmation with his lips attached to your clit, and you continue to ride out your high, squeezing the leather below you and panting heavily. Yoongi’s fingers slow but continue to trust deeply, dragging along your walls.
“Jimin is on his way to the executive suite. Clean up and meet us in ten.”
With a sigh, Yoongi licks one last slow stripe over your clit and mutters, “Heard,” then ends the call and flips his phone over.
Yoongi sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His face is pink, lips slick and swollen, and his hair is disheveled. He looks sinful yet soft, and you wonder if you could fall in love with him.
There’s a knock at the door before a code is punched into the keypad, and you attempt to cover yourself, but Jimin is in the room before you can sit up. You look over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Jimin wears a leopard print jacket with thick black lapels that rise in dramatic peaks over his chest. Under the jacket is a black satin shirt with a loose, long bowtie collar. You marvel at how nice it is to see Jimin in something other than a plain black button-up.
“This won’t do,” Jimin says, eyeing Yoongi. He begins to untie and unbutton his own shirt, and Yoongi catches on and begins to unbuckle his harness.
“What’s going on?” Yoongi mutters, tossing the harness to the couch and unbuttoning his white shirt.
“Ryujin heard you were in town.”
Yoongi’s fingers stall over his buttons, then he continues to work them open. “So?”
“Just because you own the district doesn’t mean she doesn’t have free reign to enter as she pleases.”
“Is she here?”
Jimin shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, and you tear your eyes away. He’s similar in build to Yoongi but a little more muscular and a bit more honey-toned. Instead, you watch Yoongi grab the shirt that Jimin had tossed onto the couch and watch his hands—those magic fucking hands—button the black shirt, tie the collar into a delicate, loose bow, and then pull on the leopard print jacket.
Jimin rounds the couch, and you notice how his tiny waist is cinched in the harness that Yoongi wore earlier. He uses his thumbs to rub away any makeup that may have smeared from your eyes, then fixes your hair, unpinning and repinning sections.
“Whatever you do, do not look this woman in the eye, and do not let her intimidate you,” Jimin says. He stands and holds his hand out to you, and you take it and allow Jimin to help you stand on unsteady legs. “In fact, don’t even look at her at all. This dress is perfect, by the way. It looks hot. Stand tall with your chin up and cling to Yoongi’s side. Only look at him and us, alright?”
You nod your head, but the instructions take a moment to settle. Jimin straightens out your dress, then he turns to Yoongi and messes with his tie, smoothing his lapels over his chest.
“You smell like pussy,” Jimin grumbles through a smirk, and Yoongi bites back a grin. “And what did I say about leaving glassware by the dildos, hyung?”
“Don’t do it,” Yoongi mutters like a scolded child.
“Don’t do it!” Jimin parrots. “Alright, Joonie-hyung is waiting; grab your coke and let’s go.”
Jimin makes his way to the door, and Yoongi grabs his metal vial and wraps an arm around your waist, leading you along behind him. You’re still in a daze from Yoongi’s mouth and fingers, and you feel like you’re walking through clouds as you make your way down the red-lit hallway and up the stairs. Jimin takes you to the VIP section, and you pass the booth you and Yoongi had been in, noticing the mirror of cocaine is still there.
“Who are you meeting?” you ask quietly, finally starting to mentally catch up with what’s happening, but Yoongi doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he stops in his tracks near the bar that runs along the far wall, and as a few of Yoongi’s family men crowd your space, a woman walks up with men of her own surrounding her.
Jimin instructed you not to look at her, but you can’t help but take a glimpse. Long, black hair is tied in a low ponytail with loose hairs in the front hanging over her face, framing it nicely. She has soft red eyeshadow around her eyes and bright purple lipstick, and she wears a tight black leather crop top beneath a black blazer, and slacks. Although the outfit is simple, she’s breathtaking.
“Baby!” the woman squeals in a tone that borders genuine and sarcastic in a twist that confuses you. “Did you miss me?”
You realize she’s talking to Yoongi and turn to look at him, clinging to his side with one hand on his chest and the other around his waist. Yoongi’s expression is almost unreadable, but there’s a hint of sadness that you try not to overthink. He doesn’t respond.
“Heard you were in town and wanted to come say hi,” she says, getting closer. She places a hand on Yoongi’s jacket and rubs over it, and you see she’s turned to look at you, but you don’t look at her. “I guess you brought a new pet along to play instead, though, huh?”
“What do you want, Ryujin?” Yoongi mutters. He places a hand over hers and pulls it off his jacket, and she drops her hand and takes a step back.
“You, obviously.”
Yoongi sighs. “That’s it? I was a little busy, you know.”
The woman, Ryujin, hums, and you fight the urge to look at her. She smells like fresh citrus and something floral.
“I can tell,” Ryujin responds mockingly, then steps back. “The streets speak, Yoongi. Busan doesn’t want to keep you unless you accept my proposal.”
Yoongi scoffs. “Tough shit.”
“Yes, it will be tough shit when you wake up to find your precious seaside port gone. How will your little coke operation run?”
“Busan isn’t the only port city,” Yoongi responds. His hand on your hip tightens, but otherwise, you wouldn’t know he’s tense. “If you think I can’t buy a village, you grossly underestimate me.”
“We’ll see,” Ryujin sing-songs. “It’s not too late to merge families, though.”
Yoongi sighs. “Cool, good talk,” he says, pulling you away from the bar. His men crowd around behind you, creating a barrier between you and her men.
“You can’t run from me forever, Yoongi, baby!” Ryujin shouts, “As long as you have a district in my city, I’ll come for you.”
Yoongi pulls you closer and continues walking. You’re led out of the VIP, through the red-lit hallway and out into an alley. Hoseok is in an SUV just outside, and Yoongi opens your door, waiting for you to climb in before he shuts it and rounds the vehicle.
“How was meeting the ice queen?” Hoseok asks with a grin. You hum a question, watching Hoseok watch you through the rearview mirror, and Hoseok opens his mouth to speak, but Yoongi opens the door and gets into the backseat beside you.
“I want everything out of the warehouse,” Yoongi says, pulling on his seatbelt. “We’re heading back tonight.”
“One step ahead of you, boss,” Hoseok says as he pulls out of the alley. “Jungkook already has the cargo in tow to Seoul with Changkyun and his men. I have your luggage in the back.”
“Everyone knew well before I did?” Yoongi asks.
Hoseok smirks. “You were having fun, boss. We didn’t want to interrupt until we felt it was necessary.”
You watch the city disappear as Hoseok drives in the direction of home. You wish you had more time to spend at the hanok, but whoever Ryujin is, seems to have shaken Yoongi enough to make him want to leave.
“Who is she?” you ask, and Yoongi’s jaw tenses.
“She,” Hoseok offers with a smile, which you catch in the rearview mirror, “was none other than the love of Yoongi’s life.”
Yoongi sighs, and you look to find him staring out the window with a sharp, cold expression.
“What happened?” you ask, though you’re unsure you have a right to.
“Found out her father is the head of a rival mob and that she was using me in hopes of blending power and helping her family take over my family’s territory,” Yoongi mutters.
“Oh,” is all you can say.
“Want to know the best part?” Hoseok asks, and you look into the mirror to find him staring at you.
“Hoseok,” Yoongi warns, but, aside from glancing forward at the road, Hoseok’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Yoongi found out just before their wedding.”
Their wedding. Yoongi and Ryujin were engaged. Bile rises to your throat, and you feel like you’re going to be sick.
“How long were you together?” you ask.
“High school sweethearts!” Hoseok chirps and Yoongi buries his face in his hands. He looks exasperated. “You were together for, what? Ten years?”
Yoongi grumbles, and you’re not sure if it’s an affirmative or not, but you’re guessing that it is.
And although you can tell Yoongi does not want to talk about it anymore, you can’t help but ask, “How soon before the wedding?”
Yoongi turns to you, and his eyes are sharp and angry, but they soften as he studies your face. He chuckles a low, humorless sound and says, “I was tipped off while standing at the altar.”
“Oh.”
“Yoongi almost shot her father dead there in the church as he began to walk her down the aisle. It was like a scene from a movie.”
“Fucking should have,” Yoongi mutters, looking down at his hands.
You reach out and take Yoongi’s hand, and he squeezes your fingers softly and smiles, looking down at your hand in his.
“Does she actually want you still,” you ask, “or was she just taunting you?”
Hoseok chuckles. “She not only wants him, lately she seems ready to stop at nothing to have him.”
The Boy[M] Pairing:Kim Sunwoo x Fem!Reader Tags: 22k words, Strangers to lovers, Fluff, Romance, Humor, Smut. Summary:There is so much more to the cute boy at the car wash and he’s hell bent on changing your mind about him.
Warnings:Mature/Adult themes throughout + Sexually Explicit Content at the end of the story. Language, light alcohol use, age gap (reader is 5yrs older), slow burn but not?, a ton of kissing/making out, unprotected sex (m/f), fingering (f), oral (f), mentions of loser exes & cheating, overall its a lot of flirting and fluff, and the story of two people unexpectedly falling in love.
You know how after a long day of work, every single minuscule thing has the power to send you over the edge?
The current culprit for your impending meltdown is this stupid, never-ending red light.
You swear it’s been a solid five minutes without change and you’re ready to gather random materials from the passenger seat to create a makeshift slingshot and fire loose change at the damn thing until it turns green. Just before you let loose another expletive, the light changes and you press down on the gas with a long sigh.
Things are going to get better. Soon enough you’ll be in your own home, stripped of your heels and business attire, earrings tossed onto your dresser carelessly as you trade it all out for an over-sized sweatshirt and pair of fuzzy socks. You’ll turn on some trashy reality show and dig into the take out sitting next to you. The thought brings a smile to your lips and then the phone rings.
What a fantastic read. It was so much fun and 22k words flew by so quickly. I love how you wrote Sunwoo. I feel you got his witty, quirky characteristics so well. I adored it. Your dialogue is something I envy. Each character had their own personality and it shone in your story. That’s talent!!! The flow and progression were nice as well. I liked how you repeated the reader going to the car wash, but each interaction was a little different than the first. Slowly, there was more of it. The build-up was perfect. It didn’t feel rushed. The age gap was nice, too. I really like your writing. Thank you for your hard work ☺️ I apologize if this is all over the place!
Here’s a snippet of my thoughts while reading:
He holds out your keys but just before you can take them he lifts them a bit higher. “I haven’t seen your beautiful smile yet,” He narrows his eyes, “How can I be sure it’s really you?”
I’M CRYING that was smooth. I’m a sucker for dialogue like this haha. I giggled irl
You tried to keep your eyes focused on your phone but curiosity not only killed the cat but also your sense of dignity as you strained to overhear the conversation, peering at them in your peripherals.
Awh I love the twist of the common “curiosity killed the cat” phrase. It really captured my attention.
“She likes to hold things in until she becomes an emotional little teapot ready to blow.”
What a great visual, and also very relatable!
“More importantly, who is that? He’s hot!” “Thank you,” Sunwoo murmurs, eyes still closed with his head propped against the back of the couch.
I screamed! It’s the fact he didn’t bother to open his eyes when he said that. Adlkgjklkfsj. I feel that shouldn’t have affected me so much but it did… Thank you lol!
Secret Serenade Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader Tags: 2.7k, Neighbors!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff, Fluff, part of the Mr. Right Next Door series. (no warnings) Summary:You’ve never actually met your next-door neighbor but you eagerly tuck into bed every night like clock-work to listen to him sing through your thin bedroom wall. After a few nights, the singing stops and the lack of sleep that ensues causes you to knock on his door in the middle of the night to find out why. “Hey…why’d you stop singing?. It helps me fall asleep.”
Adulthood wasn’t exactly all it was cracked up to be when you were a child.
Ever since you were little you’d dreamt of the day you could drive a car, graduate from college, land a great job, get married, have children, every little adult-like thing you could dream of doing written down like a check-list you’d mark off one-by-one as you grew older. A little sure-fire laid out plan you’d perfectly crafted in your head.
I think my emotions are just getting the better of me because I feel like crying after reading this. Not that it was sad, but it was so sweet and thoughtful. Being a hopeless romantic doesn’t help much either. This was cute ☺️
#1 - It always makes Person A’s day when PersonB is serving them at the coffee shop, they’re smiling the whole day
#2 - The coffee isn’t actually that great but Person A still visits this coffee shop because of the sweet barista
#3 - Person AgivingPerson B increasing tips every time
#4 - Person B notices that Person A hasn’t visited the coffee shop for a while, they’re beginning to worry
#5 - Person B really likes the regular customer, PersonA, and decides to give them a free drink for their loyalty the next time
#6 - Person A is a barista who witnesses love stories unfold every day but is never the one to get lucky (or are they?)
#7 - Person B is jokingly flirting with Person A who comes to the coffee shop every day, but is it really meant jokingly all the time?
#8 - Person A finally asks out Person B on a coffee date, but Bjust can’t see coffee anymore because they have to serve it every day
#9 - Person B makes the best coffee but they don’t even like coffee, Person A is in utter shock when they find out
#10 - Every morning in the metro, Person A sees the beautiful Person B and they feel like they know them from somewhere, but they just can’t figure out where they’ve seen them. One day, they realise it’s the sweet barista from their new favourite coffee shop.
Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?
Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader
1900’s Mafia/Gangsters AU
A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean’s body so like…idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles
Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading
The Novak’s that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you’d think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.
The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak’s have been introduced the world’s most feared gang the L/n’s is one family not to be fucked with.
(Father’s name) leading his kingdom no…empire with his wife (Mother’s name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn’t much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. “WHAT THE HELL!!!” Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. “I’m due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!” He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. “I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There’s no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father’s name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother’s untimely passing and (Mother’s name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed.” Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.
“You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories.” Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. “He was one of the only people you’d go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there’s on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all.” Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he’s sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.
“No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He’s in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don’t need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet.” With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. “Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer” that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he’s not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he’d do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn’t settling well with him that didn’t mean it felt completely wrong.
One day later
Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. “Can I come,please!” His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. “Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time.” The pout on Castiel lip didn’t move as he held up his hand his pinky out. “Promise?” Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. “Promise.” With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.
Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man’s leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. “Were is my money?” He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. “Help please!” He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn’t called for assistance. “No can do.” A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. “I came for my five notes.” The didn’t seem fazed at the torture. “Fuck you gypsy scum!!” The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. “I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I’ll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are.” His tone dropped further the blade under the man’s fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let’s just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.
He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. “Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost” The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. “Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself.” His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael’s guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. “Why did you do that?” Michael asked as they walked out of the town. “You worked for that money and gave it all away.” He was confused he’s never seen a man work for a family that wasn’t his own.
“They need it more. Schools out the children don’t get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I’m alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work.” Novak wasn’t sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. “Thats very admirable of you.” Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. “It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I’m not saying I’m amazing,but sometimes I’m decently above average. That’s what people need someone decent enough go care.”
Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. “It’s been a pleasure,Mr. Novak.” The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. “You know who I am and I don’t even get a name.” He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. “I’m N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams.” Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he’s taking what’s his this time.
Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner
The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak’s. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn’t want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men…no boys with guns.
“Everyone get down on the ground. We’ve come only for the money we won’t hesitate for blood as well.” The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. “Ah! If it isn’t Michael Novak no men to protect you now.” A man he didn’t realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. “Pathetic.” The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. “It would be in your best interest to leave,boys.” They all train their guns at the man. “Why’s that,you motherless bastered?” The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. “Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men.” After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. “I only count ten I still have the upper hand.” N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what’s to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. “Upper hand you say?” He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.
N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. “Thank you.” His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. “Consider it a gift from M/n L/n.” The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. “Now if I’m not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy.” He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. “Will you be there?” Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. “You can count on it. We’ll be seeing eachother alot more.” The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.
Family Dinner was about to start the Novak’s sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. “The L/n’s are here.” Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. “M/n been a long while hasn’t it?” The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n’s answered. “That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn’t come he had some other business to handle.” N/n or M/n now to Michael’s knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. “This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don’t mind him.” The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. “Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me.” A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak’s way. “Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what’s mine,their little toys they call guns were child’s play compared to my men.” M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.
“Are you a knight that saves people?” The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. “Sometimes when I want to be.” A bubbly giggle rang out. “You saved Mikey making him your prince.” Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. “Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?” He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn’t bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. “Yeah and I’m gonna make him my king and take him to my castle.” M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. “We’ll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after.” Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. “Um if you’ll excess me. I need some air.” Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.
The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn’t hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. “You knew the whole time who I was.” Micheal didn’t look up at the man as he sighed. “Yes I knew who you were…we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself.” The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. “Chuck knew as well.” Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. “He didn’t know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick.” Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. “Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I’d slip away made me realize it can’t be so bad.” M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. “I was afraid at first you’d hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults.”
Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. “I know this won’t mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you’ll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband.” In M/n hand that wasn’t interlocked with Micheal’s he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. “No matter what,Novak,I’ll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing.” M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. “Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting.” as he slipped the ring on the silent man’s finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.
Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. “My angel with a shotgun.”
Whisper in the Shadows ➳ Tom Hiddleston [chapter two]
➳summary: Behind the silver screen, he seized the world by storm with his crystalline blue orbs and adoring accent, his acting abilities bringing the audience to laughter, anger, or tears. Behind the screen of her laptop, she took the world by storm with her penmanship that captured the attention of her adoring crowd across the world. What happens when Tom and this exquisite author find themselves communicating, yet somehow falling in love, without her ever discovering his true identity? What begins as friendship and sweet messages turns into both of them contemplating their every move, vying for the other’s hand. Their friends around them say they’re outlandish to do this, but when this young woman’s whispers are so loud within the shadows of her pages, that the echoes of her screams can be heard through every line she writes, Tom has to do something about it. But when their identities are uncovered at an unexpected event and the revelation is made…Can they find the fairytale ending that they both had been longing for, for so long?
Love made you see the best in people when they could oftentimes be the worst.
Love blinded the eyes but unveiled the heart.
Love, from the wrong person, is bitter. It’s chaotic. It’s tragic. It’s obsessive. It’s toxic.
Love, from the right person, it’s splendor. It’s beautiful. It’s lively. It’s adoration. It’s healthy.
When could I find a love like that?
Those words from Whisper in the Shadows by this author, annavixen92, had Tom’s head swirling. From the moment he clicked on the first chapter, he was suddenly pulled into a world unknown to him, a world that featured Serenity Fields and Dawson Brewington.
Tom was used to Shakespeare, those classic romance novels, the Jane Austen kind, the ones that when it sucked him into an alternate universe, he could spend hours reading with no end in sight. Normally, discovering a modern story such as Whisper in the Shadows would cause him to step away. But this writing – there was something so different about it.
Whoeverannavixen92 was, she was a mastermind and her words had Tom wrapped up. Tom was so enthused with reading this love story that centered on Serenity’s life slipping through her fingertips as she encounters a rough divorce before she uncovered the likes of Dawson, this daring and abject man with a turbulent past who sometimes pushed Serenity out of his path, only to uncover a passionate love unlike neither had ever experienced before. Tom had been woken up by Luke shaking him and discovered his phone was screen-first against his chest.
“Geez, Tom. Did you stay up all night?” The publicist laughed at the sight of his best friend’s blonde curls a mess and his blue orbs filled with sleep.
“What time is it?” Tom asked, rubbing his eyes and quickly untangling his frame from the sheets.
“Just after 7:30,” Luke responded.
Tom nodded and pressed on with a yawn. “I’ll go ahead and get ready,” He assured Luke who showed him a generous smile. Leaving him alone, Tom looked around the room and scratched his face. Unlocking his phone, he saw that he was on chapter five of twenty-five. Part of him wished he didn’t have to handle meetings this morning. He would love nothing more than to stay inside all day and soak his crystalline eyes on the screen of his phone as annavixen92 submerged him in her world that was Serenity and Dawson.
But he knew that was useless to contemplate. He had work to take care of, with leisure time following after his duties were completed. Heading for the bathroom after putting his phone on charge, he couldn’t help but reflect on Serenity’s description of love. Whomever this author was, Tom realized they spoke nothing but the truth, even if it came out in a twisted and heart-wrenching manner. But that was sometimes the best way to expose oneself.
As Tom washed his hair, he recalled the beautiful detail of Serenity. A sweet and young woman who had her lively nature snatched from her through the lies of her ex-husband, Tristan. Serenity was in the midst of a battle with this putrid ex-husband as they went through the motions of a messy divorce, until Tristan’s best friend, Dawson Brewington entered the picture. A dark-haired male with tattoos and a tragic past of his own. He despised the man who he claimed as a ‘best friend’ for so many years once he stumbles across the beloved Serenity.
Dawson understood he wasn’t to interfere with a husband and wife who were separated and undergoing a divorce, but there was something so crystal clear about Serenity, that Dawson couldn’t stay away. Tom could feel the strength that resonated from Dawson’s dominant character and his heartfelt feelings toward Serenity, although he was skeptical of binding himself to a woman who shouldn’t be touched by him.
It was all Tom could think about, from the moment he finished his shower, to the second he got dressed, and all the way downstairs when he made it to the waiting car that came to pick him and Luke up.
While he was on his way to conduct business, little did he know that the gorgeous author was halfway across the world in Tennessee, struggling to breathe.
“Can you do anythingright?”Your boss, a disgusting gentleman by the name of Pierce asked you as he spat in your face. “There are three tables waiting for your lousy service! Geez, you go through a divorce, and suddenly, you’re damaged goods. No wonder Trent left. I would’ve run a longtime ago, too!” He pushed past you, knocking the things out of your hands.
A gasp cut from your throat as you stood there, tears threatening to spill. It was another night at Mallory’s, and of course, you were thrown to the wolves. Everything in your world seemed to flip upside down. Struggling to find balance, you bit down on your lip until you nearly drew blood.
Across the room tucked away in the corner was Stephanie Wilson. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and glanced at you. “I’ve got you,” She looked at you. “Go to the walk-in, take a breather,”
Your eyes cut up at her.
“Stephanie, I can’t ask you to,” – “This isn’t you asking me, this is me telling you,” She hurriedly reached up and grabbed your shoulders. She could see the panic written on your face. “You’re seconds away from a breakdown. Your mental health? Far more important than pleasing Pierce’s ass,”
You sniffled, your chest tightening. Stephanie pulled you in for a quick hug. “Go,”She told you again. You nodded and hurried out of the kitchen and toward the back where the walk-in fridge was. Pulling the door open and sealing yourself in, the cold air hit your lungs and you gasped at the feel.
Immediately, your shoulders started to shake as the cry exploded. Leaning against the wired racks of the inside, your forehead rested against your arm as your tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Everything seemed to be getting worse.While Trent was trying to plaster you as the cheating one in your marriage, it was never you. It was always him. He played his cards to make you out to be the abusive wife who hurt him, whereas the story was turned the other way around.
You still had scars and fresh bruises to prove it. His nights when he returned home, absolutely drunk and ready to brawl. He slapped you, kicked you, punched you. He did everything and anything he could that brought you to the ground. It took everything you could just to get a restraining order against him as you two worked through the divorce, although you were assured he had moved on with the woman he cheated on you with.
The cries robbed you of your feelings, constant pain and agony coursing through your body to the point you felt like you were going to be sick.What felt like hours had only been a couple of minutes when the door to the walk-in opened. A waiter, Ben Carter, stopped in his tracks.
“O-oh, I’m sorry,” He said, closing the door, but you shook your head and wiped your eyes.
“No, Ben, it’s fine,” You sniffled and stepped out. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” You whispered and hurried away before any more questions could be asked. When you came around the corner, Pierce rolled his eyes.
“Hiding on the job? Keep that up, and you’re getting your check cut short again,” He snarled.
Hissing, you squeezed your eyes shut.
“Pierce, I think you’reway out of line here,” Stephanie cleared her throat. “Should I make a phone call to Samantha? I bet she would love to hear how awful her supposed favorite manager treats employees in her absence,”
Pierce’s eyes widened, his jaw falling open. “You wouldn’t dare,”He narrowed his eyes on Stephanie.
She cocked an eyebrow, clearly willing to test the theory.
Pierce glanced between you and Stephanie.
“If you can’t function here, then just go home,” He huffed under his breath and disappeared. Stephanie turned to look at you.
“Go home and get some sleep… Your bags are starting to get bags, sweetie,” She said, cracking a small smile, one that actually made youchuckle.
“Thank you,” You whispered. Stephanie smiled.
“I’ll be over later, okay? Maybe try and write. You always do best at this time anyway,” She laughed genuinely.
You offered her another softened, yet teary-eyed smile. Once you clocked out and grabbed a drink, you made the walk toward your car. The beat-up sedan was squealing as the brakes were in dire need of a change, you were positive the filters in the car needed to be checked, and you were nearly on E on the gas hand. But when money was tight because Trent ensured to clean everything out of your bank account before he left, you were living paycheck to paycheck, and even that wasn’t enough.
The drive to your apartment was filled with that same silence, but thankfully no rainstorm appeared. You were grateful to see the apartment for the first time.
When you made it inside and changed into more comfortable clothes that were not your black-on-black waitress outfit, you headed for your laptop.
The moment you opened it, a blank page for twenty-six of Serenity and Dawson’s story met your eyes.
Gulping, that’s when your fingers started to run freely.
“This rollercoaster that is my life has unexpectedly derailed and I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on before I hit the ground.”
➳summary: Behind the silver screen, he seized the world by storm with his crystalline blue orbs and adoring accent, his acting abilities bringing the audience to laughter, anger, or tears. Behind the screen of her laptop, she took the world by storm with her penmanship that captured the attention of her adoring crowd across the world. What happens when Tom and this exquisite author find themselves communicating, yet somehow falling in love, without her ever discovering his true identity? What begins as friendship and sweet messages turns into both of them contemplating their every move, vying for the other’s hand. Their friends around them say they’re outlandish to do this, but when this young woman’s whispers are so loud within the shadows of her pages, that the echoes of her screams can be heard through every line she writes, Tom has to do something about it. But when their identities are uncovered at an unexpected event and the revelation is made…Can they find the fairytale ending that they both had been longing for, for so long?
Marinette seriously regretted her decision to let Chloe drag her to this party.
Sure, maybe Marinette had been working herself too hard, but that didn’t mean had to bring her to this stupid party. The music was shitty on a whole new level, dancing with the crowd meant allowing herself to get groped by drunk guys and finally, rich kids seemed to like cheap, disgusting alcohol.
Lovely night, wasn’t it?
Marinette spotted Chloe chatting with some uppity-but-handsome guys. Resolving to end her ‘fun’ night here, Marinette advanced to her best friend, pasting a polite smile for appearances as she did so.
“Hey Chlo!” she said in her typical bubbly manner. “I just wanted to say—”
Chloe interrupted Marinette as if she knew what Marinette was going to say. To be honest, she probably did.
“Mari!” Chloe said, equally brightly. Honestly, that should have been the first thing that tipped Marinette off that something was up. “I want you to meet some people!”
Marinette felt the smile on her face become fixed, wanting to leave but not wanting to seem rude. “Oh, alright—”
The blond man, the seemingly happier one out of the two, gave her a bright smile. “Hi, Marinette! Chloe’s told us so much about you! I’m Jon!”
Resisting the urge to side-eye Chloe, Marinette gave the man in front of her a genuine smile. “Jon, as in Jonathan Kent?”
Inwardly, Marinette smirked because goddamn, Chloe had just made a huge mistake by introducing her best friend to her crush. Chloe seemed to realise it as well, suddenly recalling the countless she had spent ranting to Marinette about that cute guy in her class who she was sure would get along with Marinette.
The second guy holding out his hand was what snapped Marinette out of her dangerous matchmaking thoughts. Suddenly realising he was talking to her, Marinette said, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“My name,” he said stiffly, “Is Damian.”
Marinette shook his hand, introducing herself with a smile on her face.
When she looked up at him, though, she suddenly felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes widen subtly.
Holy shit, this guy was hot.
Marinette felt her heart begin to gallop in her chest — quite like it did when she was fourteen and 'in love’ with Adrien. Reminding herself that she was an adult now, not a lovesick stalker, Marinette let go of Damian’s hand, which she had been shaking for just a little too long.
“Anyway,” Chloe interrupted the two of them with an excited clap of her hands. “Let’s go to the other room!”
Leaving no room for argument, she grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him towards the exit.
Marinette gave a faux sigh at her excitement, her decision to leave already waning away. “Dear God, she’s so in love.”
“Well,” said a deep voice, “At least it’s returned."
Whirling around, Marinette told her heart to calm the hell down as she answered Damian. "Lovely. Now all they need to do is date.”
Damian gave her a heart-stopping smirk as they followed the direction Chloe and Jon had disappeared in. “I don’t know — knowing the two of them, perhaps that will also require our assistance.”
Marinette felt her cheeks pink slightly at Damian’s use of us.
“Maybe,” she said, shrugging, and walking into the adjacent room. “But at least we can have fun while doing it, right?”
Damian opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by Chloe.
“Finally!” she said, rolling her eyes at them. “Let’s begin our game of seven minutes in heaven!”
Never mind, Marinette was regretting her decision to stay now.
Waiting silently in anticipation as the bottle spun, Marinette took a sip of her who-knows-what-number glass of beer (which was only mildly better than the alcohol), only a little tipsy.
Which, for your information, was code for substantially tipsy.
Leaning forward slightly as the bottle slowed down, Marinette crossed her fingers and toes hoping that it wouldn’t land on her.
It did.
Her ears ringing from everyone in the room cheering loudly, Marinette hoped she wasn’t doomed to spend the next seven minutes stuck in a closet with some jerk with herpes or something.
She looked up slowly, only for her blue eyes to meet Damian’s forest-green ones, staring at her already.
Heartbeat going overdrive now, Marinette felt the colour rush to her cheeks as she stood up slowly.
Hearing Chloe and Jon cheering loudly out of everyone in the crowd, Marinette and Damian silently walked into the closet, both too embarrassed to talk to each other.
Once they were shut in, Marinette was infinitely thankful that it was dark because her cheeks were practically scarlet now.
The silence was beginning to become stifling as Damian and Marinette stood silently in the darkness.
“So,” Damian said, and then cleared his throat. “So — um, what do you want to do?”
Now, here’s what you need to know before we move ahead: Marinette would be forever embarrassed by what she said next, and she blames it on the alcohol and beer she previously downed.
“You’re really hot.”
It was like Marinette was floating on a bubble when she said that, completely uncaring of what Damian thought of her.
Damian felt his heart quite literally stop when Marinette said that because there was no way, the pretty girl in front of him had just said that.
He felt the blood in his body rush and heat as soon as he saw her, but he didn’t think she actually liked him.
“Like, really, really hot,” she continued, giggling lightly now. “I kinda felt like I was going to faint when I saw you.”
Dear God, Damian’s self-control only went so far and right now, Marinette was not helping. For god’s sake, they’d only been in there for barely a minute!
“And,” Marinette mumbled. “I really want you to kiss me.”
Damian let out his breath in a whoosh. That was it.
His hands, expert in the dark, wrapped around Marinette’s waist and pulled her towards him.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said huskily, looking down into the darkness, peering into the blue rings of her eyes. “And I need you to tell me now if you want to stop — because otherwise, I won’t.”
The two of them were frozen for a few seconds after that, Damian in silent anticipation and Marinette in shock.
Marinette’s mind was spinning. Was this actually happening? Was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen actually asking to kiss her? Was she dreaming?
Well, if she was it was a damn good dream. And after this, Chloe couldn’t say Marinette hadn’t let go.
She had barely finished giving her consent when Damian’s lips were on hers, as soft and warm as she expected them to be.
Their lips moving in sync, Marinette tangled her hands in Damian’s soft curls, tugging them lightly. In response, Damian grunted and pushed her against the wall, lips moving harder now.
A loud banging on the door was what interrupted them, a few minutes later.
“Times up!” Jon yelled through the closet door, and slowly opened it.
Marinette and Damian rushed to make themselves presentable but nothing was going to hide their swollen lips and tousled hair.
Jon and Chloe stared at the two of them in shock.
“Marinette,” said Chloe, snapping out of her stupor. She grabbed her best friend’s hand, dragging her out. “I need details.”
