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#I don’t have the spoons for the socials right now

riseatlantisss · 9 months

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The end we start from

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader/Tav Around 1,8 words Takes place after the events in Cazador's palace in act 3 (non-ascended Astarion, established relationship) Angst with a happy ending (and loooots of sex) <3

Astarion doesn’t feel good enough. you show him he’s everything.

TW : 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, very angry/angsty/rough sex, fingering, mature language, mentions of death and depression, mentions of blood

A/N : when i don’t work, i do two things: i take care of my dog and i play BG3. i don’t eat. i don’t sleep. i don’t socialize. i just play BG3. and I write stuff about *him*.

Astarion is many things. Quiet is not one of them. But lately, that’s all he’s been, and you’ve been worrying about him night and day. Tonight is no exception. You wake up in the middle of the night and realize two things : not only is Astarion’s side of the bed empty but the sheets and pillows are untouched, uncrumpled. His side hasn’t been slept in. This isn’t right. Of course, he doesn’t really need to sleep but he always, always lays next to you at night, spooning you, playing with your hair and whispering sweet I love yous in your ear until you fall asleep. His absence means something’s off. Unable to shake off the anxiety, you get up in one swift motion, determined to find him. No chance you’re falling back asleep now anyway.

Your bare feet hit the cold marble floor and you shiver as you make your way accros the bedroom in a hurry. You think of searching outside in case he went for a hunt, but it turns out you don’t have to look too far. There he is, silently leaning against the wall by the window, gazing into the pitch-black night of the Underdark. The light in the room is so dim that you couldn’t even spot him from your bed. You approach him and your heart breaks a little when you notice the lingering sadness in his crimson eyes, enhanced by the faint light of the burning candles next to him.

You want to ask him if he’s ok but it’s obvious he’s not so instead, you remain silent and close the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him and gently resting your head on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion averts his gaze and gives you a faint smile, nothing but a twist of lips.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m just being selfish, as usual. Forgive me, y/n.”

You frown and stare at him incredulously. “You’re not selfish,” you say, surprised at how intensely he means it. “Why would you even say that?”

“I –” He pauses, rethinks his words. This does nothing to make you less worried. “I caused you great pain,” he finally says. “I put you in danger. Repeatedly, ever since we met. You could have died a hundred times and it would have been my own, entire fault.”

You look up to him and feel a lump form in your throat. You have never seen him look like this – grief in his eyes and etched into the lines of his face.

“I’m not dead, Astarion. I’m right here with you.” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck. He makes a sound somewhere near a sob and your arms tighten.

“But I did put you in danger and now you’re stuck with me for eternity, in the middle of nowhere, and you—" Again, he stops. He’s bad at this, at talking about emotions. But he fights through it because it’s you. And nothing can be left unsaid between the two of you. Not after everything that’s happened. “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you.” You’re not sure where this conversation is going but you don't want to find out. His lower lip quiver but he goes on, words spilling out of him like blood from a wound. “I can’t give it to you, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. It’s killing me all over again.” You crumble under each one of his words. His lips are trembling now and you can’t stand it. You can’t but you can’t do him the dishonor of looking away either.

“Astarion, I chose this life.” Your hands flutter to his face, each one cupping a cold cheek, forcing him to look at you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can feel it. “I had a choice; I could stay, or I could run, and I chose you. I’m not stuck here. I’m home.”

Astarion heaves a faltering breath in an attempt at composure. “Sometimes I think you would be happier without me. Better off.” He barely mouths the words, but you hear them all distinctively, nonetheless. “You should go and leave me here. Walk in the sun. Be happy and live your life.” You draw your hands away from his face and he steps back, speaking louder now.

“It won’t get any better in here,” he continues, gesturing urgently around the room. “It’ll always be cold and dark, I’ll always be a blood-thirsty monster. I belong to the shadows, and I’ll never be able to make you happy, so you might as well just leave.”

His words knock the air out of your lungs and, for a moment, you cannot breathe. You feel your pulse pounding in your veins and blood thrumming under your skin as your heartbreak turns into anger. That fucking idiot, you think, looking up at him through eyes blurred with tears.

“You don’t know what makes me happy. You don’t,” you shout, surprised by the vehemence in your voice. "And you certainly don't get to speak for me." Astarion looks at you in such confusion that you almost feel bad for a moment, but you continue.

“You – you make me happy, Astarion, gods you do. I would rather live an eternity in the Underdark with you than one more day in the fucking sun.” Your heart is clenching in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks. “By no means would I be better off, let alone happier, without you. I can’t believe that you could even think –” You trail off and sigh in frustration. You can’t bring yourself to scream at him any longer because that’s all he’s ever known before you, screams and shouts and abuse, and you can’t do this to him. But that doesn’t leave you with many options to get through to him. Astarion opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him.

Without warning you grab his shirt to pull him close and your lips crash into his, knocking the breath out of both of you with the force that you collide with. It only fuels your rage because the moment his lips are on yours, you can’t help thinking that you almost lost this once and you can’t actually lose it. You won’t let that happen. So you kiss him harder. It’s rough and desperate and sloppy. It's harsh breath and biting teeth.

He turns you around and backs you against the wall. You take it rather hard, but you welcome the sting. Anything to shut him up about not being good enough for you. He crowds in closer, presses you even harder against the wall, shoving his knee between your thighs. His cold lips connect to your throat, making you eagerly tilt your head to give him access to your thrumming pulse dancing at your neck. You have absolutely no qualms about it. If he wants it, it’s his.

But he doesn’t take it. Instead, his mouth sucks and licks, making you squirm and rock your hips against him. You cling to him, grabbing his shoulders and sliding your hands down his shirt and to his back. He hoists you up like you weighed nothing and you wrap both legs around his waist. You tangle your hands in his curly silver hair and pull him forward to feel that mouth on yours again. His tongue running over your lip makes you grind faster, searching for more, more, more. You moan when his hand reaches beneath your gown and through your damp underwear.

Firm, icy fingers are stroking you into madness. You make a sound that’s close to a whimper, but more like a groan, because damn it, you are so impatient now. You are clenching – aching to have him inside.

He is gasping at the feeling of your fluttering around him, and you must be gasping too, but you’re not sure; your head falls back and it feels like you’re breathing, but you could just as well be drowning.

You dig your nails hard into his back - you need to channel the anger into something. Maybe you’ll be the one drawing blood this time. You lean forward to rest your dizzy head on his shoulder and groan in anticipation. Not wasting anymore time, he pushes his hard, large cock into you, going steadily until he’s all the way in.

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” You plead and he obeys.

He sets a pace that graces all the right spots, spurred on the increasingly desperate noises escaping your mouth. This is no effort at all for him, holding you up easily and fucking you hard with determination. But you can see it when you rest your forehead against his – the sheer weakness you feel is reflected right back at you and you know he needs this just as much as you do.

You are so close. You need to concentrate on breathing, just so you simply don’t die. Your lower back thuds against the wardrobe with your oh gods and fucks singing in tandem. The vampire trails open-mouthed kisses and little bites down your neck while maintaining the almost vicious pace in and out of you. Every stroke curls and loves and breaks you into submission. You forget to be angry because your release is in his hands and your body is desperately handing itself over to him.

Your thighs start to quiver around him, the sounds of wetness and the feeling of his own explosion of pleasure deep inside you taking you so high that eventually, you shatter into him. You’re so grateful for the strength holding you up, so you can fall apart.

Your repeatedly moan his name on your way back to consciousness, lips brushing softly against his pale skin.

Before you know what is happening, you break into a sob.

“Please…. Please don’t ever tell me to leave, ever again.” You try to articulate, your voice shaking uncontrollably.

He sinks down onto his knees, holding you in his lap and whispering, “Shh,” into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice is low and full of gravel. He never sounded so sweet. “I love you, always have and always will. And you’re not going anywhere.”

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devine-fem · 1 month

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This is the post about Damian Wayne being whitewashed that will probably go ignored because it dives deeper than pointing at a Damian Wayne and urging DC to draw him darker. I don’t particularly care about likes but I feel like we should emphasize whitewashing in detail and not just pointing at Damian and being like “he should be darker than this!”

What is whitewashing?

Whitewashing is deeper than the color of someones skin, it boils down to the way they act, are perceived and is portayed over all. If you take away a character’s cultural roots in any way then you are whitewashing them.

Let’s start with The Brave & The Bold. No one talks about this but this is a perfect example of whitewashing. In the Brave & The Bold writers took Damian Wayne and just emphasized the Wayne in his name. Damian’s culture did not fit their narrative so they entirely erased it.

Bruce Wayne married Selina Kyle and after had a baby, no, that baby was not Helena. It was Damian. Damian Wayne and only Wayne. He had no connection to Talia whatsoever. They erased Talia and the Al Ghuls entirely from Damian’s story.

This is an example of how his whitewashing goes deeper than skin. He’s now entirely white, drawn as white and lives as a white kid. They changed the way he acted, was perceived and portrayed.

Then because that’s not enough. His identity was a very blatant copy of Tim Drake. He takes Tim Drake’s suit, he takes Tim Drake’s backstory and he takes Tim Drake’s iconic catchphrases, its extremely jarring. This is another example of whitewashing, taking away his personality and to fit a white character.

The Tim Drake curse.

Another example of whitewashing would be the continuous attempt to make Damian Wayne more relatable by watering down his personality and making him reflect Tim Drake. Tim Drake was Robin for so long and so loved that it has a lasting effect on other characters as well. As long as Damian wears that “R” that was celebrated at its highest when the character wearing it was fair skinned then I doubt he’ll ever escape this. This is whitewashing because erasing his personality is also erasing his roots on the most basic level. In his stories, he becomes an average highschool student, pursues romances, indulges in feel good family fun, gets bullied, and wears suits and changes his hair once again to reflect Tim Drake. I don’t even have to mention how light he is.

The Three Horsemen of The Pale-skinned Apocalypse.

On the left we have a portrayel of Damian Wayne with light skin and blue eyes. Not only that but in this comic, they didn’t even get his culture right… the writer must had thought he was japanese… he’s not… he’s part Arab and Chinese but genetically dominant and visually POC.

In the middle we have a Damian Wayne called “Ian.” It’s just Ian. This is an example of whitewashing because if you didn’t know; Talia named Damian after the word “Damianos” which means ‘to tame’. To erase his cultural roots in his name then you are whitewashing him. And Jonathan Kent, a visually and socially white character regardless of the immigrant-kryptonian allegory, did not get this treatment. Those characters seem to never get this treatment as we know.

On the right, we have Damian’s newest installation, the one DC twisted their comically large spoon into their Witch’s caucasian cauldron and used their magic to zap Damian with that Tim Drake curse. Damian’s eyes are green, not grey or blue and his hair is thicker than that, not straight and thin. Nor does he act like this. This is an example of whitewashing. You are changing how he acts, is perceived and portayed.

How to avoid this?

It’s simple actually, just exercise the way he was originally portayed which sadly has never been wrote exactly right since he was first introduced but as you can see:

This Damian Al Ghul-Wayne flaunts his culture in the way he dresses and acts. This Damian Al Ghul-Wayne speaks his native languages when it’s convenient to him. This Damian Al Ghul-Wayne is connected to Talia and grew up in the league of Assassins. This Damian Al Ghul-Wayne made his own Robin suit.

He has brown skin, he has soft green eyes, and look at his monolids, his hair is also thick and his face is dinstinctly shaped as well. The easiest way is just to portay Damian as he is; An Arab-Chinese kid.

For example, this artist made a conscious decision to study the way Damian Wayne looks before drawing him. Even adding distinct features like a nose bump which we never get to really see from him.

Why does whitewashing happen?

The idea that a person of colors’ features and culture are not appealing to the audience and needs to be altered to fit the norm in order to be palatable.

In fandom.

If you portray Selina Kyle as Damian’s mother then you are whitewashing him. If you change the way he acts in fanfiction because you don’t like it then you are whitewashing him. If you draw Damian Wayne lighter than what he’s supposed to be than you are whitewashing him. If you demonize the Al Ghuls and put the batboys in place of them then you are whitewashing him. If you change the meaning of Robin for him then you are whitewashing him (this does not include reverse robin AU’s for example) and if you make him do any action that’d align him with what an American kid is supposed to be doing then you are whitewashing him. But let’s say you make a AU where the point is his personality is different or his upbringing is different, this is not whitewashing, this is having fun. To have an initial subconscious mental bias when it comes to a POC character is different, entirely different.

And about other races… Damian Wayne is one of the few Arab-chinese portrayels in Media, please do not alter this, even if its to make him any other variant of POC. Damian Wayne is Damian Wayne and if that’s not interesting enough for you then use a different character that is that race. <- do not fight me on this.

We as a collective should focus on portaying Damian Wayne. It’s deeper than skin. It’s crazy because its really not that complex…

In conclusion, be mindful of why you were invited to this Damian Wayne function…

#just was a lil tired #of no one wanting to put in effort #damian wayne #damian wayne meta #damian wayne whitewashing #batfam #dc comics #super sons #bruce wayne #talia al ghul #al ghul family

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etherealyoungk · 3 months

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— ✦ sugar & spice | jeon wonwoo

PAIRING: bodyguard!wonwoo x celebrity!reader (fem!reader)

SUMMARY: it wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, however, the people had a lot to say about that, especially since your father a public figure. but when he’s falsely accused of taking bribes and money laundering, your whole life falls apart, and things start to get out of hand and dangerous. that’s when you meet wonwoo - the bodyguard who’s been assigned to stay by your side and protect you 24/7. the only problem? he was really cold, but also irresistibly attractive. it was going to be a task to try and befriend him, but who said you weren’t up for the challenge.

THEMES: bodyguard au, mutual pining, slow burn

WARNINGS: use of curse words, mentions of anxiety, social anxiety, panic attack, crowds, fighting, violence, kissing, suggestive, just wonwoo being a whole heartthrob

WORDCOUNT: 29.2k

A/N: this fic was so self-indulgent oh my god. thank you to rania @wheeboo for feeding my delusions for this fic and proofreading it for me, ilysm <33 reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ^^ i would love to know your thoughts! enjoy reading ^^

full fic under the cut

“all right, class, that’s it for today. please come collect your mock test papers as you exit”, the professor announces and everyone starts talking, the room echoing with voices and movement as people get up, their feet shuffling as they stand in line to collect their papers from the front.

you come up in front and your professor gives you a smile as he hands yours back to you. “good job yn, near perfect score”, he says and you smile back. “thanks prof”, you tell, beaming as you take your paper and move. but you don’t miss the snide remark told by someone behind you and the few laughs that occur. but you ignore the comment and walk away.

you were used to people telling you that, people envying you and not in a nice way. you’d heard all kinds of things all your life. “bet they only got in because of her connections” or “they’re only top of the class because of they’re father’s influence” but all of those were very untrue. you were truly passionate about what you were studying and doing, but the people didn’t seem to think so.

yes, you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, coming from a prestigious family with a lot of influence - your dad being a huge business tycoon, which made your family really rich and influential. but growing up, you wanted nothing more than to be not associated with him. your name was always tied with his - and you hated that. it never gave you the chance to be your own person, to have your own identity, which you craved for.

growing up only became harder when your mother passed away when you were still young. she was ill and there was nothing that could be done to save her, it had been too late. your moments and memories with her were limited considering you were only ten when she passed away, but still, everything you remembered about her you cherished, and you aimed to make her proud one day, proud of the person you’ve become. as a token from your mother, you had kept her ring and no, not her wedding ring, but another ring she wore. it was a dainty ring with a pretty pattern and you had always loved that ring as a child. so now you wore it, to remember her, to keep some part of her with you.

and of course, with growing up, the biggest struggle of all for you was making friends. when you were younger, you were actually good at making friends, you had plenty in fact. but as you grew up, you learned to see who was just befriending you for ulterior motives and whatnot, and you soon became good at filtering who you really became friends - close friends with. but in all those years, you only made two friends like that. they were the purest and sweetest souls ever - rania and skye. they were your best friends. they were your childhood friends and the only ones you opened up to and grew close to. while you still had a group of friends you interacted with on an everyday and casual basis, there wasn’t anyone you were close with besides them. there was also your current boyfriend - jaehyun. it was silly really, you had a crush on him for a while and soon the news spread from god knows where and one day he asked you out. you were so head over heels that you said yes of course, because which fool would turn down their crush?

you're sitting across the table from your father, who’s busy talking to someone on the phone. it was a weekly thing that you had to have dinner at your father’s house.

"yes i want to see a sample of the product before we send it into manufacturing”, your father speaks to the person on the other line.

you stare down at your plate, moving your fork around as you listen to him speak. you and your father didn’t have the best relationship, it was rocky and messy, to say the least. ever since your mother passed away, you both drifted apart, your father focusing on the business and you just trying to get through the days as you tried to cope with the sudden loss. and you both somehow stayed like that, drifted apart. but that didn’t mean he was a bad guy. he still did nice things for you and you both had your moments, but it was strained. let's just say he wasn't the best father figure growing up.

you were used to having filler conversations about your life with your father like this. all he does is nod before he goes back to scrolling on his phone. half the time during your childhood and even now, you barely saw your father. he was always busy with work or attending meetings about god knows what. so that meant you were all alone in the big house which got lonely. that’s when you decided to move into a different house, have your own space and make it cosy too. at first, your father wasn’t too keen on the idea, but you were old enough now, in college too, so he agreed. so now you live alone in a house comfortable enough to make into your own little safe haven.

you unlock your front door, sliding into your house slippers as you trudge inside, discarding your bag on the couch as you open the fridge to grab a bottle of cold water to refresh yourself. today had been a long day. apart from studies, you also volunteered at a local cat shelter for rescues and the local public library. you enjoyed doing both things so you were more than happy to volunteer. they both had their perks 1) free cuddles and serotonin from all the kittens and cats 2) you could borrow as many books as you wanted so it was a win-win.

you were used to your father being on the news, he was a businessman after all, an influential man, someone important. but with all that came all the trolls, the hate and people who were obviously jealous and disliked him for no reason at all. all this in turn was also directed towards you. you were often called the silver spoon kid, nepo baby, or someone who’s life was handed to you on a silver platter. for the most of the time, you tried to ignore them, but of course as any normal human, it affected you. you hated it at times infact. you hated how people could concoct a ridiculous assumption about you based on nothing and it infuriated you. but you’d learn to grow up with it, grow up being watched, hounded at, judged at and trolled at. that was what you get for simply existing and being born in a wealthy family. and somewhere along the way you developed an anxiety about this and it made you scared to get close and open up to people.

when you first joined college, it was hell. people took pictures without your consent all the time and they still did at times, but you’ve given up at trying to stop it. you were used to people's cameras at you, fingers at you, talking about you and also using you. everyone wanted to be your friend and butter you up to you, but when you started putting boundaries, they were quick to call you names. you were surrounded by paparazzi going to you during the first week and even now on the occasional basis, someone was always following you and snapping pictures of you. even if you told yourself it was okay, it was not and deep down you hated it. but what could you do?

your father, well he didn’t seem to mind all the comments being told about him, as long as his business went well at the end of the day. but if you were going to be honest, your father was pretty smart and he had a knack for what he was doing, that’s what made him so successful. but that didn’t mean he didn’t hit bumps along the way, oh he did. you still remember the headline your father made when he invested money into a broken startup. but now he was making millions as the company took off.

today morning was a good day. the sun was shining bright and the clouds were white against the blue sky. it wasn’t too hot, a comfortable temperature - it was the ideal day and you were more than happy about this weather. you get ready for college, it was your last semester before you graduated. you grab your phone from the desk table only to realise it was dead and you plug it in as you head to the bathroom to get ready. you quickly put on an outfit, grab your books, bag, and your phone on the way out. you lock your door and raise your hand to unlock your car, opening the door and sitting inside. you drive to college, putting on some music, in a good mood today as you softly sing along to the song that was playing on the radio.

you park your car in the parking lot, which was already crowded and you mentally cursed at the way people parked sometimes. you exit the car and walk towards campus, trying to unlock your phone but it doesn't open. that’s when you realise it was still dead - silly you had forgot to turn on the switch when you plugged your phone in. you mentally curse as you walk towards class, hoping someone had a spare phone charger for you to use. but that’s when you get a feeling - a feeling that you were being watched. and when you glance up, you can see people looking at you, whispering things in hushed voices between themselves. you brushed it off as nothing and continued walking.

a couple of people pass by you, looking right at you as they pass a comment. “see i knew your father was a crooked man”, he tells and the others laugh as they walk away. what? you were completely confused and the fact that almost everyone was looking at you as you kept walking made you nervous all of a sudden. this wasn’t good. you spot your professor and he comes walking towards you, in big strides, like he is in a hurry. “hello yn”, he says, faking a smile. “hello professor”, you reply. “i would like to have a word with you, please follow me”. he says and you can still feel everyone’s eyes on you as you walk behind your professor.

he closes the door behind him and urges you to sit down as he takes a seat in front of you.

“i’m sorry to hear about your father yn”, he starts and you furrow your brows, utterly confused. “i would like for you to meet with the principal so we can hopefully come to an understanding about how you will be completing your semester over here”, he continues and you’re lost.

“i’m sorry but i don’t quite follow”, you say, and he just blinks back at you.

“do you not know? have you not seen the news?”, he asks, surprised.

“what news?”, you ask again and watch as he fetches out his phone, handing it to you. and there it was, the headline that made your jaw drop.

“mr. __ a certified criminal, took bribes and laundered money”.

what the fuck? your eyes quickly scan the article, reading the things your father was being accused of. there was no way he would do that, he wouldn't you thought. you look back up at your professor and hand the phone back to him, at a complete loss for words.

“i really had no idea about this”, you tell. “i think it would be better for you to go home today and then we can have a talk about this later this week along with the principal okay”, he says and you’re dismissed. you take a deep breath as you open the door and walk out, and hallway is quick to quiet down and you can feel the eyes of everyone on you.

“hope your father rots in jail”, you hear a guy say and the others laugh. you hear a few more snide remarks as you walk out back to your car and you take a deep breath again. what the fuck was happening right now. you start the car and drive to your father’s house because you need answers.

you storm into the house, and your father is already sitting down at the table with his lawyer. “can someone please explain what is going on”, you yell as soon as you see your father.

“yn” , your father says, upon seeing you.

“you took bribes??”, you ask and you can see the small flash of hurt on his face before he composes himself as he answers you. “no yn, this is simply not true. i am being falsely accused”, he says calmly.

“so what’s going to happen now?”, you ask.

“this is defamation, there is absolutely no evidence to these claims”, your father fills in.

a week passes by and you somehow manage to make it to class, but obviously, everyone is still talking about you. rumors are goingand around like wildfire and people keep telling you nasty things, leaving you mean comments on your social media. even the paparazzi around you are following you everywhere suddenly and you hate this. your whole world was turning upside down and you find yourself driving to your father’s house that evening again, only to see people crowded around the house. puzzled, you get out of your car and you're immediately surrounded by the paparazzi and a hound of people as they recognise you. you see your father in the crowd and that’s when you notice the police officers and then the handcuff on your father’s hands.

“father!”, you yell out and he looks at you. you try to move forward, make your way towards him but someone pushes you down before someone else grabs your hand. “you little thief, no wonder you’re so rich”, he mutters out and you try to pry his hand off you but he doesn’t let go. “yn!” you hear your father yell and soon the police pry the man off you. you watch as your father is escorted into the police vehicle he’s driven off.

the camera flashes continue and people keep yelling nasty things and you run towards your car, getting in and following the police car. at the police station, you get a chance to talk to your father with his lawyer present.

“what is happening?”, you ask. “i thought you said this was a false accusation, why are you being arrested?”, you ask, looking between your father and his lawyer, jeonghan who was a competent man in his line of business.

“it seems there has been some evidence found", your father says, in a rather relaxed manner.

“so what’s going to happen now?”, you ask, worried.

“i will have to stand trial and prove my innocence”, he adds. you see as he glances down at your wrist which you’re massaging gently.

“are you okay, i saw what happened back there’, he adds.

“y-yeah im okay”, you tell quickly.

“no, this is not okay. you’re going to be affected by all the things happening now and things are getting dangerous and out of hand”, he tells.

“i can manage”, you say.

“no, you cannot, things will only get worse from here, especially when the trial starts and they are all going to be taking their anger out on you. i cannot risk anything happening to you. so it’s decided”, your father says.

“what’s decided?”, you ask.

“you’ll be having a bodyguard with you 24/7 from now onwards”, your father adds.

“what? father there is no need-", you start before you're interrupted.

“yn listen to your father, he is right” jeonghan interjects and you sigh. there was no point arguing over here. in hindsight, things were bound to get out of control and having a bodyguard around did seem wise. the thought that something worse could happen to you makes you shiver.

“hire only the best”, my father tells and jeonghan nods. “i know just the person” he tells, assuring my father.

you didn’t step out of your house the next day. paparazzi surrounded your home and you were in no ability to go out without being followed. the pictures of your father’s arrest and your face were plastered all over the internet and new articles, with all sorts of headlines. by 12pm everyone seemed to have gotten tired of waiting (thank god) and your driveway was finally clear. you’re in jeans and a top, rummaging through your pantry when you hear your doorbell ring. you immediately stand straight. who could this be?

you walk towards your door and peek through the peephole but you can only see the body of someone and you hear a voice you recognise. your father’s lawyer - jeonghan, so you open the door.

“i didn’t know you were coming”, you tell and smile. “i texted you”, he adds. “must've missed it”, you add before glancing at the other man standing next to him, who you noticed was quite tall.

“please come in “, you add only for jeonghan to refuse. “no no, i must get going to prepare for your father’s case. i just came to introduce you to your bodyguard”, he explains.

“oh, i see”, you tell softly.

“he’ll be with you wherever you’re going. escort and protect you wherever you’re going. i’ve already briefed him and given him a copy of your schedules, but if you’re going anywhere, he is to accompany you”, he tells you, making sure you knew, like he knew you would try to sneak off.

“yes yes alright”, you tell, crossing your arms over your chest.

“well, get introduced then, i have to get going”, he tells, as his phone rings and he walks off, leaving you standing in front of the door with this mysterious man.

as you look at him, you realise how tall he was because wow, he was really tall, and really handsome. he towered over you easily as you looked up at him. he’s wearing a clean, crisp black suit, which has been tailored to his body, making the fit perfect, showing off his build and his hair was styled to expose his forehead. his foxy-like eyes hold a mysterious but focused gaze. damn, he was hot. your eyes sweep over his body one more time before he’s clearing his throat and you're shaken away from your thoughts.

“hello, im jeon wonwoo and i'll be your bodyguard from today”, he tells, his voice deep as he looks at you, his alluring gaze catching your attention.

“hi! i’m yn! nice to meet you”, you say a little too enthusiastically as you hold out your hand for a handshake. you’re already cringing at your actions but wonwoo reaches out and shakes your hand nonetheless and gives you a small nod.

after that there is a moment of awkward silence before you speak again. “um i don’t think i’ll be going anywhere today so you can start tomorrow”, you tell. you didn’t want him to be waiting around unnecessarily. he just looks down at you.

“i have been assigned to stay by your side at all times”, he tells. “but i’m just going to be home”, you tell. “it’s fine uh - i can call you wonwoo right?”, you ask and he gives you a curt yes.

“right wonwoo, it’s all right, just clock off work, it’s fine for today”, you tell and he looks like he’s thinking before he speaks again.

“if you insist”, is all he says before he gives you a small nod of acknowledgement, telling you he’ll be here tomorrow before he’s turning around and walking off.

the next morning, you’re sleeping peacefully when you hear your doorbell ring. who was at your doorstep so early? you must be hearing things you think. after a few moments you hear your doorbell ring again and you groan as you let out a yawn, unwillingly getting out of bed as you drag your feet to the door, your eyes barely open, still laced with sleep. you open the door to see a tall figure in front of you, your eyes still unfocused and you're confused before you hear the voice.

“good morning”, he tells and you blink your eyes a couple of times before you realise who it was.

“oh wonwoo hi”, you tell, trying to process this information. “it’s only uh-” “7am”, he fills in.

“right, 7am”, you tell, yawning again. “why are you here so early?”, you ask and your eyes a bit more awake now to take in the sight in front of you. wonwoo was adorned in another crisp suit, his hair perfectly styled and you could smell the waft of his cologne as you stood.

“my working hours start from 7am”, he tells matter of factly. “right, uh okay just come in”, you tell, moving inside, not bothering to see if he was following you. you go back to your room to fetch your phone, seeing an email from your professor. they wanted to have a meeting with the principal - well this couldn’t be good.

the entire time you’re getting ready, wonwoo is just standing in one corner of your hall. you told him he could sit but he insisted on standing so you just shrug your shoulders and let it go. you don’t have the time to eat breakfast and you lock your house door, about to get in the car when wonwoo speaks again.

“i’ll drive”, he tells, holding his hand out for the key.

“oh no, it’s fine i can manage”, you tell.

“i’ve been told to drive you wherever you need”, he adds, looking at you and he had the look of someone you did not want to interfere in his work with.

there was no point arguing with this man was there? you sigh, handing him the key and sitting in the front seat next to him because sitting in the complete back would make you feel weird. wonwoo somehow knew the route to your college and he parks the car effortlessly in the parking lot, which is honestly impressive. (or you just had bad parking skills shh)

you see the crowd as you step out, and through all the people and you can even spot a few paparazzi if you looked carefully. you glance back at wonwoo and then the campus entrance. if you went with wonwoo, you were definitely going to get attention - unwanted attention that is. he was obviously going to stand out in that outfit of his.

“just stay here, i’ll be back, it’ll be quick”, you say.

“i'm afraid i can’t do that, i’m assingned to accompany you wherever you go as your bodyguard”, he says, looking at you.

“i know, but i’ll be quick, nothing will happen”, you add as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“i will be accompanying you”, he responds. even with all those looks he was really dense huh, it was like talking to a wall.

“fine god just come”, you finally tell, slightly annoyed. jeonghan really got you a tough bodyguard didn't he.

as soon as you step foot on campus, everyone’s head turns towards you and obviously everyone is whispering something about the man following behind you - wonwoo. you mentally curse as the crowd around you becomes larger as you walk, everyone stopping to see what was going on. wonwoo is quick to maintain an arm’s distance outside as he walks beside you and making sure people don't surround you. you try to look down as you just walk ahead, straight into the principal's office. wonwoo stands outside.

“yn glad you could make it”, your professor says, as the principal sits beside, just giving you a small nod.

“what did we need to talk about”, you ask, looking between your principal and professor.

you watch as your principal sits up straighter, interlocking his palms on the table before they speak.

“i know you just have a semester left before you graduate”, he starts off. “but given the current situation, it would be hard for us to continue classes with you being present”, he adds.

“i could do online classes”, you suggest but you principle just shakes his head.

“yn, we acknowledge the effort and dedication you have demonstrated throughout your academic journey at our institution. your accomplishments have been commendable, and we recognize the hard work you have put into your studies”, he starts. “we really do yn”, your professor adds.

“but we have to bring attention to a significant concern that has risen due to recent incidents involving you and a related controversy”, your principal continues.

oh god, where was this conversation going. you’re about to open your mouth to speak when your principle starts talking again.

“the college has carefully assessed the situation and after thorough consideration, it has been determined that unfortunately, you will be unable to graduate at this time. this decision is a result of the impact of the controversy on the overall reputation and values of the institution”, he finishes and it takes you two seconds to fully understand the situation and what was exactly going on right now.

“what?”, you let out, shocked. “we know this might be sudden but we are-”,

“no no, this is not fair, you can’t do this”, you interject.

“it is fair, considering the reputation of our institution is on the line”, he adds.

“excuse me?”, you scoff. “i'm in no way related to what is going on right now”, you add.

“it is involving your father”, he says. “exactly, my father, not me. so i do not see why you would have to go to this extreme”, you tell, not letting this go lightly.

“yn”, your professor says in a warning tone.

“four years. four years of my life i’ve spent studying and working hard and you’re just gonna throw that all away and not let me graduate over a controversy? over something that is not true let me tell you that”, you tell, upset. “that’s not right and not fair”, you add. “letting me graduate is the least you can do, it’s only a semester come on”, you plead.

“the decision is final”, your principal tells.

“what no, you can let me take the semester later, i can still graduate then”, you suggest, trying to be hopeful but the air in the room was tense.

“yn thank you for your time and we wish you all the luck in your future”, you principal tells, completely dismissing you.

“you can’t do this, you’ll be hearing from me remember that”, you tell, standing up and pulling the door open, walking out. the hallways are thankfully relatively empty because it’s class hours and everyone was in the lecture halls or study rooms. but as you turn you bump into jaehyun.

“jaehyun hi!”, you tell as you approach him. “i'm so sorry i haven’t been able to text you, i’ve been so occupied”, you tell as jaehyun barely looks at you as you speak, checking his phone, texting someone else.

“i’m free this week though so i thought we could go out to dinner or something”, you suggest, hoping that maybe a date would help you get your mind off things.

“yeah i’m not sure about that”, he tells. “oh are you busy? we can-”

“listen yn, considering everything going on right now, i wouldn’t want to be seen with you”, he tells and you’re hurt by his words.

“but i don’t see how that matters if you like me”, you tell, trying to hold it together.

jaehyun only lets out a small laugh. “like you? i only dated you because you were rich, was a nice thing to boast about until your dad had to be revealed as a thief”, he tells, mocking you and his words sting.

“that’s not true”, you tell. “i hope he rots in jail”, he adds, before leaving, having completely trampled over your heart and feelings.

you’ve completely forgotten about wonwoo and it’s only when you turn around that you see him, a few paces behind you and no doubt he heard everything, just great. you bite the inside of your cheek as you look down, walking ahead and walking straight to the car, embarrassed but also upset. you get in the car, not bothering for wonwoo to open the door for you and sit inside, tears welling in your eyes. wonwoo stands outside like he’s unsure, giving you a moment of privacy before you’re rolling down the window and telling him to drive you home.

the car ride is quiet and you’re just looking out the window the entire time, trying not to cry. it wasn't fair. any of this wasn’t fair. you just wanted to curl up and hide right now. you can feel your stomach rumbling, protesting for not being given breakfast and you sigh, putting a hand on your stomach. now that you were aware, you were actually really hungry. you had half the mind to stop somewhere and buy something but you didn’t want to deal with people right now.

“did you eat breakfast?”, you ask wonwoo, feeling suffocated with the silence in the car.

“not exactly, but i did eat something”, he informs. you nod your head, thinking of what else to ask him.

“so how come you chose this bodyguard business”, you ask, glancing over at wonwoo.

“it suits me, i’m good at it”, he replies, giving you a short answer.

“right, i see”.

a few more seconds of silence follows before wonwoo speaks. “are you okay?”, he asks, his eyes still trained on the road ahead of him. his question takes you aback. it had been ages since someone asked you that. are you okay? those three words that had the capability of making you rethink your life and look into yourself. were you okay? no, not really. life sucked right now and you wanted nothing more than to just curl up in bed and cry.

“i-i don’t know”, you answer, letting out a sigh as your fingers play with your mother's ring on your hand, something you did when you were anxious or lost in thought.

“i’m used to it, it’s fine”, you add quickly.

after a few more minutes, wonwoo is pulling up into your driveway and he parks the car, getting out. you don’t know how this man managed to walk so fast because just as you’re about to turn your body to open the door, wonwoo is already there, holding the car door open for you.

“oh um thank you”, you tell softly as you get out.

you realized it was going to take you a while to break into wonwoo’s wall and befriend him. it looked like he was going to be with you for a while, until the trial was over atleast so might as well become friends. he did prove to be a hell though, it was like talking to a robot, but who said you weren’t up for the challenge?

it’s a new week and wonwoo is driving you to the cat shelter since it’s your day to volunteer today. atleast during all these sudden changes in your life, this was a constant. it felt comforting in a way. the animal shelter was run by a sweet lady who also adored you. coming here always made you feel better, no matter how shitty your day had been.

you enter the shelter and immediately all the cats recognise your scent and meow, as if they were welcoming you. the owner comes out to see what the commotion was about and smiles upon seeing you.

“yn! it’s so nice to see you”, she greets, pulling you in for a hug.

“it’s good to be back”, you tell.

“who’s this mystery man”, she asks, referring to wonwoo.

“my bodyguard. with everything happening and the trial and all, things are getting out of hand ”, you explain and she nods. “quite the catch isn’t he”, she says, teasing you and you chuckle.

“i'm so sorry to hear about all this though, just know i’m here for you”, she tells.

“thank you”, you tell, grateful.

“well you carry on, i just need to finish writing these invoices and i’ll join you”, she adds, walking back to the office room and you’re left alone with all the cats.

“hello fluffy”, you tell, looking down to the cat who’s brushing against your legs,

wonwoo stands at the side of the room like he’s been punished even though you again insist that he can sit down but he insists on standing. you sigh, whatever suited him. you turn your attention back to the cats surrounding you and start your duties.

you had to clean their litter, feed them and make sure the ones who were on medication were given the medicine. after you’re done cleaning the litter, you realise you need to open a new bag of litter, the only problem? it was 15kgs heavy and in no way were you capable of lifting that huge bag to the litterbox area. you go back to the front and wonwoo is still standing, his hands neatly folded in front of him as he just stares at the wall. he really needs to relax you thought. you walk up to him, hands on your hip.

“i need your help, come here”, you ask and you hear the shuffle of wonwoo’s feet behind you as you walk.

“can you help me lift this?”, you ask, holding one end of the bag. wonwoo doesn’t say a word as he holds the bag and lifts it himself effortlessly and carries it to where you want it. damn, he was strong.

you fill up the box with new litter, washing your hands and come back to the front.

��i have a surprise for you”, you hear the owner say and she walks towards one of the boxes covered by a cloth. she uncovers it and a second later you hear a high pitched meow, followed by another and another.

“oh my god”, you squeal. “poe littered! i completely forgot she was due”, you tell, looking as she brings the box down and the kittens overflow out of the box in a frenzy, climbing out of the box and making their way towards you with their wobbly but determined feet. you bend down to see them and they’re adorable. you watch as the battalion of kittens make their way to wonwoo, climbing on his shoes and meowing up at him, ambushing him practically.

you giggle as one cheeky kitten even climbs up wonwoo’s suit and all the way to his shoulder, sitting there perched while wonwoo just stands there, completely ignoring the fact that he was being attacked by vicious kittens right now.

“you should adopt that one, it likes you”, you tell as you hold a kitten in your hands, referring to the one sitting perched on his shoulder.

“i already have a cat at home”, he tells and this piece of information makes you raise your brows in surprise.

“really? you have a cat”, you ask in surprise. “i do”, he answers quietly.

“oh my god, show me a picture”, you ask.

wonwoo only blinks at you. “i refrain from using my phone during work hours”, he tells smoothly and you roll your eyes.

“come on wonwoo, don’t be like that. it’s fine, just show me”, you ask again. “please?”, you add and wonwoo looks at you for a few more seconds before he’s moving his hand to remove his phone from his jacket pocket. the kitten on his shoulder makes a move, almost about to fall but wonwoo is quick to catch it and it’s now sitting in the palm of his hand, as he operates his phone with the other hand. he turns his phone towards you, revealing the picture of his cat.

“her name is oreo”, he tells.

“aww she’s so pretty and so cute!!”, you exclaim. wonwoo’s cat was gorgeous actually. she was a black cat with white paws, white whiskers and a patch of white on her neck and chest.

“she’s a rescue too”, he adds, and that little piece of information lifts your heart.

“that’s nice. her little white paws are adorable oh my gosh”, you tell as you smile up at wonwoo. “they’re like little socks”, you say, chuckling at yourself as you hand his phone back to him. you notice how the kitten in his hand was busy chewing the end of his tie. if you looked carefully, you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his lips right now as he watched the kitten playing in his hands. how cute.

wonwoo drives you back home after you finish all your duties at the shelter and you get a text from jeonghan about your father’s trial. the first trial was set for next week.

you're just at home and you’re certainly not used to the intrusion to your sleep at 7am every day now when wonwoo comes to work to start his duties. you told him to stay at home and you’d call him if you needed him but no, he didn’t listen. so here he was at 7am on the dot everyday at your doorstep. you yawn as you open the door, mumbling something to wonwoo about changing his work timings to 9am instead.

you’re brushing your teeth, walking around the room and you can see wonwoo standing as usual. you wash your face and head towards the kitchen. you needed coffee now. you glance towards wonwoo occasionally because honestly, even if he was just standing there, he looked so….effortlessly handsome. oh my god. you should not be having these thoughts right now. it was too early for this. you really needed some coffee to get your head straight.

“do you want some coffee?”, you ask wonwoo as you look at him.

“i’m good, thank you”, he says. of course he was going to say that.

“how do you like your coffee?”, you prod him again.

“black”, he says.

and of course he likes his coffee black.

“well, i like a latte, ice or hot depending on my mood, sometimes with caramel sauce if i’m feeling fancy but otherwise mostly plain”, you tell, dumping this piece of information onto wonwoo as you struggle to open your coffee powder jar. you try again but it wasn’t budging. you try again this time, trying to concentrate all your strength onto your hand, but it didn’t work and it wasn’t opening. without a word, wonwoo comes forward and offers to open it. he takes the jar from your hands and opens it effortlessly in one shot, probably because of his super strength. you mumble out a thank you and instead of letting him go back to that sad corner beside the wall, you ask him to take a seat in front.

“wonwoo, you should know that you standing there at the side of the room like you’ve been punished is just extremely weird. please sit, i’m not gonna kill you, seriously, i’m a nice person”, you explain, your hand pointing to the stool that was on the left of him. “i would prefer-”, he starts. “no, i would prefer if you just sat please. you’re supposed to listen to whatever i say right”, you tell, looking at him with your hands crossed over your chest.

he doesn’t say anything but finally takes a seat and you do a little celebration inside your head. “see! that’s so much better”, you tell, already feeling at ease.

you continue making your coffee and you’re halfway through making your coffee when you hear your doorbell ring. you glance at wonwoo before putting your mug down. but wonwoo gets up, telling you he’ll check who it was.

“who are you?”, you hear wonwoo ask as he opens the door and you walk up to the door, curious. “who is it?”, you ask and when the person comes into view, you let out an excited squeal.

“RANIAA”, you exclaim, accidentally pushing wonwoo to the side as you pull rania inside, only to see skye behind them. “OH MY GOD”, you exclaim again, pulling rania into a hug and then skye. meanwhile wonwoo just stands in the corner of the cramped doorstep, regaining his balance from your not so subtle shove.

“what are you guys doing here”, you ask, once all the excitement has toned down and both rania and skye are seated on the couch.

“we’ve been seeing the news and everything that’s been happening”, skye says.

“so we came to support you, it must be so hard right now”, rania adds.

“aw you guys are really the best”, you tell. it had been years since you last saw them, both of them having moved to different countries. though you guys were separated by distance, you were still connected by your unhinged and chaotic group chat.

“by the way, who’s the handsome hunk over there”, rania asks, not so subtly.

“rania jeez, he’s my bodyguard calm down”, you tell but you don’t miss the glint in their eyes.

“is he single”, rania asks and you glare at them.

“stop it”, you tell and skye chuckles beside you.

“wait, weren’t you dating jaehyun?”, skye adds and your face falls. “yeah about that, he uh dumped me”, you tell and skye is quick to pull you in a reassuring embrace.

“this is your sign to date that guy, shoot your shot before it’s too late bestie”, rania encourages, making you laugh.

“enough about me, how are you guys? how’s seungkwan and soonyoung”, you ask, eager to know more about them. you watch as rania and skye exchange a glance between themselves before looking at you.

“they’re coming here tomorrow”, they tell in unison and you almost yell. “really?”, you ask, shocked but also excited.

“they wanted to see you too so we dragged them along with us, but there was a goof up with the plane tickets and they had to rebook on a different flight”, skye explains.

“it’s okay, we can all go out together tomorrow”, you tell and they smile.

rania and skye end up going back at the end of the day and poor wonwoo had to witness you three maybe talk a little too much. you were sure he was glad when he clocked off work, beyond relieved he didn’t have to hear you all chatter anymore. even though you told him he could leave early, that you were going to just be home, he again didn't listen to you, saying that he would stay, saying something about upholding his duty. rania bombarded him with too many questions and you were sure he was going to get more from seungkwan and soonyoung tomorrow, poor guy.

the next day you’re excited to see your besties again and wonwoo is yet again standing near the wall like he’s a statue. you’ve given up at this point really. before they arrived, you briefed wonwoo on being nice to them, especially to seungkwan and soonyoung, who were probably going to hound him with questions again today. “don’t be mean to them if they ask you questions”, you tell, pointing a finger at wonwoo. “be nice to them okay?”, you tell, adding a little glare to make sure your point went across.

you wear a simple yet cute outfit and before you know it, your house is filled with laughter and smiles as soonyoung and seungkwan greet you.

“oh my god, it’s so nice to see you guys!”, you tell, excited as soonyoung and seungkwan smile back at you. “same here yn”, they tell.

“we planned a little double date”, skye tells. “make it a triple date, you can ask wonwoo to join”, rania adds, winking at you and you roll your eyes at her.

“who is what”, seungkwan asks, finally noticing the other presence in the room.

“my bodyguard. given the current situation my father thought it would be best”, you explain.

“woah he looks strong”, soonyoung adds and before you know it, both the boys make their way to wonwoo while you girls decide on where to go for your little double or well triple date.

“hello”, soonyoung says to wonwoo. wonwoo only responds with a small nod of his head, standing still.

“how long have you been a bodyguard for?”, seungkwan asks.

wonwoo glances at seungkwan, looks him up and down before answering. “four years”, wonwoo tells.

“woah! so how’d you become one? is there like a special training school for this?”, soonyoung asks, completely serious and utterly curious.

“it’s a sub branch in the security industry”, is all wonwoo answers with.

“can i ask you a question”, seungkwan asks, bringing his hand around wonwoo’s shoulder which wonwoo shrugs off in a second.

“what do you think of yn?”, seungkwan adds, acting like he wasn’t just shrugged off by wonwoo.

“yn is my client”, wonwoo says, like he’s stating a fact.

“i know she’s your client dude but what do you think of her, you know?”, seungkwan adds, trying to knock some sense into wonwoo, who clearly didn’t have any romantic braincell.

“you should take her out on a date, cheer her up. i'm sure she feels bad about everything happening with her father and all”, seungkwan explains nicely.

“yeah!”, soonyoung adds. we’re going on a double date anyway, you can join us and it’ll become a triple date”, soonyoung adds with enthusiasm.

wonwoo just stares at these two boys like they’re idiots before answering. “that’s not in my job description”, he tells.

seungkwan visibly gets annoyed. “man, you’re really dense you know”, he adds. “it’s gonna hurt your romantic life in the long run buddy”, seungkwan adds with a look.

wonwoo doesn’t say anything and that was the last straw for seungkwan and he grabs soonyoung’s arm, both of them making their way to the couch where you were busy chatting.

“okay, so we’re getting sushi”, rania announces and everyone cheers. you guys headed to the sushi place, wonwoo, you, rania and skye in one car and seungkwan and soonyoung following behind in the car they rented. you reach the sushi place and you guys sit inside. it seemed like today was your lucky day because you didn’t see any paps around or didn’t anyone seem to recognise you. you all took a seat while wonwoo told you that he’d wait by the car. you asked him (while rania almost yelled at him to join us) but he was stern about staying by the car. you let him be because you didn’t want to inconvenience him at the end of the day. you weren’t going to cross his boundaries if he didn’t want to. you finish your sushi date and come home happy and satisfied.

later that week, you get to meet with jeonghan, your father’s lawyer, to see how things are going regarding your father’s trial.

“so mr. jeon has been telling me you haven’t been going to college? i know things have been bad but missing classes in your last semester is not the thing to be doing”, jeonghan tells.

“he’s reporting to you now is he?”, you ask, your brow raised. “well i did hire him”, he adds.

“i’m not missing classes on purpose…it’s just that”, you start sighing. “they told me i can’t graduate because of everything happening and father’s controversy. something about damaging the institution’s reputation”, you tell and jeonghan sits up straighter.

“why didn’t you tell me anything before?”, jeonghan asks.

“i was going to! but then it just slipped my mind, and i know you’ve been busy too”, you add, hoping to redeem yourself.

jeonghan gives you a knowing look. “yn this is no small matter, i will look into this and make sure you can graduate. this is a ridiculous thing to do”, he tells and you nod in approval. “thanks” , you tell and he nods.

“how are you finding your bodyguard?”, jeonghan asks and you already sigh.

“he’s so…i don’t know, he’s so good at what he does but also kinda intimidating. he barely speaks it feels like i’m talking to a wall half the time”, you tell, chuckling. “but he’s cute”, you add, that tiny detail making jeonghan laugh.

“i think it’ll take some time to befriend him but i’m on it”, you add and jeonghan gives you a look. “just don’t get too close”, he adds with a warning.

you were at the library today, you needed an escape and books seemed like the perfect solace right now. you’re wearing a simple outfit, black jeans with a purple top and a jacket on top because somehow even though the sun was up, the air was chilly and windy. you’re busy arranging the books that have been borrowed back in their rightful places, already knowing which book and genre goes where. wonwoo follows you around silently while you’re aimlessly talking to him about each book you pick up and put back on the shelf, offering him information about it - if you had read it, if it was on your TBR, if it was good, bad or worth a read. wonwoo seemed to be listening to you keenly. you grab the next book, and start telling wonwoo about it.

“i read this book years ago and i still love it to this date, the characters were so funny. but if i’m being honest the guy in this book was kinda an ass”, you add, as you locate the book’s spot on the shelf that was all the way at the top. you went on your tiptoes to reach it, trying to place it but missed. “and now that i’m older, the girl in the book was also a bit stupid you know, like-” you continue, but you feel wonwoo come up behind you and see his hand reach out, taking the book from your outstretched arm and placing in on the shelf with ease. you turn around, looking up at wonwoo, who is now so close to you.

“why do you think the character was stupid?”, he asks, looking at you curiously. you blink up at him before answering, your mind suddenly distracted as you try to form a coherent sentence. “you know like-it was young love and-uh and they did-some stupid things-that um-i only realised when i got older-”, you stutter out, a flustered mess as you continue to look up at wonwoo. he looked so pretty up close and you could smell his cologne, which only made you want to lean into his presence. you feel your cheeks heat up as you look at him, starting to get lost in his eyes, his gaze. the way he looked at you like nothing else mattered to him apart from you made your heart race. you could feel your heart thumping loudly against your chest as you opened your mouth to speak again but closed it as no words came out. you step to the side, trying to create some distance between wonwoo, but you end up tripping on the stool that was placed there, almost falling, but wonwoo is quick to catch you, his arms catching your waist as he pulls your body against his.

“watch where you step”, wonwoo says as he holds you, and you’re acutely aware of how his hands feel on your body, the way he holds you, strong but gentle. and the way he’s looking at you makes your mind seem to go blank and the faint feeling of butterflies erupts in your stomach. “t-thanks”, you quickly say before you straighten out and stand on your own. you quickly grab a book from the cart and turn around, trying to calm your over-excited heart as you pretend to walk ahead before wonwoo calls out for you.

“isn’t the historical section that way?”, he asks and you look at the book in your hand. it was a historical book indeed. you huff out a breath and turn around, speed walking past wonwoo as you find the shelf and put the book back in place as you mutter to yourself about why wonwoo had to be so attentive, observant and stupidly attractive.

today is your father’s first trial and you were nervous,. even though jeonghan told you that you didn’t have to come, you wanted to. you knew your father needed your support right now, regardless of how rocky your relationship has been with him. so here you were in the car, nervous, while wonwoo was well, calm. but it was nice, having a calm energy near you, it sort of grounded you.

you turn the corner to the court and god, it was crowded. people had surrounded the road and courthouse, media and paparazzi waiting to snap photos and cover the event. you realised how serious this was and what it would mean if your father was found guilty, shit.

you observed the crowd, ducking down in your seat a little, already feeling overwhelmed. you hated crowds, especially crowds like this. you knew it wasn’t the good type of crowd and the sense of dread was already pooling in your stomach. maybe you should just turn the car around and go home. your hand is anxiously playing with the ring on your finger and as the car pulls up to the entrance to the courthouse, you can hear the screams and yells of people and see the flashes of light go off as the media take photos.

you gulp, anxious and the car comes to a halt. wonwoo swiftly gets down and he is quick to open your side of the car. it takes you a second to get out and the minute you get out, people surround you even more. If it wasn’t for the police barricade and wonwoo beside you, you were sure you’d have been trampled.

wonwoo is swift as he guides you inside, making sure no one touches you. he envelopes his other hand around your shoulder, but doesn’t touch you, having a gentleman’s hand while he guides you and you’re relieved once you step inside the building and the yells of people die down. you enter the trial room and take a seat. you spot your father and jeonghan and give them a small smile. your father - well he looked tired. you were just hoping jeonghan could get him through this because you don’t know what you were going to do otherwise.

the prosecution was really piling up all sorts of accusations against your father, but jeonghan was well prepared and defended whatever was coming up. firstly, according to what jeonghan had mentioned, there was no evidence or even if there was it could have been tampered with. the anonymous said person who was said to have tipped off the police with the evidence could not be trusted. jeonghan insisted that this person testify in court and that this anonymous person should be brought in for questioning.

by the time the first trial is done, it’s already been four hours. the next trial would be held in a few days where witnesses will be brought forward to testify. but from the hush talks in the room after the court was adjourned, you could tell no one was really on your father's side. your father’s company stocks had dropped, brand deals were pulling out and things were obviously not in your father’s favour at all. you were going to try everything in your power to bring your father’s company back up again and prove to everyone that he was indeed innocent. because there’s no way he would have done those things, right?

as you manage to locate jeonghan, who sits down with you for a bit, he tells you about a message from your father.

“you know the annual business charity club ball that your father attends every year right”, jeonghan says. “yeah”, you tell.

“well, obviously since you father cannot go this year, he’s asked you to go in his place”, jeonghan finishes and you give him a look.

“me? you know i hate that event”, you tell.

“but it’s been planned and it cannot be cancelled, not even in this situation. so, you’re going and it’s final. i will text you the location and date later. but please go, atleast for your father’s sake. he’s losing a lot of people right now so if you could try to restore people’s faith and trust in you and your father, it would be helpful”, jeonghan tells.

“fine, i guess that’s the least i can do”, you tell as you look at jeonghan. “is he okay? he’ll be okay right?”, you ask and jeonghan nods. “he should be, i’m doing everything in my power to defend him”, jeonghan answers.

you exit the meeting room with jeonghan and he takes off, saying he has to arrange some documents for the next trial. you weren’t able to meet your father because they didn’t allow you to right now which was a stupid rule. you walk out and you’re looking around for wonwoo but don't see him. and in your search for him, you make the mistake of walking towards the entrance, where the media people were. they spot you and in a second you’re surrounded, with people shoving cameras and mics in your face, bombarding you with questions, all talking over each other as you panic. you try to move but they follow you and soon, you’re being pushed outside and the people outside start yelling when they see you. someone shoves you and you lose your balance, almost falling as someone else grabs your left hand. you yelp out in pain as they yank your hand and just then you feel a figure come up behind you - wonwoo. his hand embraces your shoulder this time, as he holds out another hand to block people. you can feel the hand holding yours let go as wonwoo pries it off you and he pushes people back and people actually do move back because wonwoo meant business. he guides you to the car and you sit, finally away from the crowd. it’s only when you see wonwoo up front at the drivers seat that you realise you were sitting in the passenger seat behind. you didn’t mind though. wonwoo is swift to take a seat and you can feel him look at you through the rearview mirror. he doesn’t say anything, but starts the car and drives.

by the time you get back home, it’s late, already hitting 10:30pm. it’s only when you are inside does wonwoo finally speak.

“it’s dangerous for you to go out alone”, he says, standing in front of you as you put you bag onto the countertop.

“i was looking for you but i couldn’t find you, i didn’t mean to wander off alone like that”, you try to explain. “it was all too sudden, i really didn’t know what to do”, you add.

“just wait for me next time”, he asks,

“but where were you?”, you counter.

“i was at the east wing door, waiting for you to finish talking but when i looked inside, you weren’t there.

“oh, i think i exited from the door on the other side, that’s why”, you tell.

"if you don’t see me, call me next time, please”, he says and you nod in understanding.

wonwoo’s eyes glance down to your hand, the slightest marks of a bruise visible. “is your hand okay?”, he asks, taking a step forward to examine it further. “yeah, it’s fine, it’s-”, you stop as you look at your hand, only to see it bare. your ring, it wasn’t there. you look down on the floor, thinking it must've fallen there but it’s not. your other hand caresses your empty hand where the ring used to be, hoping that it wasn’t really missing but you don’t feel it. you don’t feel the ring. you feel the panic start to set in as you realise what’s just happened. fuck. then it hits you, the courtroom. it must've been pulled off when your hand was grabbed. you had to go back there, you had to look for it.

“we have to go back”, you tell wonwoo, as you step forward, but wonwoo is quick to stop you.

“yn, it’s late”, he tells sternly.

“no you don’t understand, i lost my ring, it must’ve fallen there, i need to find it”, you tell frantically and wonwoo doesn’t understand why you’ve become so worked up over a ring.

“it’s just a ring yn, you can get another one”, he tells and you snap your head up at him, visibly upset. just a ring?

“it’s not just a ring wonwoo”, you tell, tears prickling in your eyes. “you wouldn’t understand, fuck, i have to-i have to find it”, you tell again but wonwoo’s hand is firm as he holds you back again.

“yn”, he says. “no we need to go now”, you yell, pulling your arm loose from his grip “i’ll go myself”, you counter, trying to reach for the car keys on the counter but wonwoo pulls your hand away.

“yn we’ll go later alright”, he tells. “no no no we need to go now”, you yell again, a tear escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks slowly. your vision gets blurry and you move back, panic setting in. fuck how could you lose your mothers precious ring.

“no no no, this can’t be happening”, you mumble. you try to feel for your ring again, hoping that it was all just a misunderstanding, but your finger was empty. you don’t hear wonwoo calling out to you as you ears start ringing and your eyes fill with tears again. “i’m such an idiot how could i lose it”, you tell yourself, beating yourself up over the incident.

wonwoo realised you were having a panic attack, and he also realised that what he said could have been triggering. “yn”, says, coming towards you and you feel the weight of his hands on your shoulders as he looks down at you and you look up at him, a few more tears rolling down your cheeks. “we’ll find your ring okay”, he says, his voice somehow grounding you back to reality. “i promise we’ll go back to find it, but not right now.”, he adds. another tear rolls down your cheek as you sniffle, looking up at wonwoo, feeling helpless. “we’ll find it right”, you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “we will”, he assures.

wonwoo guides you to the couch and is quick to fetch you a glass of water. surprisingly, he takes a seat next to you, pushing the glass of water to you. you see him reach for something in his jacket pocket and then he reaches his hand out, offering it to you, his handkerchief. you gladly take the handkerchief and dab your cheeks dry, wiping your tears and sniffling as you try to calm down. wonwoo watches as you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip of water. there is silence between you both, unsure of what to say. you close your eyes for a few seconds, trying to gather yourself and your thoughts.

“i’m sorry”, you mumble out, feeling bad at lashing out at wonwoo and maybe a little embarrassed about crying in front of him. you hated people seeing you cry.

“i should be sorry, it was insensitive of me to say that”, he says, as he watches you take another sip of water. you put the glass down, looking at your finger where your ring adorned it.

“it was my mother’s ring”, you tell quietly after a few moments of silence. “after she passed away, it was the only token i had to remember her by”, you tell softly, lifting you head up to see wonwoo’s gaze soften as he looks at you. “it’s the only thing i have left of her”, you say, feeling yourself tear up again as you shift your gaze back down to your lap. you look back up at wonwoo and there’s something different about him, a softness in his gaze, his expression and language. “i’m sorry to hear about your mother”, he tells. you offer him a small smile. “it’s okay, i’ve come to terms with it, besides i was really young when it happened”, you add.

you glance at the clock on the wall, seeing the time and releasing that it was late, that it was past wonwoo’s working hours. “oh”, you say softly as your eyes glance at wonwoo and back to the clock. “i’m sorry if i held you back”, you say, referring to the time. wonwoo quickly checks the time on the wristwatch adorning his hand before he looks back up at you.

“i can stay, if you want me to”, he adds. “are you sure?”, you ask, unsure. he nods. “just another hour then”, you ask and he gives you a yes. deep down you were glad he was staying back. you didn’t think you could handle being alone right now, especially after what happened.

there are a few more seconds of silence before wonwoo speaks, suggesting that you should eat dinner perhaps, considering you hadn’t really had a proper lunch either, being too anxious about your father’s trial.

“i need a burger”, you tell after a few minutes of silence. “do you want me to place a delivery order for you?”, wonwoo asks. you shake your head. “no they don’t deliver, we’ll have to go there”, you tell and wonwoo looks unsure for a second. “it’s closeby, i’ll show you the way”, you tell, already standing up.

you both get in the car and you show wonwoo the directions as he drives. you come by the place and park and you’re about to get out when wonwoo stops you.

“wait, let me surf the area, see if anyone is there”, wonwoo tells, opening his door and stepping out. by anyone he meant the paparazzi of course. he walks ahead a bit, his eyes searching the area for anyone suspicious and that’s when you spot a girl sitting by the bench on the side looking at wonwoo. you knew what that look meant. wonwoo comes up by your window and you lower the glass, peeking out. you glance at the girl and then wonwoo, a laugh escaping your lips at your thoughts.

“what’s wrong?”, wonwoo asks, alert.

“that girl over there is totally checking you out”, you tell and wonwoo seems unfazed by this piece of information.

“i see three paparazzi, seems like they followed us. i suggest that you stay in the car and let me get you a takeaway”, wonwoo tells.

“that girl is totally going to ask for your number”, you add and wonwoo blinks at you.

“she won’t”, he tells, dismissing your claims.

“she totally will”, you counter and he raises a brow at you.

“wanna make a bet”, you ask. “if you lose you have to buy me ice cream”, you tell.

“what do you want me to get for you”, wonwoo asks, resting his hand on the car window.

“get me the grilled burger with fries and extra sauce”, you tell, handing wonwoo your card. wonwoo takes it as you tell him not to forget the extra sauce, adding that he should get something for himself too.

after about ten minutes, wonwoo comes into sight and just as you predicted, the girl sitting on the bench stands up and engages in a conversation with wonwoo. however, it’s short lived and wonwoo is making his way towards your car and the dejected look on the girl’s face tells you everything you need to know. wonwoo gets in the driver’s seat with the bag of food, which smelled divine, tingling your senses already.

“she asked for you number didn’t she”, you tell, teasing him a little.

“she did not”, wonwoo tells and you fake gasp.

“she totally did, i read her lips”, you state and wonwoo shakes his head and gives in, amused.

“you owe me ice cream”, you state proudly, grinning at wonwoo.

“on what occasion?”, he asks.

“because you lost the bet”, you state.

“i remember making no such deal”, he tells, like he’s teasing you, as he hands you back your card.

“whatever, just know i’ll extort this ice cream out of you one day”, you tell as you reach for the bag food.

you eat your burger in joy, proud that wonwoo in fact did not forget the extra sauce.

“did you not get anything?”, you ask, as you chew, looking at wonwoo.

“i will eat something at home, thank you for the concern”, he says. “don’t be like that!”, you tell, offering him a fry but he politely declines that too.

after you’ve devoured your burger and fries, you sigh content. “that was a good meal”, you tell, satisfied. “if only i could get a desert now”, you tell, implying to wonwoo.

“but i guess we should go, an hour is going to be up”, you tell. wonwoo steps out of the car and you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he walks over to your side and opens the door for you.

“did you not want your ice cream?”, he asks and you look around before wonwoo tells you that the paps left. you smile and step out, happily walking up to the ice cream parlour that was right next to the burger joint. another hidden gem that served the best ice cream and sundaes.

you walk inside and sit in the corner booth all the way at the end. it gave you some privacy and was cozy. you don’t even glance at the menu before you’re telling wonwoo what you want. “a chocolate brownie fudge delight please”, you tell, grinning up at wonwoo who’s looking at you confused as he glances at the menu on the table, his eyes searching for the item you’ve just named.

“but that has two scoops of vanilla and two scoops of chocolate ice cream”, he tells. you only look at him, confused. “and a whole brownie with chocolate sauce and nuts”, he adds, like he’s questioning you.

“so?”, you ask.

“are you going to eat the whole thing?”, he asks and you scoff.

“do not underestimate my ice cream eating abilities wonwoo”, you tell offended and just then the waitress comes, taking your order.

your sundae comes and you’re already smiling but when you take that first bite, it’s heaven and you sigh again, content with life right now. wonwoo looks at you like he’s still unsure that you can finish it.

“do you want a bite? it’s really good”, you ask, pushing the bowl towards him. he politely declines again and you give him a look.

“you know, you should live life more, because you only live once”, you tell, as you put another spoonful of ice cream in your mouth. “i mean of course if you’re allergic to nuts or lactose intolerant then that’s a totally different story, but otherwise if someone tells me that they don’t eat or don’t like ice cream, i wouldn’t trust them you know. because how can you not like ice cream? it’s like one of the best things to have been created. if you don’t like ice cream then there’s a serious problem”, you ramble on to wonwoo, who’s sitting opposite you, listening to you keenly.

“also you should really talk more, i feel like i’m talking to myself half the time because you never say anything or you're always finishing your sentences in two or five words”, you tell, oblivious to the fact there was chocolate sauce on the side of your lip. “we need to come to some sort of understanding because-”, you stop mid sentence as wonwoo’s hand reaches out to wipe the corner of your mouth gently. you stare at him for a couple of seconds before the weight of his actions hits you and you start coughing, flustered. wonwoo is quick to pour you a glass of water and offer it to you.

“are you okay?, he asks, looking worried and you nod. “y-yeah”, you respond, suddenly feeling shy. you eat another spoonful of the ice cream, looking down at the bowl as you chew, feeling your cheeks heat up and you glance back up at wonwoo, whose eyes are still trained on you, and he’s looking at you deeply like he’s trying to decipher what’s going on in your mind. the way he looked at you, god, it made you feel things.

“we’ll find my ring right”, you ask again as you take the last bite of your sundae.

“i assure you that i will try my best to find it”, he replies. silence engulfs you both again.

“thank you for today”, you tell. “it was a nice distraction or change from the situation”, you tell, feeling grateful. you check the time on your phone and let out a small gasp at the time.

“oops, i guess i kept you for two hours instead of one”, you tell. “that’s not an issue”, he says. “if you ever need me, i’m always here”, he adds and somehow the way he says it feels soft, like this was his way of initiating friendship, telling you that he was indeed human and there was a sincerity in the way he said it.

“thank you”, you say, giving him a genuine smile. wonwoo drops you off at home and then leaves, bidding you goodnight. you lay in bed, replaying the events of today in your head, thinking about wonwoo. even if he perhaps looked a bit cold and indifferent, he was actually really sweet, quiet, soft and gentle. you feel a blush creep up your cheeks as you think about what he did earlier and you turn over, burying your face into the pillow, letting out an annoyed groan as you kick your feet in the air.

you don’t sleep well that night, your mind wandering to your mother’s ring and all your thoughts filled with finding it. you would find it right? you wake up at an ungodly hour and still restless before falling asleep in the early hours of the morning. when you wake up, you sleepily walk out and see a cup of takeaway coffee from your favourite cafe waiting for you. you glance at wonwoo and then at the cup of coffee.

“i thought you might want some coffee”, he fills in. “oh god i did need some coffee, thank you wonwoo”, you tell, taking a sip, grateful for his sweet gesture.

“when can we go find my ring? i really have to find it, i’ll never forgive myself otherwise”, you say, putting the coffee back on the counter as you go on a sleepy rant when wonwoo steps forward and holds out his hand. he opens it and lo and behold, your ring is there. your jaw drops and you look up at wonwoo.

“no way. you found it, you really found it”, you tell as you take the ring, examining it like you were making sure it was really yours before slipping it back on your finger.

you’re so happy and you jump at wonwoo, hugging him, “thank you thank you thank you”, you chant, feeling so relieved right now, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. that’s when you realise what you were doing, making you step back abruptly, clearing your throat. “i mean, thank you”, you tell again, as you compose yourself. he gives you an appreciative nod and a small smile and you feel your stomach do a little somersault.

a week later the next trial is being held. you didn’t go for this one, but you got updates from jeonghan and of course the news. the headlines about your father were also ridiculous, but you were used to it at this point really. it’s like the whole world was against your father right now, everyone hated him and you of course. people were angry and demanding justice and jail time, saying he stole taxpayers' money and that he owned the people back, that he should rot in jail for the rest of his life. you shake your head and open your front door to go water your garden when you see another small box on your doorstep. you had been getting these all week. they were threats and normally you should have been scared. but you thought it was a harmless joke. you’d gotten countless threats on the internet so you just assumed it was someone having some fun. shrugging it off, you decided to not tell wonwoo about this.

the weird boxes continue to come, but you realise that they got progressively worse each time, the last two even had death threats, and threats about breaking into your house, but yet again, you didn’t take it seriously. you woke up later today, having trusted wonwoo with your house code so he could enter and start his duty and not have to wake you up at 7am every day.

when you walk to the living area, wonwoo is there. “good morning”, he greets and you yawn, waving at him. “you got a parcel”, he tells and you look at the counter, recognising the box. “shit not another one”, you mumble but wonwoo is sharp to hear it.

you open it, and this time it’s a bunch of your photos, cut up weirdly. but the worst part, your heads were cut off in all of them and there was a cryptic message too. wonwoo comes forward, sees the letter and is quick to look at you. he reaches out for the letter, taking it from your hand before you can hide it and his eyes scan over the contents of the letter, his jaw clenched.

“this isn't okay”, he says. “it probably isn’t a big deal wonwoo, i’ve been getting them all week”, you blurt out, before realising it and you can feel wonwoo’s gaze get more intense.

“what? and you didn’t think to tell me?”, he asks firmly. “i didn’t want to make big deal out it, it’s probably harmless, i get stuff like this all the time online”, you tell.

“but this isn’t online”, he says, emphasizing his words.”and it's always not a big deal until something actually happens yn, this is dangerous”, he tells, clearly upset about this, raising his voice slightly.

he makes you show him all the mail and he looks stressed to say the least. “yn you should have told me about this”, he says, stressed. “how am i supposed to protect you if i don’t know about things like this”, he adds and you can feel his eyes drill into you.

“i’m sorry wonwoo”, you say, feeling bad.

“well, it is a big deal and action will be taken”, he says. “they know your address yn, do a lot of people know your address, where you live?”, he asks, making you think and that’s when you realise. “oh”, you say. “i mean paps are around my house all the time”, you tell.

“but this isn’t a pap”, he tells. “it means this person has been following you around”, he says. “you mean like stalking?”, you ask. “yes exactly”, he tells. you gulp, suddenly realising the weight of the situation.

wonwoo looked stressed the entire day even though you told him not to worry and that you’d karate chop anyone who came near you. he didn’t laugh at your joke, obviously, just keeping a straight face. that night, wonwoo seems apprehensive to leave, worried about the threats you were getting, but you assured him that you were going to be okay, that you were going to lock all your doors and windows and sleep.

the letters and threats keep coming, each getting more violent and wonwoo doesn’t like it one bit. “we need to put some cctvs around your house”, he tells you. you argue that you don’t really need it, but he insists, and to be honest, in the long run, it could be useful so you cave in and he informs you that he’ll make the arrangements.

that night, you’re lying in bed, busy watching a show on your laptop. it was late, but you couldn’t sleep so here you were, catching up on a tv show. but that’s when you hear a noise from outside. you shrug it off and continue watching when your phone pings.

i can see you

what the fuck. you get up and try to look out the window, not seeing anything, but that’s when you hear a noise and you see the shadow of someone on the wall. it moves swiftly and you take a step back, scared. your phone pings again.

looking for me?

you swear you feel a shiver run down your spine. you hear a rattle on your window outside and you gasp, anxious as you tiptoe your way there and you swear you hear a laugh, making you jump.

did i scare you?

another text reads and you gulp, backing up. fuck.

you scramble to unlock your phone and you dial wonwoo, not knowing who else to call. he doesn’t pick up on the first go and you hear the heavy boots of someone outside before you hear your glass window break, a stone getting thrown inside. you dial wonwoo again and he picks up.

“wonwoo, fuck, there’s someone here, i think they’re trying to break in”, you tell in a panic and the phone gets disconnected as you yelp in pain as a small stone from outside that hits your hand, breaking the window furthur as glass shatters everywhere. you hand stings and you clutch your hand as you try to ground yourself. you start panicking, and getting anxious, tears brimming in your eyes. your phone slips from your hand, landing with a thud on the ground. you try to reach out for it but end up getting cut from the glass you couldn’t see in the dark. you suck in a breath as you feel the sharp cut burn and you move back as you sink to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, hiding under the dining table. what if wonwoo didn’t come you thought as a tear escaped you. you had to get yourself together. but then another stone gets thrown shattering your already broken window. shit, what if someone came in right now. this wasn’t good. your thoughts only add fuel to your panic and you just try to huddle under the table, your hands shaking.

you don’t know how much time passed and you don’t even hear your front door open as wonwoo runs in. “yn?”, he calls out. your house was still dark and you can hear the crunch of glass as he steps on it with his boots, cursing under his breath.

he calls your phone which had fallen down, as it lights up and rings. “yn?”, he calls out again, an edge to his voice, seeing your phone that was discarded on the floor. you raise your head, accidentally hitting it on the top and you wince. you hear wonwoo’s feet shuffle around and he bends down, finally locating you. he offers you his hand and helps you up, which you gladly take. he’s quick to assess your state, guiding you to your bedroom because of all the glass that’s scattered on the floor. he locates the switch and turns on the light and you wince a bit from the sudden intrusion of light. you sit down and wonwoo sits beside you. “are you okay? are you hurt?”, he asks, looking at you carefully before he spots the cut on your hand, bleeding badly. you don’t know how he found your first aid kid, probably his super senses. wonwoo’s sitting next to you as he aids to your cut. he gently holds your hand. “it’s going to burn a bit okay”, he says before he dabs the cut and you wince when the disinfectant comes in contact with your cut, the sting burning and you close your eyes. he wipes it a few more times before letting it dry a bit and covering it with a bandaid. he can tell you’re still pretty shaken up, in a state of shock because of how quiet you are and the way your eyes are still glossed over and teary.

“it’s okay, we caught the person”, he says, trying to help you ease up. “he was running away just as i came and i caught him. he’s with the police right now, but you’ll have to go to the station to answer some questions tomorrow”, he explains.

“he’s gone?”, you ask and he nods and you feel yourself relax a little. you were okay. it was going to be okay.

“i thought you weren’t going to come”, you mumble out. “i would come running for you”, he says, making you look at him. his gaze is soft as he looks at you. “really?”, you ask, softly as you start to get lost in his gaze. “yes”, he says as he holds your gaze.

once everything is settled, he stands in front of you. it was 1am now. “i’ll see you tomorrow then”, he said and he turned around to leave when you grab the end of his shirt sleeve. he turns around, looking down to his hand that you held onto his sleeve before he looks up at you. “can you stay?”, you ask softly, peering up at him. “i’m a little scared”, you add softly, your hand still tugging on the end of his sleeve. “but if you have to go, i understand,” you tell, reluctantly letting go of his sleeve. “i’ll see you tomorrow anyway”, you tell, feeling like you don’t want to burden wonwoo anymore.

“it’s okay, i can stay”, he says.

you tell wonwoo to sleep in the guest bedroom, practically dragging him there because he said he’d sleep on the couch. there was no way he was going to sleep on the couch, especially after the windows got broken there. wonwoo was a bit stubborn, but he finally gives in after you threaten to lock him in if he doesn’t listen to you.

you say a small goodnight before you retreat back into your own room. you fall asleep, only to be awoken as you suddenly feel hot. your head is heavy and you don’t feel good. you needed water. you stand up, feeling a little dizzy before you steady yourself and open your door, heading to the kitchen. you turn on the light and reach out to fetch glass from the counter but your grip falters and it falls to the ground, shattering. you curse under your breath. you’re about to bend down to clean it up but you hear wonwoo call out for you.

“yn?”, he asks as he steps into view, taking in the sight of you and the broken glass. he’s prompt to walk closer. “are you okay?”, he asks. “yeah, it just slipped”, you tell softly. his gaze on your lingers before he’s swift to pick you up and place you on the counter and you don’t even have the chance to protest about it. “let me clean this up okay”, he tells and is quick to remove all the glass and neatly sweep the area. your head is throbbing and you don’t feel too good, your head feeling heavy.

“are you okay?”, wonwoo asks again, observing you keenly and he can tell that something is off about you, that you don’t look okay. “y-yeah”, you say softly, answering him. “you can tell me if something is bothering you yn, i’m here for you”, he adds, his eyes still trained on you and you feel utterly exposed when he looks at you like that, like he can tell exactly what you were thinking and feeling. you gulp.

“i-i don’t feel too good”, you finally admit.

he raises his hand to gently press the back of his hand to your forehead and you watch how his eyebrows furrow.

"yn you’re burning up”, wonwoo says, checking your temperature again. you hop down from the counter, not listening to wonwoo as his arm comes up to wrap around your waist to steady you as you stumble slightly.

“yn, you need to get back to bed”, he instructs, a worried edge to his voice. before you know it, he’s scooping you up in his arms and carrying you bridal style back to the bedroom and you don’t have it in your to say anything as he gently lays you down, adjusting your pillow for you. he’s quick to fetch you a glass of water. he asks you if you have any fever or headache medication and you shake your head lightly indicating that you didn’t have any. he tells you he’ll be back, that he’s just going to the pharmacy around the corner and you lay in bed, under the covers. the throbbing in your head only gets worse and you start to tear up. you fall asleep for a few minutes but awaken when you hear wonwoo’s softly call out to you. you turn around, sniffling and wonwoo can tell you were crying, his expression softening as he sits down next to you.

he helps you take the medication for your fever, telling you that it is going to be okay, that he was right here. your hand brushes against his as you lay as you slowly fall asleep. you feel when his hand move and you reach out, grabbing onto his fingers. “stay, please”, you mumble, half asleep, holding onto his hand as you finally fall asleep.

you wake up in the morning and feel a bit better, sitting up. you’re about to get up when wonwoo enters, spotting you awake. “how are you feeling?”, he asks. “a bit better”, you tell, still feeling a little tired.

“i’m sorry for keeping you up”, you add softly, looking at him. “you can take the day off today, i’m just gonna be at home”, you add.

“it’s not an issue”, he fills in. “i got you some rice porridge, you should eat some and take the medication again”, wonwoo informs. he offers to bring it to you but you decline, saying you wanted to get out of bed anyway. he’s a little hesitant but walks with you to the dining table where he brings the bowl of porridge to you.

you nibble on a few bites of the food, wonwoo keenly watching you and you feel like you’re being stripped bare again by the way he looks at you. “sorry if i kept you awake”, you tell, feeling a little bad.

“don’t apologise yn, i’m more than happy to be around and help”, he says.

after you eat a bit and take your medication, you sleep for a bit more, while wonwoo arranges for your windows to get fixed. you wake up after a few hours and you walk out. wonwoo is there, talking to one of the workers before he spots you in the corner of his eye. he’s dressed in rather casual clothes compared to his daily suits. today was just trousers with a shirt and blazer jacket. he still managed to look good. you were sure he would look good in everything. but the one thing you noticed was his hair, it was down, his bangs falling over his head. and somehow it softened his look, he looked so pretty. wonwoo makes his way towards you, greeting you.

“sorry if all the noise woke you up”, he says as he takes in your appearance.

“it’s okay, i was up anyway", you say.

“they’re almost done”, he adds and you retreat back to your room, crashing in bed as you cuddle your pillow and you’re falling asleep again.

later that week, wonwoo was extra tight on security, he installed cctv cameras outside and the guy who was stalking you was put on a restraining order and fined. jeonghan had also messaged you about all the details about the charity business ball you had to attend in your fathers place. he said going to the ball would sort of put in a good word about your father while jeonghan was working on the trials, even though everything still looked uncertain as ever and the hate for your father just got worse.

the only thing you hated more than parties were parties that were held in the middle of nowhere. your dad always hosted this party at this venue in the middle of nowhere really, far from the city, saying the change of scenery added to the value and taste of the ball. you’d never gone to this charity business ball he’d hosted even though he’d invite you. you hated parties and all the people that came with it. it was tiresome and you’d much rather be at the comfort of your own home.

the charity ball was the news of the week, everyone was covering this and you’d bet some media people were going to be there being their nosy selves as usual. you end up meeting with your usual stylist - hwasa and she’s more than happy to curate a bunch of outfits for you to try on and see which one works for the event. wonwoo accompanies you, standing in the corner of the room while you try on the twelfth dress, already exhausted by the whole process.

but out of all the dresses you tried, you’d liked this one the best. it was a white satin dress with full sleeves and you loved it. it fits you the best too. you step out, looking for hwasa but she’s not there, probably gone to get a few more dresses. you see wonwoo, his eyes catching yours and you see the way they change, widening a little before going back to his stoic expression.

“how do i look?”, you ask wonwoo, looking at him expectantly. he clears his throat before speaking. “you look pretty”, he says and you give him a look. “just pretty? you have to give me more wonwoo. how do we like it from the other dresses?”, you ask, prodding him.

“it’s the best fit compared to the others and compliments you well”, he adds. “right! i thought so too!”, you tell, smiling. just then hwasa appears, smiling as she sees you. “this is the one”, she says as she looks at you and you do a little twirl for her. “yup, let's go with this one”, you tell.

you decide to get an outfit for wonwoo too, you wanted him to look good so you send him with hwasa to get him an outfit, even though he said that he was alright, you insisted.

after the day is over, you head home, tired. the charity ball was on the weekend and it was already wednesday. you were not looking forward to this at all but you were only doing it for your father’s sake. and after all, the company was going to come into your hands later so you might as well show them who you are and what you were capable of, right?

you were supposed to ideally leave on friday night to the venue and stay at a hotel nearby, but you were nervous and somehow at last minute, the hotel you booked cancelled on you, so you just decided to go on the same evening, except it would be a three hour drive. you’re a frantic mess that morning. from going to hwasa’s studio to get your makeup and hair done, and you go back home, leaving from there after changing. the only hitch was they didn’t have the shoes you chose in your size even though it was ordered but it didn’t come on time, so now you were stuck with shoes that were a tad bit tight, but you had to put up with it in the name of fashion.

you’re all ready and you hear a knock on your door. “the car is ready, i’ll be waiting outside”, you hear wonwoo tell.

"i'll be there in a minute", you yell out as you quickly check your appearance in the mirror before you head out. it was going to be okay hopefully, but you couldn’t help the feeling of dread already pooling in your stomach. you give yourself a smile in the mirror before walking out, your shoes already starting to feel uncomfortable. you have your small handbag with your stuff and grab your house key, locking up before turning around and your jaw almost drops on the floor because holy shit.

wonwoo. he looked gorgeous. he was wearing a black turtleneck paired with a black blazer. his hair was styled but over his forehead and he was wearing glasses. god. you stand there for a whole 30 seconds just staring at wonwoo because wow, he looks so hot right now. you’re not even looking when you take the next step, completely misplacing where you put your foot, tripping down the step but you feel a pair of hands grab your waist, steadying you as wonwoo is quick to catch you. your hands are draped on wonwoo as you look up at him and suddenly he’s so close and he smells so good. you can smell his cologne and it just draws you in more. you’re staring at wonwoo, surprised and your eyes flicker down to his lips for a split second before glancing back up.

“woah are you okay”, he asks, worried as he helps you get back on your feet, his hands still lingering around your waist.

“y-yeah”, you mumble out, clearing your throat, and you’re acutely aware of his hands on your body again, making your cheeks heat up. your hand is still clutching wonwoo’s hand before you pull your hand away, gulping as you look down.

you sit behind because your dress needs space so it won’t crease and you glance at wonwoo occasionally as he drives, his side profile is so pretty. he looked pretty hot with glasses and you were suddenly wondering why he didn’t wear them more often. you shift your legs and feel a dull pinch in your feet as you look at your heels. you’d have ideally removed them in the car but it had the most confusing way to tie them up and they’d been tied nicely already. you didn’t want to ruin that so you let it be, sighing. but little did you know that wonwoo would also occasionally look back at you through the rearview mirror. he thought you looked gorgeous tonight.

the car ride is silent except for some soft music playing and your mind starts wandering to the event, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come.

you can tell you’re close when you see all the lights and the venue up front along with the bunch of cars. you take a deep breath, trying to ease your nervousness. your nerves start to hit you more as the car stands in line to walk to the red carpet. you can hear the people, the fans and see the countless media and news reporters who’ve come to cover the event.

soon it’s your turn to walk the red carpet and get to the ball. you’re so nervous that your hands are almost shaking and you hate it. you hate the flashes and the crowd already. the car comes to a halt and wonwoo gets down, rushing to your side and opening the door for you. now that the door was open, all the noise was amplified. you take a breath before you see wonwoo offer his hand to you and you look up at him, the look of panic evident on your face as you get up, and wonwoo can feel the way your hand shakes in his, giving you a small but somewhat comforting squeeze as you put on a fake smile as you step out. you walk ahead, posing for a few pictures before you walk ahead, wonwoo walking behind you.

you get in and you’re greeted by a bunch of people, some you know, some you don’t. most of them were your father’s business partners, people he worked with or were friends and relatives. the rest were just invited for courtesy.

you’re offered a glass of champagne as you enter and you take it, and walk ahead. but as you walk you can feel everyone’s eyes on you, you can feel the weight of their gazes and they all talk in hushed voices as you walk past. you see your father’s friends and go up to them, greeting him.

“hello”, you say nicely and they greet you but are rather hostile. they make small remarks about your father and his situation, joking about not wanting to be seen with you as to protect their reputation. they’re laughing as you’re just standing there, trying not to lose it as you excuse yourself and walk away. your father really had shitty friends, you had to say that. you turn around and spot wonwoo to the side of the room at the back, along with all the other bodyguards as his eyes find yours. you give him a small smile and he nods, smiling ever so softly.

you walk around and talk around to a few people, some feigning sympathy and pity for your dad while others downright insult him. you countered these claims to every person, saying he didn’t do it but they all just laughed or shook their heads. finally, it was time for the ball and event to begin and you took a seat. as you were the host have to technically open the thing so here you were, walking up to the stage, your feet killing you already and your nerves ready to snap at any second. as you take the stage and see the sea of people in front of you, you feel the anxiety pool in your stomach and you gulp. you can feel everyone’s eyes on you, boring into you and suddenly you feel like you’d committed a thousand crimes and everyone was judging you.

“good evening ladies and gentlemen”, you say, giving the audience a small smile.

“i am here tonight on behalf of my father, but i welcome you all and would like to thank you all for coming. the proceeds raised at this ball will be going to children and people in need. thank you for coming once again and have a great night”, you tell, people clapping and you walk off.

another host takes over from here and you walk down the stage, holding your dress up as you look down and see someone you really did not want to be seeing right now - your dad’s business partner's son, who was a #1 asshole.

he’d always been a snob and you almost roll your eyes at the sight of him. you see people writing cheques and putting them in the donation box and in the other room people were dancing to the live band who were playing music.

“hello yn, long time no see”, he says, flashing you his smile, which you didn’t reciprocate. “hi”, you say.

“nice party”, he adds. “thanks”, you say.

“i would like to offer you the first dance”, he asks, giving you a mischievous smile. “oh no that’s alright”, you say but he doesn’t listen.

“come on, don’t be a spoilsport”, he says, taking your hand and taking you along with him to the other side of the room. and soon, his hand is on your waist and he’s smirking at you as you both slowly move. you can see people looking at you but you try to ignore it.

“how’s your dad? i bet things are hard right now”, he says.

“yeah, but i’m sure the truth will be revealed at the end”, you say.

he laughs, making a few snide remarks about your father, which you try to ignore. but suddenly you feel the thread you’re trying to hold onto snap and suddenly the music is too loud, you don’t like the way he’s holding your hand too tight or the way his hand on your waist is going lower and you try to pull away but he doesn’t let you.

“oh i’m sure the truth will be revealed soon”, he says and he leans in, whispering in your ear. “that your father is a crook”, he tells, smirking and he looks at you and you pull your hand away. you walk away, watching as people’s gaze turn towards you but you ignore it, the tears pooling in your eyes as you make your way to the restroom. you enter and lock yourself in one of the stalls, letting a few tears roll down. you hear the door open and a few girls.

“did you see her?”, one of them says.

“i can’t believe she had the audacity to come really”, another girl says.

“she’s so shameless. if my father was jailed i would like never to show my face to anyone.”, a girl adds and the others laugh.

“probably got spoiled from her father’s rotten money”, another girl tells, and they all snicker as they leave.

hearing this only makes you more upset and more tears well in your eyes as you cry silently. you didn’t want to be here anymore, you wanted to be alone, you wanted to leave. you wanted to leave now. panic rises in your chest again along with anger. your eyes well with tears as you walk down the basement where the cars were parked. thank god you had your spare car key with you and you locate your car, getting in and driving off. you grip the steering wheel hard, making your knuckles turn white as you drive. you don’t even know here you’re going, you just know you had to get out of here. you don’t know how long you’ve been driving for, when you realise you don’t even know where you are. you had gotten a couple of texts from wonwoo but you ignore it and soon wonwoo was calling you but you ignored it too. you didn’t have the energy to deal with him right now. you wanted to be alone.

your car suddenly sputters and breaks down in the middle of the road in almost the middle of nowhere. the road was empty and you couldn’t see anyone or any other cars, people or buildings, fuck. you bury your head in your hands, crying out in frustration as you think about what to do. well you guess now was a good time to call wonwoo.

wonwoo picks up your phone almost immediately. he’d seen you dancing but after that, during the entire party he didn’t see you. now that it was almost over and he still couldn’t locate you, he was obviously worried. he’d texted you and called you countless times but you weren’t responding, leading him to think something might have happened. he’s a frantic mess as he desperately tries to look for you, calling you, but you don’t respond.

“yn? yn are you okay”, wonwoo’s voice is urgent on the other line of the phone.

“wonwoo”, you tell softly, nearly on the verge of tears again.

“where are you? are you okay?”, he asks and that’s all it takes for you to burst into tears again, feeling like the whole weight of the world was on your shoulders.

“yn, please tell me where you are”, he pleads, concern laced in his voice.

“i don’t know”, you tell, your voice cracking, more tears rolling down your already tear stained cheek.

“i got overwhelmed and i left, i took the car and i drove and i-i don’t know where i am”, you tell through broken sobs. “and now the car broke down, god knows where”, you add, sniffling.

“send me your live location, i’ll track you”, he says. “stay in the car and lock the doors, i’m coming”, he assures. “can you stay on the line with me”, you ask. “of course”, he fills in.

wonwoo discovers you’ve driven a whole 45 minutes away and he assures you that he’s coming. but only ten minutes in your phone dies. “fucking phone”, you mumble as you look at the dark road. ten minutes pass and now you start getting scared. wonwoo was going to come right? blame your stupid anxiety but you thought of the worst scenarios that could happen, only psyching yourself more. the car feels more suffocating by the minute and your shoes feel like they're getting tighter. panic sets in stronger and you can’t take it anymore, can’t take the tightness in your shoes and you hastily undo the laces and pull off your shoes, wincing slightly when you feel it scrape against the back of your ankle. you close your eyes and try to take a few deep breaths.

after what feels like an eternity, you see a car pull up near you. you can’t make out anyone, the light almost blinding, but you see someone step out, making their way to your car. you open the door and step out, hearing the voice calling your name - wonwoo. relief immediately floods through your body as you run towards him, crashing into his arms as you start sobbing in his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his body. he’s a little taken aback but his hands engulf you, pulling you in for a warm embrace.

“i thought you weren’t going to make it”, you mumble out, your arms wrapped around wonwoo as you start to cry. “of course i’d come yn, i gave you my word”, he says, his hand coming up to cradle your head.

“my phone died and i-i didn’t know what i was going to do”, you mumble out, looking up at wonwoo. he studies your face, his gaze softening as he takes in your state and your tear-stained cheeks. you’ve cried a lot today. you finally drop your hands from around wonwoo, letting him go. wonwoo looks down and sees you’re barefoot. “where are your shoes?”, he asks. “they’re in the car, it was getting uncomfortable”, you say. wonwoo is quick to grab your phone, keys and bag from your car and to your surprise, there’s a pair of sneakers. he puts them in front of you, bending down to help you put them on. “where did you get those?”, you ask, surprised. “i like to be prepared”, he informs, helping you wear the shoes before standing back up and your hand automatically grab his hand, intertwining your fingers in his, hoping to find some grounding through his touch.

wonwoo asks the cab to take you both to the nearest hotel, which was roughly ten minutes away from where you were according to the cab driver. you’re still holding wonwoo’s hand and he lets you as you try to calm down. you see a building up ahead and the cab driver tells you that this is the location. you both enter, walking up to the reception and the lady there looks up as you both up.

“we’d like two rooms please”, wonwoo asks.

“unfortunately we only have one room left”, the lady says.

“we’ll take it”, you chirp in and wonwoo looks at you.

“it’s a couple suite so i can only book couples in it”, she says, chewing on gum, looking bored to even be there. “are you a couple or”, she asks.

“no” “yes”, you say and you both look at each other.

“we are, ignore him, he’s a little shy”, you tell and she just looks between you both again.

“alright, how would you like to pay, cash or card?” the lady asks. you dig through your purse and find your card, handing it over and you have your room key. wonwoo notices the way you’re walking slowly this time, watching your face contour in the slightest of winces with each step. “are you hurt?”, he asks, walking forward as he puts his hands on your shoulder, his eyes raking your body for any sign of discomfort or hurt. “no-my shoes-ouch-were the wrong fit”, you fill in. “i think i got a shoebite from them”, you say as you look up the flight of stairs you’d have to climb mentally bracing yourself when you feel wonwoo’s hands wrap around you and lifting you up bridal style. you let out a small surprised yelp, your arms wrapping around wonwoo’s neck for support.

“woah w-what are you doing?”, you stutter out, looking at wonwoo, whose face is barely inches from yours. “your feet are already hurt, i don’t want you climbing up the stairs in that state”, he announces, carrying you as he walks up the stairs. you feel that familiar heat creep up your cheeks and that tiny feeling of butterflies as you look at wonwoo. he looked really pretty up close, his hair falling over his forehead as his glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. you reach your room and unlock the door, wonwoo still carrying you and he sets you down. you tell him a quiet thank you as your hands are quick to slide off the sneakers, feeling instant relief. but just has you had predicted, you got shoebites. both the sides of your pinky toes and heels were bruised and raw.

wonwoo fetches something from his wallet - bandaids. you’re surprised. “so you just carry around bandaids in your wallet??”, you ask, amused. “like i said, i have to be prepared”, he says. you try to take the bandaid from his hand, telling him that you’d put it on but he doesn’t let you as he bends down on one knee so now he’s matching your height. he gently places your foot on his knee has he puts the bandaid your heel. he repeats the same for your other heel before you put your leg down and wonwoo looks at you.

“i’m sorry”, you tell softly, gazing into his alluring eyes. “are you mad at me? it’s valid if you’re mad at me because i just ran off and completely ignored your calls and-”. you stop when you feel his hand gently squeeze yours, a small act of assurance. “you’re safe now and that’s all that matters”, he says, his voice deeply soothing. you smile, leaning in to peck his cheek. “thank you wonwoo”, you tell and he gives you a soft smile as he gets up. little did you know that wonwoo’s heart was racing from your little action as he tried to maintain his composure.

wonwoo wanders off to another room but comes back outside. “there’s only one bed”, he says, like it’s a fact. “so?”, you ask, getting up.

“i guess i’ll sleep on the couch over there”, he says, pointing towards the couch that looked like anyone would wake up with back pain if they slept on it.

“wonwoo it’s fine, we’re just gonna sleep”, you tell. “you’re acting like sleeping in the same bed is a crime”, you say. “i would prefer not to interfere-” “sleep on the bed or i’ll take the couch”, you threaten.

but now there was a bigger problem than the bed, you didn’t have any change of clothes. thankfully the hotel sold some stuff as merchandise and t-shirts and pants were in the collection too.

you go to the bathroom and change, finally stripping out of your dress and you hang it up to air, changing into the clothes you got. your feet still hurt a bit when you walked because they’d been cramped up in those tiny shoes for too long. you walk out, your eyes widening as you catch wonwoo changing his shirt and you immediately turn around, your cheeks flushing. “sorry”, you mumble before turning around after a few seconds. but you did not miss the peek you got at his abs, oh my gosh.

you mentally slap yourself and sit on the corner of the bed, a yawn taking over you as you glance at the time - 2am. you were tired, it had been a long and exhausting day. you settle in bed, wonwoo sitting on the single couch opposite you, his hair slightly ruffled now from him running his hands through it, and yet it somehow still looked fluffy. wonwoo told you he’d sleep in a bit and you close your eyes, dozing off immediately, sleep overtaking your tired body. but you wake up an hour later because of a loud crack and boom and the heavy downpour of rain. you stir awake and another lighting strikes, flashing into the room before a low rumble follows. you open your eyes and see wonwoo, who’s busy reading a book under the dim lights. you sit up slightly, another loud thunder hitting making you jump as you hit your head on the headboard, startling wonwoo as well.

“yn? are you okay?”, he asks, putting the book down and coming up to you. another loud thunder rumbles, shaking the ground and you cover your eyes, closing your eyes. you hated thunderstorms. “what’s wrong?”, wonwoo asks, sitting down beside you on the other side of the bed. “n-nothing i just don’t like loud noises and thunder”, you meekly say, still sleepy from the sudden intrusion. “it’s dumb i-”, you stop when another earth rumbling thunder hits, making you jump again. “can i hold your hand? it helps me calm down”, you ask softly, a little embarrassed, but wonwoo offers you his hand. it feels warm, soft and safe as you hold it and wonwoo makes himself a bit more comfortable as he sits next to you.

“what were you reading? '', you ask, letting wonwoo’s hand go after two minutes and now that you are a bit more awake, you take in wonwoo’s look. even in the dark, you could make out his hair was now messily dishevelled which only added to the charm and the glasses god, he looked so hot. you weren’t even listening to what he was saying as your hand fiddles with your ring on your finger. wonwoo looks at you and tilts his head to the side ever so slightly.

“what are you thinking about?”, he asks, his voice deep.

“n-nothing”, you fill in, feeling embarrassed about your thoughts. “how do you know i’m thinking about something”, you ask, trying to get the upper hand on wonwoo, only for it to backfire on you.

“you’re fiddling with your ring, and you only do that when you’re thinking about something or something is bothering you”, he says. well damn, he was a keen observer.

“oh”, is all you say as you look at your ring, biting your lip before you look back up at him.

“nothing, it’s really stupid”, you tell but wonwoo looks like he wasn’t going to budge until you gave him an answer.

“i’m sure it’s not stupid”, he adds, trying to reassure you, waiting expectantly. fuck it you think.

“i was just thinking about um”, you start getting nervous, your cheeks heating up and you avoid his gaze, stuttering out the next words. “i was thinking about how-um-how good you look with glasses. it really brings out your features you know and it makes you look really hot. you should wear them more often”, you confess, whispering the last bit, the familiar heat creeping up your cheeks. he doesn’t say anything, but you swear you can see the faint smirk as his lips curve up. you look away, his gaze on you suddenly too intense for you to bear.

“okay your turn, what are you thinking about”, you ask in a hurry, hoping it would turn the attention away from you.

“do you really want to know?”, he asks slowly and you nod your head, looking at him. “you don’t talk much do you, so i’m guessing there must be a lot on your mind”, you prompt. he’s silent for a few seconds before he speaks.

“i’m thinking about what a wonderful person you are”, he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “i’m thinking about how you are only so caring and attentive towards others but yourself. i’m thinking about how the whole world seems to have a wrong impression of you, and that you don’t deserve any of the shitty things happening to you right now. i’m thinking about when it will all end and when you’ll be able to be happy”, he says, his words completely catching you off guard. each of his thoughts strike a chord in you and you almost tear up. out of everyone, it seemed like only wonwoo was on your side.

“wonwoo”, you say softly, at a loss for words. you don’t even know when you leaned towards wonwoo but your eyes flicker down to his lips for a split second before you look back up. “i’m thinking about how gorgeous you looked tonight and that if i had the chance i would have asked you for a dance earlier tonight if not given the current circumstances”, he adds, his gaze never leaving yours as he stares into you deeply, fondly as he opens up to you.

“and as of this moment, i’m thinking about how it would be to kiss you”, he fills in and you blink up at him, getting nervous at his confession. you answer him by leaning in and softly pecking his lips, lingering for a few seconds before you pull away but still close enough that has your heart beating rapidly.

wonwoo leans in, kissing you, properly this time. his hand gently cups your cheek as he moves his lips against yours and you swear you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at that moment. you kiss him back and you move your head, accidentally knocking his glasses, making you both pull away. “oops sorry”, you say, a little breathless as your hands reach out to take off his glasses and he is quick to put them on the side table before turning his attention back to you. you look up at him. “what are you thinking about now?”, you ask, your lips centimetres away from his, and you can feel your heart racing again, the echoes of the beats loud in your chest.

“i’m thinking about how i want to kiss you again”, he says, closing the gap between you both as he captures your lips in his this time you sigh into the kiss as wonwoo cups your cheek, deepening the kiss as his arm encircles your waist, pulling you closer to him. wonwoo quite literally knocks the breath out of you as he pulls away slowly, watching your chest rise and fall. you kiss him again, getting giddy at the feeling of his lips on yours as he kisses you breathlessly again, softly pushing you down on the bed as your head rests on the pillow, wonwoo’s body hovers over yours, careful not to put his weight on you as he kisses you sweetly, the drumming of the rain outside as your soundtrack.

you wake up, wonwoo’s arms around your waist as you blink your eyes open. the sun was filtering through the white curtains, rays of sunshine adorning the floor and wall. wonwoo is still fast asleep beside you and you take this chance to look at him, really look at him. his hair is messy but cutely dishevelled, his eyes closed as soft breaths leave him as he sleeps, peaceful. he’s so pretty you think to yourself as you smile softly to yourself. you remember the events of last night, the kiss, and suddenly feel yourself getting very very shy as you bite your lips to contain the silly smile that aims to erupt across your face. you continue to admire wonwoo, his big warm hands still engulfing you as you shift slightly to check the time. when you turn back, wonwoo softly stirs awake, his pretty eyes fluttering open as he awakens.

“hi”, you say softly.

“hi”, he says, his morning voice deeply attractive.

you both look at each other, not saying anything but just taking in each other’s presence. “did you sleep okay?”, he asks, searching your face and you shake your head, mumbling something about how you’re still tired.

his hand comes up to hold yours as he gently lifts it to his lips, giving it a soft kiss, his eyes never leaving yours, making you laugh softly. god, he was so dreamy.

“what do you want to do today?”, he asks.

“sleep, i just wanna sleep”, you groan, burying your face into the pillow. wonwoo’s hand wraps around your waist as he pulls you closer towards him. “then sleep”, he says, placing a soft kiss to your cheek, making you smile. you close your eyes and soon drift off to sleep, wonwoo’s embrace making you feel safe and comfortable. and soon, wonwoo was also sleeping with you, both of you sleeping soundly in each other’s embrace.

it’s only around lunchtime that you both stir awake again and mostly because someone was knocking on your door, leading you to both wake up to the sudden noise.

“we have to checkout by 5pm or pay to stay another night”, he tells you. “we should leave, but the car!”, you tell, sitting up in bed.

“i’ll get it fixed, i’ve arranged for it, " he says. “i’ll go get our clothes from the hotel’s drycleaning," he says. you’d have to wear the same dress again but you didn’t mind.

wonwoo is quick to have a shower and he's changed into his suit from yesterday, that’s all clean and freshly pressed for the day minus the blazer as he tells you he’ll bring the car. you ask him if you can come along but he says it’s best to stay back. you feel a bit bummed about it but stay back nonetheless. all your luggage was in the car, in a rush you and wonwoo had forgotten it, but could change when he was back. wonwoo is finally back and you manage to get your luggage, and you change into something comfortable, ready to leave for home.

you check out and head towards the car as wonwoo loads in your luggage before spotting you, opening the car door for you. you sit upfront this time and the journey home begins. you end up talking a bit but get hungry since you really haven’t eaten anything yet. wonwoo is quick to stop by a nearby restaurant once you guys enter the city and you gladly inhale some food.

it’s been two weeks since you and wonwoo kissed and every time you thought about it, it made you all shy. wonwoo was his usual self, back in business mode but his touches now lingered and he’d talk to you sweetly, opening up to you more, and maybe somehow a little more protective of you.

you were now in jeonghan’s office, upset and mostly scared of the way your father’s trial was going. it seemed like things were going in favour of the prosecution and not your father.

“what’s going wrong”, you ask jeonghan, who only sighs at your question. “i’m really trying my best here yn”, jeonghan says, looking at you. “i really don’t know where the prosecution is getting all this new evidence from”, he says. “i’m doing my best yn but at this rate maybe it’s better for your father to serve the jail time”, he says, making you immediately protest at the thought.

“what? why should he go to jail for something he didn’t even do?”, you almost yell out.

“given the circumstances, serving ten years looks the best for him. i can even try to reduce it to seven along with community service and probation”, he adds and you click your tongue, upset at the whole idea and proposition.

he takes a few moments to think before speaking to you again. "his company has come to a standstill, someone needs to step up in the meantime and run things around there”, he starts off, being careful with his words.

“but you know what would help? if i was maybe given the power of attorney. it would help big time in trying to smooth over the company and business until things with your father are settled”, he says, giving you an assuring smile.

“you should ask my father about that”, you say. “oh i know but maybe you could also ask him, it would be helpful”, he asks.

“i’ll see”, you say. “just make sure my father gets out of this soon”, you ask jeonghan. he gives you a smile, which for some reason runs a shiver down your spine but you shake it off, getting up.

wonwoo drops you home that night after your meeting with jeonghan and walks you back inside. he can tell you’re stressed and anxious about your father’s situation as both of you linger at the doorstep. he reaches out for your hand, as he looks at you, his thumb caressing your hand in an attempt to comfort and soothe you. after a few seconds he takes a few steps forward, bringing his arms around you as he engulfs you in a much needed hug. you sigh in his arms as you close your eyes, letting yourself sink his hold.

“i’m going to be here with you every step of the way”, he reassures.

“thank you wonwoo”, you respond as you pull away and look at him.

“it’s going to be okay”, he says as he looks at you.

“i hope so”, you say, almost defeated after what jeonghan told you about earlier.

he looks at you with the most loving eyes before he leans in and kisses you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he softly moves his lips against yours as he kisses you sweetly.

“goodnight”, he says softly, sweetly. “goodnight”, you whisper back, stealing another kiss from wonwoo before you retreat back inside.

the next week when wonwoo comes to your house in the morning there’s something different about him, in his demeanour and the way he acts. he strictly keeps to himself, not indulging in small talk with you at all, and brushing your hand off when you try to hold his hand. you felt hurt but decided to brush it off. maybe he had a reason for it, but the thought that he’d be so blunt about it hurt. you wanted to ask him but you didn’t. you decide to go see your father today at the detention centre he was being kept at. you had gotten used to wonwoo’s silence but today it felt odd, suffocating almost, but you don’t say anything, suddenly feeling like a burden to wonwoo.

you’re waiting for your father as you sit on the other end of the room, a plastic divider dividing you and him. you stand up as soon as he walks in and he gives you a small smile. he looks tired.

“are you okay?”, you ask, sitting down. “i can manage," he says.

“so things aren’t going in your favour”, you say, looking at your father. “i am aware”, he says.

“what about the company? and your business? what’s going to happen to that?”, you ask.

“yn, you know i always intended for you to take over the company at some point”, he says. “but maybe you’ll have to take over earlier than i thought”, he says.

“what do you mean?”, you prompt.

“i mean that you will have to take over”, he says. “it is going to be hard, there are going to be obstacles and people are going to try and bring you down but i have faith and trust in you”, he says.

“what if i’m not ready”, you say.

“i’ll always be here and you know what they say, fake it till you make it”, your father tells, making you chuckle as you hold back your tears.

“jeonghan was asking about you giving him the power of attorney”, you say as you see your father's gaze change.

“no, if i were to give anyone the power of attorney right now, it should be you”, he says.

“but don’t you trust jeonghan? i’m sure he’ll be able to help run things until i’m ready to take over”, you say.

“i wouldn’t trust anyone right now”, your father says. “i would rather have my own child act on my behalf than jeonghan”, he says. “a power of attorney is a powerful thing and i would trust you with it more than jeonghan”, he says and you nod as you take in his words.

that evening wonwoo leaves again, and he was still cold towards you. you decided to bring it up to him tomorrow because it was starting to make you feel weird, uneasy and bad. the next day, your doorbell rings a few times. you wonder why wonwoo hasn’t bothered just entering your house like he always has. was this a new thing now? you really had to talk this out with him.

“wonwoo what are-”, you start but stop because the person in front of you wasn’t wonwoo. “who are you?”, you ask. “i’m your new bodyguard from today”, he says. you look him up and down because he didn’t look very bodyguard material.

“what happened to wonwoo?”, you ask, taken aback by this. he just shrugs. “i don't know, jeonghan sent me so you should talk to him”, he says before stepping in, uninvited if you had to say.

you go to your room to fetch your phone and come back to see the guy just sitting on your couch, scrolling through his phone, wow. talk about being professional.

you glare at him as you dial jeonghan. he picks up after a few rings.

“what happened to wonwoo?”, you ask, not wasting a second.

“no hi?”, he says, sensing the urgency in your voice.

“where’s wonwoo”, you ask again.

“wonwoo quit”, jeonghan says like it was no big deal.

“what do you mean he quit?”, you ask in shock. “he quit yn, he told me a few days back. he said he didn’t want to work for you anymore”, he adds, making your heart drop.

“but why, there must have been a reason right?”, you ask jeonghan.

“i think it’s for the best yn, and besides, i told you not to get too close to him”, jeonghan says and you didn’t like the tone of his voice.

after that you call wonwoo but he doesn’t pick up but you keep calling. he couldn’t just quit on you like that. there must have been a reason. and you think back to yesterday and how he was acting so cold towards you for the last few days. you tear up at the thought. why? why would he do that? did he really just use you?

you watch as your new bodyguard sits on your couch lazily, not even bothered about trying to do his job right. you were pretty sure that if you went out the door right now, this guy wouldn’t even notice. you roll your eyes at the thought and sigh.

“i’m going to see jeonghan”, you tell. “sure, i guess i should drive you right, just let me finish this level, i’ve almost cracked it”, he says. he was not being serious right now.

after five minutes you get his attention. “excuse me?? can we go or shall i go myself?”, you ask. “i’m coming jeez, you’re so stuck up”, he says.

as soon as you burst into jeonghan’s office, he looks at you with a glint in his eyes.

“what do i owe this pleasure to”, he says.

“you could have at least hired a competent replacement, this new guy sucks actually, he doesn’t even have basic manners”, you tell jeonghan.

“he was the best replacement i could find”, jeonghan tells nonchalantly and you scoff.

“best replacement? you’ve got to be kidding me right now. wonwoo was the best and he was actually qualified. this guy looks like someone you just picked off the street”, you argue.

jeonghan doesn’t say anything as he filters through the stack of papers on his desk, finding what he was looking for before he looks back up at you. “did you ask your father about the power of attorney thing?”, he asks, changing the topic.

“i did and he wasn’t too keen on it. he said he’d rather give me the power of attorney power than you”, you say but jeonghan doesn’t seem fazed at all.

“i expected that, so why don’t we start processing the papers to give you power of attorney. and then you can transfer it to me right? i can hold fort until you’re ready”, he says, more like he’d had it all planned out rather than asking you.

“i’ll process the papers to make you power of attorney for now”, he says. “okay”, you say. “now if you’ll excuse me, i have a lot of work of work to do”, he tells.

“what did wonwoo tell you when he quit”, you quickly ask.

“yn we are not going there”

“just tell me, please”

“he said he didn’t want to work for you anymore”, jeonghan says.

“that’s all he said?”, you ask.

“yes”, and suddenly all your hopes sink.

you get back home and in the following days you just stay at home. you were somehow on the news these days, and for the dumbest reason really, it was like people were trying to nitpick you apart and post things about you. you called wonwoo again and texted him a bunch of times but there was not one single response. you couldn’t believe that wonwoo would do something like that, after all you guys shared. it broke your heart really.

and to say your new bodyguard was incompetent was an understatement. the other day he couldn’t even protect you from being mobbed or spot the paparazzi that you caught in a blink of an eye. you wanted wonwoo, you missed him.

you go to jeonghan’s office and go to the detention centre again to get the power of attorney transferred to you because your dad also had to be present.

your dad carefully reads the document, making sure everything was right, even the fine print that people tend to ignore before deeming it legal and everything was good. he signs it and puts his stamp on it and so do you.

“use this power wisely yn, i’m trusting you”, he says and you nod.

when you reach home, you’re just waiting for the new guy to go.

“give me your phone”, the new guy says, coming up to you and he doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he’s plucking your phone out of your hand.

“what the hell?”, you ask, trying to take your phone back but he doesn’t let you.

“no more phone for you for the time being, jeonghan’s orders, with all these headlines about you going around he says it’s for the best”, he says.

“no give me my phone back”, you demand but he grabs your hand, pushing you towards your room, slamming the door shut and you hear the lock engage. you try to open the door but it doesn’t.

“hey open this door right now”, you tell, beating your hand on the door. “that’s not going to change anything”, he says, chucking as you hear his footsteps around the hallway.

“she’s locked up”, he says, talking to someone on the phone.

“let me out”, you yell again, banging your fist on the door again.

“shut it”, he says, kicking the door, only prompting you to bang your fist on the door harder.

but after no avail you stop, sinking to the ground, tears already welling in your eyes. your life just really kept getting shitty and shittier didn’t it.

you open your eyes as you hear the key rattle on the other side, the doorknob rattling and the door opening. you’re quick to stand up.

“what the fuck is wrong with you”, you yell but the new guy doesn’t seem fazed at all. “he wants to see you”, he tells, grabbing your hand but you pull it out of his grip. “move”, he demands and you reluctantly move towards the hall and your eyes go wide at who you see - jeonghan.

“did you do this?”, you ask, in shock.

“i have to get things done don’t i yn”, he says, giving you that creepy smile again. “and now you’re going to be a good girl and sign these papers”. he says, holding out in front of you.

“what is that”, you ask. “the transfer of power of attorney from you to me”, he says.

“there’s no way in hell i’m doing that after what you just fucking did”, you spit out, getting upset.

“getting feisty now are we? let’s not forget that your father’s fate lies in my hands and if you do not sign this paper right now, i will send your father to rot in jail for the rest of his life”, he says, threatening you.

“what-you can’t-you wouldn’t”, you say.

“oh believe me yn, i would. so choose. your father goes to jail or you sign these papers and save his life”, he demands.

“why are you doing this”, you ask bitterly.

“because your father is an idiot and this is the one time i’ve outsmarted him”, jeonghan tells, smug.

“what are you talking about? if you want money give me a number, i’ll give it to you, just stop all this”, you plead.

“oh i’ll get my money yn, but i need to see your father crumble down, that’s what he deserves”, jeonghan says.

he thrusts the papers towards your face. “sign it”, he demands.

“over your dead body, i’m not signing shit jeonghan”, you spit back.

“i don’t think right now is the time to be rebellious yn”, he says, pursing his lips in a thin line.

“oh i’ve always been rebellious jeonghan and i’m not going to let you get away with this”, you tell.

“i doubt that”, he tells, signalling for the bodyguard as he grabs your arm and drags you to your room, pushing you inside and locking the door again.

“think again yn, you’re only getting out of here when these documents are signed and by then it’ll be too late to do anything”, jeonghan says from the other side of the door.

“fuck you jeonghan, you just wait, i’m gonna get you”, you spit out.

you hear him say something only catching the last words being ‘don’t let her out’ .

what the fuck was happening to your life. fuck. you bang your fist on the door, letting out your frustration, sinking to your knees as you try to hold it in, keep it together but you can't. you bang the door a couple more times as tears roll down your cheeks. and yet, the only person you could think of in this situation was wonwoo. only he could help you now, he would know what to do. but you had no means to contact him after your phone was taken away and you were now locked in the room.

you bury your head in your knees, trying to breathe and think. think yn and that’s when you get an idea - your laptop. it was synced to your phone contacts. you get up, rushing to grab your laptop, frantically opening it and you open the messages app and find wonwoo. all your previous texts to him are still unread. no you needed to find him, texting him wasn’t going to work right now. but the question was how? and that’s when you remember the thing jeonghan had sent you before , wonwoo’s resume, which had his address, bingo.

you open your chat logs with jeonghan, scrolling up till the part when jeonghan had sent you wonwoo’s resume and just as you guessed, his address was on it. you grab a pen and jot down the address on a scrap piece of paper. but how were you going to get there? you looked up and at the window behind your desk. you get up, pushing your table to the side slowly trying not to make any loud noises, huffing and puffing.

after you manage to push the table aside enough, you slide the window open and poke your head out, looking at the distance but the jump wasn’t too bad. you slowly swing your legs over, taking a breath before reaching down with your feet and them jumping. the only protection you had against the bare ground was your socks right now. you close the window behind you and look left and right. you slowly and quietly walk towards the back gate and open it slowly, making a quick escape and you jog down the road. you look at the address that’s now crumpled in your hand and it wasn’t too far. you didn’t have cash or anything on your to take the bus so walking you were.

fifteen minutes in and you're getting tired and you put on the hood of your hoodie, hoping no one would recognise you but continue speed walking to the address in your hand. wonwoo would know what to do. wonwoo could help you. wonwoo. you start picking up your speed as you walk without even realising and soon you're running, your legs are working on their own, desperate for an escape and to find wonwoo. after sprinting and jogging for a bit you finally come up to the address, his apartment and you bend down, resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

you’re about to walk in when security stops you. “i’m here to see wonwoo, he lives here right”, you ask between breaths.

“mr. jeon? are you his guest?”, the security asks.

“yes, yes, please which building does he live in”, you ask, pulling your hood down in an aim to not let the man recognise you.

“wouldn’t you know that if you know him?”

“please, it’s urgent”, you ask. “he knows me i swear”, you tell. “it's an emergency just, please tell me”, you plead.

the man finally tells you the information and you sprint to the building and run up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator to come. you open the staircase door, entering the main floor, your chest heaving from the effort of running up the stairs. you were lucky you didn’t fall on your face at the pace you were going at. you locate his door number and you stand in front of it and suddenly you’re scared. what if he didn’t open the door? what if he wasn’t here? you can hear your heart pounding in your chest as you raise your hand to ring his doorbell. a few moments pass and nothing and you ring it again and again. shit was he not home?

you take a step back, your head down, suddenly feeling defeated when you hear the doorknob rattle and the door opens. you look up and wonwoo is in front of you. he was really here. you found him.

“yn?”, he asks, as he adjusts the glasses on his face as if he couldn't believe it was you at his doorstep. you get hit with a wave of emotions at that minute and wonwoo is asking you something but you’re not listening as your vision gets blurry and all you can do in that moment in crash into wonwoo’s arms as you start to sob in his chest, the impact making wonwoo stumble before he held onto you. you weren’t crying because you were upset, you were crying because you felt relief - relief that you finally found wonwoo.

you pull away from him and look up and he finally sees the state you’re in, bare feet and he’s quick to spot the bruises on your knuckles and hands from banging on the door as you wipe your tears. wonwoo looks you up and down as he takes both your hands in, his expression suddenly dark as he looks at you.

“who did this to you”, he asks sternly as another tear escapes you.

“j-jeonghan”, you stutter out through a sob. “they’re working together and t-they locked me in the room”, you tell and you can see the rage burning behind wonwoo’s eyes.

“jeonghan did this?”, he asks, anger seething in his eyes and you nod.

“he’s-he’s been behind all this the whole time, the whole reason my father is in jail a-and he was threatening me”, you tell in a rush, not making a coherent sentence.

wonwoo pulls you in a hug, holding you tight. “where were you, why did you leave?”, you demand through a broken sob as the door behind you closes. “i missed you”, you tell softly, your voice cracking as a few more sobs escape you.

“fuck, i missed you too”, he says as he hugs you tighter. you feel something soft rub around your legs and look down, seeing wonwoo’s cat near your feet. “your cat”, you say as you sniffle.

you’re on the couch now, wonwoo giving you new socks and slippers to wear as freshen up, washing your face and feet. wonwoo’s cat is inquisitive of you, sitting on the floor in front of you as she looks at you. “hi oreo”, you say and she meows, making you smile.

wonwoo busies himself in the kitchen as he makes you some chamomile tea to help you calm down and sets the steaming mug in front of you. wonwoo also sets down an envelope next to the mug, signalling for you to open it. you look at him before your hand reaches out for the envelope and you open it, the contents inside making you gasp.

“what’s this?”, you ask, as you sift through the pile of photos, each one making you upset and even more confused. they were pictures of you and wonwoo at the hotel that night after the event, but the person who took them captured you wonwoo sharing a kiss and you sleeping in his wonwoo’s arms. you feel a surge of rage in your body as you look at this.

“this is what jeonghan gave me and he tried to blackmail me with this”, wonwoo says, breaking the silence. “he threatened me with these, saying if i didn’t quit that he would give these photos to the press. i don’t know what he was planning but i did what he said because i didn’t want you getting hurt”, he says. “the bastard probably had someone tail us and take this”, he adds.

“i know it was sudden but there was nothing i could do, he was strict on not making any sort of contact with you afterwards. he said he was watching me and that otherwise these pictures would get leaked in a second if i contacted you and i didn’t want that. i don’t know what sort of twisted sick game he’s playing but i didn’t want you waking up one day and seeing these pictures in the headlines. you’re already going through hell right now and this was the least i could do to protect your reputation, to protect you”, he says, his hand finding yours as he gives it a small squeeze.

‘i’m going to kill jeonghan i swear to god”, you mutter under your breath.

“we have to help my father, we have to do something, you’ll help me right?”, you ask, pleading almost.

“of course yn. i was dying everyday i couldn't see you or tell you what really happened, i was just praying you wouldn’t hate me for it”, he tells.

after things between you both get cleared up, you promptly end up falling asleep, curled up in his arms on the couch. when you were with wonwoo you felt safe, secure, like the world was going to be okay, that you were going to be okay. wonwoo gently carries you to his bed, tucking you in as he slips inside the sheets beside you, watching you sleep and he vowed to himself - that no matter what, he was going to protect you.

you stir awake in the morning in wonwoo’s soft sheets, turning around and seeing the other side of the bed empty. you walk outside, seeing wonwoo busy in the kitchen as he sets a pot on the table. he spots you.

“good morning”, he says and you give him a small smile. “morning”, you tell as you move closer to wonwoo, seeing the small breakfast spread laid out on the table. you hear a meow, followed by another and another.

“someone is hungry”, you joke as you look at oreo waiting for wonwoo to give her food.

“she’s usually patient, aren’t you oreo”, wonwoo says and oreo meows in agreement and protest. you chuckle, this side of wonwoo was adorable.

you both sit down to eat and you’re grateful for the meal, later insisting that you help wonwoo clean up and wash the dishes, even though he insists you don’t need to but your stubbornness wins and he leans on the side of the counter as he watches you wash the dishes, looking defeated.

just then there’s a knock on the door. wonwoo stands alert and checks who it is.

“it’s jeonghan” wonwoo says softly.

“shit, what do we do?”

“go to my room, close the door and stay there till i tell you to come out”, wonwoo instructs and you’re quick to go to his room, closing the door.

wonwoo opens his front door and jeonghan stands there looking irritated.

“what is it?”, wonwoo asks, giving jeonghan a cold stare.

“where’s yn?”, he asks, running a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“how should i know”, wonwoo says.

“listen wonwoo, lying right now is not going to help”

“i don’t know where yn is”, wonwoo repeated.

“if she contacts you, you tell me right away, got it”, jeonghan says as he points a finger at wonwoo.

“did something happen?”, wonwoo asks, trying to assess the situation.

“oh nothing, yn just seems to have gone off without informing anyone, i was just worried”, he tells, giving wonwoo a fake smile before leaving.

you hear the door close, wonwoo telling you that jeonghan was gone.

“he’s looking for you alright. i think it’s better you don’t go out for the time being. you can stay with me till then and we can come up with a plan together okay”, he says, one hand caressing your cheek. you nod.

later that day, wonwoo says he’ll hire a new lawyer for your father and appeal to the court and also indict jeonghan. but the only problem was that how were you going to prove everything that jeonghan was doing? if you only had that evidence it would also help in proving your father innocent.

“i could hire someone to raid his house maybe”, wonwoo says.

“what, you can do that?”you asked him, shocked but liking the idea.

“i mean he’s not playing fair either is he? let’s mess with him a little”, wonwoo says.

“but how will you find someone to do that?”, you ask curiously.

“i have connections sweetheart”, he tells. “i’m an impressive man you know”, he adds and you smile. “i'm sure you are”.

over the next few days, things move quickly. wonwoo makes the required arrangements and the meeting with the new lawyer is online because jeonghan likely putting someone to stakeout and watch wonwoo’s place in case you showed up. wonwoo is smart to keep the curtains drawn at all times so no one could peek inside either. the first priority was indicting jeonghan which would make him suspend him from working, and your father’s case would have more time and more time right now was good.

the next week jeonghan is indicted, and a legal notice is sent to his office courtesy of the impressive new lawyer that wonwoo hired. with the indictment jeonghan could not go anywhere, he couldn’t flee or travel and he’d be called for a formal court hearing on wednesday. as you got ready on wednesday morning to go to the court hearing because you were the one indicting jeonghan so you had to be there. you were nervous, standing in front of the mirror in wonwoo’s room. wonwoo was accompanying you too of course, he wasn’t going to let you go out there alone when you were going to go fight. you were going to show the world who you really were.

you reach the courthouse where the hearing will take place and it seems like everything is already on the news, the hoard of journalists and news reporters already crowding the place. you walk inside with wonwoo and head to the courtroom. as soon as you enter you see jeonghan, who clenches his jaw as he makes his way towards you, clearly upset and shocked.

“yn what the hell is all this”, jeonghan nearly shouts, his hand reaching out to grab yours but wonwoo grabs his hand instead, stopping him.

“watch it jeonghan”, wonwoo warns as jeonghan pulls his arm out from wonwoo’s grip.

“you’re not going to get away with all this”, you tell.

the hearing starts and you’re sitting with wonwoo’s lawyer and beside you on the other side is jeonghan and his lawyer.

“miss yn has made an indictment to mr. yoon over criminal activity and fraud”, the judge says, looking at you.

“yes your honour”, your lawyer fills in.

“what is the accused stand on this matter?”, the judge asks.

“my client mr.yoon is not guilty your honour”, jeonghan’s lawyer says and you scoff, glaring at him.

“does the plaintiff have evidence to support these claims?”, the judge asks.

“not yet but we are working on it”, your lawyer explains.

“i request the charges against my client to be dropped because they are completely baseless and defamatory”, jeonghan’s lawyer demands.

“given the nature of the accusations and that mr.yoon is also a well known person in his respective industry, i will give the plaintiff one week to gather sufficient evidence otherwise the charges and case will be dropped due to lack of evidence”, the judge grants before dismissing the court.

you’re laying wonwoo’s bed lost in thought. now the only problem was trying to find evidence. sure, you could still testify but without any evidence, your claims would be useless. there had to be a way and you were sure you were missing a vital piece of information. if only there had been cameras you think and it hits you. you get up in a gasp. that was it, the cctv cameras at your home. you get up, rushing to find wonwoo, who’s in the other room doing something on his computer.

“i figured it out wonwoo”, you tell and he looks up at you. “the cctv cameras you installed at my home, they would have captured jeonghan on it and what he did”, you say and you watch wonwoo’s eyes light up as he follows what you’re saying.

“he was at your house that night?”, he asks.

“yes! and the cameras would have picked it up”, you say.

“and it must have picked up on the audio too”, he states.

"audio?", you ask.

"yes, i installed one's that recorded audio too", he fills in. “yn this is amazing”, he adds “and the best part, i have access to the cctv cameras”, wonwoo adds.

“i just hope jeonghan didn’t get to them”, you tell, worried.

“no, he doesn’t know about them, i didn’t tell him”, wonwoo says.

“you are a genius”, you tell, leaning down to pepper his cheek with a kiss.

“i could say the same thing about you”, he tells, his hands finding your waist.

you smile, looking down at him, frowning when you notice the fingerprints on his glasses. your hands move up, carefully sliding them off as you clean them with the corner of your shirt, asking how he could even see as you gently put the glasses back on his face.

“we might have found some information from jeonghan’s computer and files”, wonwoo adds. “i’ll pass it on to my lawyer, he’ll handle it”.

“do you think we can pull this off?”, you ask wonwoo, your hands resting on his shoulders as you look down at him, wonwoo still seated on his chair.

“i think we can”, he tells, assuring you.

that night, wonwoo filters through the cctv footage to that night and just like you’d predicted, the whole incident where he came to your home and basically confessed what he was doing was recorded, the audio was impeccable too. jeonghan could kiss his life goodbye now. wonwoo hands off this evidence to his lawyer and now you can just wait.

it’s finally the day. you were ready but also nervous and anxious. a thousand what if’s went through your mind as you got ready that morning. you had been informed that your father would also be present at the court hearing since the case indirectly involved him. wonwoo drops you off at the court that morning.

“where are you going?”, you ask, grabbing onto his hand.

“the lawyer just called me, i need to quickly pick up something for him, but i’ll be back okay”, he assures. you nod and wait outside. there was still time for the hearing to take place in 30 minutes approximately.

wonwoo isn’t back even after your lawyer arrives. you’re constantly checking your watch and seeing the time, looking out to see if you can spot wonwoo but you can’t see him.

“i can’t see wonwoo? didn’t he come with you?”, the lawyer asks and you furrow your brows in confusion.

“what do you mean? he told me you called him asking him to get something”, you tell and he looks back at you equally confused. “i did no such thing”, he says.

you fish out your phone and try to call him but it goes unanswered. you try again but no answer.

“yn it’s time, let’s go”, your lawyer says and you put your phone back inside, hoping wonwoo was okay.

-at court-

“your honour, if you look here, you will see the cctv footage of mr.yoon and his men who were at my client's house on the night of the 8th. you can see the person, who was supposed to be yn’s bodyguard, lock up my client in the room and call mr.yoon, who arrives shortly. you can see clearly how mr.yoon threatened my clinet yn and even confessed to what he’s been doing, saying that he intentionally manipulated and betrayed yn’s father and set him up because he has an ulterior motive”, your lawyer states.

the video of that night plays and there’s no way that anyone would not believe you anymore. it was clear as crystal what jeonghan was up to now and his true motives were revealed.

“does the defendant have anything to say?” the judge asks.

“yes, i’d like to cross examine the client”, jeonghan lawyer says, stepping up and coming up to the witness stand where you were sitting. after your cross examination is done the judge announces that the final verdict will be delivered next week, on friday. given the high profile individuals that were involved in the case, a prompt but careful decision would be made. friday is a week away from now. the court is adjourned and you get up and leave, jeonghan purposely bumping into you as you go out, giving you a smirk.

you pick up your phone and call wonwoo again and the call is finally answered. “wonwoo where are you?”, you ask.

“hello is this someone that mr.jeon is acquainted with?”, the other person on the line asks, a female.

“yes, can i know who this is?”

“i’m calling from goodwill hospital, mr. jeon has been in an accident”, she says and your heart drops.

your feet start moving on their own as you run outside, pushing through the crowd of reporters and almost tripping as you try to hail a taxi, on your way to the hospital. you rush into the hospital asking for wonwoo at the front desk. you’re guided to his room, where the doctor explains that he was extremely lucky and only suffered from minor injuries. he would need a few days of rest and he could then be discharged. you’re instantly relieved to hear that but you’re still anxious.

you peek into his room, slowly sliding the door open as you walk in, taking in his state and you instantly teared up. you sit beside him, reaching out to hold his hand as you keep your head down, looking at your hand on top of his. a couple of minutes pass by and you feel a soft squeeze of your hand and you look up seeing wonwoo awake.

“wonwoo”, you are relieved he was awake. “are you okay-shit no that’s a stupid question, you’re obviously not okay”, you tell in a rush.

he sits up slowly, wincing in pain but otherwise keeping a straight face.

“what happened?”, you ask softly.

“i got jumped by jeonghan’s men. i only figured when i was already back at the apartment that the call was indeed not the lawyer”, wonwoo explains.

“shit”, you say.

“i shouldn’t have let you go, i should have insisted you stay”, you tell, feeling like this was all your fault now.

“hey, hey look at me”, wonwoo says.

“i just don’t want you to end up getting hurt because of me”, you tell.

“i’m okay yn, i’m a tough guy you know”, he says, trying to lighten the mood.

after he’s rested enough and the doctors deem him okay, he’s discharged and you take him home. you tell wonwoo all about the court hearing today and now the only thing you could do was wait.

-final hearing-

the media has been on fire the last few days, jeonghan’s case gaining the entire country's attention. but even then, people were 50/50 about the chances of who would win even though the evidence was pretty clear. but you could never tell, the law wasn’t always fair sometimes and you just prayed that it would be fair to you. wonwoo was much better now and was healing well and he insisted on accompanying you, even though you told him he should stay at home and rest.

you’re sitting in front, jeonghan on the opposite side and the court house was crowded, the media causing an uproar outside, eager to report every single second and eager to find out the final verdict of the case. the judge looks at you, and then at jeonghan before they announce the verdict.

“given the high profile of the case and the evidence submitted from both ends, we have carefully reviewed the evidence and points of this case. it has come to a unanimous decision that the defendant, mr. yoon jeonghan is found guilty and will serve ten years in jail and have to pay a fine as well for the damages done and emotional distress caused to the plaintiff.

you cover your mouth in shock. you did it. you won! you couldn’t believe it as you cover your mouth in shock, tears filling your eyes. your father looks at you and the look he gave you was nothing short of proud. you won, your father was going to be free and jeonghan was going to go to jail, he was going to get punished and things were going to be okay now.

as people start filtering out, you’re looking for wonwoo, whom you can’t seem to spot anywhere. you had to tell him. through the crowd, you manage to head out of the courtroom where people start congratulating you and your father. but you were only focused on finding wonwoo.

you run out, only to end up getting ambushed by all the news reporters and journalists, all of them eager to know your thoughts as they bombard you with questions.

“how do you feel yn?”

“how does it feel to know your father is free”

“please share a few words”

you were being bombarded with questions that were going straight through your head and that’s when you heard someone call out your name - wonwoo. you turn around, spotting him on the other side, a few feet away from you. you smile and run towards him, running into his arms as he picks you up and spins you around.

“we did it”, you whisper, your face inches away from his. “we did it”, he repeats, giving you a proud smile. you lean in, kissing him, not caring about what people were going to think anymore. wonwoo kisses you back with the same fierceness, like he was telling you that he was going to stand by you, so that you could conquer the world with him.

-epilogue-

after your father was dropped from all the accusations and was free, his company was slowly starting to gain traction again. the people were now in support of him, now more than ever and people wanted to know his story. but he always said one thing - that he wouldn't have been able to do it without you by his side. you ended up finally graduating college after your father approached them and they did give you extra credits for the trouble they caused you. you’d gotten your own office space in your dad’s building to work from and you were on your way to build your own company that stood for what it believed it.

you’re standing in front of wonwoo in your office with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare him down. he only stands, blinking down at you.

“what is it love?”, he asks.

“we can’t do this anymore wonwoo”, you tell and a wave of emotion seems to go through wonwoo’s face.

“do what?”, he asks calmly.

“this!”, you say, gesturing your hands between him and you.

“i don’t want you to be my bodyguard anymore”, you state and he furrows his brows, confused.

“what do you mean?”, he asks. “did i do something wrong?”, he asks, taking a small step towards you.

“i don’t need a bodyguard anymore”, you tell sternly.

“i beg to differ”, he says calmly.

“i want you to be my boyfriend”, you say and he raises a brow at this proposition.

“i thought i already was”, he mumbles as he bashfully pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“no more of this bodyguard business, you can be my full-time boyfriend now”, you tell and you can see the small smile playing on wonwoo’s lips.

“but isn’t a bodyguard and boyfriend in one an advantage?”, he asks.

“but i just want you to be my boyfriend instead”, you say, pouting.

“but the perks of having a bodyguard and a boyfriend is truly one of a kind”, he says, stepping closer as hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“oh really?”, you ask, tilting you heard to the side.

“and what might that be?”, you ask, settling your hands on wonwoo’s shoulders.

“you know, i can protect you, plus you get to see my handsome face 24/7”, he says and you snort.

“what i know you love it. if i had a dollar everytime i caught you staring at me-”,

“shut up”, you tell, giggling.

“and the most important perk of all, free kisses”, he tells and you chuckle even more. “what? you’re always stealing kisses from me and-”, you cut him off by kissing him, which only seems to prove the point he was making.

“see, you can’t do that”, he tells, leaning in.

“why not”, you ask, playing along.

“because you’re distracting me from my work”, he says, leaning in and kissing you again.

“that’s why you need to stop this bodyguard stuff and just be my boyfriend instead”, you whisper against his lips.

“but then you won’t see me 24/7”, he tells.

“but then i can distract you”, you fill in.

“hm we’ll see about that love”, he says, before he captures your lips and kisses you breathlessly.

the end

taglist: @biboramp3 @naaaaafla @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @icyminghao @blue-jisungs @kyeomyun @wootify @idubiluv @n4mj00nvq @joshuaahong @itsveronicaxxx @fallingforshua29 @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii @minhui896 @odxrilove @ne0c0r3 @avaaahuang @wonwoos-wineparty @nerdycheol @wqnwoos @sdoulc @francenemolove @silxana @jhuuni @simjaehyunenjoyer @toplinehyunjin @rubywonu @yoozuku @wheeboo @porridgesblog @kurinnie @yyawnjun @mingycr @kokoiinuts @asyre @odetoshuaa @j-hutcherbaby @ihrtboo @3005isabel @shianamilk @livixxn @leekslou @itza-meee @wonvsmile @gyuswhore @kyeomofhearts @areebah411

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heliads · 11 months

Note

Can I pretty please request Carlos Sainz x reader where she’s rly shy and gets worried that maybe he wants someone more outgoing but he tells her he loves her any way she is? Your writing is amazing 🫶🏻

anon i love you wholeheartedly please let me speak on carlos

masterlist

You are not who you are supposed to be. There are qualifications for being the girlfriend of a Formula One driver, you’re sure of it, probably even a style guide somewhere if you only bothered to look it up. Perfect hair. Clean makeup. Pretty, but doesn’t try too hard. Willing to give up their whole life to follow one man on mad jaunts across the planet. Wherever your guidebook is, though, you must have lost it long ago, because you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, and worst of all, it’s starting to show.

You never should have gotten into this position in the first place. That isn’t to say that you hate it, far from it; dating Carlos Sainz is the best thing that ever happened to you, making you the happiest wrong person at the right time to ever exist. In every other universe, he’s probably seeing models or actresses, but here, he has you, and you’re willing to fight off every multiversal version of you just to keep everything as it is right now.

Your butterfly effect was quite stunning, actually. You ended up getting tickets to a Grand Prix through last minute cancellations. They were great, came with paddock passes and all that, and while you were lingering through Ferrari hospitality, Carlos happened to drop by to visit a friend and he noticed you while you were in line to get some water. He’s got the confidence of, well, a world class athlete, an adrenaline junkie, a professional race car driver, and so he introduced himself.

Sometimes, it’s just as easy as that. A father’s cousin’s roommate buys two tickets to a Grand Prix, then a stranger’s roommate’s brother gets sick, and suddenly you’re touching down off a plane overseas and walking through the door of paddock hospitality. You wear red, and you are seen. Just like that.

It took one more weekend before either of you knew that you wanted what you had to last for good. He texted you, followed you on Instagram and blew his cover of seeming cool by accidentally liking a post of yours from six years ago. And, when he saw you again, he knew that he wanted the spark between you to be something more, something like a bonfire.

Coincidence may have supported you thus far, but you don’t trust it not to abandon you. At the end of the day, you are you, you are Y/N L/N, and you are so far removed from Carlos’ world that it stuns you to think that you were even in his orbit so long as to meet him. If there are powers that be somewhere in the universe, they’re either playing a cruel joke or messing around to give you a helping hand.

Hopefully, it’ll be the latter, but truly who knows at this point. As if it wasn’t surreal enough to introduce Carlos to your friends and family as Carlos Sainz, Formula One driver. As if it doesn’t blow your minds that people have started making Instagram accounts just dedicated to posting photos of you and your boyfriend whenever you’re seen out together.

The problem lies in the insanity of it all. You are not from this sort of life, you weren’t born into a silver spoon dynasty and you barely know how to interact with any of them now. You get along with the other WAGs as best you can; Heidi’s lovely, sure, and you were friendly with Charlotte until she disappeared, but sometimes it feels like it’s just you and your boyfriend against the world. Of any ally to pick, Carlos would be your top choice each and every time, but still. The fact remains that he will go out and race and leave you to your own devices, and you lack the extroverted impulses to social climb with everyone else.

This, then, is the main concern. You can pick out whatever designer clothes you want, goodness knows Carlos has offered to buy you anything already, and you can get your nails and hair done before each and every race, but that doesn’t change the fact that you, at your core, are never going to enjoy the paparazzi circus whenever you have to brave it.

It’s just not your scene, that’s all. You’re on the quieter side, happy to spend time with a few key friends but increasingly nervous in large crowds. Formula One is all large crowds, as you’ve discovered; thousands of fans, hundreds of engineers and team members, plus drivers and girlfriends and best friends. So many eyes, all on you. So many voices all shouting over each other.

You love Carlos, though, and you love him wholeheartedly, so you gather up your courage and go to race weekends when you can. Every time Carlos sees you in the crowd, he smiles so widely his friends tease him for weeks, and he runs to you first after every podium and strong finish. You want to be there for your boyfriend, truly you do, you just wonder if all of this should come easier to you than it does.

Also, you wonder if Carlos wishes the same thing. He has been nothing but perfect to you, so the spirals of guilt currently tangling their way through your insides are purely of your own creation, but what if he truly does think like that? Carlos must see the other WAGs, how they shine and sparkle with attention instead of feeling the urge to run. Wouldn’t he want that? Wouldn’t he get frustrated that you can’t be like the rest?

Thousands of girls in the world, and he picks you. You don’t know if it’s sweet or genuinely frightening. He wanted you out of everyone, yes, but he could replace you in a snap, swapping you out like some useless part on his car. There is nothing about you that cannot be replicated in any other girl. Even Charles did it, in a way, got himself a new girlfriend that’s a dead ringer for Charlotte. Carlos has no reason to keep you except for something he knows and you don’t.

The guessing will drive you mad, maybe, but you’ll lose your sanity long before that just trying to keep up with everything in his fast-paced life. You’ve been to prior F1 races, obviously, it’s how you met Carlos in the first place and it’s also how you kept him, but this upcoming weekend is different, this is Barcelona. Carlos is the center of attention at his home race, and every step he takes, a new storm of people is flooding in to ask him for autographs, selfies, anything to remind them that he’s real and right before their eyes.

Carlos doesn’t ask for a whole lot, and he certainly didn’t force you to come to this race, but you saw the hope in his dark eyes when he brought it up oh-so-casually at a dinner last week. You had assured him that you would go there to cheer him on along with the rest of his home crowd, and Carlos had been delighted for the rest of the evening.

You are happy to go, truly, but it’s taking everything in you to keep your smile up in front of the reporters and crowds and fans, and it’s just the first day. All you’re handling right now is qualifying, not even the actual race. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers that it’s only going to get worse from here on out, but when Carlos looks back at you as you wind through the paddock, you just smile and tell him you’re glad to be there with him. You’re here for him, after all, and Carlos is busy enough with race stuff that he won’t want to hear your complaints.

That’s what you keep repeating to yourself throughout the entirety of that day. Carlos qualifies well and is properly pleased about it, as he should be. The possibility of a podium or perhaps even a win for his home race has been one of his top goals for the season, and he’s as close as he can get to it right now. He earnestly talks about it the whole drive back to your hotel, but once you’re back in the safety and peace of the room, the conversation abruptly switches back to you.

Carlos sheds his jacket at the door, watches you flop down onto the bed with a smile on his face, then asks you pointedly, “And how are you doing, amor?”

You smile back at him, the expression trained to perfection after being tested so many times today. “Great! Glad that everything’s going so well for you. I’ll be cheering for P1 tomorrow.”

In truth, you’re tired more than anything. People kept coming up to you all day, assuming that taking a selfie with Carlos’ girlfriend was at least half as good as getting to see him. They gave you all manner of gifts and things to give to him, extracting promises that you’d tell him dozens of different people wished him well. You knew you’d get a lot more attention when you started dating Carlos, but the lack of personal space and privacy at the races is truly unlike anything you’d experienced before.

Carlos has been dating you long enough to pick up on this, apparently, because he furrows his brow and sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “I’ll be glad to see you tomorrow, but do you want to tell me what is really on your mind? Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I know you, no?”

You sigh, covering your face with one of your arms. Carlos deflects from this attempt to hide by gently pulling your arm away, pressing a kiss to your forehead to make up for it. “Talk to me, cariño.”

You look sorrowfully at him, but when it becomes clear that Carlos won’t let you go until you confess, you give in. “It’s just a lot, I guess. The people and the cameras and everything.”

Carlos frowns. “I can get them to go away, you know that. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You look away. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to hear it. All of the other girlfriends have no problem with it, just me. I thought you’d want me to be more outgoing, so I tried, I really did, it’s just hard for me, I don’t know why.”

When you dare to risk a glance up at Carlos, you’re surprised to notice that he looks genuinely hurt. “Sweetheart, you didn’t think that I would actually be unhappy about that? I just want you to be happy. Don’t think about me.”

You let out a low breath. “I know, it’s just– I want to be like the rest, really. I don’t want this to be a reason–”

You cut yourself off, distracted by Carlos’ hands still wrapped around yours. Carlos picks up on the obviously dropped subject, though, and looks at you with fresh concern. “You don’t want it to be a reason for what?”

“That you would break up with me,” you whisper.

That’s it, then. That’s the truth. If you can’t live with Carlos’ lifestyle, why wouldn’t he leave you for someone who could? It makes perfect sense to you, but judging by Carlos’ expression, that logic couldn’t be further from his mind.

“No, Y/N,” he says, “That’s not right at all. I don’t want to break up with you, like, ever. Not because of this. I don’t want someone else, I want you. I love you, querida. I love the girl who showed up out of nowhere and made me forget about every other woman in the world. I love the girl who shows up to my home race even though it stresses her out because she wants to be there for me. I love you, Y/N. No one else. Just you.”

And, well, in the face of such passionate declarations, who could stand firm in their own self-pity? Certainly not you. You smile and let him kiss you again and again until you can’t see straight, and after that it is better, it is all better. Hearing it straight from Carlos is better than trying to guess at it. It lets your worries finally sink off into nothingness. It’s just you and him, just what he wants. Just what you want.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot #f1 carlos #f1 carlos imagines #f1 carlos x reader #f1 carlos oneshot

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house-of-lovin · 1 year

Text

legally binded - 4

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev part | next part

Chapter 4: Family Bonding, Festivals and Feelings?

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Things are gearing up 😮‍💨 (ik i said i was gonna take a break, but i couldn’t help myself, now ill take a break lol, happy readin!)

Word Count: 6k+

“No one’s going to get cancelled — it’ll be fun.” Colin Jost smiles curtly on your flat screen TV.

You sit on the bed with a spoon hanging from your lips, an eye on the bright screen having just finished watching a rerun of Jenna’s SNL episode. You made sure to buy it as soon as it was available; locking yourself away in your room.

Currently, you are watching this week’s episode of SNL and Colin and Che are giving their weekly news update.

“Las Vegas is opening up a pop-up vaccine site in a strip club and don’t worry the strippers say the vaccine comes with singer and actress Y/N L/N. This time she’ll be the designated driver – I heard she’s on a tight leash.”

Your smile instantly drops.

“Speaking of Y/N,” Colin bounces off, reading off the cue cards. “Did you see her last week sitting in the audience during Jenna Ortega’s episode… hey, I wonder if they’re a real thing.”

Colin and Che share a knowing glance, “Nah.” They say in unison then move on to their next bit.

Scowling, you turn the TV off, practically throwing your bowl of cereal on the side table.

You supposed you can’t be too mad – all too familiar with the snide jabs and harmless jokes from others in the industry. This is what you signed up for, right?

Whatever, you’re sure people are loving it.

It’s been a whole week since you left New York and you haven’t spoken to Jenna. It seems how you two acted back in the Big Apple was a success because it got your managers to back off, for now. You didn’t see a reason to contact the actress so you let the silence pass — you see when she posts on social media.

You don’t have time to think about it because Coachella weekend is coming up soon. For the first time since Vegas, you will be working and you have been itching – wanting nothing more than to dive head-first into work mode.

It’s what you do best.

You are invited to do a guest performance on a big producer’s set for the festival. It would be your first ever time performing at Coachella but you were privy to the culture of the festival, having gone as an audience member to support your musician friends.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Link pops his head in your door, holding a phone up.

–

“Please don’t do this.” Your pleas go underheard.

“I don’t know why you keep trying, the answer is the same Y/N.” Link rolled his eyes, pointing to a house.

“I think this is the one.”

You scan the two-story typical American home tucked away in the boroughs of suburbia up in the desert, otherwise known as Coachella Valley.

Or well, Jenna’s parent’s house at least.

After Link had dropped the most terrible news; you had to be seen with Jenna in Coachella. Liv and Jake had instructed your team to drive you to stay with Jenna as you prepare for the festival – it was convenient they said.

Convenient my ass.

“Relax... Marcus will be back to pick you up, he’s gonna drop off your bags at the rental house.”

“Why can’t I just go with you then?” You ask.

“Liv said to drive you to this address. Jenna gave explicit directions to drive you here.”

You frown pulling on a loose thread on your sweater.

What could Jenna possibly want that she’d want you here? She looked pretty upset at you, the last time you talked.

You really don’t have it in you to fight with her, again, especially after the long drive from L.A. up to the desert where you thought — you’d be staying in your villa for Coachella weekend.

“Now go see the girl, please.” Link reaches over to open the door.

When you step out, the car is already driving speedily down the street not even giving you a chance to change your mind. You hear a flurry of voices from the side of the house but it sounds far away. Toy cars and trollies litter the grass yard.

Slowly, you walked up her porch, your shoes scraped as you ascend the concrete steps. Hesitating for a brief moment, you realize: Jenna is inside. Well duh. But the thought of her on the other side of the door has your heart dropping out of nowhere. You see flashes in your memory of her frown as you explain why you have to leave New York so soon.

Unspoken words as she says ‘well I thought–’

What did she think?

You would probably never know.

The door opens with a creak breaking you out of your thoughts.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Aliyah leans against the doorframe, smiling.

You laughed, “Yeah, we do.”

She doesn’t say anything else and just yells over her shoulder, “Jenna, she’s here.”

Then walked off.

“Hi…” Jenna appears, leaning on the doorframe with a hand.

She scans you for a brief moment; not having seen you since New York, a week ago. She had to make sure you’re still alive because she hasn’t heard from you since then.

You also practically ghosted her.

After feeling guilty about how she left things with you, Jenna sent you a text the next day, asking if you made it back to Los Angeles safely.

You liked her message with a thumbs up.

A thumbs up! Not responding would have been better, the actress bitterly thought.

“Hey.” You greet. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?” She answered quickly, smile sealed tight like an envelope.

“I’m… good. Yeah. Just working.” You answer honestly.

“Oh really?” Jenna asked.

“Yeah, something for Coachella actually.”

Jenna raised her brows in surprise. “Like what?”

You send a tight-lipped smile, “It’s a surprise. People don’t know I’m here yet.”

Jenna can’t fight her excitement; giddy about being in on a secret. But then she remembers that she’s supposed to be annoyed at you and not fascinated.

“Why haven’t you texted me?” Jenna sighed, her voice dropping to a lowly whisper, in case someone was walking by.

You raised your brows, surprised by her question. “Oh… um. I’ve been busy like I said, just working, trying to keep my head down and all that.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” She asked accusingly.

You missed her tone and shrugged, reassuring her, “Yeah. Of course.”

“But, I heard you were busy this week too, filming another movie with Barry Keoghan and The Weeknd?” You changed the subject, hoping to talk about something else. She takes the bait after scanning your eyes for a second.

“Yeah, it was just a short role. But it was a lot of fun. Abel actually talked about you.”

“That’s great, I’m happy for you Jen… and yeah he’s an old friend.”

“Sung your praises pretty high, I had to make sure he was talking about the right person.”

You chuckle, “Oh okay, I see how it is.”

Your laugh caused a sudden warmness to manifest in Jenna and she couldn't help but join along. “Come on, my family has been dying to see you again.”

“Really?” You asked, stepping inside her childhood home. “So you think I made a good impression?”

She turned to look back at you, surprised that you care. “Maybe… don’t let it get to your head, though.”

You laughed as you followed her through the house. “Is that jealousy I hear Ortega? Scared you won't be the only movie star around?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Shut up. You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot that may have impressed your family?” You cocked your head and grinned wide.

“Yeah, yeah. Like, I said. Don’t let it get to your head. They could care less about celebrities and Hollywood. They’re pretty grounded.”

You shrugged, looking at the various family pictures hanging on the wall. “It’s fine. There’s only one Ortega I want to impress anyway.”

You’re not sure where that came from and it seemed Jenna shared the same thought because she raised her brows at you – but didn’t comment.

Jenna blocks you from walking when you reached the sliding glass door. “What?”

Jenna chewed her lip anxiously, “My family can be a lot. In numbers and in the other sense too. There’s a lot of us.”

“Oh… that’s okay.” You answered. A bit confused as to why she is telling you this. When you see her genuine concern your gaze softens. “Jenna, relax. I can handle the family… and I can charm anyone’s socks off.”

She relented, rolling her eyes at your joke. “Okay, okay.”

"Wait..."

Jenna turns around.

"Why am I here exactly? At your parents, that is. Link told me that you gave my driver instructions to bring me here."

Jenna bites her lip in contemplation. "Um—like I said my family wanted to see you again and I heard you were going to Coachella anyway so you know, two birds one stone."

You nod, accepting her answer.

Jenna opens the door for you two to step out.

–

Sounds of laughter rang around as you and Jenna sat in lawn chairs in her parent’s backyard.

“What are Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya like in real life?” Markus – Jenna’s brother leaned forward to ask.

“Markus!” Jenna scolded and threw her brother a glare.

The actress blushed as she sat beside you but all she felt was the vibrations of your laughter, indulging her brother’s question.

Jenna can’t help but wonder if you have other family members that spend time with you like this. You look so carefree and genuinely happy; comfortable around her family — after knowing you for a couple months now; she guesses it’s a no.

“They’re cool. Just like everyone else to be honest. Especially, Timothee, sweet guy but he’s a bit of a typical frat bro.” You joked, “And Zendaya, well. She’s just as amazing as everyone says she is. Great work ethic, it’s inspiring when you work with someone passionate like that – makes you want to be better and work harder.”

Jenna’s sisters are eating your story up. Secretly she knew they enjoyed the tales of celebrities and pop culture. It’s nearly impossible to live your life without seeing a public figure pop up on an ad on your phone or on the side of a bus stop on your drive home.

Jenna is barely home enough to be able to have moments like this where she can humour her sister's questions. But they all had their own lives to live. She's has been looking forward to this break for a while, knowing it was coming up after her long week in New York.

She still can’t describe New York.

Something seems to have shifted between you two by the end of the week. But she didn’t know if it was for the better. The two of you have this constant push and pull; where everything is fine one moment, then one of you says something and it turns tense and weird as you both stay silent or you just completely blow up on each other.

Jenna didn’t know if she had it in her to try to decipher what these restrained responses she gets from you could possibly mean.

You are an enigma; a defensive, hot-headed asshole that grinded every gear the actress had.

“Do you like Zendaya, buddy?” You bounced her niece in your lap, enjoying how the baby grabbed at your fingers.

But then Jenna turns around and you act like this. Sweet, protective, charming.

How are you the same person?

She can’t fight her smile as she watched the adorable sight.

Jenna didn’t know you were good with babies.

“I think Z would think you’re just the most adorable thing. Oh my god, Jen, can I send her a picture of us?” You turned to her, with a bright smile.

Jenna didn’t know when you started calling her by her nickname but she certainly won’t say how she enjoys how it sounds when you say it. “Uh–sure, if it’s okay with my sister.”

“Zendaya’s gonna have a picture of my baby on her phone? Uh yes!”

Jenna laughed, nodding. “I’ll take the picture.” She took your phone, opening the camera.

“What are you doing? Get in here with us." You asked with an adorable scrunch in the nose, surprising Jenna.

“Oh, I just thought— okay.” She swallows her growing grin, sliding in beside you.

Her sisters share knowing glances.

You happily scooted in, pressing your chest to her back.

Jenna is suddenly reminded of her you and her, alone in her dressing room.

She presses back into you.

“Say, cheese guys!” Jenna clears her throat.

With big bright smiles, you placed your head above her shoulder to get in the frame, repeating, “Cheese!”

Even her niece seemed to be enjoying the attention as she smiled brightly and toothless while standing on your lap with her chubby legs. Jenna snapped a couple for good measure, checking over the pictures. The three of you are squished together as she held it in portrait; you all looked cute Jenna can admit.

Like a little family.

What?

“Oh Jenna, send me that, please. I want to post it on my Instagram.” Her mom spoke up already reaching for her phone.

“Okay, okay.” Jenna rolled her eyes but sent herself the pictures first before airdropping them to – everyone – who begged for it.

“This is adorable, I think I’m gonna make this my lock screen.” You grinned, staring at the photo. She sees you typing a message, indeed sending it to the actress like you said you would. “Just for your niece.”

Jenna felt her heart skip a beat. “Are you saying you’re gonna crop me out the photo?”

“No… but now that’s a good idea, thanks.” You mocked with a smile.

“Mom, how did you already post that picture so fast?” Mia asked.

–

“Don’t be mad.” Jenna begged.

“Mad? Jenna. This isn’t what I signed up for.” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

The two of you were standing in her driveway, in a discord of course. Jenna just forced you into another situation that you wanted no part of.

“You just told Link to call off my driver and now you’re saying don’t be mad. Of course, I’m mad! Why did you say yes to your Mom, Jenna.” You sighed, dropping your hand limply.

“I didn’t know she’d insist.” She groaned walking closer, “She said that you shouldn’t stay in that big house by yourself for the weekend when there is room here, next thing I know she’s forcing me to ask you in front of everybody.”

"I'm sorry." She grabs your arm. “Link said you might be mad.”

You stare at her for a couple of moments. Their hearts are in the right place, you guessed. Eventually, you rolled your eyes and sighed. “Thank you I guess… I appreciate that the sentiment.”

Jenna smiled in relief, “Yeah, of course.” Then scrunched her nose in thought. “We actually really don’t have the room so I don’t know where she’ll put you.”

She should have known. This is so typical and cliche; sharing a bed trope? Please, can the universe be any more unoriginal?

“Mom, are you sure?” Jenna whispered as she peaked her head out the small awning of the door – making sure you can’t hear.

“Jen, go to sleep. We have a packed day tomorrow. Everyone’s coming over for the game.”

Tomorrow is sports night and her uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents are set to come over. It was a weekly tradition for the extended family to host a gathering to watch the game every Friday; with Jenna’s busy schedule, she hasn’t been to one in months. She’s grateful this one is hosted at her house but then inwardly sighed because she should probably warn you about that too.

“Mom…” She pleaded in a whisper.

“Goodnight and be responsible. I trust you two.”

“Mom!”

Jenna dropped her head in defeat as she listened to her Mom’s footsteps dwindle further away.

“Hey, you should probably get in there before all the hot water runs out..”

She turns, seeing your freshly showered figure. For a moment, Jenna finds herself stuck. You’re rubbing a towel on your wet hair as grey sweats hung lowly on your hips and she was desperately trying to avert her eyes from the small patch of you skin exposed.

“I already showered.”

“Oh okay.” You shrugged walking over to grab your phone.

“Which side do you prefer?” You asked absentmindedly,

“What?” Jenna blinks away.

“Of the bed. Which side do you prefer?”

“Oh. The left.”

“Thank god. Every bed I’ve had to share I’ve had to fight for the right side. You’re perfect.”

Jenna watched as you jump into your preferred side, getting comfortable under her covers.

She doesn’t know why she feels a mismatched thump fall out of rhythm with her heartbeat at seeing you in her bed.

“Alright, are you gonna be weird about sharing a bed? ‘Cause I can just take the couch or call my driver to pick me up. I can get a hotel room or something.” You sighed sitting up.

Jenna furrowed her brows, “What no. Can you please stop jumping to conclusions?”

“I’m not.” You mumbled but don’t argue further. Jenna gets in beside you.

“You satisfied now?” She throws out but it sounds just shy of playful and maybe even flirtatious – definitely not how she meant for it to sound.

“Uh– sure.” You replied sliding the blanket up to your chin as you tried to get comfortable again.

There’s that weird tension again, Jenna thinks and she thinks it’s starting to annoy her.

“Okay, what’s your deal?” Jenna crossed her arms, turning to you.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not.” You sat up to face the other actress.

Jenna frowned, “Yes you are. You have been since New York. Did I do something? Because you still haven’t told me why you just left town like that.”

“I told you. Jake wanted me back for Coachella. Why else would I have just left all of a sudden?” You explained.

“I just– I just feel like you’re not telling me something.” She admits, a bit insecure. “I, at least, thought we’re friends now and when I didn’t see you in the crowd or the dressing room after SNL I was a bit… disappointed? I don't know if it’s dumb but you really did calm me down before my monologue and I wanted to thank you over dinner. But, yeah–”

Jenna looks away, missing your guilty frown. “Jenna… it’s not dumb. God, I feel like an asshole.”

“Well, sometimes you can be.”

You laugh but it’s dry. “I’m so sorry. I–I should have been there.”

You grab her hands. “Look at me, please.” It gets her to look up, the light from the lamp is bouncing off your eyes making them look softer in the dim light. “I promise, I’ll always be there for the important moments from now on. Before, during and after – we are stuck together until the foreseeable future, so.”

Jenna snorts, looking down at your hands. You begin to rub lines with your fingers on her open palm making her shiver. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She whispers.

She doesn’t know when she makes the bold move to intertwine your fingers. But for the first time since SNL, you two hold hands and this time you don’t pull away. But she doesn’t miss the questioning glint in your eyes as you look down. Jenna ignores the attention and squeezes your hand to make you look at her again.

“You mean it though?”

Your eyes soften. “I mean it.”

–

“Where’s Y/N?” Mia asked over the breakfast table.

“Rehearsals,” Jenna mumbled sleepily shoving spoonfuls of food in her dry mouth – still trying to wake up.

When the actress had awakened, the sun was high above the horizon and the desert heat was already inching inside her cracked window. But she woke up, alone.

Differing from how she went to sleep the previous night with you barely pressed up beside her as you laid with your backs to each other. Jenna only found herself un-tensing after hearing your breathing fall into short even exhales.

When she turned over to grab her phone this morning, you had sent a text:

Sorry for not waking you up. You sleep like a rock but I had to go to rehearsals. I’ll be back by 3 :)

She couldn’t be too annoyed at the smiley face you leave with your occasional messages.

“She’s performing?” Mia asks shocked.

Jenna nods, too tired for words.

“The crowd is gonna lose their minds.” Aliyah laughs. “With who?”

“Won’t say.” Jenna muttered bitterly, thinking back to her incessant begging; you never caved.

“Okay… can we talk about it, now then?”

“Talk about what Mia,” Jenna sighs dropping her fork on her plate.

“You and Y/N.” She says like it’s obvious.

“There is no me and Y/N, it’s all for the cameras. Remember the NDA I had to beg you guys to sign?” The actress rolls her eyes.

“Then why were you so upset after New York?” She challenges; tired of her sister’s silence over this whole situation. There’s no way she’s just unaffected by this.

“Mia drop it.” Her mom says.

“No. I’m serious, she’s literally staying under our roof, sharing a room with Jenna. And no one is still saying anything? Am I the only one who thinks there’s something going on?”

“Yes.” Jenna says quickly.

Mia rolls her eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question, Jen.”

Jenna crosses her arms, sitting up. “Of course I was upset. She just left town without a warning, if we didn’t catch her in the lobby she was just gonna a send a text. A text! Anyone would be upset at that — but it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

But her sister doesn’t buy it. She opens her mouth to refute but their Dad swoops in saving the day. “Leave your sister alone, Mia. I’m sure whatever is going on with Y/N and Jenna – they can figure it out themselves.”

Jenna groans, “Dad, not helping.”

He shrugs, sitting at the head of the table with his own plate of breakfast.

Eventually, her family scatters to their own corners of the house to get ready for the day. Her other family members would be arriving soon and the actress had to start getting ready. Crap, she forgot to warn you about game night because you left so early. Jenna decides she’ll send you a text after she gets out of the shower.

With the raucous of the day, Jenna forgets to send the text. Her cousins arrived much earlier than anticipated and she was already getting pulled out to living room to talk about her upcoming projects. She gets so lost catching up with her cousins that she doesn’t realize when you arrive.

"Jenna, your novia is here." One of her aunts shouts making her head snap up to you as the front door opens. "Oh wow, and she's brought the whole store!"

Jenna's jaw drops as you walk in, holding multiple large bouquets of different arrangements of flowers. "Y/N?"

"Hey!" You peek your head out from the large flowers. "These are for your family... but I may have overestimated how big these were and Link refused to help me."

"Oh god, these are beautiful Y/N." Jenna's mom gets up from her seat, grabbing as many flowers as she can. "You didn't have to..."

"Oh, it's nothing, really. You guys are letting me stay here, I just wanted to express a little gratitude." You duck your head, all timid now.

Jenna knows it's not nothing. Those flowers cost a fuck ton, she would know she gets gifted those whenever she has an event.

"Well, gratitude expressed. I don't even know where to put these. Mia, Aliyah help the girl, please!"

The two sisters grab all but one smaller bouquet from your hands, walking away with smug smiles.

"Jen, get up," Aliyah whispers in passing as all the women and Jenna's dad filter over to the kitchen to view the gorgeous flowers.

She still hasn't moved from the couch and briefly, she thinks she can feel her cousin's smirking at her reaction.

"You got my family flowers?" Jenna asks dumbly, walking over slowly; ignoring everyone's eyes on them.

"Uh—yeah. Sorry if it's a bit much. I wasn't sure what everyone liked so... I got them all." You scratch your head with a bouquet in hand, catching Jenna's eye.

"These are for you..." You smile, holding out a smaller albeit more personal? flower arrangement. It felt like Jenna, somehow.

“I picked it out myself.” Your smile turns shy.

Like, if she were to walk into a flower shop and see this bouquet, she would instantly grasp it and never let go.

We still talking flowers?

"Thanks..." Jenna mumbles, grabbing the flowers; your fingertips touching sends sparks down her arm.

"Um—you're back early..." Is all she manages to say.

“Yeah… they didn’t need me for a long time so I decided to come back.” You explained, glancing at the new faces in the room. “Uh– what’s all this?”

The actress sends you a sheepish smile, “Family game night, we watch the game every Friday and cook some barbeque, it’s a whole thing. I forgot to text you, I’m sorry. You can call your driver back if this is too much.”

You laugh, squeezing her shoulder. “And miss out on great food? No, thank you.”

Jenna scans your eyes for the truth, “Are you sure? I know this isn’t exactly your scene so I understand.”

“Jen.” Your hand slides down, softly grabbing her hand. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been since the last time I had a home-cooked meal. I’m so in.”

You squeeze her hand for good measure. “Guys close the door.” Someone shouts.

Jenna doesn’t let you drop your hands this time because she’s already gripping them, pulling you to sit with her cousins – introducing you.

She ignores the giddy feeling in her chest that you want to stay.

You don’t say anything even when you’re both sitting and she’s still holding your hand.

–

“Who are you performing with?” Jenna tugs on your arm.

You squint to see her through your sunglasses. The Californian sun was making its presence known today and there are crowds of people everywhere as you tried to find some shade. It’s just past 6 PM and people are already starting to get rowdy – before all the good sets are even on.

Fish nets, sparkles and bedazzles are all you see in the sea of people and you just know you’re at Coachella.

“I can’t say…” You fight the smile on your face, finding her begging adorable. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“But Aliyah knows! I heard you whisper it to her.” She glares back at her sister standing a fair distance away from you two – who was talking to Mia and her boyfriend.

“I didn’t tell her anything, Jen. We were just fucking with you.” You laugh, sliding your hand in hers.

An unspoken comfortableness has formed between you two. Light touches are a new development in this… situation Jenna had with you.

Whether it was knees touching under the dinner table, walking shoulder to shoulder on your daily walks around the neighbourhood (there wasn’t much to do as Coachella weekend approached) or leaning her head on your shoulder as she slept when you two watched TV before bed.

And now, it seems like things have escalated to a new level of comfort where you two willingly linked fingers whenever you walked anywhere. Neither of you make a peep when someone eventually reaches for the other’s hand.

“Rude…” She pinches your side making you flinch away from her.

Jenna’s immediately tugging you back closer.

“Hey… I can’t get an injury before my performance. I’m legally binded to a contract.” You state.

Jenna snorts, “I thought you were friends with the performer? Are you really not gonna tell me who it is?”

“Nope and sure we’re friends but, I’m still contractually obligated to the festival and all that.”

“Come on Y/N!” She groaned unconsciously stepping closer to you. “I’ve been so nice to you, I haven’t called you an idiot all day!”

You laugh, “Is that supposed to win me over?”

“You tell me? Is it working?” The laugh dies in your lips when she tits her head in question.

Jenna misses the gulp you take because she was leaning closer, trying to find your eyes behind the dark-tinted glasses you had on.

“No…” You replied with a vacant tone.

Jenna steps back when the sun blinds her eye. “You’re no fun.”

“I don’t know what to tell you… you’re gonna have to wait like everyone else.”

“Speaking of everyone else, I’m surprised we’re not surrounded by your groupies.” Jenna eyes the group of people hovering not too far away.

You snicker, “They are not my groupies. I barely know those people but it happens at every music event. They flock over like geese. I let Link handle them.”

Jenna frowns, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?” You look down.

“That you can’t even enjoy yourself at a festival without someone hovering over your shoulder.”

Since Jenna’s started this PR relationship with you her fame’s only increased overnight. She hates to say it but Sarah was right, being associated with you has only made her more famous and well-known. She felt like a Kardashian or Tom Holland who couldn’t even step out of their own homes without a camera being shoved in their faces.

It’s getting so bad that Jenna has security with her everywhere she goes. She stopped driving herself to places. A headline even dropped that you two are official and serious now and that you have met her family; paparazzi tried to camp at her parent’s house until they called the police.

“Sometimes.” You answer honestly, shrugging. “But it’s part of the job.”

Jenna’s frown deepens, looking around. “This is not part of the job. At least not what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, but we learn to deal with it, right?” You nudge her shoulder. Seemingly unbothered that made Jenna bothered for you.

“How?” Jenna couldn’t help her curiosity.

“Surround yourself with people that genuinely care about you. That still picks you even after all your fuck ups. Only got me about three of those, so I try to keep them close.” Then you let out a sad laugh, “I make it very hard for them sometimes, though.”

Jenna looks at Link as he holds a bored hand up when a girl tries to walk up to you. Then he’s shooing her away and whispering to both of your security guards.

She wants to fight the urge to say that you have a fourth person in your corner with her.

Instead, she says:

“I think you got a good one with him.” She nods to Link.

You follow her sight, “Yeah, I do... He’s usually right about most things too.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up in questioning.

Maybe Jenna’s not so bad? Flashes in your memory but you don’t tell Jenna. “Nothing.”

Jenna squints her eyes. “Fine… keep your secrets.” Tone a playfully bitter.

Eventually, you, Jenna and her sisters walk around aimlessly from set to set, taking pictures and enjoying the atmosphere. Jenna would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself right now. Somehow you all managed to find an empty corner by the Artist section of the performances which meant you had loosened up a bit.

Jenna decided she liked it when you’re smiling, carefree and happy.

It suits you better than your permanent scowl.

You’ve been so stressed this last week, taking phone calls and Zoom meetings. She tried not to express her concern at seeing how you obsessively fretted over some project, consuming you some nights.

Jenna knows obsessive. She knows anxiety. This was different.

She finds herself with more questions than answers when it comes to you.

Why are you so closed off all the time? Is this how you work all the time? Where did this recent streak of bad behaviour start? Is there more to it than what you’re saying?

Are you okay?

But Jenna can’t find the right words to ask, so she doesn’t.

Only offering her warm pressure on top of you to hopefully lull you to sleep when you both drift off in her childhood bed.

Somewhere along the evening, she finds herself close to you.

You've loosened up as the days progressed and somehow, you and Jenna have found yourselves wrapped up in each other's arms as you danced.

Jenna had her back pressed firmly against your chest; her head tucked under your chin as your arms wrap around her waist from behind; hands linked as you jammed along to the music.

“The Met Gala’s coming up.” Jenna speaks up after a few moments of silence. “I’m invited.”

“Me too.” You reveal. She perks up, looking back at you.

“Yeah?” She smiles, pleased with your answer.

“Mhmm. I’m actually a co-chair this year.” You send an embarrassed smile.

She turns in your hold, jaw-dropping. “You are?”

“Yeah… why do you think I’ve been taking those calls all week? I was getting ready for the Met.”

“I thought that was for Coachella?” She snorts but can't help but ask, "Do you ever stop working?"

“Says you. Miss Scream Queen.” You tease making her roll her eyes.

“Be my date.” She says all of a sudden. “and walk the carpet with me this time.”

You raise your brows at her bluntness. This time?

You remember the last time she said those words and a tiny part of you prayed she meant it differently this time. But you can't fight your smile because you couldn't even say no if you wanted to — overwhelmed with the sudden want, to show off the girl in your arms. “I would love to be your date.”

Jenna's eyes sparkled with delight, beaming at you widely.

"Great! I'll talk to Enrique and Thom Browne about it."

"But I'm a Prada Ambassador?"

"I'll handle it." She nods with finality.

But before you can say anything, Link slides in with a whisper in your ear and a knowing smirk in Jenna’s direction.

“Hey, I have to go.” You whisper into her ear, pulling away but Jenna tightens her grip.

“Wait.” She steps forward – much closer than she means to.

“Yeah?” You asked softly and suddenly Jenna can’t hear the loud thumping of the bass anymore.

“Good luck and break a leg.” She says in a whisper.

Her hand reaches up to brush your neck still looking into your eyes. Jenna feels the same overwhelming pressure in her chest that she’s recently felt around you and gives into her sudden impulse; leaning in, parting her lips; meaning for them to connect to your cheek but instead swerve and slot in between your lips instead, in a moment’s haste.

She feels you tense for a moment before giving in, cupping her cheeks too. Kissing her back. Jenna loses it a bit, not expecting your lips to feel so soft and smooth and perfect against hers. Jenna can't help but tilt her head to the side, allowing your lips to press harder.

She feels the same electricity from your first meeting – when you shook her hand. The same electricity she tries to fight off every time she's near you. Except this time, it's by tenfold.

Jenna is so lost in you that she can’t even hear her heart beating loudly in her ears anymore — only feeling your thumb softly stroking her jaw.

The sound of coughing breaks you two apart.

“Sorry but Y/N we need to go.” Link sends a sheepish smile but he's trying to fight his grin at having a front-row seat to the show.

When Jenna pulls away she looks deeply into your eyes searching for some kind of indication of your feelings.

You smile shyly, squeezing her waist and rubbing her back. “I’ll find you after the show?”

“Yeah…” Jenna whispers, still staring into your eyes.

“I’ll find you!” You yell over her shoulder as Link drags you away.

“Holy shit, finally!” Mia slides in beside her.

Jenna doesn’t have the energy to shrug off the arm Aliyah throws over her shoulder as she brings her fingers up to her burning lips. “I don't know why I did that...”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot. The both of you.” Mia rolls her eyes walking back to her boyfriend.

Jenna looks around, blinking, immediately catching the phones held in the air capturing her moment with you.

She walks off, following her sisters.

Unbeknownst to you and Jenna, a headline is about to drop:

New developments in Y/N L/N's Vegas case. Caught with cocaine! Las Vegas PD makes no official comments on possible charges or arrests. But is this the end for the bright star?

The strip club and vaccine bit with Colin and Che is from a real line in one of their segments LOL.

yall happy now?

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley @chealsib @fanboy7794 @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @zelload @natashadeservedmoree @orang3-ish @friedryes @canyonyodeler @nahnahnahwhatt @be-missed @jjuncidio @fearstreetsoloyouandurmom @oksana-moods @theirishmanronan @r-ude @wokethefuxkup @bandaidss @skate-to-breathee @user173781 @frasersgf @natblidaclexa @justafoolinlove @bring-mecoffee @slu7her @haughtsauce21 @wheesunsangel @cyberexpertalienspy-blog @jennaortegasfootrest @zaza11sblog @omega-horus @heroofdeath11 @selluequestrian @justalittledissociation @imaloserbby @catswag22 @sorexhera @smjmgko @acutenobody @raven-ss @canceldevvi @sweetaimu @rockwyn @rwndsana @cheesybacon1 @cvluswnt @secretbackrooms @vixen1006 @zhasmindoesntknow @namesduntmatter @ulicebld @rozmrazaradelfinow @icarly23 @cartierdreamx @thenextdawn @annalestern

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #wednesday netflix

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imagine-darksiders · 4 months

Text

Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

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Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

“What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o t o u c h e d y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #commission #found family #pregnant reader #hiding pregnancy #fluff #hurt/comfort #protective horsemen #allusions to SA

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 1 year

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Under The Weather

Pairing: Season one/younger Spencer Reid x Female reader.

Summary: Spencer has come down with the common cold, and as a germophobe, he is not having the best time.

Warnings: Just fluff, very vague mention of periods, and of course mention of the cold/flu.

Word count: 501 (Hella short, I know...)

MASTER LIST

You laugh into the receiver and pray that your boyfriend doesnt hear from down the hall. “Don’t worry. Our little genius will be back to work in no time,” you say warmly to Penelope through the phone then wish her a goodnight. Out of everybody at the BAU, Spencer was the last one you’d expect to catch the common cold. He's still wrapped up in the blanket and pouting as you bring his bowl of soup to the bedroom. "Y/N," he says, and you suppress a laugh from his nasally voice. “I’m hygienic, right? I avoid handshakes and wash my hands frequently... I even take vitamins! How on earth did I get sick?” His rage and whining reduced his IQ from 187 to an average of 100, causing a placebo effect as your IQ increased.

"It's not always a matter of how hygienic you are," you say as you set the hot bowl on the tray in front of him. "Actually, no matter how healthy they are, the average adult gets the common cold two to three times a year," you say. Spencer gives you a deadpan expression. "Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the smart one," he complains.

You laugh at his immaturity. “Come on, eat up. The soup will help your throat," you say, ruffling his hair slightly, and he squeezes his face, one of his usual stims. You observe him as he picks up the spoon, scoops the soup with it, and swallows it. As the hot liquid soothed his sore throat, you could see him relax.

This was the first time Spencer was sick since you made your relationship official. You've gotten sick plenty of times, including the symptoms of your menses, which he took very seriously. The times you were sick with the cold or the flu, Spencer gave you princess treatment, along with countless ‘fun’ facts about the human body.

Your relationship was never fully understood by the other agents at the BAU. They knew Spencer was a 'pretty boy,' as Morgan affectionately refers to him, but aside from his looks, the crew through Spencer had very little social knowledge about girls. Oh, how wrong they were. Yes, he was shy, but he was such a loving partner when he was alone with you. He was attentive and remembered every detail. And he took care of you, mentally and physically, just as you were doing for him right now, as if it were a vow he made at the altar because, in his mind, he already had.

"Better?" you ask. "Getting there," he says. "Thank you." Spencer takes a large gulp before speaking. “Did you know that it's not actually the warm temperature of the soup that helps your throat, but the sodium in the recipe? That's why gargling salt water is commonly used to treat a sore throat.” And just like that our normal Spencer was back, albeit the nasally and hoarse voice still made it impossible to take him seriously.

Text divider by -> cafekitsune

#spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fan #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff

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greensagephase · 8 months

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Making Tamales with Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x FemaleReader

Summary: You make the first batch of tamales for the season with Miguel.

Word Count: 1,909

Warnings: Reader knows or at least understands Spanish; Reader knows how to make tamales; Miguel talks in Spanish a bit but translations will be provided at the end (italicized); teasing and smug Miguel; It's alluded Miguel and reader did it at the end

🍂 🕯🍂 🕯🍂🕯 🍂🕯 🍂 🕯🍂

As soon as Miguel feels the first chill of the season, he tells you it’s time to make tamales. You agree with him, of course, so the two of you plan an afternoon to make them. Miguel and you prep the kitchen. You have all the ingredients and supplies out from the leaves to the masa, the filling that the two of you prepped, and other items like the big pot where they’ll be cooked.

Miguel takes charge of preparing the masa. It only seems right as his large hands can get it just right and much quicker than you and your smaller hands. Of course, it also helps that this man is like a walking furnace, which means his warmth is perfect to help the melted lard mix in with the masa. His playlist is playing in the background, which is composed of music that he grew up listening to and that will help keep both of your spirits up as you make the tamales because he knows how exhausting it can get after twenty minutes of working. Thankfully, he has upbeat songs like those from Joan Sebastian such as “Tatuajes,” Bronco’s “Que No Quede Huella,” and Los Angeles Azules’s “Como Te Voy a Olvidar.” You notice Miguel bopping his head as he prepares the masa, his lips moving as he sings silently to the songs, which you can’t blame him for because he’s playing iconic bops.

Meanwhile, you prepare the leaves. You soak them in warm water in a large bowl, making sure to sink them with your hands so the top ones get covered, too. You dump the water out a few times, making sure the leaves are clean before you leave them to fully soak. You prep the pot and the containers you’ll be putting the tamales in as you make them before you put them in the pot.

At last, Miguel tells you the masa is ready so the two of you start. You’ve seen other methods on social media, but Miguel and you stick to the traditional method using spoons. The two of you take a seat and start and well, this is where the peace starts fading because the two of you start to get competitive. If you grew up making tamales with all your family pitching in to help “para terminar más pronto,” you know how competitive it can get with who prepares the most leaves. And of course, for you and Miguel, it’s no exception as you both grew up competing with your relatives.

Neither of you say it but you can tell. Miguel casually looks at the stack of leaves with masa you have ready. He grins to himself, knowing that he has at least three more than you when he looks at his taller stack. You notice his grin and force yourself to hide a frown, thinking it’s unfair. With his large hand, Miguel can cover more ground. He doesn’t have to turn the leaf on his hand so many times like you to cover the same amount of space even if the leaf is the same size.

You speed up, casually, of course. You don’t want to tip Miguel off. You want to win this, even though it’s silly, especially when you see his little grin like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“With this speed we’ll be done in no time, preciosa,” he says, trying to sound neutral but oh, you know when Miguel is teasing and he’s definitely teasing you right now.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, knowing that will only give him more satisfaction. So instead, you nod and smile.

“I hope so. You know how the first batch of the season always hits different,” you reply as you pick up another leaf and quickly grab a spoonful of the masa. Your movements are fast and experienced as you spread the masa over the leaf evenly, but it still takes you double the time it takes Miguel to get one done.

And you’re not as slick as you think you are. Neither of you are. You both know you’re in an unofficial competition with each other now. The playlist Miguel has playing in the background is kind of forgotten at this point even when a song that you both enjoy is playing. You’re both focused on beating each other, though Miguel isn’t really worried, and you can tell. He feels so comfortable with his progress that he slows down, preparing the leaves in a calmer manner, unlike you.

It just makes him grin as he steals glances at you. And just when it looks like you’re about to tie up with him, Miguel picks up the speed again, whistling as he does so to whatever song is on now. It gets on your nerves, but you keep a neutral face despite knowing he’s doing it to annoy you. You pick up another leaf and grab a spoonful of the masa once again, wincing as the spoon makes contact with the finger you’ve been supporting it with this whole time. You can already feel the skin tender and sore, a sign that tomorrow you’ll have a full-on blister if not by tonight before you go to bed.

Miguel’s eyebrows furrow as he notices you wince. He puts his leaf and spoon down and walks around the table to you. You continue to spread the masa over the leaf, still trying to beat him when he takes your hand, the one that’s been holding the spoon the entire time. You begin to protest but he hushes you as he leans forward, bringing your hand to his face. You sigh agitated and look at him. Miguel is looking at your finger before he rubs his thumb over the sored area gently. He meets your eyes and gives you a small grin as he does so.

“How about I take care of the rest, preciosa? You can start on the filling with what we have already,” he suggests quietly.

You’re about to decline but he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing the tender and sore skin of your finger, while meeting your eyes. You shut up and sigh. You’re competitive but you know when to admit defeat. You nod.

“Fine. I’ll do the filling,” you mutter and retrieve your hand after he kisses your finger again.

“Muy bien,” Miguel replies, giving you a grin and kissing your cheek before he returns to his spot.

So, you finish making the tamales by putting the filling in them as Miguel finishes using the masa. And yes, you’re a little upset. Just because you know when to admit defeat doesn’t mean you aren’t a little sored about it. You always beat your relatives growing up, so you’re not used to losing this competition.

After putting the tamales in the pot together, Miguel and you clean the kitchen. You head to the living room and lie down on one of the couches once you’re done with your part, knowing it’s going to be about an hour before the tamales are ready. You turn on the tv, still feeling upset as you switch channels. Not long after, Miguel walks out of the kitchen drying his hands with a towel since he volunteered to wash dishes, which just made you feel crappy because he always volunteers to wash dishes to spare your hands from the harsh dish soap but especially today due to your sored finger; his kindness is like salt to the wound, and yeah, maybe you’re being a little dramatic but who cares.

He approaches you, throwing the towel over his shoulder before he stands behind the couch. He peers down at you, noticing the pout as you switch channels, and grins. He knows you’re sored over losing even if it was a friendly competition. He leans down on the couch and caresses your face with the back of his hand.

“¿Sigues enojada, preciosa?” he asks in a whisper.

Your pout becomes more noticeable as you turn to look up at him, meeting his red eyes. You stare at him, unable to stop yourself from feeling a little breathless at the sight of his face. You cuss internally because it’s so unfair for this man to look this good after making tamales. Some strands of hair hang over his forehead and he has a bit of powder flour on his cheek from when he was first prepping the masa. You lift your hand to his face and wipe it off gently.

“I wasn’t upset,” you reply, clearly lying, as you retrieve your hand from his face but Miguel grabs it before it’s away from his reach. He brings it to his face.

“Ah, okay,” he answers with a grin. “That’s good to hear. I thought you were a little sore back then. And not just from your finger.”

You snatch your hand from his grip and turn away from him, facing the tv and ignoring him. Miguel chuckles lightly at your reaction, clearly amused. He walks around the couch to the front and before you can protest, Miguel is over you. He has no problem moving you to his liking, placing you between his legs before he lies down on you.

“Miguel! Seriously?” you say trying to move but your efforts are useless when it comes to Miguel, who settles on top of you with ease. You sigh annoyed even though you’re in no discomfort because Miguel knows exactly how to position himself to avoid crushing you.

So, you just lay underneath him and turn your face to the tv as an effort to at least ignore him, though that’s a very challenging task because the man is on top of you and now his mouth is on your neck, peppering your skin with kisses.

“Andale, preciosa. Don’t be upset with me. We have a whole hour before the tamales are ready. You can’t avoid me. You can’t even leave the house. You know the rule. We both put the tamales in the pot, and you know what they say,” Miguel says, planting a kiss on your neck at the end of each sentence. “¿No queremos tamales pintos, verdad?”

You try very hard to ignore him but his warm breath, his lips on your neck, the weight of his body over yours keeping you in place always does something to you. And Miguel knows it. So, he uses it to his advantage. He continues to kiss your neck, eventually escalating to biting your neck gently, which instantly has you closing your eyes and whimpering underneath him.

Needless to say, the tamales weren’t the only thing that got a filling, and thankfully the two of you remembered to check on them once the hour passed by. You concluded the evening by eating some delicious tamales, definitely needing the energy after so much work.

As the two of you eat tamales, Miguel leans closer to your face and pecks your cheek.

“The first batch of the season definitely hits different,” he whispers with a grin, causing you to roll your eyes at him but now that you have food in your system and took out your annoyance on him, you grin back.

“I don’t know how but I’m beating you next time. So be ready,” you answer.

“Preciosa, I’ll help you win as long as I get to have you and tamales at the end.”

🍂 🕯🍂 🕯🍂🕯 🍂🕯 🍂 🕯🍂

Translation for italicized words: Masa - dough para terminar más pronto - to finish sooner preciosa - beautiful muy bien - very good ¿sigues enojada, preciosa? - still mad, beautiful? Andale, preciosa - come on, beautiful ¿No queremos tamales pintos, verdad? - we don't want painted tamales, right?; "pintos" is used here in place of "raw" (there are several myths (my family and I have never tested any) about tamales getting "painted," which means that some parts are cooked and others uncooked for different reasons, one of them being that the person who prepare the dough or the people who put them in the pot can't leave the house). _____

My family and I made our first batch of tamales this week and I just got inspired by it. Imagining Miguel mixing the masa got me in my feelings. 🥺 This is just based on my experience but other people who make tamales may have a different method(s)!

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alcoholfreenayeon · 2 months

Text

Cruel

Mina x Reader

CW: Angst, suggestion of infidelity

Word count: 2600

Synopsis: The happiness of love lasts for seconds but the pain of love lasts a lifetime.

You took a deep breath as you twisted and turned around in your bed, trying to find the perfect position or at least the most comfortable one. The perfect position was of course when Mina was here with you where one of you would lay on top of the other, cuddling and spooning all night long. Your pillow would have to do for now though.

But it’s not enough, an hour passes by, and you are still restless, trying to sleep. You sigh and sit up, its useless to keep doing this, you pick up your phone and look through your texts, she still hasn’t seen your messages. ‘She must be really busy with the final show I guess.’, you conclude. You scroll through your various social media apps for the next hour or so before you receive a text back from her. You can’t stop smiling all of a sudden, her tour is over and that means she’s going to be back home soon. You don’t even bother seeing her text and just straight up facetime her. She doesn’t pick up. That’s a bit odd. You ring her again and this time she picks up, immediately you can tell that there is a lot going on, you hear lots of cheering and chatting and finally her face appears, and you feel your world light up, she looks really beautiful but also seems tired. “Hi”, Mina finally says with a small smile.

You bombard her with questions, and she does her silly little laugh as she updates you on some things that happened today and then explains she has to go and quickly ends the call. You feel a lot more at ease though despite the abrupt ending, after all her smile is all that you need, as you think about all the things she said, you drift off to sleep.

The next day you can’t stop feeling excited, Mina was going to be back home. You had made her some dessert and planned to order food from the favorite place, knowing she would be home soon. A few hours later she finally comes back, and you immediately jump at her, hugging her tightly unwilling to let go. It had been a month, a little more than a month even and now finally she was here again. She seemed a bit surprised by your sudden display of affection, but she did hug you back and let go after a moment, eager to come back into the house. You let her get changed and soon enough the two of you are on the sofa, cuddled up, ready to watch a movie when both of your stomachs growl and you realize you didn’t order food yet. You look for your phone but can’t find it and remember it was on your bed.

“You want the usual?”, you ask her, peeking through the doorway.

“Y-uh-yes!”, Mina answers hurriedly with a polite smile and puts her phone down. Odd. But anyway, the food arrives sometime later, and you both eat well. You hold her lovingly from behind and start to give her quick kisses but she pulls away looking…disappointed? You couldn’t tell, you hadn’t seen Mina like this before. “What?”, you ask confused by her lack of reciprocation.

“Nothing, I am just tired” she says, getting up, “I think I’ll go to bed”.

You give her a smile, but it did sting a bit to get turned down like that. But you give her a break, she’s been travelling a lot and her tour and everything, it does make sense that she’s a bit on the edge and just wants some rest. You finish the movie and head off to bed too about 30 minutes later only to find Mina wide awake, smiling happily while seemingly texting someone. “Baby, you aren’t asleep yet?”, you ask, offering her a small smile.

Mina suddenly looks up in a bit of panic like a deer staring at headlights, you hear the click of her phone as she shuts it down and just gives you an innocent look, but she might as well have stabbed you right there because you knew that look. That’s the look she has when she’s caught doing something doesn’t want you to know about. What was she trying to hide? Like, yes, granted, the last time it was your birthday present but that time all you felt was playful curiosity. This time you didn’t feel any time of playfulness or even curiosity, just dread. Your birthday was a couple months away so it’s not your present and your anniversary happened already so it’s not that either.

But you say nothing, you were being probably paranoid anyway. You get in bed and Mina shifts a bit towards you and you put your arm around her, your paranoia disappearing as you feel her skin and warmth and fall asleep with her.

The next couple of days went by smoothly, no more incidents and you were really beginning to think that you were just being extremely paranoid but for some reason your gut kept telling you otherwise. Today, you didn’t have work and were going to be extremely bored because Mina had to go for a meeting. You decide to play some video games to pass the time and in between rounds you notice Mina had put up a story but before you could see it the round started, and you focused on that instead. After the match you went to look for it, but it was gone…? Maybe something she posted by accident.

Anyway, the hours fly by and soon you hear the doorbell ring and it’s Mina, you open the door for her but before you can even smile, she just rushes past you, avoiding you. You are really taken aback by that, was she ok? You go behind her only to see she’s already in the shower. You feel panic building in your chest, something was wrong, you could feel it but what. You couldn’t tell what exactly was wrong, but you intended to find out, you think about how she just wouldn’t use her phone around you since she came back and decide that maybe the answer is on her phone and look for it. It was of no use, Mina had taken it with her in the bathroom.

But now you were certain that she was hiding something, she had to be, her sudden bursts of coldness, her lack of affection, her secretiveness and what she did just now. It was almost like she didn’t want you here, like she didn’t love you as much anymore.

You waited for her to shower, sitting in the living room, thinking what you should say to her when you hear the door open, she was finally out. But now that the moment of truth was awaiting, you couldn’t move, it felt like your feet were sinking into the floor, the air was heavy, and everything was just telling you to stop. You couldn’t move and then Mina came down to you, hugging you tightly, “Y/N im sorry. I feel like ive been a bit cold with you recently. I don’t know if you noticed that, I’ve just been tired and now my social battery was really low. I’ll try to do better now.”. Her words sounded reassuring, but you felt no sign of reassurance, instead you felt even more dread. Her words felt so hollow. You pulled away from her and she gave you a small smile. But why did that smile have no sign of happiness in it.

“Mina be honest with me.”, you say seriously. Why did she become so stiff upon hearing that. “Are you hiding something from me?”.

She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t meet your eyes and she takes a heavy breath like she’s trying to calm herself down, “Well no, I told you I was just stressed these-”, there’s a buzz on her phone and you both turn to look at it, its just a notification from some app but she quickly turns her phone away. Not because of the notification itself but because of what was behind it, her wallpaper, a picture of her with someone very familiar, someone who Mina previously admitted to having a crush on. Someone who she said wouldn’t ever be a problem between you both. She purses her lips nervously while you look at her in disbelief. Is that why she immediately kept her phone shut upon seeing you? Deep down you knew that wasn’t the entire truth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it. It just couldn’t be true, right? You didn’t do anything wrong. You loved more than you loved anyone ever, you cared for her, you did everything for her. So why…why did it feel like it wasn’t enough. Why did it feel like it was all for nothing. You feel tears building up and you look at her in pain and Mina finally decides to speak.

“Y/N listen, don’t cry, don’t be upset please. Just listen to me. It’s not what you…think.”, she didn’t sound very convincing, “Its nothing, you don’t have to worry about it. I still love you and care for you and don’t ever think otherwise. I hope it’s the same for you towards me too”.

“Why would it be different for either of us”, you ask shakily.

“It’s just…during one of our after parties, I-she may have kissed me”, Mina admitted, and you felt your heart break.

“Did she kiss you or did you kiss her?”, you ask, your fists clenched.

Mina kept quiet. “I don’t remember…”, she replies, looking away.

You couldn’t believe it, you try to stand up, but she stops you, “Y/N please, don’t be mad, it was a mistake, we were drunk, it didn’t mean anything”, She pleaded.

“Why should I believe you anymore”, you ask her, your voice breaking, and you begin to cry.

She tries to hug you, but you push her away, she wasn’t even trying to defend herself anymore. She just kept repeating that it meant nothing and was just a drunk thing to do but you didn’t believe her. And it looked like you were right for that because when Mina saw that she wasn’t convincing you her defensiveness stopped and she began to lash out. “FINE. Believe what you want. You don’t know what happened. And if it bothers you so much, maybe”, she hesitates, “Maybe we should take a break then. So you can clear your head”.

You nearly began to sob again upon hearing that, how could she say that. How could she keep on refusing to accept that she was wrong and keep making excuses. Did she not love you anymore? Did-did she love her more? Did it even matter anymore?

As you tormented yourself with these thoughts, Mina stormed off to the bedroom. You just wanted the world to stop, why was this happening. What did you do to get so much pain inflicted upon you. You heard the door to the entrance open, and then slam shut.

Did Mina really just leave? You get up weakly, another feeling of dread and even regret passing over your entire body as you search for her in the house and indeed, she had gone. She was serious about the break.

The two of you didn’t talk for the remainder of the day. It was only the next day that you received a text from her. It didn’t say much, only that you should take the week to think about it and if you saw sense as she put it, she would move back in or else it would be better for something to happen. She couldn’t even say it to you. But it didn’t matter to you anymore. Nothing did really. You feel like you just lost everything. She kissed her, she hid it from you, she wanted a break, she stormed off and she seemed to have stopped caring at all and even then, she couldn’t bring herself to say that she wanted to break up. Why. Why did she want to put that burden on you. To make it look like it would be your doing. What went wrong. What happened to the sweet girl you fell in love with. This wasn’t her, this couldn’t be her. The Mina you knew, the Mina you fell in love, where was she...

You didn’t get out of bed for hours, all you could do think. Finally, you decided to play some games to distract yourself. It had only been a few minutes, but you received a notification. You ignored it. Then you received a text and as you tried to keep playing your game to keep yourself distracted, you got yet another one. You didn’t even need to see it to know what it was, this was almost like a 6th sense for you. And upon checking it, it was what you expected…Mina posted another story with that girl again. The one who you didn’t have to worry about. The one who was just a friend. The one who had her heart. And of course, you felt shade thrown towards you. And that hurt so much. How? How come it’s so easy for her to move on. To find happiness. To forget…

You decide to check your texts too and to your surprise it was from her, “Can you make your mind already? Mina wants to move on but only if you agree. It’s kind of annoying really. Just forget about her at this point and back off. She’s mine”. You felt anger rise and your heart break once more, this just made it sound like a lot of what Mina said was a lie or just a half truth. Yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to tell Mina that it’s over.

The cruelty of love is so unforgiving and cold yet if she told you she loved you right now, you would take her back right away, knowing full well that it’s just a matter of time before she smashes the shattered pieces of your broken heart once again….

You decide that you need to talk to her, maybe give her one last chance, maybe she’ll see some sense, realize her mistake, and apologize. Afterall weren’t you her darling, weren’t you her other half? Shaking, you call her and surprisingly enough, she picks up almost instantly. “Hello…”, you greet her weakly.

“Y/N”, she says calmly, “I think…it’s best if we stop the break”.

“R-really?”, you say in shock, was Mina coming back?

“Yes. I think its best if we just break up instead. I feel like you’ve changed a lot recently and I don’t like it. Don’t stress about it too much. It’s not entirely your fault but yeah. I think it’s done. I’ll come to collect my stuff soon”, she announces without any regret. She waits for a few seconds for you to say something, but you were too stunned to speak. So, she just cut the call and left you there all alone once more.

You feel tears flow down your face and you fall back against the wall, crying. Why is doing your best not good enough? Why is your love not strong enough? Why is your heart not hers? You would do anything, anything to stop the two of you from falling apart. Even if it meant taking on the entire burden yourself. Even when she hurt you. You still loved her. All you wanted was for her to love you back the same way you loved her and she didn’t. She wouldn't even do that...

#angst april #ask me anything #answered asks #anon ask #twice #kpop gg #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #reader x idol #mina twice #myoui mina #Mina angst #twice scenarios #twice x reader #mina x reader #twice mina

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jaegeraether · 6 months

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 33)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (31) & Alexia Putellas x Character (5)

Masterlist (other parts here)

(Only a little piece of Alexia in here...)

((**Any theories on who Joe is, send me a DM xD**))

YFN woke around 8:30am, having a decent sleep after her long day. She’d slept the best she had done in a week, and the only explanation was the warm right-back who was now gone. It was a disappointing feeling, waking to feel her not there, yet was superseded by the feeling of peace and security that came with the conversation she’d had the night before with Lucy. Lucy. She’d be halfway to Barcelona by now. She rolled over and could still smell Lucy there as if she’d only left a few minutes ago. She must be so tired, she thought, hoping she’d be able to sleep on the plane.

She woke and had her shower, letting herself chuckle a little at Lucy’s blue toothbrush and made her way out to the kitchen to find a note from Lucy on the kitchen island.

Good morning, little one.

You have no idea how difficult it was to leave you in bed this morning.

I ordered breakfast for you for 9am. I hope I got the timing right and they don’t wake you up.

Have a great day, please; I know I will now that I’ve seen you.

Remember: I won’t have a phone until the end of today or tomorrow… and please also remember to cancel the company car.

PS: I love you, and don't worry, you were too tired to talk in your sleep last night.

Lucy x

God, that woman. She pulled the piece of paper to her chest and held it there, unable to contain her smile. She looked at the time. It was almost 9am. Lucy knew she only slept seven or eight hours a night and had, of course, timed it perfectly.

She checked her phone and the first thing she did was respond to Joe.

Joe: Which do you like best?

Joe had sent a few links to cars.

YFN: I’m sorry, Joe. Please disregard. No need for a car. Do you have time for a phone call this morning?

Joe: Copy that. I’ll call in ten.

She went back to her other messages and emails which mainly concerned the edits that her colleagues had done. One by one, she approved them to be posted to social media. This first round had been a test for many things, one being the editing following the collection of footage at the games. She’d expected there to be some need for notes or changes, but she didn’t find any. Joe really had chosen some talented individuals.

Lumos group chat: YFN: Morning all! First round was a success! Fantastic job, everyone. The footage we’ve collected is remarkable. I’m happy for all of these to be posted today. As for the interviews, I’ve reached out for players approval and will post them once I have them.

Again, fantastic work, and a reminder to ensure we’ve sent the personal videos and photos to the players for their own use.

Our goal for next round is to post real time recordings of the game, goals and significant events.

Any suggestions, feel free to let me know!

The group chat started responding eagerly as a knock came at the front door. YFN jumped until she realised it would be breakfast. She checked through the peep hole before she collected it.

Lucy had ordered her an acai bowl, juice, and more of the banana bread she’d loved from last night. She dug in, hoping Lucy had a chance to eat before training. Her phone started buzzing and she dropped her spoon to pick it up.

“Morning, Joe.”

“YFN! Good morning, how are you after yesterday? I imagine you slept well.”

“You’re not wrong there!” She laughed. “It took a lot more out of me than I realised, Joe! But on a positive note, I think it was a success.”

“I think you’re being a bit modest there! I’ve seen everything and I’m beyond impressed. Whatever you’ve done to prepare all week was excellent, just excellent! And your interview with the Arsenal and Man City players? Brilliant. I know it was thrown at you last minute, but I really liked the way it was more of a casual conversation than asking generic questions. It really brought out the characters of the players.”

“Oh, I agree. Even if I did have time to prep questions, I still would have let them talk about what they wanted and just steer them ever so gently within the lines we wanted. I’m also a big fan of interviewing multiple players at once. They bounce off of each other well, even if they are opposite teams.”

“I was going to mention that! It’s the first time opposition players have been interviewed after a match together, yes? I love the dynamic. As for the other footage… I want to scale this up already. Did you want to talk about extra people to cover more of the games?”

YFN could hear that Joe was excited and knew that she’d give her absolutely anything she wanted. But that’s not what this conversation was about.

“Actually, Joe, I wanted to talk to you about something else..”

“Fire away, anything you want.”

YFN explained her meeting Mark at the charity event, about the photographer with Mark at the game last night, and then how she was followed. There was a long period of silence at the other end until she sighed.

“I knew this would be an issue, I just hoped it wouldn’t happen until later on.” She admitted. “Firstly, they won’t hurt you. Think of them as paparazzi. Mark is competition of mine when it comes to business, and he uses his PIs to try and get controversial gossip to undermine my business and partnerships. Saying that, I’d really like to apologise to you for putting you in this situation. Like I said, I hoped we’d be much more established by the time they came after us.”

“That’s a relief to hear, Joe. I’m glad they’re just that and not lunatics. I’ve dealt with too many of those lately.”

“Yes, yes you have.”

YFN hesitated. There was still an unanswered question there. “Joe… what did Mark mean when he said you would bring controversy to the business if people knew you were involved?”

She knew it was a personal question, and fully expected her to respond by saying he was lying. But she didn’t, because she was Joe and she was an honest woman. YFN trusted her.

She gave another heavy sigh. “Okay… okay. I think you need to know. It’s going to be much easier to explain in person. Are you able to get on a flight to my house tonight?”

She wasn’t expecting that. She didn’t care where she lived, she would go. Half out of curiosity to meet the woman, and half for the mystery. “Of course. I can fly from London or Birmingham.”

“Okay, if you head back to Birmingham today, I’ll have my assistant send you flight details for a flight out of Birmingham tonight. You can stay with me a few days. This will be good to fully discuss our future plans together and lay bare my hand. I have to go into a meeting now, but I’ll see you tonight, YFN. Great work again!”

The call ended after their goodbyes and it just left YFN even more curious. She truly didn’t know the woman, and the next few days would certainly be interesting to say the least.

“Lucia.” The teasing voice came from behind.

Lucy turned around as Alexia wandered over to her at the stretching station.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Because I think your London trip went well, si?” Alexia held that teasing expression. She wasn’t wrong. Besides the long day and minimal sleep, she had been in the best mood she had been for days. Alexia stepped forwards and slapped her face lightly like a proud adult. “The grin is back.”

Lucy tried to get rid of it, but she just couldn’t. If anything, it got wider.

“Thank you for your help, I definitely feel a lot better.”

Alexia tilted her head, giving her a cheeky look that seemed to assume sex had made her this happy. Lucy rolled her eyes at that. They’d definitely gotten a lot closer in the past few days, having supported each other through their relationship issues. “It’s not what you think.”

Alexia’s expression said she didn’t believe her one bit. Her head stayed tilted, her expression cheeky and knowing, and her lips remained a more subtle version of the Cheshire cat.

Lucy laughed and shoved her lightly. “I promise! We just talked and sorted everything out.”

“You feel better?”

“Oh, yes. You get to meet her in six days when she comes to Barca.”

“I look forward to meeting her..”

It made Lucy happy to see Alexia smiling. “And how goes your woman?”

Her smile faltered a little. “We have training-”

“Don’t you back out now. You had a plan.”

“Si, si. But we need to train and the game is Saturday.”

“Saturday afternoon.” Lucy clarified. “So there’s no reason you can’t go on Friday night..”

Alexia thought on it for a few seconds.

“Alexia, Lucy!” Jonatan reminded, pointing to the mats.

They took the hint and began stretching themselves out, both starting with their bad knees. Lucy’s felt much better after YFN had massaged it the night before, and she swear she could have come just from the release of pressure and feel of her hands on her. If only they’d wandered further up-

She caught herself and made herself stop. She was at training. She looked at Alexia who was now rolling her calf and thinking still.

“Would you like me to come?”

Alexia turned to Lucy, surprised. They didn’t usually do things together like that unless they were in a group, but perhaps it was time for that to change.

“Okay,” she said after another few seconds of thought.

“We won’t get drunk or do anything stupid. We’ll just go and have a chat and dinner and see if she turns up.”

“She…might not.”

“And that’s more than okay. We’ll have a good little date out, regardless, yeah?”

“Okay, Lucia. But only if you tell your girlfriend so she doesn’t break her phone if she sees photos.”

Lucy gave a sheepish smile. “She’s a lot better with her emotions than I am.”

“She sounds perfect for you.”

“Are we talking about YFN?” Kiera asked as she walked over and joined in.

“Si.”

“I haven’t met her yet, but Leah says they’re pretty adorable together.”

“I’m right here.” Lucy reminded.

“I know.” Kiera said, giving a little head pat. “But it’s more fun to talk over you.”

Lucy appreciated their relationship and how there wasn’t any jealously, they truly did want the best for each other.

“Are we meeting her this weekend?”

“Who are we meeting this weekend?” Mapi asked as she and Ona joined their ever-extending stretching line. Lucy looked at Ona who seemed curious at their conversation. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her yet as she had arrived late, but she would. She made sure to give her a little smile, knowing it wouldn’t make up for how distant she’d been the past few days.

“Lucy’s girlfriend.”

Ona pouted. She wasn’t unaware of her because she must have seen Lucy’s posts on Instagram, but she still couldn’t help the look of disappointment on her face.

“She’s coming this weekend?” Mapi asked, completely unaware of Ona’s feelings next to her.

“Si,” Alexia said, sharing a look with Lucy that said she’d also noted Ona’s expression. Alexia changed the topic back to their strategies and training, a smart Captain manoeuvre around the previous topic.

YFN received her flight details not long after she’d finished her breakfast. Joe was definitely efficient. She was originally worried at her late flight time, 7pm, until she realised where it was to. Edinburgh. If she’d driven, it would have taken her over eight hours, so she appreciated the flight. Realising she had time to spare, she took her time to shower and pack up before messaging a few fellow Aussies about popping by.

Caitlin: See you soon, chicken! Warning: Kyra seems eager to see you. She’s in her annoying mood.

Erin Cuthbert: All good to pop by, bring snacks and Emma will fall in love with you.

Mackenzie: See you soon, I’ll let the girls know.

Caitlin had introduced YFN to Mackenzie Arnold, Captain of West Ham and goalkeeper of both West Ham and the Matildas during their dinner, and she hadn’t had a chance to see her play during the round so she figured she’d stop by to network and become more of a regular around the players.

She stopped by Chelsea first located south west of London at Cobham as it was the closest. Erin was right, Emma did appreciate the snacks, though she had to sneak some to the players when she wasn’t looking. She had a good catch up with the players and before that, she actually had a fantastic conversation with Emma Hayes. Emma was the manager for Chelsea, notorious for being hard, yet caring for her team. She was one of the best managers in the sport and had led the team to four consecutive WSL victories. When she spoke, it was slow but so excellently worded that everybody stopped to listen, including YFN even as they were alone on the sidelines.

“What you’re doing is so important for these players.” Her accent was rich and unapologetic. “I can’t say I’ve met Joe but I’ve heard of her, and she’s going to be the best thing to happen to this sport in a long time. If she’s chosen you to lead the way, then I know you must be excellent at what you do.”

YFN took the compliment with a smile. They’d been standing on the sidelines, Emma pointing out how they trained and worked strategies and weaknesses. It was all so interesting to her, and she assumed that Emma had appreciated her interest and questions from the compliment she’d just given her.

“I appreciate that, thank you Emma. You don’t think my lack of knowledge in the sport is a weakness?”

“Nah, not at all. I think that’s one of the reasons she chose you. You bring a new perspective. I saw the interviews you did with the other teams, Arsenal, United and such. They were a breath of fresh air to be fair. I’m sick of arguing with media.”

YFN chuckled. “Are they that bad?”

“Oh, sure. And just asking stuuupid fucking questions.”

Emma yelled advice at one of the players across the pitch who put their hand up in acknowledgement.

They spoke for a bit longer, really getting into some deep-seeded issues with media, and needed improvements for the womens game when one of the assistant coaches blew the whistle. Training break. Somehow, Emma had been so inspired by their conversation that she suggested YFN talk to the girls before they had a debrief. She obliged.

YFN had met most of the girls: Millie Bright, Erin Cuthbert, Hannah Hampton, Zecira Musovic, Jess Carter, Niamh Charles, Fran Kirby, Jess Fleming, the list goes on. She was actually quite surprised to see that she only hadn’t met a few of them. Emma gave her a lovely introduction and YFN made herself comfortable on a stool up the front as she dove into a conversation with the group about media and how to make them more comfortable. They had a lot of suggestions, even Emma looking impressed at their eagerness. They spoke for a good half an hour before YFN wrapped it up before it turned into too much banter and ate into Emma’s time. She’d written a lot of notes down and made sure to tell them to message her or come over for a chat at a game anytime.

With that, she took her leave for West Ham over at Chadwell Heath by 11am. Mackenzie was the first to greet her as they were on their lunch break. She was much taller than YFN who had to reach to the sky just to hug her, but she bent down for her.

“I’m used to it with this one!” She’d said, pointing to Kirsty Smith, her partner. Kirsty was Scottish and they’d been dating for over two years. Mackenzie had that sarcastic, Australian sense of humour YFN missed, though she was so soft around Kirsty. It made her think of Lucy.

They let her join for lunch, introducing her to the staff and players. YFN made sure to say hello to their manager, Rehanne Skinner for Emma just as she’d requested. There were only a handful of female managers in WSL, Emma had pointed out, and they supported each other. She also mentioned that Rehanne was a great manager, which was a big compliment from her.

The West Ham team seemed a lot more relaxed than the Chelsea environment, all with their own ambitions and goals. She was introduced around, having a good chat to the team and enjoying her catch up with the young Riko Ueki again who seemed excited to see her. Her most entertaining conversation, however, was with Hawa Cissoko who was a strong French and Malian defender, and notorious for her red cards. She was very vocal about racial abuse and asked YFN to bring awareness to it when possible.

YFN loved the dynamic of the West Ham team, there was such a mix of different nationalities and personalities and she especially appreciated Mackenzie and how she took care of them like a mother bird, especially the shyer players like Riko who was introverted and still a little shy speaking English at times. After joining them for their Subway lunch, and talking around the group for just over an hour, she was off to her final stop.

Her Arsenal girls were at the end of their training day, definitely slowing down and ready for the day to end. Kyra, however, was as young and eager as ever, especially when she saw YFN. Jonas drove YFN down to the field in a golf cart, dropping her off and she barely exited the vehicle when the young midfielder landed on her back, limbs wrapped around her like a spider. YFN was only small and barely managed to stay upright.

“I was told you’re in an annoying mood.”

“That’s rude.”

YFN laughed and hugged the limbs around her. “How are you, little sis?”

“Great! Can I ask you a favour before the girls get here?” She asked into her ear, her chin resting on her shoulder.

“Sure, mate.”

“At the game this weekend…can you ask for Courtney and I to be interviewed together?”

YFN paused. She hadn’t even thought about interviews yet.

She continued. “I don’t care if it’s in a group of us.”

“I can do just you two alone..” She offered. Thinking about it, it would be good to do a young player interview, and then a similar one with older players like Kim Little and Aileen Whelan.

“Can you?!” She squeaked and dropped off of her back as Katie jabbed her in the ribs.

“Chicken!” She was enveloped by the girls.

“Ew, you smell like Chelsea mate.” Caitlin said, scrunching up her nose fakely. YFN rolled her eyes.

“Calm down, mate.”

“We’re pretty much done with trainin’ today,” Katie said as she swung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her along as they began walking back towards the building. “I spoke to Kim and the girls are all keen for a chat.”

Although she didn’t have a favourite team, it was becoming more and more difficult not to as Arsenal had a lot of her heart. The players were all so free to be themselves, and she knew a lot of that was due to Kim and Katie who were the leadership within the team. They made sure it was a safe space and everyone could not only work hard but have fun also. Her chats with the group was more like a night out at town and she had to steer the conversation back to relevance a few more times than with the other teams that day. They all got along well, yet they all also had their little clicks that overlapped a lot. Beth and Viv. Beth, Jen and Steph. Katie and Caitlin. Caitlin, Steph and Kyra. Kyra and Alessia. Alessia and Katie. Alessia and Vic. She was caught unawares by Leah also being there, though she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Leah was already back up and running with the team, just not training fully yet. When she saw YFN, she came over for a polite hug and a few pleasantries. YFN could see she wanted to talk about Jordan, but they were too swamped by the eager girls wanting to talk to YFN about interviews, photos and such. She gave her an apologetic smile and made her way around the group for a few hours, or to be more precise, she sat in the same spot as the girls rotated through.

By 2pm she called it, saying goodbye to the team and collecting more than a few hugs on her way out. Her favourite though was the little head taps by Steph.

YFN was loading her work bag into the car when she heard a voice behind her.

“Do you think she’d be mad if I stopped by tonight?”

She turned around to see Leah looking like she needed some advice. “Do you two not have a day to catch up organised?”

“This Friday..”

YFN understood all too well why she didn’t want to wait any longer. “Leah… talk to her. Just talk. If Friday is too far away, then ask her for something sooner.”

“I don’t want to push her. Besides, you can be mediator tonight? That will ease tension a little.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re asking me. Well… I’m not sure if she’d be mad, however I won’t be there tonight.”

“Oh! Spain already?”

“No, Lucy was here last night. Edinburgh actually.”

Leah’s eyebrows shot up. “Lucy was here last night?!”

“Just for a few hours.”

“That’s why you look so happy.” She smirked.

“Don’t do that.” She laughed. “We just had a few things to sort out, as you know.”

“All sorted?”

She nodded. “Better than ever. I’m going to Barca on Friday.”

“What time are you flying out tonight?”

“7pm?”

“Okay… okay I can wait until Friday. I don’t want to mess this up.”

YFN gave her a supportive hug. “You won’t, Leah.”

YFN’S bag was packed for a few days, the peace lily Lucy had gifted her was watered, she’d cuddled with Blu and was just sitting down to an early dinner with Jordan as there came a knock at the door. They looked at each other confused. YFN shrugged and got up. She checked through the peep hole and sighed before opening the door.

“Turns out I can’t wait until Friday…” Leah said apologetically, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

YFN bit her lip, thinking, and then stepped to the side. She wondered what Jordan’s reaction would be. Leah stepped in slowly and YFN closed the door behind her, leading her to the dining table.

“Who was it?” Jordan asked and turned around, freezing on the spot. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that. Leah stood awkwardly with the flowers and YFN wanted to disappear.

“Uh…” Jordan struggled to find words.

YFN tried to break the tension. “Do you like ravioli, Leah?”

Leah nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay…I’ll get you a bowl.” She looked at Jordan and gestured to Leah as if to say ‘be nice’.

“They’re pretty.” Jordan said.

“They’re for you.”

Jordan stood and YFN watched as she walked over and took them from Leah, their fingers softly grazing over each other. Both reacted physically to it. “I’ll put them in water. Take a seat.”

Leah sat down as Jordan went to the kitchen to find a vase. “What’s she doing here?!”

“I don’t know.” YFN whispered back. “She said she couldn’t wait until Friday, remember?”

“What am I supposed to say?”

YFN looked at the clock. “We need to go in thirty minutes, can we just talk about football, then you two can do all the talking you want without me.”

Dinner was mainly talking about their days, and YFN’s experiences around the different clubs. It started off awkward, but definitely became a lot more casual. Like roommates having dinner. YFN didn’t realise, but Jordan appreciated her there for the awkward part. Now when she dropped her at the airport, they would have avoided most of that.

Leah helped Jordan clean up, working together at the sink to wash and dry as YFN collected her belongings for the airport. The car ride was funny, Leah in the back listening silently to Jordan telling YFN to be safe and message her if she needed anything. Jordan had been extra protective since hearing about Mark and his friend, as well as Kristie being a maniac as per usual. Leah hadn’t seen that side to Jordan much, and she listened with interest. They dropped her at the airport and YFN gave Jordan and apologetic look before she hugged her, whispering in her ear.

“She loves you, Dory. Just be patient and be honest with what you need, okay? I’m a phone call away.”

Jordan’s hug tightened, nodding into her shoulder.

“Also, if she doesn’t sleep in your bed, she’s more than welcome to sleep in mine.”

Jordan scoffed and pulled away with a grin, slapping her arm.

“What? You have needs.”

She turned to Leah and gave her a hug and Jordan jumped back into the drivers seat. “She’s just as nervous as you are, Leah. Communicate, okay?”

“Thanks, YFN. Fly safe.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ll definitely try.”

The flight was short, barely an hour, and unfortunately it was too dark to see Edinburgh as they descended through the clouds. YFN hadn’t known what to expect once she arrived, the only note in her flight details being ‘private car hire to meet at airport.’ She exited with her smaller carry-on suitcase and immediately saw the sign with her name on it. The driver looked professional in his suit and insisted on taking her luggage. He introduced himself as David and was a polite, middle-aged gentleman who guided her into the backseat of the dark Mercedes before taking his place in the driver’s seat.

“How long is the drive?”

“Just over an hour, ma’am.”

An hour?!

“Do you know Joe?”

“I do. I’ve worked with her for quite a few years now.”

“How would you describe her?”

“She’s a smart businesswoman. A great mother. A role-model. A creative genius. She’s kind and very well read.”

“Did she…tell you anything about me?”

“Oh, I know all about you, ma’am. It’s wonderful what you are doing together. My daughters are still young and love playing football. We need this exposure, so they have a better pathway and more incentive.”

He knew all about her? What they were doing?

“Do you know why I’m here?”

David paused. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Is there anything you can tell me before we get there?”

“That’s really not for me to say, ma’am. It will all make sense when we arrive.”

What was this big secret?

They spoke a little more during the drive, YFN a little tired as they passed the 9pm mark. Eventually they turned off of the bitumen road and onto a long gravel driveway. She watched as a large estate came into view, still very much lit up, the warm lights escaping through the many windows of the large stone building. If she had to describe it, she’d say it was almost gothic, though repurposed to suit an English ambiance.

David stopped at the front of the steps leading up to the entrance. He insisted that YFN go ahead, claiming he’d take her bag to her room for her.

She walked up the steps, not knowing what she was getting herself into and as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open. A man stood there, looking just as neat and tidy as David.

“YFN, lovely to meet you. Welcome. My name is Benjamin, and I’m the estate manager. Please come in.”

YFN smiled and introduced herself, entering and found her eyes were immediately wandering, looking up down, all around at the architecture of the place. Although an old building, it had modern refurbishments and she couldn't help but appreciate it, but also wonder at its cost. Where was she? Did Joe have some sort of link to royalty? Nothing else made sense. Until it did.

“You made it.” YFN turned to the voice she’d heard several times on the phone and whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Her mouth physically dropped.

It all made sense now. The company. The secrecy. The controversy. The fact that they’d never met before. Why she’d hired her, a writer, in the first place, of all people.

Holy shit. It can’t be.

170 notes · View notes

newtonsheffield · 3 months

Text

World no. 1 Kate Sharma doing an interview in her house in the lead up to Wimbledon where Anthony’s just moved in and of course that marks a year since she and Anthony sent everyone aflutter.

“Of course last year at Wimbledon you met your partner, Anthony Bridgerton.”

Kate smiled leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand. “Yeah I met Anthony. Let’s not talk about everything else that happened. Let’s stick to the good things.”

“It certainly ah… got people talking.”

Kate chuckled, “Yeah, people seem pretty curious about us though I have to say I didn’t think it’d be such a surprising decision to date him. We’ve all seen that little… shirtless ad campaign. He looks like that all the time.”

“You’re right people are curious and we thought we’d ask on our social media if anyone had a questions about the two of you. If you’re willing of course.”

“Did we approve these questions?” Lucy cut in from off camera.

“It’s fine.” Kate shrugged, leaning back.

“We reserve the right to decline each question,” Lucy cut in again, rolling her eyes at Kate who gestured for the interviewer to go on.

“This was a pretty popular question but a moving truck was spotted around this house recently. Any comment on that?”

Kate chuckled, “Yeah, Anthony moved in. I thought that was obvious when he wandered into the kitchen to make my dog a sausage and egg McMuffin.”

“Which of you is a coffee person, which of you is tea?”

Kate thought about it for a second, “I’m more of a tea person but I’m juice with breakfast. Anthony’s a coffee guy first up in the morning and tea any other time.”

“Are you guys nickname people? Pet names?”

Kate laughed, “I thought you guys already knew this answer. I saw you trying to lip read what I said to him at Roland Garros.”

“Were they close?”

“Some of them were pretty close, yeah.” Kate cleared her throat. “So I actually don’t know if he remembers this but I was the first of us to use a pet name. And we’ve never spoken about it, I don’t even know if he noticed. We were still sort of… finding our feet and I called him Babe. It just sort of happened. Now he calls me Babe. I call him Ant or Honey.”

“Honey?”

“Why not Honey?”

“It just seems a little… 60’s.”

Kate laughed, Shrugging. “Well he’s sweet. It seems to fit. That should make your lip reading a little easier in future.”

“Next question is: Does Anthony follow through on his little spoon energy?”

“Okay!” Lucy clapped her hands, interrupting the interview. “I think you should have everything! We’re excited about Wimbledon! Excited to get back to it!”

Kate leaned around her assistant, smirking at the bewildered interviewer, “He does occasionally, yes.”

#pumped up au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton

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theredofoctober · 7 months

Text

MANNA- CHAPTER SEVEN: LAMB

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the seventh chapter in the series

---

The kitchen is a quiet chaos— Hannibal standing over the hob, his beautiful hands precise at their work, Will slouched, sulking prettily against a countertop, looking into the bottom of a wine glass.

His temper billows about the room. It's a wonder anyone can breathe through such smoke.

You hover at an anxious distance, afflicted by delectable smells and the scar of what you’ve done. Shame beats, eviscerated, under the boards of you; you chose to taunt and then to touch Will Graham, a conscious participant in this play of a poisonous home.

If your hosts were to give you but a minute apart from them you’d chastise yourself for your abasement: three stiff, sweat-inducing planks, a lap of your room, a prison yard exhaustion.

But they keep you under their eye, knowing, like a child, you’d surely run to burn your hand on the stove.

“How do you want me to be around him?” you ask, as Hannibal tastes a truffle sauce with a look of indecision. “Your Agent Crawford. He doesn’t know about us, does he?”

“As I have assured you, it is between you, Will, and I,” Dr Lecter answers. “Therefore, as far as any visitor is concerned, you remain my patient. That is all.”

How easily you are expected to step from one evanescent role to the other. Should your tongue slip, you may damn him and Will both, yet you know Hannibal is without fear as surely as though you had your fingers to his wrist, timing the pulse of his slow calm.

“And what am I to Will today?” you ask.

“A ward, of sorts, for now.”

The word conjures images of chill cells, bed pans, wilful neglect. Something Victorian in its sensibilities.

“A ward,” you repeat. “Right.”

In the peripheries of vision Will sets down his glass with an icy clink.

“Are you intending to be civilised at dinner," he asks, "or do we have to prepare for another devolution into infantile behaviour?”

You’d expected Will to be smug, glutted from his fill, but your mouth upon him has only calcified his antagonism into some crueller compound, still. He does not like that he has taken pleasure from you, is in denial of it, a steadfast separation.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” you say. “I never know what’s going to happen. Usually I’m... not myself.”

Will folds his arms in an impassable cross.

“You’re not being medicated tonight. Your actions will be your responsibility.”

The prospect of sobriety has little power to cheer. You’d rather the drooling oblivion of a dose over the chess match of having to divine the correct answer and micro-expression to every aside.

Intuiting your distress, Hannibal says, “You'll be eating from a slightly different menu to the rest of the table. Light portions, with attention to your safe foods.”

In disbelief, you take stock of the simmering pans, their contents once the meat of your routine.

“My... my safe foods,” you repeat. “But I didn’t even tell you what they were.”

What should comfort holds the sinister weight of interred dead, so familiar as to be uncanny.

“I have observed your preferences,” says Dr Lecter. “Thus, I am able to accommodate.”

He offers you a spoon to taste, which you decline.

“You’re making it easier for me to stick to my old ways,” you point out. “That doesn’t seem right. What’s going on?”

“I’m allowing you space to devote your energy to an unexpected social situation. I know they are not your strong suit, and I wish you to be relaxed. It will benefit us all.”

There is no pretence here of pure intentions; you acknowledge the respect that has been awarded to you in the absence of a lie.

“Thank you,” you say. “Could you do this... more, please?”

“If you continue to fulfil your role satisfactorily, yes.”

Hannibal glances at Will, whose breath of harsh laughter pars the conversation like a shank, short and sharp.

“You remain against her, then.”

“I don’t see that she has any genuine interest in evolving,” says Will, as though you are not there. “Just a cuckoo in an empty nest.”

The phrasing catches like a coat on brambled hedgerow. Alert, you examine your younger captor, interpreting the set of his harsh look.

“What are you to each other, really?” you ask.

“Friends,” says Will, bluntly.

The speed with which he speaks betrays a not-quite lie, a sentence with a postluding clause.

“We are aesthetes of an uncommon kind,” Dr Lecter interjects, over a pearl string of steam. “It adds dimension to our relationship few will ever perceive. In time, I expect you will.”

The kitchen, though of minimal colour—greys, black, pure, clinical white—develops a peculiar warmth. There is invitation, here, open-armed acceptance into domesticity, and whatever midnight cabal weds these two men in their brotherhood.

“I don’t think you want me,” you say, as Hannibal rinses cutlery at the sink. “I’m not interesting. I don’t talk like you. I don’t really understand art, or books, or poetry. I’m not even smart.”

Will’s head turns, the sly incline an eel from a cave mouth.

“Hannibal tells me you were academic, once. What happened?”

Seldom do you care to recollect your school days, which were lived painfully, as a mute ghost at the back of the class.

Attempts to decipher screens and pages through tears that had fallen without sound, and were, thus, philosophically inexistent. Whispers passed down through seated rows. Meetings with teachers and welfare staff on seats of poster blue plastic, your foot shaken against scuffed tiles in soothing motion.

The books and television series you’d once absorbed with eager voracity were parched of their appeal, by then. Your only reading was the secretive message boards into which you’d recessed like a forest to band with others of your starving ilk.

Such memories, and others arise to you. Your grades you can less easily recall.

“I’m only good at one thing anymore,” you say, aloud. “And I’m not allowed to do it here.”

Hannibal begins stacking washed dishes back into the cupboard, undeterred by your ceaseless denial.

“We will not chastise you for your simplicity. The palate can be developed, after all.”

“And not just for the food,” says Will. “Though that would be a start.”

“What if I embarrass you in front of Jack?” you ask; you’re losing this argument, and continue it only to prolong your defeat.

“Jack isn’t easily embarrassed,” says Dr Lecter. “Besides, he has been adequately prepared. You may rest in your room before dinner, little one. Sleep can do wonders for the appetite.”

He walks you to the kitchen door with a subtle insistence— like Will, he yearns to be alone.

Mumbling thanks that border on sincere, you make your egress via the stairs, glad to leave the kitchen and its tiers of expectation in your wake.

Passing Hannibal’s room, you find the door stood ajar. Curiosity draws you in, then, not to the bed—a symbol of tragedy—but to the conjoined bathroom, it, too, unlocked.

It is larger than your own, though similarly tiled in ivory and obsidian; there is a bathtub elevated on ornate feet, a shower walled in opaque glass, a sink with toothbrush and paste arranged like trophies, each surface of a bleached, crystalline sheen.

On the floor lies a set of scales, an oblong of clearest glass.

You had known that he would have one in the house, a man so fastidious in hygiene and health. Standing flat against one wall, you tilt your head, listening for an approach on the stairs, a change in the direction of the voices beneath.

When you are convinced of your privacy you strip of every garment and stand upon the scales, your hands braced at your sides in anticipation.

Even before the numbers flash on the mite screen you know that you’ve gained weight, have felt the itching progress of it across your hips and stomach.

The figure, as you glance down, is far higher than anticipated. Were it not imperative to be silent, you would scream.

You settle to hit yourself, instead, closed-fisted blows into your temple, left to right; only your reflection in the bathroom mirror stays your hand, a corpulent rendering of flesh.

This image has always shifted, for you, between your mental interpretation and its reality. Now they are one and the same, and you will never forgive your kidnappers for having altered your sight, as well.

Whose eyes have they given you, to make out this monster? One each of their own— you close the lids, and see the red of meat in the darkness behind them.

Later, when you return, dressed and sleep-dulled, to wait for dinner, you practice such restraint over your emotion that the effect is a noiseless hysteria. Catching sight of your face in any polished surface reveals a sickly visage, eyes bright and excitable, the skin dull, as of the grave.

Will regards you with a default scepticism, venturing no word. Hannibal, instantly perceptive, takes hold of your face in his cool hands and looks into your eyes.

“Is there something the matter?” he asks, and there is glass under the suede of his soft voice, a cutting menace.

There is a rap upon the door, and Dr Lecter steps free of you to answer. He returns shortly, followed by a man you recognise from the news, broad shouldered in a casual suit. His hair is closely cut, a trimmed goatee on a face that would have been handsome, in youth, and is presently so, though worn between the brows from the stress of his work.

“Good to see you, Will,” says Jack, shaking the younger man’s hand and pulling him into a half embrace. “You look well. Been taking care of yourself, I hope.”

Will smiles. His face is briefly pleasant, the dour mouth creasing at the corners.

“As well as I can,” he says. “The dogs keep me active.”

“Nice to hear you’re still running with the pack,” Jack replies. “How are the little rascals?”

You wait for the smalltalk to end, filing away what information sifts through that may be of note.

At last Jack turns to you, taking your hand lightly in his.

“So I finally get to meet you. Hannibal’s told me all about you, you know.”

A falsified minimum, you think.

Aloud, you ask, “He has?”

“Just enough,” says Dr Lecter. “Now, I must be temporarily rude and make myself scarce; I have unfinished work awaiting me in the kitchen.”

Jack releases your hand.

“Point taken,” he says. “Let's move this conversation to the dinner table, shall we?”

To your relief, once all are seated Jack manoeuvres the subject tactfully away to other things. The men speak of the weather—"I don’t care what anybody says; we don’t need that much rain this side of the Great Flood"—Jack’s wife—who is mortally ill, and immeasurably loved—and of mutual friends, whose names and various details you struggle to map in your ignorance of their world.

You eat with little attention to what crosses your lips; the day, in that aspect, is spoiled, and you cast it from you like a fruit’s rotten core.

Though Jack and Hannibal both attempt to include you in the chatter at points, you do not care to. There is the feeling of being presented to Jack like a shrewdly bargained for article of rare furniture; any comment from you is performance for these men to digest and enjoy, as they do all at this table.

It is Dr Lecter, however, that successfully extracts your opinion on a topic of his choosing. With an ingenuity that renders the shift in topic almost organic, he addresses his colleagues on the matter of their latest case.

“Surely our man will be on the move again,” he says, lifting a shred of lamb to his lips. “He may already be grooming his next subject.”

“He is,” says Will, flatly. “I’ve spent enough time thinking like him to know his heartbreak over losing the last one won’t last long.”

Jack raises his eyebrows, turning from one man to the other with a look that suggests he is almost as nonplussed by their union as you are.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to discuss this in front of your patient, Dr Lecter? The details of this case are particularly disturbing, as you already know. Will showed you photographs from the crime scene.”

“Indeed he did,” says Hannibal. “I will not easily forget it. However, as long as my guest resides under my roof I believe it’s only fair that she is involved in general discussion. Confidential matters of the case will, of course, be between us. But anything that is public knowledge I believe she has the right to know.”

“Fodder for Tattle Crime, you mean,” Will interjects, stabbing at his meal with spiteful vigour. “Freddie Lounds has covered these particular murders with a lurid relish. You’re aware that she’s already named the killer?"

Jack chuckles.

“'The Silicone Lover,'” he says. “It certainly lacks poetry in comparison to some of the others that are being thrown around, but it’s got that Lounds touch. It’s catchy, I’ll give her that.”

You drop your fork upon your plate with a jarring clash of steel and porcelain. Hannibal’s face stills in subtle displeasure, and you make a cringing gesture of apology, your mouth puckered at one corner.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” you say, “but... I remember reading about that case. I’ve always been kind of interested in true crime. I don’t know why. Books, documentaries, all that stuff; I’ve seen them all. But this killer— he’s in my city. Everybody’s been talking about it.”

It’s the most conversation you’ve volunteered all evening, and you sense the interest of your fellow guests open to you like a late bloom.

“I hope you’ve been taking precautions, young lady,” says Jack, bringing his knife to a pat of oozing meat until his plate is a bloody eclipse. “You’re aware you fit the profile of his victims.”

You stutter out an uncomfortable laugh.

“I... I don’t go out much. So I’ve been okay.”

Even before your captivity you’d been a recluse, dissuaded from venturing outdoors by an aversion to being perceived. Short, rushed jaunts to the store had been the sum of your travels, and it occurs to you now that you should have savoured the world beyond the house: the grumbling traffic, the turned dirt scent of rain, all of it, everything. The beautiful mundane.

“Staying indoors won’t keep the Silicone Lover from making you his paramour,” says Will, shortly, one arm flung in a mode of disdain across the back of his chair. “His targets always let him into their homes willingly, and there are no defensive wounds, suggesting he makes himself known to his victims some time before he abducts them. He always gets close enough to either drug or hit them over the head without suspicion.”

“I know,” you say. “I’ve read Tattle Crime, too.”

Will sneers.

“Of course you have. She’s a provocateur. Just your type.”

“Tell us what you know of this case, then,” Hannibal says to you, smoothly diffusing the tension. “Perhaps we will benefit from a fresh perspective, especially from an individual so closely fitting the profile of those unfortunate victims.”

He looks at Agent Crawford, seeking an unspoken permission.

“Go ahead,” says Jack. “As long as you feel up to it, that is.”

His voice softens as he speaks to you, and you think of his wife, folding slowly into the ravening void of cancer. This is a man who understands illness, and has a sensitivity for it; it comforts you, to have him here, obscured though his view of his friends.

Offering Jack a shy smile, you say, “I’ll be alright. It’s just that I don’t want to put anyone off their food.”

There is laughter around the table; even Will smirks, though the expression falls as he catches you looking. You wonder again at his distaste for you, surmising with a coolly adult rationality that he is jealous of you having come between him and his mentor.

“Well?” says Will, with the rudeness of a spoiled prince. “What’s the Lover’s modus operandi?”

You catch Jack’s dark eyes squinting a fraction, and though he says nothing you rally at the knowledge that he has not entirely succumbed to Will and Hannibal’s spell.

“The dead girls are always found in rivers around the city,” you say, “sealed inside hollowed out rubber dolls. You know the kind I mean. The killer cuts open the dolls and mutilates the women to fit them inside, then seals them back up again. Keeps them in there till they suffocate, or starve to death.

Some of the women die within hours, others a few days. They must be so scared, in so much pain. But obviously that’s what he wants. Every three months or so he does it all over again.”

“Meaning we don’t have long before he takes a seventh lover,” says Will. “Fortunately for you, staying here will protect you, to an extent. You’re too far out of the killer’s hunting range for him to take an interest.”

“Can’t keep the princess locked up in her tower forever,” says Jack, cleaning his hands on a napkin. “We'd better hurry up and catch him. Now, if you’ll all excuse me—”

He rises from his seat; a bathroom visit, you realise, and an opening to speak to him alone.

Thinking quickly, you reach for your water glass and dash it across your lap. Your hand is shaking enough for the accident to seem convincing.

Both remaining men glance up from the table, startled. Will all but rolls his eyes.

“Sorry,” you say, in a grovelling squeak. “I’ll go and change, if that’s alright.”

Dr Lecter, as always, is crisply polite.

“You may go. But hurry. Our guest will expect you to return.”

For once, Will makes no comment, only returns to his food with the reverence of accepting the wafer at communion.

You pad along the corridor towards the downstairs bathroom, waiting for Jack to emerge. From what you know of Hannibal’s close relationship with the police you cannot rest your hopes of escape entirely on Agent Crawford, but you have seen the occasional teeter of trust, the unspoken perplexity with which he regards the dynamics of the household.

You may yet sway his sympathies, if you are careful. Still, you are so certain of failure that you tremble with mirth, like a drunk.

Jack steps out of the bathroom, stopping short as he notices you wincing in the shadows.

“Hey, there. Are you alright? You look a little green around the gills.”

“Agent Crawford,” you say, in a half-whisper. “I was wondering if you could help me. You know Will and Hannibal pretty well, right?”

“It’s Jack when I’m not working. And, uh, reasonably so, I’d say. Is something wrong?”

You pause, labouring over your response. To imply your wardens are the enemy will surely strike Jack as too outlandish, the mumblings of the mad.

“This treatment isn’t right for me,” you say, rather weakly. “It’s too much, and I don’t think they’re really listening to me. I miss my parents, my own room. I’m suffocating here. I was wondering if you could talk to Will and Dr Lecter. Encourage them to let me go home.”

Jack’s dark eyes soften, and he stoops slightly over you, as he might in order to speak to a small child.

“Dr Lecter told me you might ask me that. The road you’re on is a tough one, young lady, but you’ve got to stick it out. Not just for yourself, but for everybody who cares about you. Besides, I’m pretty damn sure Will and Hannibal would be disappointed to see you go home so soon.”

You turn your head into your shoulder, your neck caught in a miserable spasm.

“Will doesn’t like me at all.”

“That’s just the way he is. Prickly with just about everyone he encounters. Imagine the strain on me, having to keep him in line.”

You do laugh, then, and Jack flashes you a gap-toothed grin.

“He’ll warm up to you. Though to be honest, I don’t know why Hannibal’s getting Will involved in all this when he already has enough on his plate. Between work and those episodes of his, I don’t know if he ought to take on too many other responsibilities. But I guess Dr Lecter knows what he’s doing.”

Episodes?

You’d noticed Will’s fits of illness, a certain fragility; to hear it confirmed is a gold coin in your hand to spend in the future to come.

“I’m going to head back to the table,” says Jack. “Let’s give all this a little more time. If it doesn’t work over the next couple of months I might put a word in for you, suggest therapy sessions over inpatient treatment. But I can’t push it, kid. You’re not my patient. I can’t overstep the line, here. But I’m on your side. You keep up what you’re doing, alright?”

He leaves you there, knuckling tears from your eyes. Regretting that you hadn’t spoken the truth, in all its risk.

You go to your room, meaning only to dress. In the end you cannot resist returning to Hannibal’s scales on the way back, called by a manic self-flagellating urge to know much further weight you’ve gained from the meal.

You are not free, will never be free, are worth nothing but numbers. They've become all you are.

It’s as you’re stepping, naked, stupid with despair onto the scale that you hear a voice behind you.

“You must learn to restrain these impulses, little one.”

You turn so sharply that something strains in your neck again. Your hands strive to cover your nakedness. A futility, considering what he has seen, that he has fucked you.

“I assume that you have also spoken to Jack Crawford,” says Hannibal. “Pleading your case to be released. How naughty you have been.”

How handsome he looks, almost young, in the tasteful bathroom light. There is something like death in his sudden beauty, a void coldness.

Terror, a stake of ice from throat to cunt.

He means to kill you, if not now, then soon.

You know of only one way he might forgive so many missteps. Another course: you eat your pride.

“I didn’t mean to, Daddy,” you say. “Please don’t tell Will.”

You lower your arms, forging a sword of your vulnerability. Hannibal glances down only once, and with more amusement, then, than thirst.

“He will never know,” he says. “If you come to my room tonight. There is a lesson you must learn. It cannot wait.”

There is a tension about the residence of waiting, after Will and Jack have gone, the dry-mouthed breath before the silver lipped drop of the guillotine.

There is motion about the house, yet you feel rather than hear it; Hannibal has a way of carrying his physicality that seems to possess no weight at all. Ghoulish, his haunting of the rooms below as you sit on his bed, to await him.

You arrange yourself on the dark sheets in sacrificial mode, so ill with fear that it seems all your organs are in torsion, a helix of flesh from chest to womb.

It strikes you that you’d lain so, once, a night your father's friend, Leland Frost, had stumbled the many stairs to your room, beer the umber of his breath as he’d kissed you goodnight.

You had let him touch you, then, as you will let the devil touch you, now. As a child, as an adult, you are absolved: animals must eat, and their prey bear no fault when the hand of God steers them in the direction of hunger.

Hannibal ascends the stairs, each footfall making you jump. Stiff-backed, you turn to a sleek alarm clock on the bedside table, vowing to fix your eyes to its sympathetic face until the hour is done.

A name—yours—blackens your ear, a knell of things more wicked than death.

“Little one,” says Hannibal. “I will not hurt you. This lesson involves no corporal punishment.”

You sit up slightly, slippery in grey silk pyjamas, of whose cost you dare not think.

“Not the lights,” you say, hastily. “Or that metronome thing. I hated it.”

Dr Lecter removes his jacket, socks, and shoes, the quiet process of putting them away a careful rite, his prayer unspoken.

“To begin with,” he says, “I’d like to ask you some questions about your personal habits.”

He speaks delicately, but with an undertone of velvet sensuality that delivers you into fear you cannot resist.

“How often do you pleasure yourself, little one?”

“I don't,” you say.

The words form with such stumbling velocity that you cringe at your own lie.

Hannibal looks down at you with a sort of sorrow.

“If that is your response, then I must teach you.”

“No! I mean, don’t. I’m sorry. I do... do that. But it’s embarrassing to talk about it. I don’t want to.”

“I’m afraid you must. To be a fully-fledged adult it is important to embrace all facets of yourself, including sexuality. So, please address my question.”

Hannibal steps towards the bed, not with threat, but to pursue the lost treasure of your secret.

“Twice a week, maybe,” you admit. “At night.”

“How do you masturbate?”

You’d never expected the world from Dr Lecter. He speaks it factually, without humour, priestly severe.

“With my hands,” you say. “My fingers.”

You’d been too embarrassed to order toys to the house, which still you share with your family, the humiliation of an accidentally opened box an unimaginable discomfort.

“What do you think about as you climax, little one?” asks Hannibal, a question worse still than those before it in the nature of your answer.

You’d watch videos, often violent, peruse literature online which you hastily erased from your history, afterwards. It almost seems you beckoned in this abuse, through your interests, aroused only by cruelty, and the dark.

“I don’t know,” you say. “Different things. Nothing specific.”

Hannibal takes another step towards the bed.

“Answer again.”

Tears char your vision into soot.

“I hate you,” you say, fiercely. “More than I hate Will.”

“Because I cannot be moved in my resolve, as he can,” says Hannibal. “Will is suggestible, to an extent, whereas I am sure in my standing. It sears your ego to obey a man so entirely.”

He pads, barefoot, in a half circle around the bed, a panther uncaged.

“So,” says Dr Lecter. “Speak. What do you think of when you touch yourself?”

You open your mouth, and find yourself mute, truly incapable of speech.

Hannibal seems to understand this, however, for he does not insist again.

“Undress for me. I would like to see you demonstrate.”

Your head swings in a rattling ‘no’.

“Very well. I will attempt it.”

Again you shake your head, and in cumbersome, unlovely motions you struggle out of the pyjamas, ashamed of how clumsy you appear before him.

Naked, you sit up on your knees, covering yourself with your arms as best you can.

“Legs apart, please,” says Hannibal. “Then do as you normally would. I will merely watch.”

He reclines in one of the chairs in the room, his eyes like foreign seas, reflecting the night.

Scalded with humiliation, you bring your fingertips between your thighs and stroke in looping circles. The skin there is parched, unresponsive, unyielding; to be watched in such intimacy takes the pleasure from the act, which has always been in realms of secret sin.

“I can’t do it, Hannibal,” you say. “Nothing’s happening. I don’t feel good.”

It is the only time you’ve used his first name to his face, a trespass into familiarity you do not share.

“Is it because you don’t have access to the usual stimulating material?” he asks, ignoring your blunder.

You snap your knees shut upon your hands.

“I don’t use any.”

Hannibal takes your calves in his hands, a grip which might break.

“I know that you do. When I accepted you as my patient I made a point to visit your house, when no one was home. Your room was as I expected it to be. Juvenile, and stale aired from many days spent there alone. Your laptop was open. It wasn’t difficult to breach. Your password was the title of a book on your shelf.”

Wintergirls. Laurie Halse Anderson had been a staple of your literary youth, and it had never occurred to you that anyone might guess it.

“You didn’t clear your history as thoroughly as you believed,” says Hannibal. “I was intrigued by what I found there.”

You do not resist as he opens your legs, so limp are you in your horror.

“I— what you saw— it doesn’t mean I want this. It’s not the same.”

Hannibal blinks slowly.

“No. I would be uninterested if it was.”

He sits upright again, folding his hands in his lap. How pure they look, a harpsichordist’s tools, an illustrator’s. Evil, beautiful things.

“Begin again,” says Hannibal. “Think of Will and I. What we have done to you. Our touch. Our words. The imposition of power. The ineludible fact of your belonging to us.”

Femoral heat. Your core rings crimson bronze, and your fingers follow its kulning. You want to stop, but Hannibal’s voice alone is a hypnosis, effective even without the ticking and the lights.

“Imagine Will’s hand across your cheek. Around your throat. Envision my own.”

You make some noise, not quite a moan.

Dr Lecter lowers himself down until his breath mists your cunt, and the sensation has you writhing beneath it, maddened by the ephemeral touch of air, and needing it to finish.

He looks up, and his eyes are a reveller’s, a satyr of ancient land.

“How sweet you must taste. I have prepared your meals specifically to assure that you do.”

Your hand cycles in motion, compelled by his mystical art.

Hannibal remains over you, too close, at too great a distance.

“Stop,” he says. “That is enough.”

You are so close that the command is more craven in its dealings than Will’s palm across your face.

Your breaths are the sunken heat of a pagan sun. You burn and burn.

“Why should I give you what is so unwanted?” asks Hannibal, and pauses, as though you might beg.

Speech is inconceivable to your mind, as it is now, a concept like the colour of dying. You only sit with the head of a God between your legs, forced to such a brink that your weakness rides through you like a drug.

Eyes of night pleasure, of deathly ritual—

He laps your cunt for scarcely half a minute before you career over your edge, stacked orgasms that render you sightless with their power. You arc from the bed like an antler, a horn cry blown through your soul.

The pleasure is a stellar whiteness. You writhe up towards his tongue like a wave.

“Poor girl,” says Hannibal, as you lie piteously beneath him. “You can do nothing without me. Even this.”

#manna fic #ao3 writer #dark fic #dark!fic #hannibal fic #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter #yandere hannibal lecter #yandere will graham #will graham #will graham x reader #noncon fic #tw noncon #tw eating disorders

148 notes · View notes

a-stupidbisexual · 6 days

Text

Teenage Dirtbag babyy !! - F2/3/F1 academy grid

my first smau - please be kind I’m new with the tools

Y/N x Paul Aron - Ollie Bearman x Andrea Kimi Antonelli - Abbi Pulling x Doriane Pin

Later - 3 am

Yourusername

Yourusername I’m just a teenage dirtbag babyyy

tagged : paularon_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, racerbia and 6 others

User1 young drivers on social media are a blessing

User2 WAIT IS THAT OLLIE AND KIMI ?!!

User3 AND DORIANNE AND ABBI ?!!

maxverstappen1 stop posting on social media and answer our calls

User4 oh to be a part of that friend group …

Racerbia

Racerbia never let Y/N plan the hangout

tagged : yourusername, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, paularon_ and 6 others

Yourusername hey !!! It was amazing !

User6 AFTER BEARNELLI AND PINING WE GOT PAULY/N ?!!!

Arvid.lindblad actually the best hangout of my life

Yourusername finally who someone likes my hangout plan

Landonorris wait until tomorrow morning

The next day

Sunlight was already picking through the curtains when Y/N woke up. Her head was hurting, like someone was hitting it from inside. She tried to get herself up, but some weight was keeping her pinned against the mattress. She turned her head and saw a blond head she knew too well. Sure, her and Paul were big on physical touch but sleeping like this never happened. She carefully shifted to see the room without letting go of Paul’s embrace.

Y/N observed the room and the people in it. She could recognize Kimi and Ollie on the couch opposed to her, the older spooning the other. She had a moment of confusion, but she knew Kimi and Ollie had always been big on PDA even as friends. She kept looking around, checking if all her friends did make it back to the apartment. Arvid, Dino, Maya and Bianca were all sleeping on the floor with some blanket resting on them. And on the armchair, you could find Abbi and Dorianne literally glued to each other, managing to fit in the tight chair. Y/N tried to get up to go eat something but all the moving and shifting in Paul’s arm woke him up.

“Hi princess!” he said with the sleepiest voice ever.

“Hi baby!” she responded, hugging him tighter.

Then she got up, after spending a few minutes convincing Paul to let her go. Y/N walked to the kitchen, open the door and faced Charles, Max, Oscar and Lewis. She brutally closed the door before reopening it. “Good morning, everybody!”

“Good afternoon actually!” Charles pointing the clock on the wall. He was right, it was indeed way past noon. 3pm actually.

“So, what’s the reason for the visit?” said Y/N trying to act cool in front of her 4 grid-dad.

“Humm…You don’t remember last night, do you?” Oscar asked.

“Euuh no …?” She responded.

“Well, we have a little explanation to do when everyone wakes up” Oscar sighed.

Max stood up and entered the living room to shout, “EVERYONE WAKES UP NOW!” The mass of teen made a groaning sound, some of them complaining about their head. There was also some confusion like Abbi and Dorianne who were looking at each other, not understanding the how and why they were like this. Same for Kimi and Ollie. After a couple minutes, the other older driver entered the room and told everyone to sit and listen to them.

“You kids are fucking mental; you should definitely know that! Before we start scolding each of you, do you actually remember what happened yesterday?” Charles was endorsing his role as the principal grid-dad of those kids.

“I remember that we met up here, we drank maybe one or two beers then we went to the bar.” said Kimi, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, and Y/N picked up a worksite cone and put it on her head.” Gaby completed.

“I remember something about Ollie and Kimi, and Abbi and Dorianne, like they kissed or something like that” Arvid said earning some weird looks from the four.

Bianca finished their story and added “I remember Y/N got stuck on a tree, we called Oscar to help but Paul got her back before he arrived.”

“Well we have a base to work on” Max said pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s actually not that bad, I thought they would black out like completely.” said Lewis.

“So kids, you all got wasted at the bar and started doing random shit, like sitting on rooftops, stealing shopping carts, scooters and you also did some private things, you should check your insta especially Bianca and Y/N” Charles resumed the whole night and let all the teens check on their insta and realized all the things they did while he decided with the others grid-dads to post something to try to peace the situation.

Charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 2 others

Charles_leclerc why did we have to adopt that many teens?

Tagged yourusername, paularon_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 7 others

Olliebearman we’re sorry dad 😖🥺

Yourusername speak for yourself

User8 the dads regretting their choice 🤣😭

Paularon_ it hurts but it was amazing

User7 The Bearnelli and PaulY/N pic 🥹

Dinobeganovic_ never let me have alcohol ever again

Maya_weug same

Gabrieleminiofficial same

____

well that's it ! I'm kinda proud of this, i hope you're gonna love this as much as me ! byye :)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Up All Night 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, narcissim, probably name calling and nasty words, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (older!reader)

Note: I wasn't serious about this but now I were. Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You rub your cheek as you check the time in the corner of the screen. You should’ve been gone an hour ago, you should have your bottle of shiraz and your episode of housewives to keep you company. You don’t know why you expected that, nothing ever goes to schedule, not with your boss.

You sigh at his empty office. You haven’t seen him for two days. He has an automatic reply that he’s ‘working remotely’. You know Mr. Drysdale well enough. He doesn’t work outside the office, he barely does anything at the office.

You go back to the PDF, your red notes in the margin of the manuscript. Big meeting tomorrow. Hopefully your boss got that message. You can only imagine what would happen if a publishing house missed their introductory conference with a major writer. That could mean thousands, if not millions, in losses. Somehow, you suspect you won’t have to imagine.

You finish the chapter and press your finger to your phone. It lights up but you don’t have anything more than the several reminders you set for yourself and automated notifications from apps you never use. Drysdale…

His last name rolls from your throat without meaning too. Something about him just irks you to the bone. Maybe it’s envy, or at very least, resent. You’ve worked all these years in the publishing business to become an assistant, all while he was born into his editor’s chair.

Another bubble pops up. You’re not the social media type. You never got much into it. Your generation came a bit too early for that, but you’ve found with men like Drysdale, narcissists really, it is a great tool.

You tap the notification and it opens the story. There he is, taking a shot with a pair of statuesque twins. Not the best look for an editor, on that night, of all nights.

You clamp your lips shut and flare your nostrils. Right. You close your laptop as you see Eugene making his sweep. Once security pops up, you know you’ve got to go. You pack up your things and say hello to the man in the blue uniform on your way out. He knows you by name too.

You shift your glasses on your nose, the little rubber pieces starting to squeeze your bridge. You come out the front of the building and make your way to the only car left in the lot. You throw your bag in the back and drop into the front seat.

No wine for you. You’ll have to stream the episode when it comes out on Prime. You set a new alarm for the morning, early enough for you to make sure Mr. Drysdale meets his obligations.

📗

As expected, you don’t have a single call from Drysdale. You’ve left several messages since your alarm blared and broke through your four hours of sleep. You see his last activity on Insta from three in the morning and you want to throttle your own phone. This isn’t good.

You have only enough time to get yourself ready. Your morning routine of a perfectly portioned breakfast and precisely brewed dark roast is nixed. You get in your car with coffee in a travel mug. You have only one thing on your mind.

As you draw up the long drive to the ultra-modern facade, the revulsion courses from your stomach into your throat. There’s something about his style that makes your eyes roll. So obnoxious and absurd. He’s exactly a caricature of a silver-spooned brat.

You park behind the beamer and take a draw from your insulated mug. Ugh, you need caffeine, you need strength and patience. You put it back in the cupholder and force yourself out of the peace of the front seat.

You stride up the white stone walkway and hit the doorbell. Once. Twice. Five times before you admit you will not receive an answer. You bring up the emergency file in your phone and key in the door code. Drysdale would shit if he knew his mother sent you it but she is a lot smarter than him. It makes you wonder how the apple rolled so far away after falling.

You let yourself in. It’s quiet but for the catch and skip of a forgotten record. You go into the front room. Open bottles of liquor forgotten on the glass table, a broken glass on the floor, and the record player crackling through the speaker.

You pull the needle off and pause to look out through the transparent wall that gives a clear view of the entire room. You know Drysdale to be shameless but really?

You put your phone away and approach the stares. The large gap between each gives a sense of vertigo to your ascent. You get to the top and head down the hall, glancing down over the entryway as you do.

You carry on and open a door; closet. The next, a bathroom, the other, a bedroom but not used. And finally, you find the door you’re looking for. On the other side, Mr. Drysdale sleeps with his ass naked in the room, upside down on the bed with his head hanging off the foot. The same woman from his Instagram are entwined with him as they sleep the right side up. Ugh, you don’t want to picture it.

You go into the en suite bathroom and take the sleek black plastic cup from beside the sink. You fill it with cold water and unhook the amber satin robe from the door as you pass. You march to the bed and dump the water onto Ransom’s head, watching it splash down his back.

He yipes and whips his head up with an unattractive snort, “what the fuck–”

“Robert Laing is due at nine. It’s ten to eight.” You drop the robe over him carelessly and spin on your heel, “let’s go., Mr. Drysdale.”

#ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #drabble #au #up all night #series #the club #knives out

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