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angelaiswriting · 2 years

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Stage Love | Park Joong-gil

✏️ Pairing: (kind of eventual?) Park Joong-gil x fem!reader (mentions of fwb!Lim Ryung-gu x fem!reader, mentions of past Park Joong-gil x Koo Ryeon)

✏️ Summary: it’s supposed to be just work, but what happens when you actually start falling for the Park Joong-gil?

✏️ A/N: this is what happens when @kind-wolf goes on a tangent with some random AU and I dish out The Sex 😂 I also hope this drama actually has a fandom :’) (I also did go on a tangent with this, so it’ll have a part two hopefully soon.)

✏️ Content Warnings: modern!AU, singer!AU + fluff (I guess), slowburn, and smut, so 18+ only. Fwb stuff, fingering f/r, oral m/r and f/r, dry-humping, female masturbation, alcohol, food ? PJG is one sexy mf and everyone falls for him. [If I missed anything, just lmk.]

✏️ Word Count: 21k

✏️ Extra: I actually saw this on IG a few days ago and thought it’d fit well with this fic. Worth checking out imo 👀

PART ONE >> part two | part three

The surge of post-performance adrenaline is still rushing through your veins when you plop down onto the back seat of Joong-gil’s van. All the dancing on stage, rubbing into him in some parts of the choreography, the flashing lights, the audience – it all has you wired and buzzing, ready to take on anything the rest of the night might throw your way.

What’s even better, your manager has given you the night off to celebrate the foreseen (albeit still unbelievable) success of your new collab stage with one of the most wanted solo singers of Korea’s music scene, and his manager is currently standing outside the car, getting the last recommendations before you’re off for the night.

“You did well tonight,” Park Joong-gil says, sliding in and sitting down next to you.

He’s already making quick work of buckling his seatbelt when you correct, “we did well,” with a grin on your face. Despite the subtle scent of the still-lingering petrichor, you’re still so wired that your body doesn’t even register the chilly air blowing into the van in the few seconds it takes your fellow artist to pull the door closed. “I mean, after all these months I knew tonight’s performance would be awesome, but I wasn’t expecting for the fans to love it so much!” You’re pumped, barely able to put one thought after the other as you grin up at him.

Next to you, he chuckles low under his breath. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

You don’t even have the chance to see him miraculously half-smile: you’re bowing your head and waving goodbye to your manager, the bracelets on your wrist clinking against each other, and nodding when she gestures a ‘call me when you’re home’. She can’t hear you from inside the van, but she does catch on to you giving her the thumbs up.

“So, do you have any place in mind to go celebrate or can I pick one?” Joong-gil presses on, turning around to pick one of his hoodies from the rack in the back. The adrenaline will wear off sooner rather than later, and he doesn’t want you catching a cold because of the light outfit you wore on stage.

“Your choice, I’m not picky,” you nod, typing a quick I’ll tell you everything tomorrow to let your mother know not to wait up for your call. She’s always been your number one fan, and despite the fact that she would have wanted for you to pick a more traditional career path, she’s always supported you more than anyone else ever did.

“Good, I know a place safe enough.”

You don’t have time to ask what he means by ‘safe’ – guessing wouldn’t be too hard, though, what with that stupid ten-line article assuming this collaboration stems from a secret relationship between the two of you and the few comments it managed to garner before both your and Joong-gil’s agencies had it deleted. You don’t have the time to ask, and that’s because he’s shoving his black hoodie into your lap a second before he impatiently knocks on the side window to catch his manager’s attention.

“I’m good, don’t worry.”

“Take it, Yun-ho won’t come with us. I can only take you back home on my bike, unless you’d rather get a cab.”

It’s then that his manager, Yun-ho, gets into the car and turns back around with a grin on his face.

“Jumadeung?” he simply asks as you’re left sitting there with Joong-gil’s hoodie in your lap.

It’s almost warm against the bare skin of your stomach, and you’re torn between the realization that this is the first time he’s shown some sort of care towards you outside of the studio in the long months of preparation that led to this comeback and the curiosity lying underneath the fact that you have no goddamn clue what a Jumadeung even is.

As it turns out, Jumadeung is the name of a bar located one story below Seoul in what, at first sight, looks very well like an abandoned building. If it wasn’t for Joong-gil being there with you and giving you a semblance of security, you would have run the other way.

The cul-de-sac Yun-ho steers into is a dark and narrow alleyway, and when you get out of the van right after Joong-gil, your boots stomping right into a puddle left behind by the early evening storm, you decide you don’t even want to know what’s at the end of it – rats? Seoul’s lowlife? Death reapers? Yeah, no thanks, you’ll happily pass.

The air really is chilly, however, and you’re suddenly glad you accepted Joong-gil’s offer of wearing his sweatshirt because now, underneath the thick cotton of it, you can feel gooseflesh tug at the hairs on your arms.

“Are you…” You turn around with a surprised gasp when you hear the sound of his van driving away, and you scurry forward until you’re childishly holding onto the back of Joong-gil’s leather jacket. “Are you secretly a serial killer?” you whisper, furtively looking around to mentally check for quick ways out.

Don’t accept candy from strangers and don’t get into strangers’ cars, you hear your mother scold you, twenty or so years ago, after you had just moved for the first time to a new house in Busan. Oh boy, if only she could see you now!

But Joong-gil chuckles, turning to look at you from above his right shoulder before he shakes his head in amusement.

“You know I have money. No need to kidnap me if you want it!” You keep the tone of your voice light and airy, and laugh – after all, you’ve mastered the art of coming off as though you have a hold of the situation – but you still suspiciously eye the closed dry-cleaner you spot as soon as you step foot into the building.

“I also do have money,” he laughs, taking a turn to the left to walk past an empty shop with a big ‘for sale’ sign on the dirty glass door. “Our collab will bring me more than kidnapping you might. So…”

“Of course, I was just kidding,” you shrug, letting go of his jacket and taking a few quick steps so that you can walk side by side with him. That’s not very reassuring is what you were on the verge of saying but you manage to bite your tongue and get a grip on yourself. Nevertheless, there’s still a spark of uneasiness twisting your insides into knots when he starts walking down a dimly lit set of stairs.

You’re almost tempted to just turn around and bolt your way out of there, but you didn’t exactly pay attention to your surroundings on the way here and you wouldn’t know which way to go before he catches up to you. After all, you were too preoccupied with texting back to your closest friends and confirming to your manager that yes, you’re gonna be safe and that yes, you’re gonna stay glued to Joong-gil’s side like a mussel to a rock, so she really has nothing to worry about.

Well, think again.

The man in question looks up at you from the bottom of the staircase when he notices you haven’t been following him and you see the way he tries his damndest not to snicker in your face. “C’mon down, I’m no serial killer.”

“Sounds exactly like something a serial killer would say,” you reply with fake laughter in your voice as you grab the railing with your left hand, just to immediately regret it when you feel how sickeningly sticky it is against your skin.

“Jumadeung’s just a bar,” he sighs, walking up three steps before stretching an arm out in your direction and making you feel like you’re being too dramatic. “Others like us come here for the privacy,” he continues. “Jade’s not exactly… keen on the paps and the whole ‘overstepping boundaries’ part of our job, so we’re good. No risk of other articles like that one.”

That one – he says it in a way that brings you back to when that article came out. The PR team of your agency managed to screencap it before they had it taken down in no time. Still, he was furious, and didn’t show up at meetings for a whole week and a half, leaving you to work in the studio alone. It made you wonder whether being caught up in a dating scandal with you really was that bad, but you managed to overcome that quickly enough. After all, you’re well aware of your worth. Always have been.

“Alright.” If he picks up on the uneasiness in your voice, he doesn’t show it.

Ah, fuck it! He has a cute-enough face, you think, trying to be reasonable and not let the true crime shows you watch in the dead of night on screen-share calls with your best friend in Busan get to you.

You walk down the steps and accept his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull you along with him. A swift turn to the right, and there’s a long corridor lit with what feels like hundreds of colorful fairy lights that lead closer and closer to the source of the faint music you can now hear. It’s like walking towards a portal to another dimension, the atmosphere in this corridor is completely different from that of the rest of the building – warm, peaceful, like there’s no safer place than this in Seoul.

“Okay, the whole bar story seems a lot more believable now,” you chuckle, forcing a smile to stretch on his lips in turn.

“See? Told ya,” he teases as he pulls the door open and the warmth of the bar wafts right into your face.

The music is louder here, but still at a reasonable volume that would allow you to have a comfortable conversation with him but probably not hear what the patrons sitting at other tables are saying.

“I’d go wash my hand if I were you, by the way. The rest of this building isn’t exactly famous for being clean,” he says, quickly letting go of your right hand all of a sudden.

His words don’t leave you the time to look around – not that you would have understood the reason behind that sudden lack of contact anyway – for your gaze shoots down to your left hand almost as though it’s a magnet. The skin of your palm still does feel sticky in the most uncomfortable way.

“Ew!”

You quickly walk down the side corridor he points out to dash into what you hope is a clean bathroom. And it really is. It’s a stark contrast with the rest of the building, or the very little part of it you’ve managed to get a glimpse of when you dramatically thought you were walking the last stretch to the gallows.

The foamy soap smells fruity when you start scrubbing your hands, and there are other fairy lights reflecting in the wall-sized mirror the counter with the sinks is standing against. The stalls behind you are a simple deep burgundy color and from how all doors are pushed open, you can see you’re alone in here. It gives you the time to finally breathe and get a good look at yourself in the mirror.

What was a perfectly clean make-up look at the beginning of the night, before your performance on stage, is now slightly smudged and lighter, but the fairy-dust glitter on your face is still there, glimmering underneath the blinking fairy lights. Joong-gil’s black hoodie perfectly matches with the black cargo pants they gave you for tonight’s stage – definitely not your favorite kind of outfit, but it is still very comfortable to dance in – and the black, vine-like (but unfortunately fake) tattoo slithering its way around your wrists all the way to the pulled-back sleeves around your elbows.

You’re dabbing your hands dry with paper towels when your phone vibrates in the pocket of your pants. When you unlock it, it’s your best friend asking for your whereabouts – and dusting off that crush you’ve always had on Park Joong-gil and that you had to hide ten thousand meters deep.

[11:47 PM] Bit-na 👯‍♀️: i know he’s famous and all, but if he’s a perv, i’m coming all the way to Seoul to kick his sexy sorry ass.

It makes you laugh – she’d probably be late to your death, but at least you know she’d have your back. She’s always had it, ever since you joined her ballet classes when you were a child up until you left Busan to pursue music.

[11:48 PM] you: proof i’m still alive!

You quickly shoot back, and while still chuckling, you attach a mirror selfie.

[11:48 PM] Bit-na 👯‍♀️: cool! but whose hoodie is that?! didn’t know you were into others’ merch.

[11:49 PM] you: yeah he took me to a nice bar in a shady building. i’ll update you when i’m back home! if ever lol

[11:50 PM] Bit-na 👯‍♀️: he? Park Joong-gil?!

Your reply is a quick yep, and you’re still laughing quietly when you sit down in the booth Joong-gil’s picked.

“Something happened back there?” he asks, picking up on your hilarity and leaning to the side to shoot a quick glance in the direction of the bar’s restrooms.

“Just my friend,” you shrug, taking your (his) sweatshirt off when the stuffiness of Jumadeung finally gets to you. “She thinks she’s funny,” you grin. “You’ve met her. Sort of. The one I was on a call with that day in the dance studio.”

He laughs. “Oh, yeah, I remember her. What was she asking? Something about you getting great head, no?”

His words – or probably more the fact that he actually remembers that embarrassing bit of the conversation when your phone accidentally connected back to the bluetooth system of the dance studio – take you so much by surprise that your hand jerks a little and spills some soju on the table by his glass.

You groan, filling your glass and turning your head to the side to bottom it up. “Damn, how the hell do you even remember that?” you manage to ask from behind your hands, currently hiding your burning face from him.

It was a late night two months into the two of you working together, after you both agreed to turn your one-song collab deal into a full album after seeing how flawlessly you worked together between songwriting, producing, and dancing. Joong-gil had gone down to the front desk to pick up your food delivery, and you had taken the opportunity to call Bit-na back after the three missed calls she had left on your phone that day.

Everything was going smoothly, with you asking her about her date and her asking you about… well, yours, even though it was more like a friendly hook-up than anything with actual feelings. It was then that Joong-gil had walked in, put the bags down onto the table, and accidentally touched something on the laptop you were using to play the music. His mistake had paired back your phone to the system after you had enabled it that afternoon, and the rest apparently became history when Bit-na’s cheerful, “I can’t believe you’re getting great head with him and I can’t even get a boyfriend” sounded all around the studio and you felt yourself being swallowed up by the floor as you watched Joong-gil’s back tense in the mirror for a moment before he let out a cackle.

After that night, you both silently agreed to never bring that accident up and, to say the truth, you had started to forget all about it. That is, well, until tonight.

“Hey, it’s all right!” Joong-gil chuckles, pulling your hands away from your face and handing you your refilled glass. “Drink up before you combust right in front of me.”

“God, I can’t believe you had to hear that, or that you even remember,” you groan, covering your eyes with one hand and clicking your tongue at the bitterness of your drink. “I hoped you’d have forgotten by now.”

He laughs again, careful not to be too loud, before he downs his soju. “Where did the sensual Y/N that danced and sang on that stage end up?”

You glare at him with mock annoyance before snorting. “I can be both sensual and embarrassed at the same time. One doesn’t necessarily cancel the other.”

He smirks, “fair enough.”

It’s silent for a heartbeat, and then there’s a middle aged woman – Jade, you assume after a while – standing by your table, wearing an apron around her waist that has a marble pattern printed on it in the hues of ivory and gold. “I saw your stage on tv,” she says, first glancing at Joong-gil and then at you from behind her sparkly glasses. “Joong-gil told me how great of a performer you were, but I was still pleasantly impressed,” she grins.

Blood rushes to your cheeks, but you want to brush it down to the warmth of the place, or to the fact that someone is complimenting you without going over the moon in the attempt to. It’d be unhealthy to think you’re flustered because he’s apparently spoken highly of you – or of you in general – to someone he knows, because that would bring back the first sparks of that crush you started to develop on him through all the time you’ve spent together for this new album – and even before that.

“Thank you,” you reply with a bow of your head, quickly glancing up at your friend before you notice the plate of chocolate cake the woman’s putting down on your table.

“He’s also mentioned you thought he was taking you to your death earlier,” she continues.

Her words make your head fall into your hands in the third attempt at hiding yourself tonight. “I’m really sorry. With how the building and the neighborhood look, I really thought-”

“It’s alright.” She’s chuckling, so you figure it’s not that bad, or at least that she hasn’t taken offense to that. “I know how the first impression can be. It’s part of the reason why no one knows about this place. People that need a hide-out find me through word-of-mouth, that’s what matters.”

You nod, not knowing what to say but thankful for her being so understanding, and she leaves.

“You really had to tell her, didn’t you?” you pout, picking up one of the golden spoons and digging into your shared slice of cake. You love a good source of chocolate after a performance that has made you stress out as much as tonight’s stage did: Joong-gil’s known for never doing collaborations, and you’ve been agonizing about the reaction his fans would have when you’d finally perform together live for the first time. You try to suppress the smile this cake brings onto your lips: you suddenly recall telling him of this sort of tradition you have, and you can’t believe he’s actually remembered. He seems to be particularly good at that when that realization starts making you feel dangerously warm inside.

He’s smiling when you look up at him, and for the first time you realize he’s never really smiled at you before. Sure, there have been tight smiles or smirks, or the photograph smiles he always puts on during photoshoots or interviews, but the way he’s smiling at you now makes you feel as though the butterfly you have tattooed on your wrist has moved all the way up your arm and down to your stomach, where it has gathered an army all of a sudden.

God, you think. Now you understand why everyone always swoons for him – the way his fans love him, the way interviewers love him, the way tv or youtube hosts love him. The reason why you started crushing on him. One smile from him and everything’s warm and fuzzy all of a sudden, like the rest of the world slows down to allow him time to shine.

His smile forces you to look at him for the first time since you’ve arrived at Jumadeung – his tousled hair, not as perfect as it was before your performance; the shadows his long lashes cast on his cheekbones; the way the hues of the fairy lights above dance along the bridge of his nose.

“She was simply complimenting your performance tonight, and it just came out. You gotta admit it was funny, the way you thought I’d kidnap you when I’m the one who pushed hard for this collab to happen in the first place,” he grins, shaking his head.

He’s fucking gorgeous. Now you can whole-heartedly agree with Bit-na and allow yourself to admit it. Not that you didn’t know before, of course! The dude is a fucking model; you’re sure he could have anyone or anything he wanted with a simple snap of his fingers. But you’ve always done your best to keep it very… professional – for lack of a better word – between the two of you. No touches out of line during dance practices, during all the time you’ve spent together to fine-tune your choreographies – and you must agree with him that there are a few that are more sensual than others. No lingering gazes in the studio, or during promotional photoshoots. Everything has always been clean and precise, like any other polished interactions you’ve had with fellow artists, stemming from nothing else but the sheer need to not be caught up in some rumor.

Tonight feels different, however. And you know it’s one-sided, but fuck. It’s the stupid atmosphere in this stupid bar, you decide. It’s cozy and private and extremely relaxed, with booths you can hide away in, and the fact that the paparazzi have never once found this place surely is a nice perk. It makes you believe that you’re on a date with him – on a date with fucking Park Joong-gil, of all people. That you’re just some normal girl out with some normal dude.

You shake your head, finding it extremely hilarious that your hormones would decide to go down that path now.

But you’ve been silent for long enough, and you don’t want to give the wrong impression. Like you’re mad, or like you’re starting to actually crush on him. So you level him with an amused stare and, “well, watch out then, Park. Next round’s mine, I’ll be embarrassing you.”

He chuckles at that promise, and you’re left there, grinning up at him like you’re a fangirl at a fan meet of his. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; you just want to be professional – you’ve always been, and there’s no reason why the frenzied hormones of a post-stage night should ruin that for you.

But then, just as you’re both back to digging into your cake, someone calls your name loud enough to be heard from the other end of the room. Your eyes snap up, and you see Joon-woong waving a hand in your direction.

You wave back, noticing the pink-haired woman and the dark-haired man sitting opposite him with their back to you. Ryeon and Ryung-gu – you could recognize them from miles away.

“The RMT guys are here,” you inform Joong-gil. “Looks like Joon-woong is inviting us to their table. Wanna go?”

You’re grinning, and your eyes are sparkling just as much as the light, dust-like glitter on your face, and of course you have no knowledge of any of that, but it strikes something inside him, punches him right in the guts. And fuck, he can’t say no when you look like that, like you’re some dream miraculously materialized in front of him. So, he begrudgingly nods and picks up your plate with the unfinished cake, and trails after you like a puppy.

Ryeon greets you with a smile, putting down her phone for a moment to congratulate you, but you miss the way she looks up at a Joong-gil who’s uncharacteristically standing awkwardly next to you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After quick bows of your heads, Joon-woong wraps you in a tight embrace, grinning at the way you’re finally not someone who turns down his hugs, and then sits back down to allow Joong-gil to sit on the chair next to him while you pull one from under the neighboring table.

“Hey,” you whisper as you lean into Ryung-gu, playfully pecking him on the cheek as he wraps an arm around your waist, giving your hip a quick squeeze. Maybe if you think a bit more about the kind of head he gave you on the few times you’ve met up for that, you won’t be acknowledging the weird way Joong-gil’s making you feel tonight.

After the introductions, it’s awkward at first, and you can’t exactly put a finger onto why. The RMT guys and Park Joong-gil have never been caught up in any scandal of any kind, not involving each other at least and not that you know of. And being signed for the same agency as they are, you’ve never heard of any tension or unfriendliness between them.

But then you’re not thinking about that anymore because you’re all talking. Well, you and Joon-woong are – you’ve always been the chatterboxes, after all – with Joong-gil and Ryung-gu chipping in every once in a while, and Ryeon listening more than she’s participating.

Joon-woong talks about your performance, the way both you and Joong-gil fired up both the stage and the audience, and how crazy everyone’s gone over the two of you on social media. From Instagram to Twitter, he’s been keeping an eye on it all. If your mother is your number one fan, then Choi Joon-woong is number two: he’s always been nothing but encouraging and supporting, even more so after you texted him about your collab with his very own idol, Park Joong-gil.

You’re sexy. He’s sexy. This is gonna be fucking bomb! – you remember him texting you that after he accidentally sent a voice message of himself screeching excitedly at the news and all the new career opportunities working in such tight contact with someone like Korea’s ‘it’ boy could bring you.

When Ryeon receives a call, however – you think you recognize their manager’s voice over the phone – they get up and bid their goodbyes. Ryung-gu holds you close this time, whispers something into your ear that Joong-gil doesn’t catch, but then suddenly everything’s as clear as day for him.

“We should go, too,” Joong-gil says after a moment of the two of you being alone, standing up and motioning for you to put his hoodie back on while he goes up to the counter to pay.

His bike stands lonely in one of the empty underground garage boxes and he leads you to it in silence.

You have this nagging suspicion that something’s shifted between the two of you between the moment you entered Jumadeung and the moment you left, but you’re tired, and the stress of the days – months – leading up to this performance and that of all the stages you’ll have to dance from now on when you leave on tour is finally catching up with your body. your legs are heavy and your arms are sore. You really can’t wait to be home, take a quick shower, and then disappear underneath the fluffy blankets you have on your bed.

“We have the first round of interviews tomorrow afternoon, remember?” he asks as he hands you his spare helmet. Maybe now would be the right time to tell him you’ve never been on a motorbike – the prop you used in one of your past music videos doesn’t count – but the words somehow don’t come out.

So you nod with a hum as you let him buckle your helmet. “Make-up at 3. Quick photoshoot at 4. Three interviews starting at 5:30,” you list, your mind providing you with the mental photograph of the schedule your manager jotted down on a post-it note stuck to your fridge. “Then dinner with our teams at 8.”

He makes a face at your detailed response, almost as though he’s surprised by how precise you are. But he’s satisfied with you being well aware of your joint plans, and he straddles the bike without another word, waiting for you to slide in behind him.

You’ve been close to him already – of course you’ve been. What with the dancing, or all the photoshoots you’ve had so far. Even the time spent brainstorming on the couch in his studio, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, going over lyrics and munching on snacks, pretty much breathing the same air. But it’s never felt like this, and when he reaches for your wrists to wrap your arms around his torso, you chastise yourself for feeling this way.

There’s a line you shouldn’t cross, and before tonight the urge to do it had never surfaced. You wonder what has been the source of that change, and all you can come up with is tonight’s – well, last night’s – performance.

“Hold on tight,” he tells you from above his shoulder and before you know it, you’re back into the streets of the capital.

You’d facepalm yourself if you weren’t riding a bike at breakneck speed. Of course it’s the chemicals in your brain all going off at once after performing the first stage of your comeback! By the time you wake up later today – you tell yourself – you’ll be back to normal.

You fall asleep with that thought kept on repeat in your mind and with the lingering feeling of Joong-gil’s leather jacket underneath your fingertips.

You wake up with your feelings all over the place, however, after a restless night’s sleep with dreams of him one after the other. If you didn’t have a busy day ahead, you’d be texting back and forth with Bit-na about the topic, asking for an opinion or simply a wake-up call. Instead, you call your mother to briefly tell her about last night and try to ignore the fact that you seem to have finally started to succumb to a crush you thought you had forgotten everything about.

The infamous article insinuating romance between you and the solo singer is somehow being kept on the backburner of your mind. The way fans reacted at first, or at least those that managed to before the article was taken down. The judging comments, insinuating you were using him for his fame – which, considering also his modeling and acting gigs, is considerably more than yours, there is unfortunately no denying that – despite the fact that he is the one who seeked you out first, but that is something nobody outside your agencies knows.

“Nervous?” Joong-gil asks, looking at your reflection in the mirror while his stylist fixes his hair.

He always looks so perfect, so well put-together, not one single hair out of place. It’d be hard not to fall for his charm. And then he opens his mouth and shows off how well-spoken and knowledgeable he is, and the difficulty triplicates.

You shrug, smiling lightly and closing your eyes to allow your make-up artist to finish the sophisticated look they picked for your eyeshadow. “Every time’s like the second time.”

“Not the first?” you hear the curiosity in his voice.

“I was a mess on my first time,” you chuckle, and then chuckle some more when your make-up artist says, but you held it together like a champ! She’s been with you since the beginning, and you’re glad she’s still here: she’s always been an integral part of keeping you sane and calm. “My second time went a lot better because I knew what to expect, but I was still nervous.”

He’s holding out a hand for you when you open your eyes, and you’re hesitant to take it. You think back to last night, when he stood a few steps below you in that dirty building, when you still thought Jumadeung didn’t exist or that it was some horror-movie room of torture where you’d heave your last breath. It was warm in your hand, his skin smooth aside from the few calluses from gripping the weights he lifts at the gym.

You take a hold of it now, and he wraps his fingers tightly around your hand before he grabs the arm of your chair with his other hand and pulls you closer until your knees are slotted between his spread legs and pressed up against the edge of his seat.

It’s a relief that everyone’s left the changing room because you wouldn’t want to explain the way Joong-gil’s sudden action makes you gasp.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” he smiles. It’s a soft smile that does more harm than good and all you can do is look down at the way he’s still holding onto your hand, like that’s exactly where he belongs. You have no clue how to tell him today’s interviews are not exactly what’s making you nervous or even if you should be telling him in the first place. “We’ve already done this to prepare for yesterday’s show plenty of times. You’re great at this game.”

You nod silently, playing with the hem of the confetti baby pink dress you’re made to wear. You hate this color, and you hate the way the organza of the skirt makes the skin of your thighs itch. “I can’t wait for today’s schedule to be over,” you confess, and that’s not even a lie.

“It’ll be over in a heartbeat.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and you don’t know how to feel.

You know how you do feel at the moment – your butterfly has fled your wrist again and is back in your stomach, moving around with the same strength of a herd of elephants, which is considerably more than it was last night.

It’s like being back on that stage, just as everyone cheered your flawless performance and you turned around to briefly glance at him at the end of your show. The droplets of sweat running down the side of his face, the way he was panting, his chest rising and falling underneath his loose shirt, and the grin he sent your way. Then you got off the stage, back behind the scenes, and he pulled on your hand and wrapped you in a hug tighter than Joon-woong’s, all sweaty and scorching hot, laughing like a maniac with the adrenaline pushing through his system.

Part of you is still right there, rooted to the spot.

You wonder whether your brain’s still wired up on the same frequency it latched onto last night – the excitement of having jumped the first hurdle, the way performing on stage always makes you feel, the sheer joy dancing brings upon you and how powerful singing makes you feel. You want to think it’s that, and not that you’re falling for him, because that would simply make the rest of this job harder. There’s a million people like you, but apparently only one like him.

But then last night at Jumadeung crawls its way back to the forefront of your mind. You felt something at the table and caught a look Ryeon sent Joong-gil’s way, a look you couldn’t exactly put into words, even more so because you were distracted talking to Joon-woong and feeling Ryung-gu’s hand on your thigh.

They are your friends, they have been ever since you started training at the agency and even more so after you debuted… You want to be able to invite them to celebrate all together at some point down the line, and if that means the atmosphere isn’t going to be relaxed, then you won’t be able to do it.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, tilting your head back to face him by grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

The proximity makes your heart jump up into your throat. You want your brain to calm down, and for the butterflies in your stomach to stop flying around.

“Did something happen between you and the members of RMT?” The question is out before you can bite your tongue.

He tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as you can muster, but deep down fearing you won’t be able to have your friends there with you when it eventually comes to celebrating this collaboration. “Last night felt… I don’t know, tense, in a way, I guess, after we joined their table. I don’t remember reading anything about a fight between you or-”

“Ryeon and I dated for a while.”

Your babbling comes to a screeching halt when he says that. He says it matter-of-factly, like it’s the most random thing and not such a well-kept secret even you, after all the time you’ve spent with her, knew absolutely nothing about. “What? When?”

Fuck. What the fuck are you even doing here with him, allowing yourself to feel the way and the things you feel?

“Three years ago.”

You’re still blinking, barely even processing what he’s saying. There’s only one Park Joong-gil, you’re well aware of that, but there’s also only one Koo Ryeon. Of course, they would have ended up together one way or another at some point. Your imbalanced brain really does see the sense in that. “How long?”

“A few months.” He frowns before adding, “why are you so shocked?”

“Ryeon never mentioned anything about a relationship…”

You’re still gaping when someone knocks on the changing room’s door, warning the both of you that you still have ten minutes before the shoot.

“Yeah well, it’s over now.” He says it in a way that makes you believe he’s still somewhat suffering because of it and you know you shouldn’t overthink or insinuate stuff about others, but now some of his lyrics kind of do make more sense. “Talking about RMT…” He’s smirking, changing the topic, which is never a good thing when it comes to him and how surprisingly teasing he can be. “Lim Ryung-gu…”

Your spine straightens up before you can make yourself hide the surprise his name douses you with. “What about him?”

His hand is still in yours, and you find yourself praying to anything good and holy that he doesn’t feel how clammy it becomes. You know how good an observer he can be; you’ve come to learn a lot of things about him in the time you’ve been working together.

“Just wondering. Is he the one with peak head game?”

Your eyes widen for a moment and you can feel all the blood both drain from your face and rush to your cheeks.

It’s a weird feeling. You never thought you’d get caught. Ryung-gu lives in your same condominium, so sneaking around when one or both of you need a way to release stress has always been easy. No one sees, and no one writes anything. It’s always been a great deal.

You escape Joong-gil’s question by the skin of your teeth when your manager opens the door to announce it’s time for the photoshoot. The sudden wave of relief makes you jump up like a spring and push your chair back in one single movement, and you try to ignore the way Joong-gil chuckles under his breath.

Throughout the whole photoshoot you try not to think about Ryung-gu, or about how close to Joong-gil some poses have you be. With his arms around you, caging you against the prop brick wall, his eyes staring into yours the way the photographer orders him to while you look straight at the camera, it’s somewhat easy to forget the rest of the world. You just hope he doesn’t hear how loud your heart is beating inside your chest, or how deafening the blood flow in your eardrums is.

“Thaaat’s perfect,” you hear the photographer cheer. “A few more like that, and then we’re moving on to the last batch.”

“Relax,” Joong-gil murmurs against your cheek, his nose brushing against your skin with how the next pose has the two of you. “Even I feel like you’re about to go into cardiac arrest,” he chuckles under his breath.

The sound and feel of him so close makes a thrill crawl down your spine, and suddenly your brain’s not focusing anymore on your friend Ryeon dating Park Joong-gil or on Joong-gil (correctly) suspecting about something between you and Ryung-gu. Back in the changing room you almost wanted to tell him it’s just sex, a way to lock the rest of the world out for a moment, but you have no clue what idea he’s going to have about you if you tell him that.

“I’m alright,” you whisper back, peering up at him and immediately regretting doing so. With how close together your faces are, you could count every single one of his lashes if you wanted. His breath fans the top of your lips in such a way that it feels like the ghost of a kiss, and you’re so close to him you can smell his cologne, and probably the faint scent of his foundation cream as well. “Just a bit nervous. It’s really real now.” And then you add, “the collab, I mean.”

His smile feels more blinding than the flashing lights of the camera, and the rest of the day goes by in a blur. The photoshoot, the interviews… You go on autopilot, almost, and only come out of it by the end of the third interview. It’s for a magazine your mother loves to read. No cameras are rolling, only the reporter’s voice recorder is recording on the coffee table between you and Joong-gil on a low leather couch and her on a matching chair.

“Last night’s stage was a huge success,” she says. “Your mv did really well on all platforms, but that performance was bomb. Everyone’s talking about how good you look together!”

You smile, daring a glance at Joong-gil. He’s setting his jaw, but he’s good at masking that with the smile he still has on his lips, unwavering.

“The chemistry between the two of you seems to be off the charts, truly. Your fans have been going crazy ever since you posted the first video.” You’ve seen this particular interviewer on TV a few times, and you know what part of the interview this is. Just because you’re not being recorded on film doesn’t mean she’s changing her M.O. “Has anything sweet bloomed between you?”

Joong-gil chuckles, and if that woman wasn’t already hanging from his every word before, she sure is now, heart eyes and all. But then again, you do understand her: resisting his spell isn’t easy. He’s one fine specimen, always has been. “Y/N’s an amazing person and artist, and I do admit we work really well together, but not everything boils down to a romantic relationship.”

You find yourself nodding. Get out of your head, this is strictly business, you tell yourself, but then voice your agreement with what your colleague’s just said.

A few more pleasantries, and then you’re being dragged back into the changing room and to your van. This time it is your van. You sit in the back and your manager behind the wheel, and then you’re off for some informal dinner in a reserved restaurant where no one will bother you.

You look up from your phone screen only when she calls your name.

“Great job today,” she grins through the rearview mirror when she stops at a red light. “The photoshoot was spectacular and you handled yourself well during the interviews. To someone who knows you, though… is everything alright? You seemed a bit distracted.”

“It’s just…” It’s just me developing a stupid crush on a colleague. And Ryeon apparently was in a relationship with this colleague in the past, and she never mentioned a word about it. And then, oh yeah, it doesn’t happen often, but I’m fucking Ryung-gu when I’m stressed, but now I’ve been so stressed and busy that I haven’t been able to, and my Joong-gil’s apparently found out after spending half an hour with us anyway. We have so much scheduled that I’ll probably have to schedule restroom breaks as well. And I’m always afraid of messing up on stage, no matter how hard I prepare for it. And what if I really do end up falling for Joong-gil? Dude’s been closed off to the world so much that it’s a miracle he and Ryeon even dated. But you confess none of that, opting for a neutral, “I’m a bit nervous about all future performances. We still have like a billion interviews coming up and I really hate being asked about relationships and having to pretend I’m the fairy this industry portrays me as.”

She smiles understandingly and nods her head, her eyes always trained on the road. It’s a good thing that she’s a great driver and that she cares about everyone’s safety so much that she never trails her eyes off the road. She’d probably see right through you if she were to turn around right now. “That’s understandable. I can’t imagine being in your shoes, it would make me freak out six times out five.”

You giggle with her.

“But you’re great at what you do. Leave it to me and the PR team to monitor the comments online and the articles, don’t worry about that. You’re doing great already,” she reassures you. “Also, you’re not doing it alone this time. Mr Park looks like he knows what he’s doing when it comes to prying questions. He’s always very reserved when it comes to his personal life, so I’m sure he’ll help in keeping those questions to a minimum like he did today.”

“You’re right,” you nod absentmindedly, looking out the window at Seoul’s night traffic. But you apparently don’t sound convincing enough.

“Is anything else on your mind?”

You decide to lie. “Nope.”

He is on your mind, however.

Park fucking Joong-gil.

For the first time ever, he’s sitting at your kitchen table after your teams’ dinner, dropping a piece of candy into his soju. You don’t know what got into you when you invited him up to your place, and you want to say the fact that you were all pressed up against his back on his bike for the second time did not cloud your common sense, but that would be a fat lie.

“I’m sorry if I pried this afternoon,” he says after a while, when you finally sit down with a steamy mug of chamomile tea for you and push another one his way. It’s a silly mug, with grinning fluffy white sheep on a green background, but your mother loved it too much not to buy it for you. It’s probably not the best thing to give your guest, you realize at the last minute. “What’s going on between you and Lim Ryung-gu is none of anyone’s business but your own.”

“No, it’s…” You huff, scrunching your forehead with your fingers before smothering your hand down your face. It’s kind of intimidating to sit there bare-faced in front of someone who looks so good even after a long day of work. “I was the one who poked her nose in your business first. Ryung-gu and I are just… friends. It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?”

The skin of your face burns, and you can’t look him in the eyes. Instead, you let the night skyline outside your window catch your attention. “We… It’s just… It’s hard sometimes, you know? This life.” You look down. Your nerves get the best of you and you start tracing the rim of your mug with your middle finger. “It’s stressful already as it is, and then you go out and there’s suddenly a new rumor about you every step you take. This is dating that. Or X got a nose job. Y has been caught dancing in a club. It follows you everywhere you go even after you clock out for the day.”

He smiles. “Sometimes I feel like we don’t really clock out.”

You groan. “Don’t remind me of that. Fucking yes. So… Ryung-gu lives two floors above me. It’s easy to… let out stress when no one can see.” You’re burning even more than your chamomile tea is.

Why the hell are you telling him that? You don’t owe him anything, least of all an explanation, and yet, you’ve started to realize that a silly part of you kind of does want him – and for him to want you. Park Joong-gil, that is.

He’s nodding, almost as though he’s piecing the pieces together. “Is he who your friend was talking about that day on the phone, correct?” he asks again.

You nod.

“There’s nothing wrong with falling for someone.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his, but he’s the one looking out the window this time and you only catch his side profile and the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he drinks his soju.

“It’s not… like that.” You don’t know where your voice went. It almost makes you feel bad that you don’t have feelings for Ryung-gu and that he doesn’t have any for you. Almost like you fuck on autopilot. Like the connection is only physical and platonic and it doesn’t go deeper than that. Maybe, if you did it more often, then you would start catching feelings, but you’re careful with not fucking around too much.

“You look like your heart’s beating out of your chest again,” he smirks, taking the mug you prepared for him.

“Yeah well, maybe because it is.” You hide behind your hands again, sighing down into your mug.

“You know, you have no explaining to do. It’s just… natural. As long as it helps…,” he shrugs.

He’s so nonchalant about it. It almost makes you wonder whether that’s how things started between him and Ryeon, even though Ryeon never seemed like the one to do things just because she’s horny. She’s level-headed, probably the most level-headed person you know – despite the fact that you had no clue she was seeing someone, so who knows.

“Are you nervous now?” he asks and you hum. There’s a beat of silence and then, “is it because of me?”

“No!” Well yes, but you can’t tell him that last night at Jumadeung gave you the illusion of being on a date, or how months of working in such close proximity are finally starting to catch up on you.

You can feel his gaze on you, but you dare not look up. What if you do and end up blurting out nonsense? Embarrassing yourself and changing the dynamics between you for good?

“I’m nervous, too,” he confesses, and that’s when you find it within yourself to peer at him. “I’ve been working with a crazy talented artist and it’s been making me feel like I should be doing more.”

“A crazy talented ar- me?” you frown. By all means, you’re good at this game, but you know there’s better performers than you out there.

“Have you heard about me collabing with someone else?”

His smile takes your breath away for a moment. You want to think he’s trying to flirt with you, but you really shouldn’t be throwing gasoline onto the fire of your crush. Everything was going so smoothly… Fucking comeback, you think.

“I’ve been a fan since day one, just saying,” he shrugs, sipping on his chamomile tea.

“You…” You gasp at how unexpected this is, and then you’re laughing. You must look like a lunatic, messy hair and loose pajama, trying to keep your cool after confessing to having a fuck buddy to one of the most wanted people in the country. Part of you can’t wait to tell Bit-na about that, and another part of you really doesn’t want to hear what she’d have to say in response.

“Fuck, you really are stressed out of your mind…” He’s amused, it’s clear both in his voice and on his face.

He brings your mug to your lips, leaning across the table towards you, and he steals your breath for the second time tonight. He helps you drink, and it calms you down. Only on the outside, though, you think. You can still feel your heart inside your chest when he stands up to wash the mugs and the glass he used to drink his soju, and your thumb absentmindedly brushes over your tattooed butterfly.

“Don’t let this life stress you out so much,” he murmurs from behind you, leaning over you to speak against your cheek before he kisses it. “If you need a hand with it, you have my number. We’re partners now, after all.”

What’s he suggesting? You torment yourself with that question for what feels like forever before you make up your mind.

Ryung-gu comes over when Joong-gil leaves. You called the wrong number – on purpose, of course. There are some things you can’t talk about with ‘your partner’, but you’ve always been an open book for Lim Ryung-gu.

It’s nothing regular, the thing you two have, but this is the first time in months that one of you calls the other for stress relief. It’s not bad by any means, it just… feels different, in a way. Like your brain is still stuck on a loop of last night at Jumadeung, when you were staring at yourself in the mirror of that fairyland-like restroom, wearing Park Joong-gil’s soft hoodie over your golden top, standing under winking fairy lights.

You see the kitchen table from where you’re half sitting, half reclining on the couch in the living room, with Ryung-gu kneeling between your legs. You can still picture Joong-gil’s back, the gray cardigan he wore after the interviews were over, his perfectly styled hair, straight out of a magazine cover like some sort of walking dream.

A particular brush of Ryung-gu’s fingers inside you makes your toes curl and your back arch, your head falling back against the pillows as your hands tug on his hair. His groan against your pussy makes you tingle all over, and when his lips latch onto your clit you know you’re done for.

“Fuck, just like that,” you manage to whisper, breathing hard, pulling him closer to you by the back of his head.

You can hear how wet you are by the squelching sound his fingers moving in and out of you make. It makes your head spin – and your heart ache as well, maybe, because part of you feels like you’ll never have anything real, not in this department and not in this line of work where you feel controlled twenty-four seven.

But with Ryung-gu it’s easy to pretend: he eats you out like he does that for a living, and in the spur of the moment, with the air scorching in your lungs, you think the world deserves to know his fingers aren’t only great at playing the piano.

Then he curls his fingers, gets to work on that one patch of sensitive skin deep inside you, and you come with a low moan that comes up from deep within you and seems to go on forever as his tongue keeps on lapping up at your juices.

He gives your clit one last suck and that makes you whine, your thighs quiver in overstimulation as you tug on his hair to get him off of you. Then, he’s using your discarded panties to clean you and his hand up.

You come down from your high cuddled up into his side, your head on his shoulder, and the way his fingers trace patterns on your back, through your t-shirt, calms your raging heartbeat and roots you to the present moment.

“I think we should stop doing this,” he whispers against the side of your head, lips brushing against your hair when he speaks.

Your only reply is a hum. It’s not like you’ve been thinking about that, too, but it’s true that in the last few months you’ve come to secretly wish for something more. A deeper connection. Doing this with someone you have actual feelings for – someone that hopefully also has feelings for you, too. Ryung-gu brought everything else to the table – he’s understanding, fun, blurts random bits of knowledge in the middle of the night when you’re lying in bed covered in sweat – but not that one part of the picture.

“I met someone, and I also feel like you’ve been slowly drifting away,” he continues, his voice soft. You can hear his heart beat inside his chest, underneath your cheek, and you move your hand up to brush your thumb over his sternum. “Is it Joong-gil?”

He’s smirking in amusement when you move your head to meet his gaze quicker than the speed of light just to moan the split second later because your neck is sore and all that haste didn’t sit well with it. But there’s no lying to him – you’ve been friends since you left Busan together, so if anything, after Bit-na, he’s the one person you trust the most when it comes to actually opening up.

“I don’t know what’s up with me,” you confess eventually. It’s then, as you wish for any kind of distraction to bless you, that you notice he’s cut his hair and got rid of his toned hair tips. He must have met with his stylist today, you reason distractedly, because yesterday his hair was longer, sporting a look you’ve come to love on him. “Yesterday at Jumadeung… which, by the way,” you deadpan, pushing yourself up onto your elbow. “Wow, that’s so very loyal of you, bestie. Thank you for telling me about that place.”

He snorts. “As if,” he chuckles, pushing your bangs away from your face. He likes this new look on you, and he’s probably the main reason why you’ve let yourself enjoy it, too. “It was my first time there as well. Ryeon wanted to go out yesterday afternoon and she brought us there. Joon-woong knew about it, though, so if you really wanna be mad at someone… be mad at the golden retriever.”

“But he’s so cute,” you playfully pout, making the same face you would if you saw a cute puppy. “He has my approval for anything he wants to do or say.”

He snorts again, trying not to laugh, but eventually failing. “Don’t derail the conversation,” he scolds, playfully smacking your bare thigh. “Was last night a date?”

You shake your head no, but you feel your face grow hotter at the mere idea of it being one. You really don’t know how it happened, and you tell him as much. “I don’t think so. There’s never been anything more than just work. And when I went to bed last night I thought it was just because I was still all over the place after the show and how cozy it was at Jumadeung. But then I woke up at noon today and I was still thinking about him…” you huff, lying back down next to him, and wrap an arm around his waist.

“Do you like him?”

“Who doesn’t?” you scoff, and then hide your face in his chest because fuck. What’s with your hormones and this crush? You stay quiet for a while, enjoying the silence of the night and his fingers still lightly tickling your back from above your blue pajama shirt. “I don’t know what to do, Ryung-gu. Like…” You rub your face with both hands when you can’t keep in the groan. “What if this crush or whatever gets out of hand and ruins everything?”

“With the collab, you mean? Or your… situationship?”

You hum. “Like, he’s always been incredibly attractive, both inside and out, but so are you and a lot of other people I’ve met…”

“Wow, thanks, I guess,” he laughs, only to be met by a flick of your fingers against his forehead.

“You know you’re hot. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen what people comment under your posts on Insta.”

“Oh, I know i’m sex on legs,” he jokes, looking at you like he’s all high and mighty before cracking into an amused grin. “It just hits different when it comes from that mouth of yours.”

You flick him again, this time on his chest, before you’re pushing yourself up again to look down at him. “I just don’t know what to do, and… ugh!” You bite your tongue, and needing a way out of this conversation, you ask, “what about your person, though?” You smirk, wiggling your eyebrows and making him laugh. “Who is it? Do I know them? Is it another singer? A backup dancer? Model? Min-ji from back home?”

He silences you with a hand on your mouth, but it just makes you giggle, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of how he’s looming over you on the couch, and your pussy is still out and wet, and God this feels so wrong. You would’ve never called him had you known he’s met someone. Thinking about him going down on you when he’s considering the idea of pursuing an actual person makes you feel worse than spilling the beans to Joong-gil did, and dirtier than the railing you grabbed yesterday in that building was.

“What, so you can snitch to the tabloids?” he asks, but he’s smiling, so you know there’s no bite behind his words.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out all of a sudden. “For calling you over. You ate me out despite all that and…” He lets you sit up and moves to sit next to you on the couch. “God, I feel like such a bitch,” you groan from behind your hands. They’ve quickly become the wall you hide behind.

“Hey, it’s fine.” Ryung-gu pulls you into his side and leaves a kiss on the crown of your head. “You’re my friend, I would’ve never left you alone in a time of need when I have nothing really going on yet. You would’ve done the same, I’m sure. Unless…”

“Unless?” You don’t dare look up at him, even though you can hear the smile in his voice. He still feels like the same Lim Ryung-gu he’s always been, but then also like you’re miles apart for the first time in forever – or probably ever.

“Unless that Park dude really has a hold on your pussy.”

He doesn’t stop cackling when, indignant, you hit him with a pillow.

“Shut up,” you groan. “I’ve been a mess since last night’s stage, let me be.”

He wipes your pout away with a thumb before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just saying… I’m sure it’s hard to stay stoic when he has those hip rolls in your choreo.”

Your face is scorching hot. Ryung-gu is right, Joong-gil has some sexy moves, but so does he in his own solo numbers. They’ve always been one of his distinctive traits and while yes, you’ve always swooned a little every time, you’ve also always been able to stay professional when he danced them with you.

“You know, I actually think this is a great opportunity for the both of us,” Ryung-gu says after a while, when you’re putting on a fresh pair of panties. You snatch your pajama shorts from his hand when he hands them to you, and join him in the kitchen for the leftover pizza he brought over from his apartment. “We both get to find out what we really like with a partner,” he explains when you simply frown in confusion at him.

“Maybe you will. I’ll be trying not to think too much about it. He’s there,” you gesture with your hand held up high above your head, “and I’m here,” you continue, placing your other hand much lower.

“In my book you’re here,” he corrects, raising the hand you used to show him where you stand, “and he’s here.” He lowers the other one. “You’re great. What are you even implying here?”

“Yeah, a crazy talented artist,” you groan, quoting back Joong-gil’s words to your friend with a roll of your eyes. You don’t even know why it stings so much to be just that to him. Well, of course, you do know why, but you don’t want to linger there.

“I was thinking more about a crazy awesome person.” Ryung-gu boops your nose before adding, “but yeah, whatever floats your boat. Just don’t put him on a pedestal. You both have the same job and are equally as talented. Don’t start treating him like a god on Earth, leave that to his fans. Because if anything, he’s lucky to be doing this with you.”

Despite everything, you’ve managed to keep it as professional as possible with Joong-gil thus far. Everything always runs smoothly – interviews, photoshoots, promotional shoots, even performances or radio appearances with your usual banter and jokes, even if shipping comments follow you every step of the way. What’s worse is that when you come off stage, high on adrenaline, one simple look from him is somehow enough to make your panties wet.

You’re really not proud to admit it, and after every show, it’s becoming harder and harder to conceal the effect he has on you. Giving him the wrong impression is the last thing you want to do, and at the same time it’s hard to figure out what’s going on in his mind, behind those dark eyes of his.

Tonight’s not any different, you notice when you’re pushed into your van right behind him after the opening concert to the Japanese leg of your joint tour.

There’s the adrenaline again – all the post-performance feelings, the fact that you managed to sell this venue out in less than three minutes twice when the tour dates were first announced. You’re wired beyond belief, every fiber of your being buzzing underneath your skin, your heart leaping in your chest like that’s some Olympic sport. It’s been a while since the sensations were this intense, so much so that it’s overwhelming and you end up planting a celebratory wet kiss on Joong-gil’s lips without even realizing you’re doing it.

Your brain only catches up with it while you’re standing under the warm jet of the shower, a ballad humming through your phone’s speakers in the background. It should be a quick freshening up, because you know Joong-gil will take a quick shower as well before starting his post-concert VLive stream while he waits for you, but you can’t help but freeze, the loofa stopping on your chest and the trembling fingers of your right hand coming up to your lips.

You still feel his lips against yours, and hear the harsh breath he took and which you never really registered in the moment, buzzing as you were with excitement, the goosebumps tugging at your sweaty skin.

“Fucking fuck,” you mutter under your breath, mouth agape for a moment before you shut it and turn the waterstream off.

Thinking about it will do you more harm than good, you know that, but your heartbeat is every-fucking-where now when you think back to the way he grabbed a hold of your biceps to keep your balance and prevent you from falling fully onto him.

Maybe you can play it off tomorrow morning, pretend like you passed out right after your shower and say you’re deeply sorry for missing out on the quick post-concert catch-up with your fans. You’re about to text Bit-na about your misstep in the van and how fucked up it got you, to the point you almost touched yourself in the shower, when the notification of Joong-gil going live pops up on the screen of your phone.

You stand there for a full minute, naked, dripping water onto the tile floor of your hotel room’s bathroom. There’s no resisting the curiosity, those brain chemicals going hysterical, and your finger taps on the notification before you can stop yourself.

He’s sitting on the couch in his hotel room, pretty much a twin of yours. Tokyo’s lights at night are blinking behind him and while that’s definitely a view, he seems to be an even better one now. White loose t-shirt, wet hair still slightly dripping droplets of water onto his shoulders, bare-faced but still incredibly charming in the way he talks, answers comments, says Y/N will join us shortly before drinking from his water bottle. It all makes you want to kiss him again, but this time on purpose while being fully present in the moment.

“Fuck.”

You’re cooked.

You’ve got it real bad – you facepalm yourself as you close the app, lock your phone, and quickly get dressed into something you can lounge in while still looking presentable. You really do not want to look bad next to him.

It’s now or never, you tell yourself when you force yourself out into the corridor.

Joong-gil’s door is right opposite yours and as you walk the few steps that separate yours from it, you quickly glance out of the window at the end of the hallway. By the looks of it, it’s going to rain tonight.

The livestream goes by quickly: Joong-gil is more entertaining than you thought he’d be, but this time he does a great job at keeping the conversation with the fans flowing despite the fact that you’re, well, beat. You should have known that the moment you’d finally sit down, slumber would start creeping up on you. And, well, he’s better at Japanese than you are – that’s something that should be mentioned.

Nevertheless, you still step in with puns and funny anecdotes about tonight’s show or the time you and Joong-gil have spent working together. In the live chat, someone even swoons about your coordinated outfits on stage, and that’s just another opportunity to flaunt the amazing stylists you have this time around – an excuse not to think about the way you do know you look like when you’re together. Like you’re a match made in fucking heaven, but that could also be your crush speaking on your behalf.

When the stream is finally off and you get the thumbs up of approval from both your managers, you let yourself fall back against the couch with a sigh.

“Tired?” Joong-gil asks, moving around to plug his phone in. He puts it down on the nightstand and grabs a bottle of water from the minifridge for you.

“Exhausted,” you groan, pulling your legs up and resting your head on your knees.

It’s easier to look at him now without thinking about that rather chaste kiss you gave him and the ways he moved on stage earlier on in the night. You don’t feel like you might catch fire with just a look from him, but when he sits back down next to you, some of that anxious tension comes back.

“I’m really enjoying this,” he smiles. When he leans his head back and fully relaxes, however, you notice how tired he looks, too. His eyelids are heavy and all his weight is leaning against the couch like he’s a bag of potatoes.

You hum and nod, taking a long sip from the water bottle he handed you while thinking about Bit-na. During the two weeks between the first stage performance and Jumadeung and tonight’s show, you’ve told her about this whatever-it-is that you started feeling for Joong-gil. Nothing too detail-heavy, but there’s no way in hell you could have survived without her opinion on the matter. You wish she were here now, a tiny celestial being perched on your shoulder, ready to give you counsel.

“I’m enjoying this collab a lot, too,” you say, leaning back and turning your head to the side to look at him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s fallen asleep.

But he softly giggles, amused, and you know he’s still awake. “I mean… Yeah, the collab as well. But I was thinking more about… you. The time we’ve been spending together.”

You bite your tongue, a way to prevent the wrong things from leaving your mouth, but also to stop that smile from stretching on your lips.

“What was that kiss about?” he asks without giving you the time to even think. “Back in the van.”

The expression on your face must be the epitome of regret because he looks taken aback in a way you’ve never seen him. The truth is, you have no clue what to tell him. You don’t want to make things weird, but you also fucking do want to kiss those plump lips of his again.

“I… The excitement always gets to my head, I’m really sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” you murmur eventually, finding it difficult to meet his gaze.

“So, do you kiss a lot of people like that?”

“Fuck, no!” It’s the nerves acting on your behalf that make you chuckle and all you can do to try and stop the tremor in your hands is close your eyes and deepen your breaths. “No, I… That was a first, even for me.”

His hum is questioning, and you feel his weight on the couch shift. It’s only when his fingertips touch your lips that you will yourself to open your eyes.

He’s incredibly close, just like that day during the photoshoot and many other photoshoots before that. You can smell the faint minty aftertaste of his toothpaste when he says, “should we make it a tradition?”

It’s like you’re hypnotized, and you’d like to blame your deafening heartbeat for the fact that you can’t stop that meak yeah from tumbling past your lips. He clouds your senses, and you’re suddenly glad that your rooms are so up high because that means no paparazzi will be able to snap a picture and you can finally feel safe enough to-

His lips touch yours. Soft, smooth, and you wonder why the fuck they feel so hot against yours. The kiss cuts your breath short, makes the butterflies in your stomach rouse again, and then some other warm and wet feeling starts rearing its head. He’s staring at you and you can’t help but stare back. Your brain leaves on a tangent and it’s soon wondering how quickly an ambulance will be able to come in case you dramatically go into cardiac arrest, even though neither of you is deepening the kiss. It’s chaste, just his lips pressing against yours as his hand cradles the side of your face.

Is it you being dramatic if you say you want to stay here forever?

When he eventually pulls back, he lets his tongue come out for a split second to brush against your lower lip and that’s when your body decides to betray you, to break your composure to let a shaky breath out.

His eyes fall down to your lips and you’re helpless as you stare at the way that grin of his plasters on his face.

He’s so fucking- ugh!

You feel like you could punch the sky with the way Park Joong-gil makes you feel. You decide then and there that it’s senseless to sit there and ponder how the fuck that bubble of feelings decided to pop only now – well, at Jumadeung – because now you’re stuck with the defeaning certainty that you’re down really bad for him.

“I love new traditions,” he grins, leaning back against the couch without breaking eye contact.

Head empty. There’s not one single thought in there that’s not Park Joong-gil. If Ryeon never said anything about him just so that she could keep him all for herself, well… You can’t really blame her. He’s charming. He pulls you to him like he’s a magnet. And it doesn’t even matter that you don’t even know where you stand anymore with him because your brain starts working a mile a minute until suddenly it’s picturing him between-

No.

No, you can’t go there.

He speaks before you have the chance to. “I think I wanna repeat it after tomorrow’s show if that’s alright with you. But we should probably go to bed now.”

You don’t resist him when he says he’ll accompany you to your door despite the fact that it’s literally less than ten meters from the couch you’ve been sitting on for the best part of the past two hours. If you can have thirty more seconds alone with him, then who the hell are you to say no?

But sleep doesn’t come easily – not with the feeling of his lips against yours, and not with the promise that you’re going to have another fix of that tomorrow night. You’re ready to bet you’ve never ever wanted a whole day to go by at the speed of light the way you desperately need it to now.

You feel guilty as hell when you let your hand slip past the elastic band of your panties to toy with the wetness between your folds. But that’s your best bet at trying to force slumber to come back, and you eventually fall asleep with Joong-gil’s name on your lips.

It’s silly, the way your heart somersaults inside your chest every time Park Joong-gil honors the silly tradition you accidentally started during your first night in Tokyo.

He kisses you after your second concert in the Japanese capital.

He kisses you after the concert in Nagoya.

In Osaka, you kiss before and after you hop onto the stage.

And every time, that celebratory kiss deepens a little more. By the time you land in Los Angeles to embark on your seven US American dates, you’re not thinking I should be keeping this professional between the two of us anymore, but instead I need more of him.

You’re on a video call with Bit-na after the concert in the SoFi stadium – between the crazy demanding show you put on and the jetlag, both you and Joong-gil are way too beat for a livestream.

“How’s your predicament going?” she asks as she continues doing her make-up.

“It’s hard,” you groan, falling back onto the hard mattress and shuffling around until you’re all cocooned into the blankets, only the top half of your head peeking out from the fluffy material.

“You mean his dick is?” She’s bold, always has been, and you’re glad you opted to put your earbuds in. The last thing you need is a late night visit from Park Joong-gil in which he hears your friend talk about this kind of shit again, with the only difference that this time it’s not Ryung-gu she’s talking about.

“That… too, yeah.” The temperature of your face could rival that of the sun. All you can do is fully hide your head underneath the blankets and hope your body will cool down quickly, but it feels like an impossible task when you can still feel his erection pressed against you when you kissed in the powder room after the concert.

Bit-na’s laughter is loud and hysterical. It deafens you for a moment but you figure that’s a good thing: it prevents you from replaying in your head the way you moaned into the kiss when you did your best not to roll your hips into his. “Did you really give him a boner?!”

“I’m sure it was just the excitement after the concert,” you mumble, finally re-emerging from your hiding place.

She clicks her tongue. “And I am sure it was aaaaall you,” she chuckles, putting her lipstick back down and picking up her mascara. “Sucking face with someone sure can lead to that.”

“We were not sucking faces.”

“Who do you think you’re fooling? I can see how swollen your lips are from all the way across the Pacific.”

You groan, covering your face with one hand. “I knew I should’ve called Ryung-gu.”

“He’d tell you to just sleep with him already.”

“Oh, shut up. It was different with him. Things just happened and it was his idea,” you remind her. “But now that he’s trying this relationship thing with this new person, it made me realize I want the same. I don’t want to just fuck. I want the whole experience. What if Joong-gil’s not into me like that?”

“The dude made up a making-out tradition just because you kissed him by accident once. I think the chances that he did it because he’s into you are higher than those of him just wanting to make out with someone.” She shrugs her shoulders and disappears for a moment to get dressed. “Stop holding back, Y/N. Just let things happen without trying to stop them.”

And ‘let them happen’ is exactly what you do.

One week after your call with Bit-na, you find yourself kissing Joong-gil in your hotel room in Atlanta, after an English post-concert livestream for your international fans.

It started off innocently enough, with the both of you sitting on the floor, your backs to the foot of your bed and your phone propped up on the coffee table you decided to use as a stand. Then it got less innocent soon after you turned the stream off, when his hand slipped underneath your t-shirt and dragged up your spine, pulling gooseflesh wherever he touched.

That’s how you find yourself being dragged into his lap now, how you find yourself now almost kissing down his throat.

His kisses are something else entirely, and the way his tongue brushes against yours makes you moan into his mouth. They’re intoxicating, his touches on you – the way he cradles your head in both hands, keeping you as close as possible without letting you go for a single second, or the way he suckles on your lower lip when he pulls back just enough to allow the both of you to catch your breath.

“It’s hard,” he says, his eyes roaming your face before being inevitably drawn back to your parted lips.

You have no clue where you find the strength or even the presence of mind to keep your lower half elevated just enough to avoid sitting down on him.

“What is?” you whisper back, suddenly being brought back to what you talked about with your best friend – you said it was hard, and she brought up the erection you had felt in Joong-gil’s pants while kissing. There’s no telling what would happen if you allowed yourself the time necessary to think about that now, or to even sit down comfortably in his lap and feel it, if that’s tonight’s case as well.

“Holding back.” His lips brush against the line of your jaw when he replies, his hands sliding down your sides and over your ass.

He is hard – that’s the first thing you can think about when he pulls you down flush against him. Your breath is caught in your throat when the tip of his nose brushes just right under your ear.

“Acting like I don’t want to fucking worship you.” His voice is deep, probably deeper than you’ve ever heard it in the time you’ve worked together but also before that, even though it’s hard to even think straight right now. “God, I’ve been thinking about you for weeks now.”

It’s like you’re not in control of your body: you hear yourself whimper, and then your hips roll down against his of their own accord.

Just let things happen, you hear Bit-na say again.

Joong-gil’s head falls back against the mattress and he gazes up at you from underneath. It does something to your brain, the sight of him underneath you, his eyelids heavy and his lips kiss-swollen. Because of you, you feel the need to remind yourself. He is like this because of you.

Fuck, it really does mess with your brain. Like thunder strikes and incinerates your ability to keep a grip on yourself.

And then he’s gripping your buttcheeks in both hands and moving you against him. His breathing is heavy, but so is yours. You can feel how hard he is against you even through your layer of clothings – in the spur of the moment you wish neither of you was wearing any. Every last one of your synapses is alight and all you can do is lean down into his lips again for another kiss.

Who would fall for the whole ‘new celebratory kiss tradition’ if anyone were to catch the two of you right now? Maybe Bit-na was right; maybe Joong-gil really did start this because he sees something in you that you yourself don’t see. As he kisses you back, pushes his tongue past your teeth to brush against yours, you find yourself hoping for your friend to really be right.

The buzzing of his phone by his head, on your bed, goes unnoticed when he starts bucking his hips up into yours. He swallows your whimpers, and when he moans in return, you’re suddenly aware of the pleasure starting to coil tighter deep in your stomach.

If he manages to make you come by simply dry-humping you, you can consider that a first.

But then someone knocks on your door, and the quick rapping on the wood breaks the spell. You find yourself looking into his open eyes and realize one of his hands has moved to the back of your head during the heat of your make-out session, the other one is under your t-shirt in the middle of your back.

“Alright, bedtime! We’re catching a flight at seven tomorrow!” You recognize Yun-ho’s voice, but it takes your brain two more seconds to finally give a meaning to the words you’ve just heard.

You jump back up on your feet before you can stop yourself, but Joong-gil doesn’t move immediately. He keeps his eyes trained on you, on the way you’re almost panting, trying to avoid looking down at his groin, and he doesn’t know how hard you’re throbbing right now or how drenched your panties feel even if you’re this close to telling him.

God, if anyone finds out while you’re overseas, you’re fucked. Both of you are.

“See you tomorrow?” he asks when he eventually stands up, movements all fluid when he does – a stark contrast to yours, to how sharp-cornered you felt when you jumped up from his lap and to how sharp-cornered you still do feel when you pick up your phone from the coffee table, unable to meet his eye and knowing that if you do, there’ll be no sleep for you tonight.

You nod and hum in response, but it’s apparently not enough for him. He steps forward, closes the distance between the two of you, and grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He’s done that already once in the past, but right now you’re barely able to remember your own name. This motherfucker really does have that effect on you – brain and body alike.

“I asked, see you tomorrow?” he repeats, but all you can focus on is the way his lips move when you speak.

Part of your brain wants to bite back a of course, where the hell else would i be?, but another part of it is simply paralized. You wouldn’t be surprised to find out it’s decided to make your body take the reins, for once.

He plants a chaste kiss to your lips when your reply is a simple, breathless yes. It’s like the kiss you accidentally gave him after your first concert in Tokyo, but this time it makes you tingle all over.

Would it really be so wrong to tell him now how fucking wet he’s made you?

To your displeasure, however, things don’t go further than that for the rest of your American stay, or even during the one concert you have in Toronto, although Joong-gil somehow ended up hearing you push yourself over the edge in the shower in Boston and fingering you in your dressing room in Chicago before your performance. (Which, by the way, sort of made it hard to fully focus once you were on stage, but whatever.)

Your days simply get busier, what with the concerts and the extra American interviews both of your agencies agreed upon at the last minute. Some of them were chill, but most had those sneaky so are you two dating? kind of questions hidden among much better ones. Joong-gil did a great job at deflecting them, but deep down all you can say is that they made you want to scream. You’re definitely not dating but fuck, if he doesn’t give you those fingers of his one more time I swear to God I’ll go insane!

“What are you thinking about?” Joong-gil asks, looking up from the magazine he’s been reading (there’s a double-page picture of the two of you on the pages he has open right now, one of those you posed for during your last photoshoot in Korea) and turns to glance at you.

You don’t think that ‘your fingers in my pussy’ is an appropriate enough reply, so you babble the next best thing that pops up in your mind when you look out of the plane window to your right. “Can’t wait to have a few days off before our concerts back home.”

Maybe if you focus hard enough on the fluffy clouds outside, you’ll stop overthinking about the implications of everything the two of you have started doing together. Like spending time in either of your hotel rooms after livestreams to simply relax. Or like kissing before and after concerts. Or the way he moaned straight into your mouth when you were making out in your room in Atlanta.

Fuck, that sound has been stalking you even in your dreams ever since.

“What’s your plan for that?” He turns slightly towards you to give you his undivided attention and you don’t know why, really, but that small gesture makes you sort of warm and fuzzy inside.

Your gaze swipes past him to the next row in first class and then over the few seats you can see from yours, but no one’s paying attention to anything but their own business. “I’m going back home, gonna spend a few days with my mother. It’s been almost a year since I last saw her in person,” you reply. And then, before you can even ponder your words or even just realize what trajectory your brain’s following, you find yourself proposing, “you’re invited, if you’d like. If you have nothing else to do.”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you want to slap yourself on the mouth for being so stupid. You’re aware your proposal might have come off as a ‘we’ve been doing things together, so it’s time to meet the parents’, but he’s smiling before you’re done biting your tongue. “Sure, why not? I’ll book a hotel room as soon as we land.”

There’s a surge of courage bubbling up from within you, something you’ve never really had around him because at first you were too excited to even be offered a collaboration deal with the Park Joong-gil, then you were trying to always be professional, and then you were a bit too busy trying not to think about the way he makes you feel.

So, you end up saying, “you could… stay with us. My mother hasn’t had guests over in ages and I’m sure she’d love the company.”

Am I being too straightforward? Is it too early? Is this something like what Ryung-gu and I used to do, or is he really into me?

That’s how you end up brushing your teeth next to Joong-gil in your childhood home.

That’s also how you end up trying to convince your mother she won’t be having grand-children or attending your wedding all that soon.

We’re just friends – you say ‘friends’, not ‘colleagues’, and that somehow surprises you. Like that’s something you’ve never even considered – the possibility of you and Park Joong-gil becoming friends, and maybe going out for drinks together a few years down the line and reminiscing about this collab album you’re doing together now.

He doesn’t really look at you like you’re just a friend is her reply, one that haunts you during your concert back home in Busan and during the two you hold in Seoul.

You also end up going down on him in his Seoul penthouse apartment after your tour has been wrapped up, and that’s when your mother’s insinuation comes back. It confuses you, this thing you have with Joong-gil, but you barely have the time to think because he’s keeping you close to his pelvis with a hand on the back of your head, and all you can do is swallow around him.

The moan he lets out when he feels your throat constrict around his dick is loud and it goes straight to your core. It makes you moan in return and that’s when he warns you he’s close and pulls you off.

“Come in my mouth,” you plead, breathless – almost as breathless as he is. He looks so good staring down at you with hooded eyes, a light flush powdered over his cheeks and the upper part of his torso. Somehow, it makes you want to ruin him.

The sound he lets out is halfway between a moan and a groan, and he lets go of your hair in favor of wrapping his hand around his erection. You allow him a couple of strokes before you’re wrapping your lips around him again, and a swipe of your tongue on his frenulum is what pushes him over the edge and right down your throat when you take him all the way into your mouth.

Your hands caress up and down his thighs when he lets himself fall back onto his bed, and as he catches his breath, you pepper light kisses over his hips and abdomen. He looks and sounds so good that you can feel how uncomfortable the wetness in your panties is, but still don’t dare speak up.

“Fuck,” he pants, chuckling when he stretches a hand out for you to take. You intertwine your fingers with his and move to lie down next to him. “Let me see,” he pleads.

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize what he means, but then you show him you’ve swallowed every last drop by opening your mouth and pushing your tongue out.

“That was fucking sexy,” he groans before pulling you over onto him and kissing your breath away, licking into your mouth and making your heart almost give out in your chest.

Your phone rings.

“I gotta go now.”

He’s sitting up on his bed when you speak, after he’s tried – uselessly – to pay back the favor. His eyes follow your every move – the way you pick up your phone (almost a mirrored repetition of what happened in Atlanta), the way you check yourself out in the mirror of his dresser, how you hesitate for a second when you pick up your handbag from the floor.

“My manager’s asking for my whereabouts and I can’t exactly tell her what we’ve been doing here,” you chuckle, looking back at him just to find him two steps away, standing only in his boxers behind you.

He hums his agreement, but then surprises you by grabbing you by the hips and pulling you into his chest. Resisting the urge to wrap your arms around his neck or to press a kiss onto his skin takes everything you’ve got.

“I want to keep seeing you,” he confesses matter-of-factly, looking straight into your eyes. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips before he leans his head forward to peck your cheek. “I want to keep seeing you after this collab is wrapped up,” he repeats, this time whispering in your ear and making the baby hairs at the back of your neck stand up in gooseflesh.

“You do?” Somehow, you’re breathless. You barely even register it, with how wildly your heart is pounding in your chest and in your throat and – bonjour, finesse! – between your legs.

“Yep,” he chuckles. He pulls your pelvis right into his, and you feel how he’s getting hard again. If you don’t leave his house soon, you know you’ll be in trouble with your team, but at the moment you can barely even remember all the rules you have to follow. “I want to keep seeing you.” It’s the third time he says it, and you’re starting to believe his words. “I want to get to know all of you. I want to see what you look like naked, too.”

You can’t stop the giggle.

“I think it’s unfair you got to see me,” he whispers, rolling his hips into you, “and I couldn’t even take your panties off in that changing room. And then,” he continues, kissing down the side of your neck like you have all the time in the world, “I want to know how you feel around me. Wanna be so deep inside you that all you can remember is my name. Because that’s how I felt not even five minutes ago.”

A shiver runs up your whole body, from toes to head, and it pulls a low moan from your lips before you can even swallow it back. The way you’re throbbing makes you feel like you’re definitely going to lose your mind.

Forty-five minutes later you’re lying naked on your bed – after having managed to send your manager back home and after the coldest shower of your life. But Joong-gil is still on loop in your mind: his moans, the way he cradled your face when you knew he wanted to let go and fuck your throat but held back, and then the way he confessed his desire to keep on seeing you outside of work. It works you up like crazy and it’s delusional of you to think you’d ever be able to stop your hands from wandering down your body – your breasts, your belly, and then finally between your legs.

You’re so wet you almost shoot him a text, but then you start burning in embarrassment and the only thing you can think of to distract yourself is to tease your entrance before pushing two fingers in.

This time is different from that one in a hotel shower, when you had to be quick to stop yourself from drowning in your sense of guilt. This time you have all the time in the world, and working yourself up with the memory of Joong-gil in your mouth so fresh in your mind is extremely easy. Your toes curl, and your back arches, and your breathing is labored, scorching hot and loud, although not as loud as the squelching of your juices.

You’re not even aware of the way you’re dripping onto the fresh bedspread, nor can you really control the volume of your moans when you bring back the memory of him fingering you. You’ve never appreciated the soundproof system of your apartment as much as you do now, as you have three fingers massaging that one spot deep inside you while your other hand plays with your breasts.

The pleasure builds up and up, like it doesn’t ever want to stop, and you’re burning and doing your best to keep that moan of Joong-gil’s name trapped inside your chest. But then your hand brushes your clit and you’re coming, your orgasm crashing down on you as though it wants to pull you down under and never let you back up.

It does take you forever to come down from it. You put the ceiling of your bedroom into focus before you actually realize how erratic your heartbeat still is or how the tenderness of your pussy makes your thighs tremble when you trail your hand upward to rest it on your lower belly.

The ring of a notification comes at the same time your brain has the lucidity to think I need another shower.

It takes you a good five minutes to fully get back to your senses and stop thinking about Joong-gil’s lips on you, and at first you think about ignoring your phone. It’s late and you’re tired and overstimulated, and despite having a whole day for yourself tomorrow, you feel like you should take tonight off as well. But then a million and one thoughts start wracking you, and with a groan, you pick up your phone from the nightstand.

To your surprise, you read Joong-gil’s name on the screen and faster than you’d ever thought you would, you find yourself clicking on his text message.

[9:07 PM] Park Joong-gil: was thinking about you. what are you doing?

You feel your face grow hotter and you can’t help but giggle excitedly, slightly kicking your feet in the air before quickly venting to Bit-na. It’s been a while since the last time you felt this childish, but it’s not in a bad way this time, and it feels really good.

Still, you have no clue where you find the courage to text Joong-gil back:

[9:13 PM] you: wishing my fingers were yours

Another squeal rushes past your lips as you lock your phone and throw it at the foot of the bed. God, you feel like you’re sixteen all over again, when you were still crushing on that classmate of yours, Min-ho, who used to be a math genius and a Prince Charming.

Instead of a text reply, however, your phone starts ringing with an incoming call that makes your heart skip a beat inside your chest. Panic flashes past your thoughts for a split second, but then you convince yourself to grab your phone and lie back down while you answer, part of you expecting for it to be Bit-na.

It’s Joong-gil, of course. Bit-na is out on a date and you know it well, but hope is always the last spark to go out.

“So, you were saying…?” You see the smugness in his smirk, but it’s hard to focus when he has one arm bent behind his head as he sits in bed with his back against the headboard. The faint hickey you left on his collarbone is right there, staring right back at you, and you have to press your thighs together because all you can think of is the afternoon you spent making out and then sucking him off.

“You read it right the first time,” you stagger, trying to keep your phone angled in such a way that only your face and neck are visible.

“Are you naked?” He moves closer to the screen for a second before he sits back again. His smirk turns into an actual grin, and the spark in his eyes makes you want to gush out about him to Bit-na for the rest of the fucking month.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

“Show me?”

You don’t know where you find it in yourself to counter-attack until you hear yourself speak. “You first.”

You really thought you could have a smart moment, but when he tilts his phone to show you he’s only topless but still wearing a pair of navy blue pajama pants, you realize you’ve simply tricked yourself.

“That’s not fair.”

Your pout only makes him chuckle, but you’re still teasing enough to show yourself only up till the top of your breasts.

“Where’s the rest?”

“You’ll have to come see it in person.” This time you know you have the upper hand. He might be the country’s crush, but you’re still sensual enough to play your game.

He looks genuinely sad when he says, “my schedule is full till the end of the month and I want to spend more than just five minutes with you.”

He’s told you countless times today that he’s seriously interested in getting to know you, but it’s still surprising yet heartwarming to find confirmation of that yet again in his words.

“So you were serious? This afternoon.”

“That I wanna pursue you?” When you nod, he continues, “never been more serious.”

You end up talking about the tour you’ve just wrapped up, about a song he’d love to collab with you on once again, maybe next year, and about how fun it was to work together. When you go to bed that night, after a late night snack and a quick shower, you realize you’ve been on the phone for almost three hours and that you’ve never felt this comfortable with him ever.

Park Joong-gil is the last thought on your mind when you eventually fall asleep.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. However, you find yourself realizing how slowly the seconds can tick by and it’s a never-ending surprise to find out how much pent-up frustration your body can bottle up while you wait until the end of the month for your date. You still don’t have the details; you don’t even have a date, Joong-gil hasn’t set it yet, but that’s still your one and only thought.

Lim Ryung-gu reads you much better than Bit-na ever could, what with the distance or the fact that while you finally have more free time now that your comeback is behind your back, your best friend’s work life has slowly turned into a nightmare, preventing you from video calling. And, truly, maybe that’s a blessing in disguise because you hate the fact that Joong-gil is capable of affecting you this much without even trying, but at the same time it’s nice to have something other than work or anxiety making your heartrate pick up.

You’re in the studio with Ryung-gu one chilly afternoon towards the end of September. The RMT guys are going through a chill stretch of time before their end-of-year performance, and while Ryeon and Joon-woong are taking advantage of this time to get some more sleep in, Ryung-gu is still busy producing. You technically shouldn’t be allowed previews of their music, but the four of you are pretty much your agency’s money-makers, so there’s really no one stopping you.

“How’s it going with Park Joong-gil?” Ryung-gu absentmindedly asks, eyes fixed on the music software he’s been playing with all day.

You’ve been keeping him up-to-date with the most important things, unable to take your mind off of Joong-gil. It’s almost as though he’s one of your most recurrent thoughts nowadays; the situation wasn’t this bad even when you were spending all your time together during your tour or during the whole album-creation process.

“It’s… I don’t really know,” you shrug your shoulders, sucking pomegranate juice through the straw. “He’s busy now and I feel like I’m all of a sudden losing my mind for him.”

Ryung-gu clicks around on the screen, switching between pieces of software and tweaking his lyrics around, but then he turns towards you and gives you his full attention. “Too busy to even text?”

You feel how your face starts burning and when you avert your gaze from him, he must take it the wrong way, for he says,

“That’s a lame excuse.”

“No, I mean, we’ve been… texting,” you admit eventually, your exhale quivering at the thought of the kind of texts that have been going back and forth between the two of you on your burner phone.

“Why that pause?” But then, a second later, it must hit him. “Sexting? You’ve been sexting with the Park Joong-gil?” Surprise is as clear as day both in his voice and on his face, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

You hide behind your can of juice, but it’s hard to wipe that wide grin off your lips. Joong-gil’s groggy morning voice last week still affects you to this day when you replay it in your head – can’t wait to have my hands on you is part of what he left in your voicemail before heading out for his day a few hours before you even had the chance to wake up.

“Damn, I didn’t picture him to be the sexting type. He seems… intimidating, sometimes.”

You have to agree with him. Your collab brought along one surprise after the other, and it’s almost hard to believe people are still talking about it weeks after it ended.

“I think I really want to try this thing with him,” you say – to Ryung-gu or to yourself, you really don’t know as you look out the narrow window to your side. You see the top of a tree from there, its branches moving in the wind, and the clouds run by fast in the sunny sky. “I think I want to have with him what you have with your person, but at the same time I’m afraid this is too much too fast.”

Ryung-gu doesn’t say anything for what feels like the longest time, looking out the window, too, lost in thought. Maybe he’s thinking about his person, you assume, and for a moment you wonder how fast things moved between them before they started being an item. You wish he would tell you more about them, but at the same time you appreciate the privacy he allows his relationship.

“I think you should go for it, then,” he says eventually, moving his gaze from the view outside to your face. He’s smiling, and in that split second you realize why nothing’s ever felt rushed between the two of you. He puts you at ease; there’s probably no one else in Seoul you’re this comfortable around. It’s not just because of the sexual sort-of relationship you agreed upon, with its sporadic encounters you’ve had when either or both of you were too stressed to even breathe. It’s him, and his aura, that unperturbed calm that follows him around wherever he goes. “One step at a time. There’s no too fast or too slow. And if it doesn’t work out…” he shrugs, “at least you can say you tried.”

You nod in agreement. “You don’t think he’s into me just for the sex, do you?”

His gaze is stern for just a moment before he starts cackling. “I’ve seen your interviews together,” he replies when his laughter subsides, “and the interviews he’s given on his own. I think he’s genuinely into you as a person, I don’t know why you don’t see that, too.”

You decide to believe your friend, even when his question – are you into Joong-gil just for the sex? – starts eating away at the back of your mind with the only purpose of trying to make you doubt everything you know about him. It was a rhetorical question, of course, not Ryung-gu implying you’re into Joong-gil just for his dick or the way he still teases you about that one time you confessed to fingering yourself to the thought of him, but it’s still enough to leave you frustrated.

Some more days pass, and there’s an actual attempt of getting to know the little things about the both of you in-between the teasing texts you send each other. You find out he’s into martial arts and that he actually used to compete at national level, when he was younger. He learns you make origami when you’re sad, after he’s seen the collection you have in your living room on a video call, and that you have this one scar on the back of your left thigh from that one time you slipped on a rock at the beach, when you were eight and your mother on a business trip, and your father had panicked so much that you had had to calm him down.

Eventually, Joong-gil sets the date on his first day off – saturday night. I’m taking you to eat the best food in Seoul, he promised, and there’s no muffling the excitement that grows and grows inside you with each day that passes.

The anticipation is much better than the absence, that’s for sure, and when saturday night comes around, you get ready by doing your make-up and putting on that nice black dress you modeled for during that one fashion campaign last year. It’s a pity that you never got to wear it before, but it’s also exciting to know you’re wearing it for the first time on a date with someone so charming.

Yun-ho rings at your door at six on the dot, and then he leads you down to the underground garage of your condominium. For a moment you worry it’s just going to be you and him in the car, but when he opens the back door of a dark SUV with tinted windows, you find Joong-gil already sitting there on the back seat waiting for you.

You panic when you take in his outfit – light jeans and a maroon turtleneck that make you wonder whether he has given you the details after all and you simply didn’t notice in the excitement of the moment. “Am I overdressed?” you fret, buckling yourself in when his manager starts the car.

“On the contrary.” Joong-gil looks you up and down. He eyes the slit in the long skirt of your dress, the way the jewel shoulder straps twinkle in the light of the streetlamps, and then back down over the swell of your breasts and to the high-heeled sandals you wore. “You’re breathtaking.”

You want to tell him that he is breathtaking with the way he’s staring at you, almost like you hung the stars in the night sky and lit every single light in Seoul yourself. “Well, if anything, I’m not underdressed for wherever we’re going,” you say as a way to calm your nerves – you don’t even remember when the last time you went out on an actual date was.

“Oh, I know the owner,” Joong-gil grins, taking your hand in his and interlacing his fingers with yours. His hand is warm; it reminds you of the things he’s used it on you for – tuck your hair behind your ear but also finger you on a make-up desk. “He’ll have nothing to complain about.”

As it turns out, he is the owner. After a detour to not let you guess exactly where he was taking you, you find yourself stepping out of the car and into the underground garage of his apartment building, and then up the twenty-four floors to his apartment.

It hits you as soon as you step through his door, the fact that the last time you were here things could have gone much further than they actually did. You still feel the way he kissed you when he walked you backward into his apartment and the way his hands roamed your body before you eventually ended up on your knees for him.

Catching yourself red-handed, you force your train of thoughts to take another direction. After swapping your heels for the pair of house slippers Joong-gil gives you, you follow him into the open living area. It’s there, on the dining table, that you see all that food and your jaw drops.

“Where did you get all this?” you gawk, all kinds of delicious aromas tickling your nostrils and making your mouth salivate.

He’s smug when he looks at you before being the gentleman he is and pushing your chair closer to the table once you sit down. “I should’ve mentioned I’m a fairly decent cook,” he grins, moving to sit opposite you.

It’s then that you notice your favorite side dish, the one you told him about at your mother’s house and how you’ve never eaten it again after your father passed away. There’s another one, closer to him, that you suddenly remember praising a couple of times when you were still in the songwriting process of your collab album and used to spend entire nights in the studio.

It touches something inside you, the way he seems to have actually paid attention to your likes and dislikes, even though you just mentioned them or they never felt like they were truly that important. But you’re either good at hiding the pleasant surprise, or he simply doesn’t point it out when you start eating.

It’s quiet at first – you just feel his eyes on you as you bring food to your mouth and enjoy your dinner in silence. It doesn’t last long, however: he really is great at cooking – and not simply ‘fairly decent’ as he said – and compliments after compliments start spilling out of your mouth. This is so tasty, or I remember my grandma used to make it just like this!, or I can’t believe you cooked this yourself. It flusters him, and he’s such an endearing sight. This tall, dark, intimidating man when it comes to the heights of your industry really did go out of his way after a booked-out month just to cook your favorite things.

You could smooch his whole face right here and now.

By the time all the plates have been emptied, you’re full as an egg.

“Was it good?” he asks, a satisfied smirk on his lips, leaning back into his chair, one arm stretched out on the table and the other hooked on the back of his chair. Sitting like that, with that turtleneck fitting him like a glove, he feels like a whole course of desserts.

“It was incredible,” you gush out again, beaming, lightly massaging your stomach with one hand.

It hits you then, that you could play dirty and tease him the way he’s been teasing you all this time. You don’t even know what you’re talking about, just that you’re somehow keeping up with him, when you decide to strike. You remove a slipper under the table and stretch your leg out to play with his ankle.

He jolts slightly, and there’s an automatic “What are you doing?” slipping past his lips that just tugs at yours.

“What do you mean?” You lean forward, and you’ve acted in your fair share of dramas at the beginning of your career to be able to effortlessly pull off the most innocent of expressions. “I’m just playing a little game.”

Your foot trails up his shin and you have to control the impulse to laugh at what you’re doing.

“You’ve been teasing me all this time after that evening… It’s only fair that I have my payback,” you grin.

“Is that why you went braless?”

Your grin widens. So he has noticed, you think. You want to keep just for yourself how gentlemanly he is, however – not pointing it out, and not staring at your chest, either. Not that him being everyone’s heartthrob is surprising, but you keep on noticing the little things now and it’s those little things that make you fall for him a little more each day. How considerate he is. How attentive to the little things he is.

Or even how fucking sexy he looks right now, as he rounds the dining table to come pull you to your feet.

His hands trail up your arms, and you do your best to hold his eye contact despite the fact that you feel yourself melting in front of him into a puddle of hormones.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his hands come up to your shoulders. He plays with the straps of your dress almost as though he’s considering pushing them down your arms, but he doesn’t. What he does, however, is move his hands down your body to grab your hips. “You make staying away so fucking hard.”

It’s like there’s just the two of you – which is technically correct since no one else is in his apartment, but at the same time it’s like there’s nothing outside the walls of his home, just the two of you inside.

There’s a tiny voice at the back of your mind that whimpers at how desperately you want him inside of you, but that’s a story for another time.

“Then don’t.”

You pull in him for a kiss, and it doesn’t take long for one of his hands to creep up your chest and grab a boob through your dress.

“I still want to play a game, though,” you smirk when you pull back, just in time to see that look of suspicion flash across his gaze.

“I already know I’m going to regret playing along with this.” He lightly pinches one of your nipples before his hands are back on the crystal straps of your dress. When you nod your consent, he pushes them down your shoulders and takes a step back to take in how it reveals your body as it glides to the floor. Your breasts, and your stomach, and your legs. Fuck, no one’s looked at you the way he is right now.

You sure hope no one in the skyscraper opposite his apartment complex will see you through his windows.

“My busy weeks are about to start,” you say, stepping out of your dress and moving closer to him. His hands guide yours to the waistband of his jeans and you don’t hesitate when it comes to unbuttoning and unzipping them.

“What about that?” He’s trying his best to keep his breathing even, but you see how it’s not really working when your hand sneaks into his pants, your palm pressing right against his hardening cock through his underwear.

“I think we should wait,” you whisper against the side of his neck before licking a stripe against his skin. He shudders, and you’re loving your upper hand for once.

“Fuck that.” He removes your hand from his pants and picks you up. He walks up to the couch and sits down with you in his lap, and this time it’s not like in Atlanta. This time he pulls you down flush against him from the get go so that you can feel exactly what you do to him. “Why wait when we’re both here now?” You swallow his groan when you roll your hips against him just once.

“You can touch me,” you murmur, taking both of his hands in yours before guiding them onto your breasts. “And I will touch you,” you reassure him when he shoots you a burning gaze.

You’re pulling his pullover out of the waistband of his jeans when he asks, “but?”

He hisses and then shudders when you graze the skin of his abdomen with your nails. His reaction makes you smirk and the only way to hide your satisfied expression is by leaning in closer to him so that you can mock-bite the skin of his neck. You remember that part of his body to be sensitive from the one time you ended up giving him a blowjob, and he doesn’t disappoint you – he bucks his hips up and pulls your head back so that he can crash his lips into yours.

It’s distracting, the way he kisses you. All-consuming, like he can’t get enough of you and this is the next best thing he’s thought of to be as humanly close as possible to you when he’s still fully dressed. One of his hands trails down your back and slips into the back of your panties before he’s grabbing tight onto your buttcheek and kneading it. You’re pretty sure that if he moved his hand a little more down, those long fingers of his would be able to feel how absolutely drenched you are.

But then you remember what you were trying to say, that stupid little game that suddenly popped up in your mind when you realized how fucking bad you wanted his dick – but with feelings. You pull away, gasping for hair, and when you meet his eye he’s already staring at you with that heated gaze of his. If your panties weren’t soaked before, they sure as hell are now.

“No fucking,” you pant, sliding your right hand up along his chest and brushing your thumb across his nipple. You don’t really know what he feels for you aside from the lust that always drips from his racy texts, but you still want him to crumble for you just as much as you do him. “No sex until I’m free again.”

“When’s that gonna be?” He’s already regretting doing this, but there’s also a curious spark behind the lust in his eyes, and you absolutely love the way he pulls you closer by your ass on his dick, even though the fly of his jeans grazes your inner thighs. “Hm? How long’s that gonna be?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Mid-November, most likely.”

He gapes, speechless, but he still lets you take his turtleneck off. “You’re crazy. You can’t be for real.”

You don’t even hide that amused smirk this time. You simply lean into him fully, chest-to-chest, and press a wet kiss right underneath his jaw. The throbbing in your pussy picks up when you feel the light twitch of his dick in his briefs. “Don’t you think it’s gonna be worth it?”

“I think you’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he flat out whines, wrapping his arms around you tight enough to make you stop teasing him. “Fuck, can’t you feel me twitch?”

You can, and you’re doing your best to ignore that.

“It’s gonna be fun,” you murmur, gently sucking a hickey into his neck – probably against your better judgment, but your tits pressing into his chest and his clothed cock pressing against your core.

“It’s gonna be torture,” he retorts, kissing your shoulder. He’s so gentle that gooseflesh breaks out all over your body, and you’re forced to pull back and rest your forearms on his shoulders to stop yourself from giving in to him.

“You will survive,” you chuckle. “And then you’ll be able to have me however you like.”

“Can I at least eat you out now?”

You peck his lips, and he’s quick at opening his mouth to deepen the kiss for a moment before pulling back. “I don’t know,” you pant. “Can you?”

Unlike Instagram, Tumblr runs on reblogs, so if you’re in the mood, kindly consider leaving a comment and/or sharing this fic with your friends. However, any form of feedback is welcome :)

If you’d like to be tagged in what I write, let me know!

Original video used for banner: https://www.pexels.com/video/close-up-video-of-dried-roses-6092477/

#mbc tomorrow #tomorrow #kdrama #park joong-gil #park joong gil #mbc tomorrow imagine #tomorrow 내일 #park joong-gil imagine #park joong-gil x reader #park joong-gil smut #park joong gil imagine #park joong gil x reader #park joong gil smut #park joong-gil au #park joong gil au

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bangtaninborderland · 2 years

Note

Hey it’s my birthday today and I love your writing. Was wondering if you could do a cute/long fic with fluffy/sweet Chishiya. Like chishiya knows it’s readers bday but doesn’t know what to do so he asks kuina and she plans a cool little party just the 3 of them. Also brings a cute little gift for reader maybe something to do with cats as I love cats 💜 I know you’re kinda sick of writing for chishiya so if you don’t want to it’s ok.

I see this and knew I had to answer, if anyone has a birthday and wants me to write something regardless of what it is or what character I will write it, I always want to make someone’s day special so as my gift on anyones birthday I’ll write their requests, first of all happy birthday, I hope you have had a genuinely amazing day and I hope the next year is filled with love and good health. 💜 just because all my requests have been about Chishiya please still submit them I have a few I’m currently working on for Chishiya and Niragi!

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Chishiya X Reader || Best Wishes.

August 12th, to most people was just another plain ordinary day but for you it was your birthday and it was a day filled with longing and misery as you had come to spend it in the borderlands. No one would want to spend a regular day here let alone their birthday.

You wasn’t expecting anything, you had only briefly mentioned to Chishiya that it was your birthday and as usual this only garnered a silent response, you wasn’t even sure he heard you and as your disappointment had already become something you expected you didn’t feel the need to repeat it.

Back home your birthday would be one filled with celebrations and cheers with your family taking you to your favourite restaurant where they would always surprise you with a small but crazy cake, your smile wavered reminiscing about your family before you quickly brushed the thoughts away not wanting to get too caught up with them as you see Kuina approaching the table you had sat yourself at for lunch.

“Hey you!” She wrapped her arms around your necking giving you a small hug from behind before she sat herself in the empty seat across from you.

You patted her hand in response before giving her a smile. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling today?” She asked, her eyes fixated on the militant beach members walking past.

You sighed before forcing out a fake smile. “I’m okay. What about you.”

Her eyes shot back to you, unconvinced by your ploy to act okay. “You know in the weeks we have been here I have grown to know that whenever you say something is okay it never really is. So what’s on your mind?”

“It’s my birthday today.” You sigh, giving up at your failed attempts of lying.

“WHY DIDNT YOU SAY ANYTHING?!” Kuina shouts almost tackling you to the grown as she hugs you towards her as tight as humanly possible.

“Shh!” You hush as you gently redirect her to her seat. “I don’t want anyone to know, I told Chishiya but I don’t think he heard me and after all it isn’t exactly like I can celebrate, celebrating a birthday when I could die tomorrow seems a little pointless.”

“That’s even more of a reason to celebrate!” She throws her hands up in the air as she makes a very valid point.

You shake your head trying to end the conversation as soon as possible, the truth is you had wanted to celebrate your birthday but knowing how the borderlands are that would never happen. It would be impossible to celebrate anything in a world of misery, everyone is too scared or sad.

“I’m going back to my room to shower, I didn’t sleep well last night.” You sigh as you take your plate to the cleaning station with Kuina following behind you.

“Come and find me when you wake up okay? We can celebrate?” Kuina looks towards you hopefully and you can’t help but nod.

“Sure if I wake up in time.” You reply shortly, hurrying away to the stairs to your room.

You felt better once you had showered, even though you slept enough you found yourself climbing into the sheets, forcing yourself to sleep in hopes that the day would be over when you next woke up. No longer wanting to celebrate a day that you had once loved.

Unfortunately when you woke up the sun had only began setting, you groaned at the way your luck had once again become unlucky.

You pushed the thin covers back as you stumbled your way into the restroom to wash up, throwing on a pair of sweats and a vest before tying your hair up and grabbing your favourite book before heading back to the bed. You was all too ready to settle down for the night tucked away in your lonely square room until you see a folded piece of paper by your door.

“Well that certainly wasn’t there earlier.” You sigh to yourself and you reach down to pick it up.

You carefully unfolded the paper and skimmed over the note reading Come to Room 106, dress nice.

You groaned thinking about the bizarre request but nevertheless your curiosity got the best of you so you headed towards the small wardrobe that you had graciously been provided by other beach members. The only thing remotely nice you could find was a long black gown that you paired with some shorts and I half tank top bikini, still having to adhere to the ridiculous rules at the beach make dressing nice impossible.

“It will have to do.” You roll your eyes in the mirror before letting your hair down, brushing it quickly before sliding on your shoes and heading to the random room.

You hesitantly opened to door only to be met with darkness and a few dim candles. You walked in and closed the door behind you before looking around, it was a suit and a big one at that although you didn’t venture far and the lights provided no insight.

“Hello?” You whispered afraid your had the wrong room.

“Happy birthday” a voice whispered against your neck making you jump.

“Chishiya?” You breathe in relief as you turn around, his hands wrapping themselves against your waist as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I needed this.” You smile against his chest and for the first time today it was a genuinely happy one.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to my best friend, happy birthday to you.” Kuina sang the birthday song as she held a small cupcake with a single candle before passing the desert to you.

“Make a wish.” Chishiya laughs behind you nodding towards the cake.

You close your eyes and begin making a long but fast wish for good health and escape for you, Chishiya and Kuina before blowing carefully on the half burnt out candle.

The lights flicker on as Kuina and Chishiya clap. The redness in your face no longer hidden by the darkness. You really didn’t expect anything today but seeing the extent your best friend and boyfriend went to just to help make your day special, well you couldn’t stop blushing.

“Thank you guys.” You sigh wrapped your arms around each of them.

“That’s not all.” Kuina exclaims excitedly before tapping Chishiyas arm. “Get it now.”

You looked at Chishiya in confusion as he walked towards the desk opposite the bed.

“What is he doing?“ you ask Kuina before noticing the two small boxes Chishiya had pulled out.

“I’ll be back with some food in a minuet.” Kuina explains all too conveniently as she heads out of the door.

You turn your attention back to Chishiya who stood in front of you. “What’s all this?”

“This is my gift to you.” He hands you one of the small boxes and you hesitantly open it.

You immediately tear up as you see the small pendant in the box. You carefully pull it out and noticed the latch on the side. It was a locket.

You open the silver necklace only to be met with the most beautiful picture of your favourite animal - a cat.

You couldn’t bring yourself to find words for your appreciation instead throwing your arms around Chishiyas neck as a few more tears slip out against his white sweatshirt. The gift was meaningful to you in ways you could never explain but Chishiya didn’t need an explanation. Being gifted a part of something you love and miss is far greater than anything else.

“There’s this too.” He smiles handing you the second small box.

Inside you find a small key. “What’s this?” You ask in confusion.

“When we get out of here I want us to be able to find each other, I went to my apartment today and got the spare key. If we get out of here and end up in different places you can use that key to find me, the code on the back is special and is the same as the property number, you can look it up and find me.”

Suddenly all of your stored emotion broke free and you couldn’t help but bring your lips to his, his hands fell to the side of your face as he kissed you back.

“I’m so thankful Chishiya. How did you plan all of this?” You stare in disbelief at the gifts in your hands.

Chishiya rubbed the back of his head smiling. “It was Kuinas idea, I heard you tell me about your birthday last week but I was stuck on how to celebrate it, she planned everything apart from the key.”

“You know in a place like this I never thought I’d find any happiness.” You smile thinking about your best friend.

Just as you expect Kuina heads back into the room holding a tray of hot food. You wait until she places it on the desk before pulling her in to a tight hug. “Thank you, I can’t believe you did this for me.” You whisper into her ear as your tears still flow free fall.

The night went on full of laughter and good food, you decided to end the party once the sun had set and the rose again. Before Kuina left leaving you and Chishiya the suit for the rest of the day you pulled her into another hug this time along with Chishiya.

“I didn’t know how to get through today in a place like this, but having you makes everything better. I will do my best to get us out of here. You are my family here. I love you both so much.” You promise them.

“Whatever happens in the borderlands, we stay together.” Kuina declares before smiles and you and heads out of the room back towards her own.

“How was today?” Chishiya asks placing a small kiss on your forehead.

“Perfect.” You smile against him before wrapping your arms around him once again on your perfect day.

#murakami nijiro #nijiro murakami #aib netflix #nijiro #alice in borderland #aib #aib chishiya #nijiro icons #aib x you #dead stock jdrama #suguru niragi #ima wa no kuni no alice #alice in borderland netflix #chishiya shuntarou #jdrama #chishiya icons #aib headcanons #imawa no kuni no alice #chishiya

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sor-vette · 2 years

Note

It’s me again! I’d like to see what happens with reader’s awkward self and joon’s horniness with “I asked if you had to use the bathroom before I got in the shower!”. His dam of desires will break at some point! (Loved the “Your hair’s so soft” Drabble btw, big hugs!)

The Namjoon brainrot is real these days hehehe hmm, okay let's see what the mind can concoct

Pillow Trouble

• type: Namjoon x reader (+ot7 x reader mentioned) • w/c: 2.7k (yeah nah it's a "drabble") • rating: explicit!

• c/w: smut & light angst, shower sex, rough sex but there's like little funny moments in between, thigh riding, finger sucking (oh lord I deserve hell), breast play, marking, teasing and edging, handjob, hair pulling, penetration, protected sex bc this is not a pregnancy fic, my piss poor attempt at dirty talk

• part of: “Life of 27” drabble series set in “The Curious Move-In to Apartment 27”

• set: during "The Tale of Two Sisters (& 8 Uncles & 1 surprise), a future chapter coming hopefully soon

• a/n: had to set this into a future chapter otherwise it would have to be another dream scenario and I feel like some of you'd be hella annoyed. Also, the reader is not as awkward as always, she rode mister Min the whole night, got an ego boost if you will lol. Thanks @introlxv for beta-reading, love you bubs :(

• tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @medicinemybish; @babycoffeefire; @mayla548; @ijustwantawonhobasedurl (hope you don't mind)

"Hey Jungkook, have you seen my-"

A toothbrush is thrown in his direction.

"Get out!"

"Yo, Tae, did you take my sunglasses?"

"FUCK OFF, NAMJOON!"

He only opens the doors this time.

"NAMJOON IF IT'S YOU I'LL CHOKE YOU WITH A TOILET PLUNGER!"

"Who's Namjoon?" he dumbly calls out because he peeked a glimpse of that soft place where your waist meets the curve of your back and his brain is now on factory reset.

"FUCK OFF!"

He's hit with an empty bottle of shower gel.

Sharing one bathroom meant that there will be incidents and mostly it's nothing no one has not seen before. The general protocol was either to join or leave. But as it stood now the protocol was all fucked. Or more specifically you were fucked which in turn fucked the protocol...long story short, there was a simple but rather potent question hanging in the air. Could they make a move?

Yoongi had done it, the surreptitious bastard. Of course, he would be that one asshole who cheated his way through life. What could they do, that was just their beloved Yoongi but it left them questioning these new, breached boundaries. The timing was also somewhat poor. While they very much enjoyed doting on Pauline, it didn't go amiss that every meeting pushed you deeper and deeper into thought. It had become a regular occurrence to repeat things twice if not thrice to garner your attention. Memories were making your days heavy and once Pauline went back home, the apartment fell sombre.

Namjoon's fist tightened on the book he was reading but once it began to dent, he loosened his fist. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't just go back in time and make your life better. Unfortunately, that's not how it worked. He was the only one here to accompany you into the night this day. It was a quiet and grey afternoon and everyone else was busy. First glimpses of snow had just begun to rear their head and the final colours of the Autumn finally brushed away. The world had turned bare. But there was a sense of charm in the dreary landscape. Tranquillity. He sighed to himself and entered the bathroom, automatically slamming the door shut when he saw the steam rise from the shower.

"I asked if you had to use the bathroom before I got in the shower," your monotone voice reached his hearing and with eyes still closed he peeked into the bathroom.

"You didn't. You didn't even say hi when you came back," he reminds you, not out of grudge but more to point out that fact.

"Oh. I must have said it in my head," you conclude lamely and steeling himself, he opened his eyes. The glass was matted so he could see largely just your outline and while it was still too much for him to handle, he zeroed in on the blank expression on your face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm...I'm angry," you answer and he catches onto the tone of tired bitterness. "I'm angry all the time. Yesterday, I spoke with the therapist you all bullied me into -"

"We did not bully!"

"Forcibly manhandled me to," you continue determined. "And she said that the part of me that feels so angry, that feels all this hatred is the part that loves myself the most. Because it's the only part of me that knows that what happened was wrong."

It's hard to say something to that. He should comfort you but he's failing to do so.

"Whatever," you sigh. "I'm too tired to ponder about this any longer. Make yourself useful and wash my back."

His brain errors itself in an endless loop.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said make yourself useful and wash my back. Hoseok broke the backscratcher and I can't reach there."

He closes his eyes. The moral conundrum is back. He shouldn't. He mustn't. You're in a vulnerable emotional position and he should absolutely do the right thing and step away. Naturally, he was already kicking one of his legs out of his pants. Despite the steam of the shower, he shivers wrestling the shirt away and when he reaches for the doors of the shower, his fingers are trembling. You await him there. Body wet and glistening, arms reaching your breasts, hiding them from view and head arched back onto the tile wall. He could cry at this very moment. Surely, this was illegal.

Funny, he reckons, for a moment there he thought you'd gotten over the awful shyness. Maybe, you did, there's a challenge in your eyes but your cheeks are tinted and your lips are swollen already. He approaches you slowly, steam surrounding you both, driving him dizzy. It's not funny anymore. He wants to devour you. Too long he's waited for you. Namjoon reaches and traces your bottom lip with his thumb, stepping closer so that you have to look up at him. It's a power move in a way but it's quickly brushed over by the fact that he loves you. This is not power, this is worship. Fingers shaking he lowers his palm and while lowering himself to kiss you, pushes you into the wall, bracing himself against the wet tiles. You moan into the kiss, tepidly opening your mouth to allow access. Trembling all over, he pulls away, though still lingering near.

"You're not scared, are you?" he asks, voice a deep gravelling sound.

"Depends on what you'll do to me."

Those are not wise words.

"Everything," he growls and kisses you again. Your breath is running out and Namjoon turns on the shower, hot water cascading down on you. When he parts you moan, searching for more. He also wants more.

"Mmm do you want more?" he taunts and you chase his lips but he pulls back, enjoying this small reverie, this small moment of validation that you also wanted him.

"Yes," you whimper.

"Do you need more? How much do you need it?"

You fall silent, face twisted in embarrassment.

"Nah, baby, sorry but I've waited for so long you're going to be a good girl and use your words."

The challenge is back in your gaze.

"And what if I don't?"

Namjoon tightens his jaw, stretching taller.

"You can play with Taehyung and the rest of the dummies, you can play around with anyone else, but you're not going to do that with me."

"Can I play around with Jae?"

Oh, you were just looking for trouble.

Before you can speak anymore, he grips your arms, tight enough so you couldn't move on your own and nudging a thigh between your legs, forces you to grind your pussy against it. Your mouth falls open in surprise and stuttered breaths fall out of it.

"Look at you, trying to seem all tough but you're getting so wet just by this."

"Shut the fuck up," you groan.

"This fucking mouth of yours," he returns his thumb back to your lips, not missing the fact that you rode his thigh well on your own volition. The jealous, petty monster in his chest was glad, was hopping around in vicious glee.

"I should stuff it full if you're going to say shit about other men. About that fucking boy."

"He's not a boy," you counter, smirking despite the fact he was smushing your cheeks by wrapping his fingers around your cheeks.

"Hell no, baby, I'm a man, I'm your man. You belong to me, I belong to you. It's two plus two."

"I don't think that's a government-approved educat- hmppf!"

Without much warning, he pushes two fingers in your mouth and your head hits the tile wall.

"Sorry bout that," Namjoon tosses out casually like he doesn't at all have your pussy twitching on his thigh and your tongue lapping at his fingers. When he feels our hand sneak down to prod at your clit, he forcefully tugs it away.

"Fuck no. I've heard enough of you getting off on your own. You'll take only what I give you, understood?"

You seem to have the incentive to object but he momentarily pushes his fingers deeper down your mouth, making you gag. His dick twitches at the sound. What a lovely sound that was. He removes his saliva coated fingers and you gulp in a large breath, panting in the steam.

"Yes."

"Good. That's what I like to hear," Namjoon purrs and leans in to nibble on your neck, groping one of your breasts. He laughs when he finds out it did in the end fit in his palm if he stretched his fingers wide enough. You throw him a confused glance but he doesn't reveal the private joke just yet. That's for the future.

"Look at how many marks you have," he murmurs letting go of the skin with a quiet popping noise. "No way Yoongi did all of this?"

"No, it was also...Jimin!" you squeal when his index prods at your clit.

"Him only?"

"N-no, also Tae and-and Jungkook!"

He begins to rub circles on your clit and you were rapidly approaching the edge. Your thighs shook in his hold and you clung to his arms for dear life.

"Shit, baby, having fun with the youngest ones?"

"They treat me like a chew toy," you lament and Namjoon laughs in the crook of your neck, leaving soothing kisses to some of the more nastiest bruises. They really did by the looks of it.

"Well, that's because you are," Namjoon pushes you off his thigh just when it felt like you were about to fall over the edge. You claw at his chest in protest but he pays it no attention.

"Oh, does this make you feel annoyed?" he mocks and you throw him a peeved glare. "Does this make you feel desperate? To want something and not have it? To have it dangling in your face and then have it ripped away?"

You shove him away, stomping away but he catches you by the elbow, dragging you back.

"Oh, you're not running away. Never again," he grunts in your ear.

The air is harsh and incredibly cold outside the shower and for a split second, the moment comes to a grinding halt as you both make your shivering way to his room. Since your bed was (again!) broken by one and only Min Yoongi, may he rest in heaven the lucky bastard.

Tugging the towel away from your body in the safe conditions of his room, he's surprised to see that you quickly crossed your arms to cover your chest.

"What's this? Feeling shy all of a sudden?" he teases, careful though not to push you more than necessary.

"You're gawking at them," you mumble. "What, you want to compare sizes?"

"They're beautiful, baby," he gently pries your hand away diving back to lick your cold hardened nipples. You hiss, immediately sinking your fingers into his hair. "I'll write songs for these tits."

You laugh and to much of Namjoon's unvoiced comfort, he feels your back muscles relax once more.

"I'm fairly sure Yoongi has you beat in that too."

"Oh, he just has to be the first in everything," Namjoon rolls his eyes and you put your chin on his head as he continues kissing down your cleavage. For some reason it makes his heart soften, that monster in his chest purrs like a kitten.

"You're absolutely one hell of a woman you know that," he sighs, suddenly wistful. "You're driving me crazy. Driving all of us crazy."

"You're just crazy by default," you deflect and pull back. "I'd like to do something, may I?"

"Baby, you could step on me and I'd thank you for it," Namjoon laughed, unabashedly truthful. Your hands, like his, are trembling but your face is determined and that drives Namjoon into a curious craze. He sits down when you push him and swallows when you crawl on top of him. You dunk your head into his neck and nose against his pulse, gently ever so lightly kiss the column of his throat, while fisting his hair in your hand. He will start to weep at this rate.

"You have such a pretty neck," you whispered and he grips your waist, barely breathing at this point. "I wanted to mark this neck for a long time as well."

"Dummy, you could have done it the first moment when you saw me," he grunts. This is insanity, he'll lose all mental coherence forever should this continue.

"What jump you right then and there?"

"No one, oh shit!" you bit down on his pulse point while gripping his length.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it I took my sweet ass time, now shut up!"

"You shut up," Namjoon breathed a thin little breath as started stroking him up and down.

"Wait, wait, just hold on," he whimpered throwing his head back. Too fast, too good.

"No, I need to - fuck! - I need to stretch you first, I need you!"

"What is my hand not good enough?"

"It's too good, too good, hold on a moment," he shuddered and pulled your hand away. "I did not wait this long to not ruin this pussy the first time we do it."

He didn't even hear what you replied, probably something smart and whatever remaining sanity and restraint he had left it shattered into dust.

"Make her scream, make her cry, make her know who she fucking belongs to," that part of himself whispered and he quickly yanked you on the bed. Rifling through the drawer, he found the last remaining condom (fairly sure someone was going through his stash) and spitting out the plastic he pulled it over his length.

He carefully began to stretch you open, kissing against your nape.

"Just tell me if anything's wrong, okay. Just tell me."

You nodded gripping the pillow and soon enough he closed his eyes and slid into you, with a loud, exuberant groan. He could swear there were stars swimming behind his eyes.

Shivering, he sunk his fingers into the mattress, before thinking of another use.

"Cross your arms behind your back," he ordered and you obeyed. Gripping your wrists in the palm of your hand, he slid further in, enjoying every mewl and whimper the action forced out.

"You're okay?" he asked with the other hand caressing away hair from your face.

"Yeah, it's just you're...you're very big."

He continued to caress your hair, oddly or perhaps not oddly at all - fond.

"Does it feel like I'm splitting you open?"

You nodded, breathless.

"A little bit."

Testing the grounds he thrust forward, crossing fingers to himself that he won't cum in four seconds because right now it loomed all too nearly. Slowly he began to rock your body, squeezing your wrists tighter and tighter. They will bruise but nothing made him more selfishly joyful than the realization that you will waddle into work tomorrow with no way of hiding from anyone that he finally was having you like this. The sounds grew only more obscene and your thighs began to quiver. When Namjoon's fingers reached to prod at your clit, he was all too happy to see you scream into the pillow. He pitied the poor fuckers in whatever number apartment they had above his room.

"Fuck, I'll be ruining this pussy every day starting now," he groaned into your ear, kissing your neck, trying to pull you closer still. He didn't care that it was impossible. More, he needed more. You began to twitch and spasm onto his dick, screams only slightly muffled by the pillow.

"That's it, cum for me," he cooed and released your wrists, which fell limply to your side. Squeezing harshly your hips, he chased his own pleasure until finally, he felt the familiar and much-welcomed coil tether on the very edge of snapping apart.

"Fuck, oh fuck," he panicked, "where do I??"

He ripped the condom off, rolling you over. You seemed to be fucked out of all sense, which he was rather proud of.

"Fuck, can I...on your chest?" he begged, for some reason feeling embarrassed. The moral senses were kicking it seems quite early this night to wail at his own depravity. You gave him a weak shrug.

To say that the dinner was awkward for the six remaining people was the understatement of the century. They sat all red in the face, trying to pretend their hardest that they were not hearing anything.

Jin slurped his noodles, ears threatening to catch his hair on fire.

"Oh, they're both nasty," he sulked.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #namjoon fic #ot7 x reader #ot7 x y/n #ot7 x you #bts smut #namjoon smut

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sukunasun · 2 years

Note

omg i can't believe you lost all your works? that's devastating! i'm so so sorry that happened. how many months or years' worth of work was it, or do you have a ballpark figure of what's missing? i mourn the drafts we won't get to see because you're an insanely talented writer, but im utterly grateful you still choose to continue. you're such an inspiration.

i basically reenacted the burning of the library of alexandria. there were about 190+ pieces of writing (inclusive of hcs, fics, and asks,etc...) all gone so quickly i barely had time to process it.

before i went finding links and copies from reblogs, i was contemplating whether it'd be worth it since there was a lot to find and it'll take up so much time just searching for them but thankfully most of it is on my masterlist now! there were a few that i just couldn't find reblogs of / cached copies so i suppose they're orphaned work now :( hopefully i'll stumble upon them some day and will be able to link them again.

but i've come to accept it so there are no hard feelings, the grief isn't going to linger and i think the situation helped to bring some focus back to my writing and how it has changed overtime. i get to see the ways which ive improved or lacked. plus, it brought me back to the purpose behind wanting to share my writing in the first place? pre-deletion i got really nervous and felt pressured when it came to posting stuff because i didn't know what reactions i would get, there was this 'underrated writer' stigma looming around me and i was concerned about 'getting my stuff out there'—which isn't how i want to feel when it comes to doing this, i like the interaction and i like when i see my work inspiring people and garnering such positivity but at the same time posting these works was always just about wanting to share thoughts and to write the kind of stuff i want to read about.

and i think im less hard on myself, it sucks being a tortured artist...there are works i keep to myself that i'm not ready to share because im so infuriated with my own inabilities and lacklustre ways, i read them and i think to myself what the hell am i doing? do i really think to call myself a writer? thus the works posted here will render some 'detachment' from me because i know they aren't mine anymore. they become someone else's piece of favourite writing or they're most hated, once i know its out there...it'll be seen and known, it'll exist as something tangible. which is why i feel less upset about 'losing' them after they got deleted, in a way, i was already prepared to let them go. this isn't to say that i don't cherish them but that i've learned that i'll write more stuff anyway and i'll write til i can do it no longer.

when i think about my favourite writers, i'm glad i've gotten to see some of their unfinished works and drafts, their letters and their poems too, all the stuff they probably never wanted the world to see but without them i wouldn't have seen a person who struggles the same way i do.

thank you for mourning them, they were pieces that have brought me a lot of joy and i hope my future work continues to mean something to you 💛

#rip to some of the works i couldnt find:#brat tamer gojo. sex pollen nanami. my formula one AU. F1 team principal nanami. meanie reader and stsg.#all the toji drafts i never posted.#all the chubby reader stuff ... the cam girl stuff... all the haikyuu n demon slayer stuff #that one geto draft with bathroom sex but yo there was this one line that took me out #i miss u tattoo geto. motorcycle geto. f1 driver geto. band geto going on a world tour and we had an argument the night before.#can u believe i even lost the househusband nanami smut #10K street racer sukuna au i titled fast and furious #so much gojo smut its insane. pure filth exhibitionist gojo. virgin gojo. first day out of the prison realm feral gojo.#this surprisingly profound chubby reader radio au i wrote abt falling in love with a person sans appearances and there were music refs #yuuji yuuji yuuji ...all the yuuji stuff #megumi with his dogs. megumi bringin gojo and reader together.#all the choso and kamo stuff i cant get back and it pissed me off #*lebron james cant belive this is my life meme #ask #anon

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

Text

go the distance

(will you) go the distance

— You’re perfectly content in life except for the fact that you are not dating Deku. When his best friend won’t help you out, you turn to the dark side to get what you want.

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pairing: pro hero!midoriya izuku x bad villain!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, manga spoilers, pro hero!au, villain!reader, ofa usage for sex lol, size difference, manhandling, public sex, slight degradation and praise, deku eats his cum outta ya pussy, big dick deku, corruption but make it opposite, deku is a pervert change my mind

word count: 12,715

a/n: well, yall already knew I wanted to make this fic a reality, so here it is for bnharems villain collab!! check out all the already amazing stories if you haven’t already. thank you to kara, sky, and jo for reading this for me because lmao im ass rn. I’m gonna go to bed because I partied a bit too hard last night.

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your quirk: distortion – can make afflicted persons vision shift 6 cm to the left or right at the cost of having their own vision shift the same way

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“Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcasted rumors of a villain running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures, and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning.

“Road maintenance endeavors to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

“Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

“Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved, but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city, please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary. One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.”

The female reporter closes her eyes, despite still being on the air, her eyebrows furrowed as she exasperatedly sighs.

“Was that good enough, Mirage?”

You look at her with a pout, your eyes then clenching shut as your lips move with unsaid words as you motion for the cameras to stop rolling. You tilt your head right and left, muttering a bit.

“Did that seem better to you this time? I don’t know, I don’t think it was scary enough...”

You open your eyes to see the exasperated reporter looking at you as if she personally sought to end you right where you were sitting.

“You are the worst villain I’ve ever encountered,” she deadpans, and you laugh in agreement.

You weren’t really a villain.

If you must put a label on what you were, you would say that you were the best PR head any hero agency could ask for. You were, after all, the top student graduate from UA’s Business Course and had been ushered into a condensed agency the moment you were finished taking your graduation pictures.

And well, if you are actually curious about the… villainy, you would like to uphold and continue to stress that you weren’t a villain! You were just a public nuisance – like those stupid YouTubers – with the ability to garner Pro Heroes’ attention! People had no reason to scoff at what you did on the daily.

You took both of these jobs very seriously!

It was like being straight out of a comic for you!

A simple – hopefully should the heroes you’re in charge of not be stupid – nine to five job by day, and a badass, crime-committing, sexy as shit villain by night! How could anyone ever hate you for your lifestyle! How could anyone ever hate you?!

But we are all noisy people, and everyone wondered just why you became a villain because you had a beautifully stable job with an impressive salary! Why would such an amazing woman such as yourself dabble in the evilness of humanity?

Well, you did have an answer for the public.

“Why do you engage in evil, villainous schemes?” the reporter deadpans, absolutely and utterly not being paid enough to humor you in this forced interview.

The public loved drama, pizazz, a little showmanship even from what they deemed humanities worst! So, you told the world why you chose to be evil instead of good:

“Because I want to be!” you grin, flashing a pose as you make your away from the interviewer you had very much illegally forced to interview you. “And because a hero killed my cat!’

Of course, that was a lie! Why would you ever hand over the real reason as to why you decided to become a villain! You’d be laughed right out of Japan, possibly be murdered by a horde of fangirls!

For you see, there was one reason and one reason alone as to why you decided to take your place within the villainy hall of fame. Why you chose to do more in your day outside of your already demanding job.

And that one reason was: Pro Hero Deku, civilian name Midoriya Izuku.

Now, trying not to come off as some creepy, weirdo, stalker fangirl, you could fully admit that you were in love with the stupidly large hunk of a man that debuted as an official pro a year before you graduated from high school.

You remember how the world was finally recovering from the year-long nightmare that had ensued. To be honest, you were stupidly surprised you had even managed to graduate, given that most of schooling had become somewhat of a joke.

FIVE YEARS AGO, MARCH, 2XXX:

It had been in the evening, the clear blue sky becoming ruby red and blood orange as you made your way out of campus. The air somehow smelled of sweet hay and gasoline, but you didn’t mind. There was hardly anyone out at this time, most students had made their way home already, and the only sounds were the moving cars of businessmen just trying to get back home.

There really wasn’t any reason to suspect anything to go wrong, this was a simple daily walk back home after school that wasn’t like any other. But then there had been a loud pop, an ever louder screech, and finally, you managed to whip your head in time to see a car tumbling through the air straight at you.

There was hardly any time to think, even less to react, and the only thing you knew was that you were not going to survive.

You braced yourself, eyes clenching and body curling, your mind screaming because this was not going to be the way things ended. But before it could happen, before the car could come down upon you and squish you like a bug under a shoe, something picked you up and you were weightless.

Waiting for an impact that never came, the tears that were endlessly streaming down your face were suddenly stopped by rough, warm fingers smoothly wiping them away.

“Hey, it’s okay! You’re safe now!” a voice says softly to you, endearingly warm and comforting. “I’m here, don’t worry.”

“Am I… did I die?” you whisper, unsure if you even want the answer, your eyes remaining closed because you refused to open them up to some angel that could confirm your death. “God, what an embarrassing way to die!”

“Oh – um, no! You’re not dead! I promise!” the voice laughs brightly, just softly enough that you believe him and not be entirely horrified by the amused reaction. Your eyes crack open slowly, just barely peering back into the world, still half praying you weren’t dead. But all you saw was green.

Green eyes, green hair, green clothes.

You blink, once, twice, realizing only then you were staring into the eyes of a boy about your age.

He had curly hair, freckles littering his face, and eyes that easily pierced through your very soul.

Without meaning to, your breath stopped, frozen in your lungs as you were captivated by a handsome man with a curving, beautiful smile.

“See, I told you it was okay!” he teased you, head cocking to the side as he grinned largely.

The action itself seemed to strangle the strangest noise out of your mouth as you realized suddenly and immediately that your face was burning and all you could think was:

A cute hero rescued me, a cute hero rescued me, a cute hero rescued me, acuteherorescuedme!

“Sorry about that scare! I would’ve caught that car sooner, but I wasn’t paying attention to who was around!” the green boy apologized, bowing deeply in front of you in his apology. “There’s a commotion just up ahead, so I recommend you take the next road over.”

You nod numbly, unable to conjure even the slightest hint of your voice again as he stood up to his full length. He was average in height it seemed, taller than you, but still not towering. The hero looked behind his shoulder, those big green eyes focusing onto the distance, onto something you couldn’t even begin to imagine – or see, really. He blinked and turned back to you, smile gone but the gentle aura to him remained, but now his face, his mouth, was underlined with a sense of urgency and engagement to whatever sent a vehicle tumbling your way.

“Which train do you take home?” he asked, eyebrows relaxing from his stern position, as his smile picked up again. “I’ll take you closer to your station!”

“B train,” you manage to wheeze out – unable to be the reason why he was held up but also confused as to just what he could do to get you closer to the station that was at least a mile away from here.

“Perfect! I know where that is!” he laughs for just a moment, and before you could even ask if this was going to be some escorted thing – because you definitely did not need it – his arms were fastly secured around you, and suddenly you were weightless.

A cold wind rushed against your face, nipping at your nose, cheeks, and ears, sending your hair flying around – into your mouth! Oh, you were screaming! You were soaring through the skyline, being held by some hero you couldn’t name, and you were screeching at the top of your lungs.

Making the mistake of looking down, your arms were suddenly around his shoulders, your voice growing even sharper and louder as you squeezed against his body and refused to let go. His hands, despite the gloves, were warm on your back, and his soft chuckle warming you from nose to toes as he secured his grip on you.

“I got you,” he spoke, “I won’t let you go, I promise.”

Those words don’t exactly ease you, but there’s a comfort to the genuinity to his words. You nod nonetheless, your face buried deep into his neck. The cold wind continues to whip around you, the only thing sounding in your ears is the cruel whipping wind and quiet city below.

“I’m landing now,” he informed you, body shifting in the wind, and reflexively, you clung even tighter to him, expecting the similar stomach dropping motion of a roller coaster going straight down. “You’re – ack – c-choking me!”

The knowledge of that, hearing the strain and entirely unhidden sound of him choking against the current chokehold you had on him, you released him entirely with a shriek of your own. Was it a smart move? No, definitely not because you were how many hundreds – if not thousands – of feet in the air with a quirk that could not, and would not save you.

“It’s okay! I’m fine!” he quickly said, his arms shifting around your waist as you felt your body weight drop just the smallest bit. To which your focus landed to the concrete floor so far down, and you began screaming again. He panicked just a bit too. “Y-You’re okay too! We’re landing! We’re landing!”

Soon, but not soon enough, the concrete floor came underneath your feet, and you practically felt your knees buckle underneath you. The train station behind you was practically invisible, and you felt the floor come in contact with your knees, and you collapsed onto your hands and knees. You could feel the tears streaming down your face as you wheezed and panted, unable to move from your position.

“Hey, look, we made it!” he laughed gently, probably being said in hopes that you would feel better. (It did make you feel slightly better, his laugh was light and pretty to listen to.) You could feel him approaching you, iron covered red shoes appearing before your vision. Looking up, you saw that the young hero was crouching, his face holding a wobbly smile that was earnest, worried, and full of unspoken hope. “I do need to get back, but before I do, are you good enough to be left alone?”

You blinked your soaked eyelashes at him, still largely unable to say anything at the cute hero in front of you who had a few scratches on his cheek, right below his freckles.

“Y-Yeah, um,” you say, your tongue cotten and lead in your dry mouth. “I-I’ll be fine, I think.”

The green eyed hero nods, offering you a hand and assisting you to your trembling legs, “That’s good to hear!” he chirped, his wobbly smile becoming a grand, bright grin. “You were really brave! I was impressed!”

Now, you were an idiot at times, but even you could spot a stupid lie. Still, hearing it said with such honesty, as if this hero who was no taller than five foot eight truly believed it, made something bubble in your chest, and soon you found yourself laughing.

“No need to lie to me, h-hero,” you manage to speak between stammering breaths, “thank you for saving me, though. I appreciate it.”

You grin crookedly at him, and to your utter delight, he reciprocates it.

“It’s the least I can do. I’d offer to take you home but… I’m not quite finished yet,” he says, and you can only nod, the conversation obviously reaching its last strides. You watch as he floats up, his eyes looking at you, but somehow focused how many miles away from where he had brought you from. “Stay safe?”

“I’ll try my best,” you agree to his question, hands clasping before your lap. “Finish the job quick, hero?”

He grins, “I’ll try my best.”

You feel a breathless sort of laugh escape you as you watch him beginning to shoot back up, but a sort of horror shoots through you as you rush forward, running right after him, hands cupping around your mouth as you scream:

“What’s your name?!”

The blur of green in the air freezes, and you stop running as you see green eyes and freckles focusing back onto you.

“Deku! My hero name is Deku!”

You stop at the curb of the street, eyes focused on the sky as the green eyed hero named Deku grins one last time before shooting off at a speed probably much faster than when he held onto you. The wind blows around you, and you can only feel the heat sitting on your cheeks and the way you’re smiling as you stare after his figure that's long, long gone.

“Deku...” you whisper to yourself, ignorant to the world of commuters beginning to appear at the station. “Thank you.”

And thus came the very apparent and obvious day in which you fell head over heels for Pro Hero Deku.

Now some people called you a stupid fangirl, obsessive stalker, and sometimes, yeah, you were obsessive and weird about your slight infatuation with a stranger. It was strange, you knew that! But you also knew that you had practically no chances of ever being able to woe the man behind the image of Deku because Midoriya Izuku practically existed as Deku 24/7.

After you graduated from high school, you were put into the same agency that was currently holding Deku. Without tooting your own rom-com obsessed horn too much, you fully expected to walk in and be handed Deku’s file as his PR manager and be able to thank him for not only saving you all that time ago, but also eventually sweep him off his feet.

But your reputation preceded you well, probably too well, because the first day you entered the office and was handed your list of three clients to work with, neither one was for Deku. Being a PR manager for heroes was hard, a job that practically held no set hours because, unlike your typical celebrities, heroes had no type of privacy or protection. They were constantly under the spotlight, being viewed by adoring fans and scornful critics. Your job served as the first line of defense for heroes against the public, and there were some heroes that were quite hilariously easy to work for because they were genuinely good.

The older PR managers typically held the quieter, easy tempered, or less combat heavy heroes. These heroes typically never had a bad thing said about them, their job was a glorified PA job but even less because there was no expected demands from the heroes they had to take in. Unless, of course, a hero wanted to do some sort of public event they hadn’t considered.

But there were the louder, quick to temper, or the heavy combat heroes that while made you an insane amount of money, also brought you a near 120 hour work week because there was so much to do, so much to consider, so much to keep your eyes on. There was the constant slander, the people who hated the louder, quick to temper heroes because they didn’t like their attitude, completely disregarding that they had been unsafe and a liability the entire time the hero was dealing with them. The talk shows that took months to convince to allow for an interview because they heard false rumors, and so you have to practically wrestle a boa constrictor to get a measly five minute interview done. And then the combat-heavy heroes… no one would ever shut up about building damages and how this hero broke his nose while he was stealing a store!

Not to mention having to have every single piece of social media on your phone, set to notify you whenever your clients names were brought up so that you could look at it. You’ve seen more than enough lewd drawings of your clients to last you a lifetime, enough fanfiction, and fan edits that left you with blazing cheeks and the need to never look at your client ever again. But mostly you checked each and every update because you were their first and only line of legal defense on these sorts of things.

You’ve taken down leaked nudes, fake news, and qualmed rumors and speculations.

It was hard.

So when you were shown to your desk on your first day and three files were handed to you, you were shocked to see the hero names you would be working with.

Dynamight

Phantom Thief

Shouto

Somehow, without having yet to speak with a single one of your now current clients, you knew that you were going to have your work cut out for you.

“Good luck newbie!” the woman who gave you the initial tour chirped, clapping you on the back. “You got this!”

Good lord.

Without much to do other than reading through the three’s files, you realized that you already knew a bunch about two of three of your clients. DynaMight and Shouto were two heroes that you knew teamed up with and hung out with Deku a lot, both on-field and off-field if any of the out of costume pictures said anything. Because of their connection with Deku, you had at one point learned a bit about them.

You knew that Shouto was a crowd favorite. He was tall and sweet and a complete airhead at the best moments despite him being smart. Controversy still surrounded his character, despite all the good he did, because of the past history that was brought out about his father Endeavor and his brother Dabi. The country couldn’t figure out where they stood in terms of that reveal. Endeavor did a lot before the reveal, and continued to rise up to everything in his path despite the skeletons in his closet being thrown out for the world to see. They neither forgave him, nor hated him, they only watched and waited. Then Dabi, of course, was seen as a could-have-been version of Shouto, and many tried to ask if he was really a hero and not actually siding with the League. After all, why on Earth would he be defensive of his father too?

The public had an unmoving image of Shouto based on anything but who he was as an individual, and you decided immediately that it would be your job to fix that. He was also, after all, a dear friend of Deku, so you’d do anything.

Phantom Thief was your easiest of the three clients. A relatively well mannered man who was kind and a bit weird in a fun way. He had a great sense of self and was a reliable person on the field. He made a great hero, but you could see the way his spirit blazed with an unspoken rivalry between him and the other two of your clients. Well, it seemed like he was the best until his former self appointed rivals came into the picture, but that was hardly ever, and according to Shouto, he was way worse back in their first year.

The greatest scandal he’s had so far in your three years of working at their agency was the one time he was lied to about a quirk and accidentally copied a woman's quirk that gave her the ability to change her cup size. Safe to say that Phantom Thief accidentally broke a few buttons on his shirt and was unable to stop civilians from snapping pictures.

But of course, the one that had you practically crying yourself to sleep nightly for more than one reason was Dynamight.

You’d known about him the moment you looked up Deku on your phone.

They were practically a hero duo in everything but name. They were always seen doing the same things together, whether that be on patrol together or maybe getting dinner, most of their top recorded fights were done with each other by their sides. You had also learned that they were childhood friends, and you practically vibrated at the thought that even though Deku was not your client, the chances of meeting him were still astronomically high.

There was no way you wouldn’t not meet Deku!

But you were wrong, so very, very wrong.

Turns out the hero duo in everything but name meant that Dynamight refused to let Deku be anywhere near him in the agency – the very small amount of time they spent in here. The few times they were in the same room, Dynamight absolutely refused to be interrupted because that was their paperwork hour. You had only ever been blessed with seeing green curls turning the corner as Dynamight gripped your forearm, refusing to let you follow.

“Like hell I’ll let you distract the shitnerd,” he stated simply, his red eyes narrowed as he stared down his nose at you. You opened your mouth, ready to defend your not so innocent intentions. “I’m not stupid, so don’t pretend like you won’t try anything.”

Your jaw snapped shut.

Safe to say that you couldn’t do anything about Deku so long as Dynamight was around.

But Dynamight as a client was exhausting to put it kindly.

There were so many opinions and thoughts and issues and praises coming from everywhere. Hell, even the fucking Americans and westerners had caught wind of the Wonder Duo at one point and while you were well knowledgable on their opinions on Deku, the ones on Dynamight were the ones that you had to focus on now.

People still called him a villain, so many unhappy with the fact that he still screamed and cursed and threatened. There were many conspiracy theories that he was working with the long dead League of Villains. They turned their nose up at the fact that he was childhood friends with Deku, claiming that no way an asshole like him could have ever been friends with him. And of course the bullying revelation that had come out shortly after your debut.

That had been a trip, one that had you even shocked as Dynamight approached the table in front of the media, his body calm and composed. You had watched as he simply said he owed nothing to the media, that he had already done all that he could to deserve his atonement and deserve Deku’s forgiveness. He had spoken clearly, concisely that it wasn’t any of their damn business as to what he did, and if he apologized to them, the unaffected, the ones that had nothing to do with his early years of bullying Deku, of his previous weakness and insecurity, it would be a waste of his breath.

It isn’t to them he should ever be apologizing to anyways.

You had watched as he stood up, face calm, and hands shoved into his pockets as he stood and walked away despite the screaming reporters. You had wanted to stay longer, have your own hand in damage control, but a swoop of green came in and Deku was at the microphone eyebrows furrowed as he pointed a finger at them all and said that his past with Kacchan was between him and Kacchan only, and his decision to forgive Kacchan were his and only his.

You didn’t hear the rest, didn’t even get the option to hear the way the hero you loved defended the hero you worked for – his childhood friend.

No.

Dynamight had grabbed your elbow and dragged you out of the room with him, the metal doors clanging closed the moment fierce green eyes met yours.

You watched in the company car as Dynamight looked outside the window, one elbow on the doorframe holding his chin; his gaze focused sharply on nothing but the passing sidewalk. Had it not been for the way the hand on top of his lap trembled, you would have thought he was perfectly okay.

Neither one of you talked about that again.

But just because you didn’t talk about it again, didn’t mean the world was the same. People claimed he brainwashed Deku, others demanded that Deku beat the shit out of Dynamight. You knew that Dynamight would want nothing to do with this, but you would stay in the office (an almost useless, empty office as most PR managers did their business at home) for hours long after you were supposed to be gone, practically arguing with someone who only existed behind a screen and didn’t even care that much – but you couldn’t stop.

Seeing Dynamight’s shaking hand had really done a number on you.

“The hell are you still doing here, eyelashes,” Dynamite asked from the dark entrance of the floor. “Go home already, don’t waste your time.”

You had startled at the initial intrusion, but you immediately relaxed seeing the smudged paint around red eyes and blond hair. You barely kept your gaze on him before turning back to your computer and continuing your argument.

“I’m not wasting my time, I’m doing my job,” you remark, eyes squinting at your keyboard because your vision is definitely blurry. “I’ll be heading out soon anyways.”

“God you’re fucking annoying and stubborn!” Dynamight barked, the heel of his hand slamming into his forehead. “This is exactly why I won’t introduce you to the fucking nerd!”

“What?!” you shriek, suddenly looking at your client as if he had personally attacked you – and in a way he did. “What do you mean you won’t introduce me to Deku because of that?! I’ve already met Red Riot, Chargebolt, Cellophane, and Pinky through you!”

“Yeah, because they’re not stubborn idiots too!” Dynamight accuses, jamming a gloved finger at you as he begins stomping your way. You startle, your chair shooting backward as the explosion hero makes his way towards you at alarming speed.

“What are you—?!” you shriek, hands flailing about as he grabs you by the collar of your distressed shirt.

Dynamight lifts you up to your feet as if you were a sack of flour and you grasp onto his forearm.

“I might tell you that you’re the most annoying and stubborn bitch in the world, but you’re not worse than fucking Deku,” Dynamight sneers, his red eyes narrowed and stern. “I’m not going to let you meet him until you learn how to give or you’ll hurt him, and I’m not going to be part of any reason as to why he gets hurt again.”

Your jaw dropped, clearly offended, but you closed it just as fast; the weight of his words made you a bit sad, even for just a bit.

“You’re kinda cute when you care for Deku, you sure I’m his biggest fan?” you tease, grinning at the hero to which he rolls his eyes.

“Shut the hell up and go home already; it’s annoying seeing you fight a losing battle that’s none of your damn business,” Dynamight simply said, putting you back onto your feet and blocking out your desk.

“I’ll go home on the condition that for my birthday you at least consider introducing us!” you say, unwilling to move from your spot. “I’ve been working for you for three years! You’ve kept me away for three years!”

Dynamight’s stare didn’t even shift the slightest millimeter, his red eyes unamused as you groaned in grief and annoyance.

“I’m stubborn? Have you met yourself?!” you grumble snatching your jacket and purse from the hook on your cubicle and shoving them on. “My names God of Explosion Murder: Dynamight and I am Stubborn™ but will never admit it.”

You continued mocking your long time client and most definitely friend if you dared to say so, and dragged the heel of your foot all the way to the elevator to which you were joined by Dynamight. The trip down the elevator is silent, and you keep your gaze locked on the closed doors, unwilling to even look at the hero next to you.

Soon enough, the elevator reached the ground floor, and you got ready to walk out.

“I’ll consider it,” Dynamight said as the elevator doors opened. “Also, fucking stop calling me Dynamight, Bakugou’s fine.”

He walked off the elevator with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants.

“Thank you, Bakugou!” you shriek, your lungs failing you at the thought of finally being introduced to Deku! You hadn’t moved from your spot from the elevator, your chest hammering with the thought of getting to meet Deku.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you’re still irritatingly stubborn,” Bakugou merely calls over his shoulder before lifting his hand in a halfhearted wave before stepping out of the glass door.

That brought you back to reality just a bit and you scowled, knowing you would have to go beyond and above to prove that.

But you see, there were many reasons to cry about having Bakugou as your client. Besides the stinkhole of his previous bullying, people just were not understanding his typically prickly exterior. You had to go head to head with reputation tarnished, had to slap fangirls away who demanded that Bakugou degrade them where they stood. It was hard to not be stubborn as not only his PR manager but his friend, and in less than a month, still plenty of time before your birthday, you had already grown irritated of the meeting-Deku-card he waved over your head.

“Mei, if I have to go any longer than this, I will die and hope I am reborn as Deku’s new guardian angel,” you pouted, chin pressed against a cold metal tabletop. Your hands being used as glove models for one of your best friends Hatsume Mei. “It’s first of all impossible getting anywhere near him with his guard dog Bakugou literally stopping me whenever I’m within a ten foot radius! And then I’m not even sure what will happen when we do meet again! Would I even be able to talk to him?!”

“Why wouldn’t you? You talk to all my babies with me! There’s practically nothing you can’t do,” Mei laughs, smacking you against your back before returning her intense gaze back to the gloves. “Deku’s uh… I actually can’t remember him but I’m sure he’s a great conversationalist! I think he helped me with the Sports Festival my first year.”

“That was Iida,” you laugh, wiggling your fingers as Mei demanded. “You’re so bad with names and faces, I’m impressed you know mine.”

“You saved my baby, of course I remember you,” Mei turned her grin towards you, “but come on, why can’t you get with him besides this Bakugou guy?”

“Well, he’s just like Bakugou! He’s practically married to his job! Their schedules basically match together perfectly! There’s literally only three hours a day while they’re on the job that they’re not together! And that’s when they patrol their own parts of town because there’s hardly any activity they don’t need to be attached by the neck.” You explain and rant, your cheeks puffing as you stand up and allow Mei to run further tests on the glove.

“Sounds like you gotta become a villain to woo this hero guy, huh,” Mei spoke, eyes focused on the glove as you pointed a finger at the far wall and watched as a beam exploded from the fingertip and pierced through the steel wall like butter. “Too bad you’re a goody two-shoes or else I could make you some serious villain gear and make you a fearsome villain to then prove that Hatusme Mei’s babies and creations are untouchable and the best in the world! Muah-ha-ha-ha!”

You know her words are more joking than serious, but that doesn’t stop your eyes from widening. Your body shifts over to where she was standing and you screech pointing at her and just narrowly missing setting off the laser again.

“THAT'S IT!”

“What’s it?” she asked, completely confused.

“You have to make me a villain!” you exclaim, rushing over to Mei, who is eagerly waiting for her babies returnal especially since it ran perfectly. “You have to make me near-invisible gear that can keep me going toe to toe with Deku until I can seduce him!”

“You want to turn evil?” Mei questions, finger pressing quizzically to her chin. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“I am definitely not villainous to pull that off, but like I pretend to be a villain so that he talks to me and we can like get to know each other!” you exclaim, you’re unable to keep from hopping up and down on your feet, your grin unfathomably bright. “It's practically a romcom in the making!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Mei laughs, altering the band of fabric around your waist. “You do know heroes and villains hardly speak? It’s more like… ‘I’m more powerful,’ ‘No me!,’ ‘No, ME!’”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but whatever! I’ll figure out a way!” you continue on unaffected because this plan was genius! Especially if you had Mei in your corner?! Her recent development of not using such… steampunk designs made her creations elusive and dangerous to own. Hence why she was an extremely sought out manufacturer, by villains and heroes alike. “And if I can go toe to toe with Deku of all people, you’ll know that you and your babies are the undeniable best!”

“Hm, that is promising,” Mei agrees with a nod as she forces you around. “Is this Deku guy all that good?”

“He’s the one you made the iron soles for!” you chirp and watch as the recognition and challenge spark immediately in Mei’s yellow eyes.

“Oh,” Mei chuckles, turning away from you and looking at her pile of made babies. “This would be good.”

“So we have an agreement?” you grin excitedly.

“Give me a month, and we’ll have your debut!”

Fuck Bakugou for thinking you weren’t good enough!

You hadn’t expected the initial phases of villainy to be quite as hard as it was, if you were being honest. The late nights at Mei’s personal lab made sure to keep your plans a solid secret, but you had to prepare for the wild range of what Deku’s quirk entailed.

There was smoke, something you were already used to working in because of Bakugou and his quirk. You’ve navigated quite a bit in his smog, and as long as you knew where you were, you would be fine.

There was also that danger sense, which allowed him to know when things were coming – something that shouldn’t be too big an issue considering you weren’t actually attempting to extract danger onto him.

Blackwhip was a big issue. How far or how much could you do if he even grabbed a hold of you. With sleuthing and the help of Mei having files on everyone's quirks, you were able to find information that blackwhip was a creation made of energy. Meaning that Mei was now making some type of destructing material to lessen the energy of the quirk, allowing for you to escape should he attempt to capture you this way.

Float was stopped by having most of your fights occur within a confined area, which was needed for you anyways! You didn’t need to be caught by anyone else but him! You didn’t actually need to land in jail – you would prefer to not be handled by anyone but Deku, actually.

Then of course the stupid superstrength and superspeed, both of which you knew you could handle with your quirk. You’ve been head to head with people with quirks similar to that before, and you knew your quirk was tricky enough that you’d manage to slip right past his fingers just fine. After all, you knew full and well that the Deku who took down S class villains was worlds quicker than F class villains – aka you.

You would be fine.

But today was day one, first of how many days it would take to get Pro Hero Deku, aka Midoriya Izuku to fall in love with you.

You were dressed in a black and purple bodysuit that was definitely not inspired by Shego from Kim Possible’s costume. Your hair was dyed purple by a special spray Mei created that would be washed out by the end of the day, but wouldn’t ever give away that it was fake. You wore a mask over your eyes, and grinned seeing that you couldn’t see a fleck of color on your irises.

Perfect.

And with far too much confidence, nauseating excitement, and unjustified attitude, you marched down towards your first spot, ready and adopting the identity of who you were about to become.

Mirage.

It was time to act. Deku and Dynamight were on different patrol routes right now, and you sent your threat, readying for the moment for the man in green to come in with the desire to stop you. With the very real threat of stealing every puppy within the tristate area being broadcasted within the area unless and hero bests you, you waited for your savior to come and stop you.

“I am here to stop your villainous acts, you villain!” a voice shattered the silence just as it shattered your heart. You looked over your shoulder to see some hero you couldn’t name standing at the other stairwell entrance with his fists clenched and ready to fight.

You groaned, shoulders crumbling with your well hidden disappointment.

“I wasn’t looking for you!” you exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the flabbergasted hero who was just trying to figure out what was happening. “Where’s Deku?!”

“He’s – he’s not here yet,” he stammers, eyes wide. “It’s not his day anymore to patrol this area?”

“Aw fuck!” you complain, pouting at the realization that you had messed up. “Okay, I’ll be back later, please don’t come back. Bye!”

With a small wave, you easily stepped through the door to the stairwell next to you and left, your threat empty and the hero victorious despite not actually stopping you. And unfortunately, although you had wished and prayed even, this was not the last time a screw up like this would happen.

At the threat of destroying all the cats in the area, you had another hero show up, not Deku, and you groaned and left before they could even finish their call of stopping you.

You then threatened to poison the watering system, to which you found out that Deku was held up at another major villain threat in a different city. You groaned and stomped off after that.

Then there was the time you swore you would increase the overall temperature of the city per one degree celsius should your demands not be made. Shouto answered that one and you immediately walked away the moment you saw the familiar head of red and white coming your way.

Time and time again you kept being caught by heroes you could not care about, being confronted by no names and nobodies. It was tiring, and Mei was beginning to sigh just the smallest bit whenever you showed up to try yet again.

But you weren’t a quitter!

You would win!

This was your last attempt at getting Deku to notice you.

After threatening to wrap all the citizens in the area with a giant froot by the foot, you were almost sad to say that the heroes ignored your cry for chaos and no one had come to check on you.

You sat outside the building you used as your trap for Deku, pouting into a hot dog that the neighborhood's grandma gave you because you looked like you needed something to eat. It’s a good thing you weren’t actually a villain or else they’d be fucked, you bitterly thought as you took another bite of your food.

It had been a month of empty, no Deku appearances, and you were going to bite the bullet and pretend to be not stubborn just so stupid Bakugou of all people could introduce you.

You kicked your feet as you sat on the staircase, humming as you watched the empty streets bend with the wind. It was quiet, beautiful, peaceful.

“YOU!” a voice shrieked to your left, and you watched a pudgy, red nosed man racing over towards you, a flash drive clenched in his hands. “TAKE THIS! RUN! DON’T LET THE HEROES TAKE IT!”

You gawked at him, feeling the small plastic device being shoved into your hands as the man collapsed at your feet. You squeaked when you heard a voice yelling stop and you bounced to your feet, turned into the building and raced in.

Your breathing was erratic, heart in your throat as you raced up the stairwell, unable to begin to imagine what the hell the information on the flash drive held. You were practically hyperventilating as you reached the floor you had come to know extremely well, and you stood near the window with shaky hands and legs.

What did you take?!

“I’m going to need that back, I’m afraid,” a low smooth voice said from behind you, and you froze immediately. Old anxiety overcome by a new anxiety, one that made your stomach flip and blood burn.

Turning around, you felt awestruck to see the one man you’ve been waiting for… for fucking years now, really, to appear before you, finally be there. In the flesh, completely, entirely. Your jaw dropped, your gaze looking down from your clenched hand that held the USB to the way that Deku looked at you with warm eyes that were underlined with steel that made you want to drop to your knees, confess everything, and beg to be his. God, he was so fucking tall. He had only been about five foot eight the last time you had actually talked, and now he was at least a foot taller. His teenager haircut was long gone, now replaced with his curls trimmed at the nape of his neck before filling out on top – not quite an undercut. He had more freckles now, surely. His skin just a bit tanner, a scar trailing from his cheek to his jaw. You knew there were more scars, just as you knew that there were dimples when he smiled.

You wanted to have him between your legs while you begged for mercy, holy shit.

Tucking the USB into your pocket, you tilted your head as you will yourself to relax.

“I went through all the trouble of getting it... I think if I’m going to hand it over quickly, I deserve to know what’s on it, no?” you tease, your confidence coming out of nowhere while a smile spreads ever so largely over your features. Deku’s eyes widened just a bit, shock overcoming his green eyes.

“I’m sorry, but that’s confidential,” Deku stresses, taking a step forward toward you. You click your tongue, taking a step backward while grinning.

“I don’t think that’s what I asked for,” you giggle as you watch Deku’s face go through an array of emotions before settling onto one – curiosity.

“What do you want?” he asked, apparently entirely ready to discuss any and all terms and conditions with you.

“Honestly?” you reply, tapping a gloved finger to your chin as you ‘think.’ Deku, however, nods. His stance relaxing, becoming one of preparedness but not the takedown he had previously entered with.

“A date with you.”

You watch as Deku’s eyes slam wide open, his jaw dropping immediately and he stammered. Oh, how your heart soared and how you felt giddy and wonderful as he seemed to slip and slide on his own tongue!

“A-A date?!” he ends up almost shrieking, his head shaking left and right. “T-That’s a total lie! You can’t possibly – well, no! Please tell me the truth!”

But you were giddy, practically drunk off the fact that you were making the most powerful hero in the world blush like a little schoolboy. You suddenly were on the offensive, stepping towards your hero who was much larger than you with power and drive behind each step. And it must have been the way you stared him down, the way you walked towards him at blank range with such brimming confidence that Deku takes a step back. But it’s something that makes you want to laugh as the heel of his foot gets caught on a raised tile, and you watch the mountain of a man tumble to the floor.

You’re on top of him immediately, hands pressed to his shoulders, knee settling near his crotch with most of your weight so he got the idea to not do anything funny. The USB sits between your fingers, and you lean over his flushed face that looks up at you with wide eyes.

“Actually, I changed my mind, I know what I want,” you say instead, nose ghosting over his. “Everytime I decide to do something… naughty… I want you to be the hero on the case to stop me. You and just you.”

You lean in closer, so close that you could see the specks of gold in his green, green eyes.

Deku hasn’t spoken, and you’re pretty sure his chest isn’t moving as you press your breasts against his.

“Understood, De-ku?”

Your teeth tug at his bottom lip and let go as he nods.

“Good, good,” you grin, sitting up on his chest and taking the USB in your fingers and slipping it into his utility belt. “Take good care of that for me, I’ll see you next time, hero…”

You had only managed to flash a quick wave before disappearing through your usual door, hoping and praying to god that whatever the hell possessed you would continue until you reached Mei’s. It wouldn’t hit you until much, much later than you had stunned Pro Hero Deku speechless within the first meeting.

Hell, you thought giddily as you answered Bakugou’s call about how he probably just got into a bit of a messy situation, maybe you do have the potential to woo him like this.

Thus truly began your descent as the villain Mirage.

It was quickly accepted and discovered that the moment you stepped into that costume and colored hair that you were the prey for Deku and Deku only. Most of your interactions with Deku occurred within buildings, and you used Mei’s gear to gain the final laugh each and every time to allow for you to escape. There were times, however, where you could be seen racing through the sky. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop as Deku followed after you, leaping, tumbling, and even catching you at times.

You flirted with him heavily, allowing yourself to be caught so that you could bat your pretty lashes and press your chest against his. It didn’t matter how professional he was, how good at his job he was, Deku was a pervert – so obviously a pervert it made slipping away almost too easy.

But because you had the world-renowned, world known Pro Hero Deku as the only hero on your case, soon the small block who had to play victims to your horrendous crimes became only a small percentage of people who were watching your crimes. These near daily crimes (or inconveniences/botherings as the people on the internet say to defend you and your actions) are becoming both a worldwide sensation, and so, it took nothing for you to continue having Deku at your feet and the world chipped in. So you agreed to do interviews, forcing uneager reporters to do segments on you so that the hype behind you and Deku’s relationship grew.

You didn’t want him to leave you, not until you got what you wanted, and unless you were an idiot, you were nearly positive you were almost there.

Why would you say that?

Well, a few reasons.

The first came about a week after you had first met Deku again.

You had joyously gathered the means to create a machine to shave down an eighth of an inch of everyone's shoes in the entire country of Japan without their knowledge. You had ever so evilly explained that the point of this was to ensure that for a full day, everyone would feel off and unbalanced but would not know why.

You had said this, grinning widely as you turned around to see Deku standing there attempting to fight off a very amused smile.

“I don’t think that would be all too evil, Mirage,” he called out to you, arms folding across his chest as he watched you set up the machine to do exactly what you said you would do.

“Mm, that’s what you say now, but just wait until you’re one of the losers stumbling around,” you say back, grinning as you turn around for just a second, wagging the knife at Deku from the distance.

“Well, regardless, you know I can’t let you do that,” Deku laughs just slightly, and you grin, standing up.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, so I’m going to have to ask you to stop right there.”

You giggle.

“Make me.”

You’re not sure what happens, but there’s dodging and weaving, spinning and sliding. You’re practically wheezing from how hard you’re laughing as Deku can not manage to land a finger on you with the help of Mei’s items and your quirk. It all comes to an end when instead of dodging, you throw yourself right at him, and Deku has not anticipated that.

His eyes are wide open and you fiercely grin as he falls back onto the floor, unbalanced and only slightly frantic. You have the knife pointed at his neck, the dull blade sitting gently on his skin.

“So, Deku,” you taunt teasingly, your teeth burying into your bottom lip for just a moment at the sight of the dark flash in his green, beautiful eyes. “Tell me one thing, or I’ll continue on with my vile plans.”

“O-Okay?”

“Are you single?”

The second attempt came a few many weeks later.

You had gathered about 75 tons of glitter bombs and were in the current process of making them one. You had plans of setting it off over Tokyo so that for practically the rest of eternity, the entire city would have glitter everywhere. The only thing is that you did have to glue the glitter bombs together because, well, no one made super giant ones.

“This is so annoying, there’s glitter everywhere, and I’m only ten glitter bombs in!” you complain to the ‘empty’ room but knowing full and well that Deku had appeared through the broken window at least five minutes ago.

“If it’s annoying to you, then shouldn’t you stop?” Deku replied and you grinned.

He really couldn’t stay quiet, huh?

“Well, if it’s annoying to me, then that means every one of my victims will also find it annoying. Win-win situation.” you say, turning around towards him and winking. Facing back towards the glitter bombs you scowl, “stupid fucking glue gets everywhere, too!”

“Regardless, you know I can’t let you do that,” Deku said as leveled as he could although you swore you heard a laugh in his voice.

“Just try and stop me,” you reply back stone cold.

You stand up and watch as Deku stands up from the windowsill and sighs just a bit too heavily.

“Guess I have to,” he says and shoots out before you’re well prepared.

Typically, and probably in any other situation, this would have been the end. Pro Hero Deku had come at you with the speed and power as he took out any other Class F criminals, but unfortunately for him, and definitely fortunately for you that glue was EVERYWHERE.

Deku’s hand was stuck onto your arm, and your chest was glued to his stomach, and you swear you never quite got the strawberry Deku references until right now.

The perverted hero burned scarlet, his face practically simmering with heat as your body became undeniably stuck to his. You had to fight off the vindictive smirk, the practically snarling grin as you could feel something hot and heavy twitch at your hip.

“Fuck,” Deku wheezed.

“Fuck, yeah,” you grinned.

“WHAT?!”

Deku could not look you in the eyes for about 10 more interactions following that, but you counted that as a win. But undoubtedly, your starred and favorite memory of it all was something that occurred just last week of the current present events.

You had stood on top of a building, threatening the entire government of stealing (i.e., cutting off) the aglet of their shoes and sweaters and then removing all the laces so that it would result in their wasted time and entire humiliation!

“I don’t think most people even know what aglets are, to be honest,” Deku said from behind you. You turned around to see that he was standing there with an unsuppressed grin. “It’s not a good enough threat.”

You go unfazed by his judgement, choosing to instead bat your eyelashes and push your hair behind your ear.

“Not a good enough threat, and yet, you’re still here?” you tease, enjoying the way pink flushes to his cheeks.

“Where else would I be?” he says, and you have to ignore the way your stomach fills with butterflies.

“You’re not cute when you flirt back,” you deadpan, biting your tongue harshly when he says ‘hey!’ “Enough chit chat, let me kick your ass now and then do what I need to do.”

Unlike probably what is 95% of the time, you made the first move today.

You were on the offensive, jabbing and weaving, sweeping and punching. Deku’s green eyes were nearly black as he watched you, analyzing and taking in your movements, countering them all without so much of an issue.

“I still don’t get your quirk,” Deku grunted as his hand swiped at the empty air. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“So then you can turn me in to the government who are still salty about their aglets? I don’t think so!” you say with a laugh, rolling out of the way as Deku lunges forward. “Try again, baby, I have full faith that you’ll get it.”

Deku puffed out a chuckle and lunged again, his huge gloved hand swiping at you, with nearly accuracy despite your quirk being on. But… he wasn’t exactly perfect.

RIIIIIIIIIP!

Cold air hit your breast and your jaw dropped as your very exposed breast appeared before you and Deku. Pro Hero Deku had torn the breast of your costume, the costume that you purposefully did not wear a bra for because you had wanted this exact scenario to play out.

“DEKU!” you screech, pretending to be modest and covering your tit as Deku finally yanked himself out of staring at your breast and whipped around.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I didn’t think that was going to happen! I didn’t even mean to look at your boob! It just sort of all happened too fast and it was very shocking! N-Not that you have an ugly boob or anything because actually I think you have a very great boob! But oh my god, I need to shut up please ignore me!” Deku spoke so fast in a matter of five seconds, and you couldn’t even tell him to come back as he sprinted away.

His ears burned red and you swore even as he was gone, you could still see the red of his ears illuminating the sky.

You laugh.

“What a perv.”

And so, we are back to the beginning.

Back to how you forced a local news channel to read your demands so that you could hopefully take your final bow as Mirage forever.

With the threat of having a machine that would make dogs bark at a frequency for hours on end until humans eardrums broke then bleed. You made your way to your typical building and hummed as you waited.

The world outside was the same as always.

There were a few people out, a few cars driving through the street, and a few birds chirping here and there.

It was peaceful.

“Don’t you think the new reporter thing was a bit dramatic?” Deku chuckled from behind you.

You were used to him approaching like that, used to him trying to portray being elusive and cool. In your opinion, it just made him dorky.

“No such thing as being dramatic when I’m trying to go head to head with the greatest hero ever,” you respond back effortlessly. You spin on your heel and look back at Deku, who is leaning against a doorframe that he most definitely is slouching on so that the top of his head doesn’t hit the frame. “Hi, Deku.”

“Hi, y/l/n,” he says with a soft smile, one that's slightly victorious, one that makes your stomach knot in a pleasant way.

“Ah, you discovered my secret identity,” you observe, grinning as you begin approaching Deku. “Should I be scared?”

“Probably not, I don’t think I could do anything to you,” Deku sighs, pushing off the door frame and walking towards you too. “You’re pretty amazing, y/l/n.”

“Let’s prove that then,” you grin while zipping forward.

As if the both of you knew that this was the end of the line, the final confrontation, the battle this time was different. It was showy, flirty, full of spins and side steps, playing a game of cat and mouse while dodging and weaving. You laughed as blackwhip dissolved around your costume, and you frowned as he began using more of his power to get from point A to point B much quicker.

You’re not quite sure how it happened, what exactly you did wrong, or maybe Deku just finally figured out the pattern you used for your quirk because suddenly you were being tackled from behind. You shrieked as the two of you went down, his body flushed on top of you, his chest pressing to your shoulders.

The both of you were heaving, panting, completely out of breath from the five minutes you took playing around. He holds your wrists in one hand, pinned above your head, and the other one is on your waist. You were trapped beneath him, unable to move the absolute unit of a man above you, arms and hips weak to his weight. You shoved your hips up, attempting to shift some of his weight off you, but you froze as he choked on a breath by your ear.

Your ass was pressed against something hard, thick, and hot.

Oh.

Ohhh fuck.

It was happening.

Holy fucking shit.

Your breathing hitches as you thrusted your ass up again, confirming you were grinding on what was definitely Deku’s hardening cock. And once again, Deku makes the prettiest, most embarrassed gravelly grunt at the back of his throat and you feel like every strand of resistance and strength snaps.

The hand on your waist pulls you even closer against his crotch, and there's lips pressing against your neck, and you absolutely lose it.

He kisses your neck sloppily, teeth nipping at your exposed flesh, and you grind against him, moaning and thrusting back as your body feels like it's on fire. He wanted you! He wanted you and your plan to woo him worked!

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you keen breathlessly. “Wanted you so badly, Deku.”

“Fuck,” Deku curses, his hips thrusting back against your clothed ass with power you couldn’t fucking wait to feel. “I wanted you too. Wanted you so badly, but didn’t think – holy shit.”

His hand that pins your wrists lets go of you, and moves to grab your jaw. You nearly fucking melt as his full lips slam against yours, and you moan as his lips move against yours. There’s something indescribable about how he’s kissing you, the want, the need, the months of suppressed tension bursting through every move and curve of his mouth. It doesn’t matter to you that you’re pressed up against the concrete floor, you feel like you’ve been placed into another world, an area where you can never come back.

Your arm reaches behind you and buries into his soft curls, you tug at them as your ass circles against his thrusting hips. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you whine at the hot, wet muscle in your mouth, and it sends your head spinning. You can’t take it anymore, you need him, want him flushed against your front.

“Can I fuck you?” Deku asks swollen lips pulling away from yours, his mouth frantic and trailing kisses up your cheeks and down your jaw. “Please, I wanna fuck you so bad. Wanna fuck you on the floor and against the wall. Can I make you mine?”

You nod your head frantically, unable to come up with the words to say in order to tell him yes.

Deku laughs breathlessly and flips you over so that it’s your back against the floor now.

And just like you want him to, Deku comes down to reclaim your mouth. Hot, open mouthed kisses, teeth tugging at your lips and hands grabbing your waist. His hands are huge against you filling up the space between your hip and your waist without an issue. Your legs wrap around his waist, feeling entirely small underneath him, but entirely ready to be fucked by him.

His lips move expertly against yours, teeth nibbling at your lips, mouth then sucking on your tongue. You can’t keep the continuous moans from leaking out, can’t keep yourself from staying quiet as your eyes flutter open and see green eyes so dark they look black, staring down at you with the intensity of a predator.

You were his prey, and you would present to him at the drop of a hat.

His body is hot, heat rolling off of his hero costume in waves, making you feel like you were near burning against him. And the heat between his thighs sits at the bottom of your ass, thrusting up and grinding against you so that you don’t forget even for a moment that you are making him this way.

“I always knew you’d have such a pretty moan,” Deku mumbles as his fingers find the zipper to your costume and begin to tug it down. His lips trail down your neck, biting and nipping at the newly exposed flesh. “Knew you’d look so pretty under me, waiting to be fucked into submission.”

The words spark something within you, your eyes fluttering as your hips grind just a tad bit faster and you whine.

“Aw, is that what you wanted this entire time, y/l/n?” Deku asks, his grin pressed against your collarbone. “Wanted to be stretched out and fucked until you can’t anymore?”

“I want it,” you gasp, your fingers burying deep into his curls. “I want you, I want it, I want your dick in me already!”

“Not into foreplay?” Deku chuckles just a bit, tongue then tracing up your neck.

“Oh I am,” you snap, fingers finding the zipper of his own costume. “You can find out later how much I’m into it, but right now, I have been wanting you for years, and you will not make me wait any longer!”

Deku only nods frantically, and it's a mess of limbs, sloppy kisses, and clothes as the both of you strip to nothing.

Deku’s in between your legs, one hand pressed to the back of your knee, the other gripping what you believe is his dick because it makes everything in the world freeze as you see it. It’s huge, so thick that his hand wraps around it in a nice grip, and it long, curling up to his abs, curved and veiny.

“Holy shit,” you squeak, your cunt already clenching at the thought of taking that in.

“Are you ready?” Deku asks, the hand on your leg moving away for a moment as he cards his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t have a condom, though.”

“That’s fine, I don't care,” you dismiss his words, eyes too focused on the flush cock in his hand. “I don’t think I’ll live after you kill me with that anyways.”

Deku laughs just a bit, his dimples flashing as he leans in and kisses you deeply. You tremble underneath him, feeling so small pressed up against him, and you mewl when you feel the head of his cock pressing between your folds.

“Put it in,” you gasp, leg lifting and wrapping around his waist, “put it in! I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk, do you understand?!”

Deku nods, and with a sense of frantic need, his hand guides his cock into you.

It feels like you’re splitting in half. The girth of his cock stretching your walls out to the max, and he’s only going in. You scream loudly, both in pain and pleasure because it hurts so good.

“Take it, baby, take me all in,” Deku pants, his hips pushing out small, tiny thrusts to ram his cock further and further into your twitching cunt. “That’s i-it, holy fuck, that’s it! You’re taking me all the way in. F-Fuck… you’re so amazing! So fucking perfect!”

Tears are pouring out of your eyes, and your nails are tearing into his back, you sob slightly overwhelmed with his cock and the absolute pleasure of finally getting what you want and it being so much better than you thought. Your cunt throbs almost violently as Deku’s cock finally hits your cervix and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrusts in further, lips attempting to claim yours.

“Fuck me, Deku,” you beg, hips beginning to slam and fuck up onto his cock. “Please! I need you!”

“Such a desperate little villain though,” Deku sighs, teasingly, giving you one strong thrust for good measure. It goes a long way though, the power behind his thrust and thighs promising you a bruised ass, thighs, and cunt makes your mouth water for more. “I need you to promise to never do anything like that again and be a good little manager for Kacchan.”

“W-Wha–”

“Be good and stop being Mirage, or else you won’t be fucked.”

There was no hesitation.

“Okay.”

And just like that, Deku’s soft smile curves into a knowing, fierce smirk, and you can do nothing as his hands press to the back of your knees and he begins thrusting his hips into you. And it takes you completely out of control.

It’s a messy, frantic dance, your body holding onto his, your lips pressing against his, desperate and needy for his, and he is basically trying to imprint his body onto yours, the concrete, and the walls. Your bodies are so foreign to each other, and yet, when he fucks into you just a bit hard, just a bit faster, you come undone, back arching and toes curling as you sob his name.

It’s overwhelming to know that he can read you this well and for you to have never fucked him before. It’s empowering to see that he likes every forced and involuntary squeeze and clench of your cunt. He loved when your nails dug into his skin, raking their existence against the plane of broad muscles and scars.

Deku curses your name as you clench around him, his hands moving to your jaw so that he can lift your face to kiss him just so. He kisses you with a heated passion, a need that strips your entire being bare, and his hips slam so loudly against you, the slicked wetness is squelching and slapping with every grunt and moan.

In and out his cock goes, and you praise him and his cock.

You praise him for making you feel so good, for stretching out your pussy with that fat cock of his. You beg for more, and more, and more. You want every snap of his hips to send new colors to your vision, and every echoing squelch of your meeting, sloppy sexes only adds to the blabbering, unmanaged sentences from your lips.

“Harder, faster, more!” you beg, practically wailing against his shoulders, needing him more and more. The concrete hurts against your back, but you don’t care. You don’t care if he breaks your back, it’s a fall you’ll take. “Don’t hold back! Don’t you dare hold back!”

“Fuck, you’re crazy,” Deku gasps, his sweaty brow burying into your cheek. “I won’t though, I won't. Be ready, I’m not sure if you can take it.”

Before you can snap back that you can in fact take it, Deku’s weight falls heavier onto you and the angle shifts just slightly, and your words are ripped right out of your throat for a pitched, window shattering screech. Deku fucks into you with a new power, some untapped strength as greenspark falls from his skin as he ruins you for anyone ever again.

Your voice begins to scream out, the feeling of his vicious, thick cock snapping into you, shoving your shoulders further and further into the concrete was sending your head spinning. Your body is convulsing as he fucks you with new vulgar need and strength. But before you could scream your praises, Deku’s fingers shove into your mouth, and his other hand wraps around your neck, silencing your words and noises as he fucks up into you again and again and again.

“So loud, angel,” Deku smirks, fingers stroking and pinching your tongue as saliva pours endlessly from your mouth. His voice isn’t strained however, doesn’t have any indication that he’s out of breath or ready to tap out and that nearly makes you go insane. “I can’t wait to see everything that makes you look like this… you’re so pretty when you’re getting fucked.”

Your head is spinning, the heated tightness in your core clenching and throbbing as his conquesting cock never once stops or lessens. It just grows and grows and grows. His cock twitches in you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he lets out a deep moan.

“Such a good and wet cunt you are,” Deku gasps as you gag against his fingers that press roughly against the back of your tongue. Your vision feels hazy, but you feel like you’re on cloud nine as his hand on your throat opens and closes, demonstrating his power over you. “I’m so glad you went through all this hard work to get me to fuck you.”

You can’t speak, so you nod desperately, you were so happy you did this too.

Your hips buck up into him with sheer stubborn drive to get him to toss his head back and moan, you wanted to see him unhinged too. Your eyelashes flutter, as his hands remove themselves from your face, and they move to your hips to help you out. But the building tightness and demanding need in your cunt was growing louder, hotter, completely undeniable. Your teeth sinking against his skin as you whimpered loudly, absolutely pathetically as you shifted faster, fucking against him harder.

“I-I’m so close,” you manage to moan out, and a sharp escape of air comes from his nose at that revelation.

Deku nods, his head moving so that his forehead rests against yours as he looks deep into your eyes. “I need you to look at the way your belly bulges while I fuck you before you cum, I want you to watch it bulge as you cum.”

You whimper, the strain in your neck almost insufferable as you peer down at your hastily exposed stomach, and you nearly faint at the pornographic, near-insane image of your stomach bulging with his hammering monster of a cock. And just like that, the tight heat in you snaps without a hitch, and you come tumbling down from the heights of your building orgasm. White heat and light spread through your body, your jaw slacking as you moan loudly, screaming his name as you convulse against him, body entirely limp. Deku, who was barely hanging by a strand, completely loses it when your core clenches like a vice against him.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from his cock, his heavy, shaking gasps the only thing you can hear as he fucks into you once, twice more for good measure he collapses onto his forearms above you. It’s hot, almost too hot as he lays on top of you, the sticky fluid of his cum radiating against your already blazing walls, and for a bit, there’s silence.

Deku is the first to move afterward, and you whine as he pulls his cock out of your sore, abused pussy. You make a noise of curiosity then fear as Deku spreads your legs even more open and moves so that his head is face to face with your cum filled pussy.

“What are you–?!” you screech as Deku takes a lick out of your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, this does taste good,” Deku smirks as he once again licks your overstimulated pussy and you sob. “Besides, who said we were done?”

bonus!

“Everyone, this is my girlfriend y/l/n y/n!” Izuku happily introduced you to his group of friends.

“What the hell?!” Bakugou screamed, thrusting a finger at you and all you did was laugh.

So much for not being stubborn, huh.

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya smut #bnha #bnha x reader

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strawbabysimp · 3 years

Text

Sous-Chef || Jealous!Zoro x Reader

Genre: Light Angst

Category: Jealous!Zoro x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Misunderstandings, Obsessive Working Out, Relationship Insecurities

Request(s): "Hello!!! I found your blog a few days ago and I felt like I absolutely had to make a HC request! Your writing is amazing!! Do you think you can do a HC on Zoro having a partner who likes to cook and shares the kitchen with sanji? maybe a little jealousy?"

A/N: I started this as headcanons but I got a bit carried away and it became a fic~ I hope you don't mind💕

"Those two are getting along pretty well, huh?"

Zoro looked up from his lap, his drift into slumber interrupted by the long-nosed sniper's words. His brow furrowed in confusion before following Usopp's gaze, catching sight of you and Sanji laughing amongst yourselves about something he wasn't privy to by the kitchen door. He wasn't surprised to see you there, often spotting you alongside the chef cooking up some new recipe he didn't understand the specifics of but would end up eating nonetheless. At his Nakama's lack of response, Usopp hurried to calm down the already cool-headed man. "Not that anything's, ya know, happening, or anything like that! I didn't mean that- I mean... You know what I meant." Zoro shrugged off his concerns inturn for returning to his attempt at sleep, this time without interruption from his crewmate.

He fell asleep to the sound of laughter.

~~~

The next day was interesting, having woken up to the shuffling of clothes and hushed voices. His senses were keen and he picked up on the ones responsible for the disturbance immediately. What were you and Sanji doing?

"Hurry up before you wake up the Marimo. I have something to show you!" The cook's voice was raspy in his attempt at quietness and Zoro was tempted to steal a peek at whatever was so interesting you had to get up before sunrise to see. "Shhhh!" You scolded the other man's insistent words.

Right after the initial shock of this wore off, a much more cynical thought made its way into his head.

He wasn't welcome. That's why you hadn't woken him up. That's why he couldn't come along with you, clinging close to your side in the morning air as you laughed off the curly-brow's stare of discontent at the sight of him. Whatever this thing between you and Sanji was, Zoro had no place in it and that notion was supported by the both of you. Zoro wasn't welcome in this part of your life, even as a spectator, and you had made sure of that.

You stepped out the door and his heart ached. He wasn't mad - not at you at least. He was confused. He hated being confused. Anger at least meant he understood the situation, but right now, he was left alone in the bed you and he were meant to share, feeling far too lonely for a man whose partner was just outside.

You came back in after some time, getting back into bed with a content sigh, the heat of his body warming you up from the cold dawn air. He was stiff beside you and you called his name in a low voice. He didn't respond to your questioning tone and you gave a soft smile to his relaxed face.

Zoro could only sense your stare, not your feelings, and turned over with a small, well-placed groan.

~~~

The light shined through under the door and it was Zoro's turn to wake up before you. It had to have been a few hours since your mysterious departure and return to the room and while he was still plagued by the many questions your actions left in his mind, no good could be done laying around.

He quickly got ready for the day, fixing his clothes in the mirror for a split second before heading out to the deck. The smell of food hit him and he knew that whatever the cook was making was going to be good. Not a surprise. Despite the pleasant aroma, his calm mood shifted and he wanted nothing more than to get away from the tell-tale signs of breakfast.

"Zoro!"

Your voice rang across the deck and his chest tightened. He turned around to face you, the soft smile on your face a welcome sight no matter any internal struggles he was facing. He knew trust was a difficult and sometimes fatal thing but he truly did have faith in the fact you wouldn't do anything to hurt him. This was his own issue. He trusted you(and Sanji but he wasn't about to say that).

He put off his training for a later time, the cook calling out that food was ready soon after you had approached him. Everyone quickly gathered and as the food was placed down, forks at ready to fend off their Captain's gluttonous hands, the Strawhats dug in. Your thigh was pressed against Zoro's and in the approaching winter island weather - and truly any instance at all - the contact was most welcome. Zoro poked at your plate playfully, expecting a laugh as he half-heartedly went for your food, but was surprised to see it garnered no reaction. His eyes traveled up your neck and he spotted your upturned lips which had a small smile of his own gracing his face, but as he looked at your eyes he realized you weren't paying attention to him in the slightest. You were looking at Sanji. And he was smiling back.

The pleasant expression on the swordman's face dropped away and he went back to eating, catching Robin's eye whilst doing so. The two shared a blank look and Zoro nodded at her before continuing his meal.

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder as he chewed around his fork, the warmth that filled him at the action burning in a masochistic sort of way. He knew he should talk to you but some part of him was scared of the answer and avoiding feelings was something Zoro did best. Be logical and win. That's all he had to do. But was there even something to win? And if so, hadn't Sanji already won?

The affectionate gesture received no reaction just as his had before and you removed yourself from his warmth.

~~~

Breakfast ended and with a quick press to your forehead Zoro was off, no doubt going to train up until lunch. The smile you received was tender yet rushed and you tried to trust in the fact that Zoro would come to you if something was wrong. Confronting him made him uncomfortable and you tried to avoid that when possible, giving him a place to express himself freely without forcing it out of him.

You made your way back into the kitchen, asking Sanji if he needed help with anything. He turned down your offer politely, content with the process of making the crew drinks on his own, but at the look on your face, he changed his mood. Directing you off into the food storage to get him some supplies, what he had originally planned to be a simple hot chocolate was now turning into an assortment of treats. He could tell you needed something to distract you and what better than cooking alongside the ship's gifted chef to soothe your need for occupation.

The snacks practically made themselves, you and Sanji working in sync as you gave the occasional comment or request. By the time it was done, there laid mugs of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream and an assortment of cookies for everyone to choose from that would hopefully satisfy them until lunch was ready.

Sanji took the liberty of handing out the food to the ladies, stopping by Chopper as well because who could resist the cuteness of the blue-nosed creature. It was hard to believe anyone could consider him anything other than adorable perfection. You were of course stuck with the boys, balancing the dishes as you handed them off with a word of thanks from the recipients - or the occasional attempt at grabbing another serving.

The only person left was Zoro and when you didn't find him in his usual napping spot you crossed the deck with a sigh. That man truly was too predictable.

"Hey Y/N! Looking for Zoro?" Usopp questioned, the chocolatey drink coating his upper lip as he smiled. You nodded. "He said he wanted to be left alone to train. I'll graciously take his food though!" The sniper reached out for the goods, taking them from your frozen hands as you frowned. You always delivered Zoro's food to him when he trained, even if it went cold he ate it just so you would stop by to bring it to him. Maybe something really was wrong with your boyfriend.

~~~

Zoro's muscles ached under the strain of the weights, he had lost count of the reps by now and had no intention of stopping any time soon. His arms begged him to put them down, already far surpassing his goal for the workout session, but he couldn't. He found peace in the rhythmic movements and the pain only seemed to calm his mind. The endorphins in his brain fueled him on and he could easily see himself becoming addicted to the act; if he wasn't already that is.

All the anger and confusion faded into the background as his body screamed at him to stop. The sweat dripped down his face and the plain white shirt he adorned was soaked through with the moisture. He would have taken it off but that would require a break and that wasn't something his mind allowed at the moment. He let the fabric cling to his body as he focused on the movements.

A knock at the entrance had him dropping the heavy equipment without a second thought, looking over to where he had set his swords. He worked to catch his breath, the pain in his chest yet to subside due to the lengths he had pushed himself when the smell of tobacco flooded his senses.

"What are you doing, Marimo?" Sanji said without his usual instigating tone, the cigarette balanced against his lip as he spoke. The declared "Marimo" huffed, not happy to be interrupted by the main cause of his grief.

"Get out."

"I'll leave when you get your grassy head out of your ass and stop doing whatever it is you're doing."

"And what exactly am I doing, Cook?"

Sanji shot him a look, annoyed by his Nakama's false ignorance. His next words weren't a suggestion. "Fix this."

He turned around without another word, leaving Zoro alone once again, his only company being the cigarette smoke lingering in the air as a cruel reminder of the other's words.

~~~

Zoro didn't have the will to leave the space, the workout equipment surrounding his now near-sleeping form. He knew avoiding the issue would only make it worse but the comfort of being alone to dwell in his ill feelings was too tempting to resist. Just as he was about to lay down for a quick nap a knock broke him out of his wallowing state. Could he not get an ounce of peace on this damn ship?

His eyes widened at the person approaching.

"Y/N?"

"The one and only," you said in a somber voice, approaching the man. You weren't used to the lack of alcohol flooding your senses as you got close. He always smelled a bit of the drink and the small difference had you shifting on your feet, only adding to the uncomfortable mess of the situation.

You sighed, tugging Zoro up and along behind you as he simply gazed at you in confusion. He wanted to rip his arm away from your grasp, not a fan of being grabbed so harshly, but the lack of physical contact between you two left him a little more lenient if it meant he could touch you.

The trek to the food storage was silent, the tension between you two lessening slightly despite no words being exchanged. You caught a few looks from the others, some sending concerned frowns or even a stern glare from Sanji directed at your boyfriend. He didn't come in here often unless it was to steal alcohol - he came in here pretty often - and the way his eyes shifted around the room made it obvious he was uncomfortable with the situation yet decided to stay to see whatever this was through.

You let go of his arm to make your way over to the corner, pulling a box into view that had Zoro walking over himself to see. The top came off with a crack and you moved over slightly so he could get a better look from beside you. The container was filled with what looked to be little balls of algae but couldn't possibly be from how they sat on top of one another.

"Sanji found these on the last island. He said they reminded him of you, well, he said they looked like some sort of moss ball which is basically the same thing-"

Your words faded off into the background as Zoro peered down at the box, the contents staring back at him mockingly. He picked one of the fruits up, surprised at the hard exterior, and turned to face you.

"Is this why you snuck off yesterday?"

God, he felt stupid.

"Snuck off?" Your eyes widened in realization.

"It was supposed to a surprise! I thought maybe I could make you something with them. I would never... What did you think was happening?"

Zoro met your gaze with a shrunken expression. His words sounding pitiful to his own ears. "I didn't know what to think Y/N," his hand came up to card through his hair as his eyes shut, "I didn't want to think anything."

You gave a soft smile, knowing the conversation could get far too grim at a time that was supposed to be pleasant. "Sanji wanted to show these to me. I think he wanted to do something nice for us. He can be a bit of a dick," Zoro laughed at your words, "but he's sweet." There was a million different things he could say in that moment to counteract your words but decided against it. The weight that had been crushing his ribs finally dispersed and with a smirk he asked, "So, what can you make with these?"

You grinned, going off on a tangent about all the things you and Sanji had tried, the swordsman watching with bright eyes at the enthusiastic verbal reenactment of your cooking trials.

#Zoro #Zoro x Reader #One Piece #OP #Anime #Roronoa Zoro #Gender Nuetral Reader

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kaistarus · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu Among Us

Pairs: Nishinoya X Reader

Words: 2.8K

Summary: You're playing Among Us with the Karasuno gang. When you get selected to be the Imposter you're not above doing what it takes to win.

Notes: This is a completely self-indulgent fic for Nishinoya's b-day

Masterlist

"There are too many options. What do you think?”

Nishinoya’s yellow character stood motionless beside the lobby’s computer as he selected between several hats. Your animated crewmate ran circles around him while waiting for him to finish his customizations and for the rest of your friends to load into the game.

“I think the post-it is the most accurate, but the egg is the cutest.” You said mindlessly, smiling when Hinata’s bright orange character hopped off one of the benches at the top of the screen. You left Nishinoya so you could chase around Hinata instead, running circles around each other in excitement over your matching stemmed helmets.

Nishinoya grumbled as he selected the raw-egg to cover his helmet. “Should I buy a child?”

“Are you ready for that?” You asked as more people finally started loading onto the ship. “It’s a lot of responsibility and what if we both die?”

“Oh, you’re right. I’m not ready to be a single father.” Nishinoya left the computer and came to run in the circle with you and Hinata in the center of the lobby.

“You guys are disgusting,” Tsukishima’s condescending voice filtered into your headset. You rolled your eyes and glared at his black spacesuit with the devil horns. So rude.

“Let people be happy, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said while his dark green character joined your dance circle. You couldn’t explain it, but the wet floor sign felt extremely fitting for his character.

“I’ll help you raise your child if (Y/N) dies Noya!” Hinata said brightly into your headset.

“Thanks, Shoyo!”

“No, I want to help him raise the child!” Tanaka yelled into the mic causing you to jump in your chair. You quickly opened your audio settings to turn his volume down. “I deserve it. I’ve known them the longest.”

“No way, I already called dibs!”

“Guys, you can both help me! The more parents the better!”

“There is no child.” You said, pinching the bridge of your nose,” and stop planning for me to die.”

“Sorry.” They all said in unison.

“But one day…” Hinata added ominously. You blinked at the screen confused and opened your mouth to respond before deciding it better to write that off entirely.

“All right, I’m starting the game,” Yachi said before the countdown appeared at the bottom of the screen.

“Wait, is Kageyama AFK? He hasn’t said anything.” Hinata asked, concerned.

“I just don’t want to talk to you, idiot.”

“Ouch.” Nishinoya snorted.

You muted your mic after a small giggle. The red crewmate appeared to shush everyone and you couldn’t help the wicked grin that crossed your face when ‘Imposter’ appeared in red letters afterward. Beside your character stood your partner in crime, Hinata, his name also bled red for the violence to ensue. You nodded to yourself confidently. Hinata wasn’t the best imposter, but you two were pretty in sync so you weren’t too concerned.

The airship loaded and everyone appeared around the center lunch table in cafeteria. You debated what you should do… maybe hang out with Hinata and attempt a double kill? You two could pull that off. Maybe just try some fun vent kills like you’d seen streamers do recently. Too bad Nishinoya ran over to you and began dancing beside you, clearly trying to get you to follow him to the right side of the map. It would probably be cruel if you slowly garnered his trust to use him as an alibi…

You followed him out of cafeteria. He began a wire task so you pretended to watch the bar go up until he excitedly danced beside you when he was finished, happy he’d cleared himself as an innocent crewmate-not that you hadn’t known that already. You went to fake asteroids, standing beside the chair while hoping to all that was good the green bar would move on time, when it did you leaned your forehead on your desk with a heavy sigh. Nishinoya’s character ran circles around you, likely thrilled that you were both crewmates, before continuing down the gray halls to the oxygen room. You took a moment to feel guilty before shaking it off.

While Nishinoya went to do another task in O2 you noticed Tsukishima running down the hall, alone, so you briefly separated and went to follow him. Unfortunately, Tsukishima decided to go to navigation all alone which left you with absolutely no choice. You strolled up to him and pressed the lit up ‘KILL’ button in the bottom corner of your screen. The animation had you snapping his character in half which you were a little too satisfied with-you could practically hear him raging from across town.

Once complete, his little half body flopped over and you snickered to yourself in your room. Then you remembered Nishinoya probably heading this way and you quickly self-reported the body.

“Naviga--.”

“Somebody killed Tsukki!?” Yamaguchi yelled so loud you had to lift your headphones up.

“Oh no,” Kageyama said, sarcastically. “What a loss.”

“You don’t sound upset…” Yachi pointed out.

“Should I?”

“Yes! He’s our friend and he’s dead!” Yamaguchi yelled.

“He’s not actually dead Yams.” You smirked, propping your elbow onto your desk and leaning into the palm of your hand.

“Sometimes I still hear his voice…” Nishinoya sniffled into his mic and you rolled your eyes fondly.

“Where was it?” Hinata asked.

“Navigation.” You said calmly. “Me and Nishinoya were doing tasks. I saw him go down to nav and I wanted to see if he died in the murder zone and he did.”

“Makes sense,” Nishinoya said casually. “So, who else is there that killed him?”

“Makes sense? She literally said she followed him to the murder zone.” Tanaka pointed out. You purse your lips because you did kind of say that, yeah. You should probably phrase things better.

“I saw her do asteroids though and she saw me do other tasks so we’re good.” Nishinoya scoffed at Tanaka’s accusation. “She couldn’t possibly have murdered Tsukishima if she did asteroids.”

“Okay… but what if she faked it?” Tanaka suggested.

“Are you suggesting my girlfriend would lie to me?” Noya said, gasping dramatically. “How could you dude?”

“The absolute disrespect.” You said, narrowing your eyes at Tanaka’s brown character. He knew too much.

“What if they’re both the imposter?” Yachi suggested.

“No way. If Noya was imposter half of us would be dead already.” Hinata said, with a chorus of agreeance following him.

“Well, who else is around here?” You asked.

“I’m almost there,” Kageyama said.

“Almost there or running from the crime?” You asked, excited to bring someone new into suspicion.

“Dun dun dun,” Hinata shouted.

“I don’t know if this means anything, but Hinata was at card swipe for a really long time…” Yachi added quietly.

“I just failed it like ten times, okay?” Hinata said sadly.

“Yeah, that checks out.” Kageyama snorted. “This idiot would fail a card swipe.”

“Let’s just skip, but Kageyama and (Y/N) I’m watching you,” Tanaka said.

“Good,” Kageyama responded.

The round ended with no one being ejected, thankfully, but you were a little concerned about the amount of suspicion being thrown at you. Hopefully, Hinata would keep Kageyama alive, and if the opportunity presents itself Tanaka would be your next target. Until then, you ran around the table to Nishinoya and danced beside him until he was ready to move. It was most important that Nishinoya believed you were innocent. You needed a strong ally, especially now.

As you waited patiently for him to complete another download task you kept the sabotage map open contemplatively before Hinata decided to shut off the lights for you. You tried to stay close enough to Nishinoya that he would see you in his limited visual area while you run to electrical, that is, until you saw Yamaguchi trailing behind you. Once you all entered cafeteria you pulled a quick u-turn under the cover of darkness and stabbed Yamaguchi’s poor unsuspecting crewmate body several times in the back before returning to Nishinoya and helping fix the lights. As if nothing had ever happened.

After fixing lights like the innocent, fake crewmate you were an air horn went off in your ear to signal Yamaguchi’s body being reported. You fell back in your chair with a whine before unmuting your mic.

“All right, this is good,” Tanaka said, a few muffled smacks heard as he excitedly smacked his desk.

“Disrespectful, dude. What did Yams or Yachi ever do to you?” Nishinoya asked. You raised an eyebrow because you hadn’t even noticed Yachi’s crossed off character. “They’re the two nicest people on earth.”

“Yeah, that’s sus.” You said with a smirk.

“Super sus.” Nishinoya agreed.

“What? No. I mean, I was on my way to the button because I literally watched Hinata jump into a vent when I found Yam’s body. Which means we have two pieces of evidence now.”

You cursed internally and glared at Hinata’s bright orange character. He would get caught venting.

“Dude, seriously?” Nishinoya laughed.

“What? I didn’t vent.”

“I watched you.”

“Oh yeah? How can I vent when I’m not even the imposter?” Hinata said confidently. You rolled your eyes.

“Damn, he’s got you there dude.” Nishinoya snorted. “Solid defense Shoyo.”

“Thanks, man!”

“Don’t defend him!” Tanaka yelled. “Unless you really are the second imposter!”

“What? No! Where’s your evidence? Give me proof!”

“Yeah, give him the proof!” Hinata added.

“Where were you when Yamaguchi was killed?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Nishinoya asked, astonished. “We were only in cafeteria when the lights were off and I didn’t see a body.”

“We?” Tanaka sounded deep in thought. “When the lights were off…”

“Are we just forgetting about mister thank god Tsukishima is dead?” You said, pulling attention toward Kageyama. “And last I checked only Noya and I fixed the lights.”

“Oh yeah, where were you, Kageyama?” Nishinoya asked.

“I’m where the boxes are.”

“You gotta learn the room names, man.” Hinata sighed.

“Maybe this is a tactic!” Tanaka shouted.

“Oh, and self-reporting isn’t Tanaka?” You asked.

“I don’t know. Tell me about the last round?” He responded confidently. Oh shit.

“Hang on, we gotta vote. We have like 15 seconds.” Nishinoya pointed out.

“Vote Hinata. He vented.” Tanaka said, repeatedly.

Everyone voted quickly and Nishinoya even apologized to Hinata, so you sighed before going with the majority. You had officially lost your partner. On the bright side, if you could take out Tanaka you could probably convince Nishinoya that Kageyama was the last imposter. You just had to play this last bit safe.

You waited a bit before going in the direction Tanaka had run after, but your last few rounds backfired when Nishinoya trailed after you. You needed to get away from him long enough so you could kill Tanaka without him seeing. You broke away from him for a moment and hopped into the nearest vent, jumping around until you found an area close to where you thought Tanaka had last been running around. When you popped out fear immediately shot into your heart when Kageyama’s dark blue character peaked into the top of the screen.

You weren't sure if he saw you or not, but you couldn’t risk it. He had to die.

You chased after him toward cafeteria and just barely got close enough to hit the kill button when he entered the room. You let out a breath of relief when the kill animation popped onto your screen and you watched your character repeatedly stab Kageyama in the back. You thought you were safe, so when the air horn for a meeting played you shot up in your chair. Apparently, in your tunnel vision, you hadn’t noticed Tanaka lurking nearby.

“It was Tanaka. I watched him kill Kageyama!” You shouted the moment your mic unmuted.

“Wait, what the fuck?” Nishinoya’s voice was filled with genuine confusion and you almost felt guilty. Almost. Maybe after you won.

“No. She chased him down, sawed him in half, then tossed him away like it was nothing. I saw it all.” Tanaka shouted.

“You can’t even saw people.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m so confused,” Nishinoya whined. “It’s not Kageyama? But (Y/N) was with me like the entire game.”

“Exactly, so how could I have killed anyone?” You said excitedly. Nishinoya had no suspicion of you which was perfect. You could definitely win this.

“You were at every place where the bodies were found.” Tanaka pointed out. “She couldn’t have been with you the entire time. Like when she self-reported the first body?”

“I didn’t self-report.”

“Or when the lights went out?”

“I guess not.” Nishinoya said. You hit your desk lightly in stress. “She also wasn’t with me this whole last round...”

“Exactly!” Tanaka shouted. “And she was really adamant about putting suspicion on Kageyama.”

“Cause he was suspicious!” You threw your hands up. Since when was Tanaka so good at this game?

The line was quiet for a moment. “(Y/N) he’s making a lot of sense.”

“Okay, but he also reported Yams' body,” you countered. “Easily could’ve been a self-report there too.”

“That’s true…”

“Dude, why would I have tried so hard to get Hinata out if I was an imposter?” Tanaka asked, exasperated. “It makes no sense. It has to be her.”

“He could’ve lied about seeing Hinata vent!” You shouted, deciding to throw hail mary’s in your moment of demise.

“Why would I do that?”

“My head hurts,” Nishinoya whined. “(Y/N) I don’t know...”

“Okay. You should vote for Tanaka because...” You said while racking your brain for a solid defense. “I… love you.”

Nishinoya blew air into the mic. “Fuck dude, that’s a good defense.”

“No it’s not you--” Tanaka groaned. “Dude, for like five seconds I need you to stop being a simp and just big brain with me here.”

“But she’s saying nice things to me,” Nishinoya whined.

“Dude, c’mon you know who it is.”

Nishinoya groaned into the mic. “Okay, (Y/N) you’d never lie to me, right?”

“Never.”

“Are you imposter?”

“...I love you so much and I’m so happy you’re in my life and--”

“She just fucking admitted to it!” Tanaka screamed in the mic. “Don’t let her get into your brain. You’re better than this.”

After a brief silence, Nishinoya finally voted and you stood out of your chair when it revealed Nishinoya and you beneath Tanaka’s brown character. The mixed shouting in your headset went completely ignored by your own excitement while you celebrated, thanking Nishinoya with loving words.

“You fucking simp!” Tanaka yelled. “I can’t believe you. I trusted you!”

“I’m sorry,” Nishinoya’s groan came muffled in your ears. “I just couldn’t do it.”

“Good job (Y/N)!” Hinata cheered. “I never win as an imposter.”

“Cause you vent in front of people,” Tsukishima said.

“It was an accident! I meant to sabotage doors and I misclicked.”

“Oh well, we still got a victory.” You said proudly while spinning in your chair.

“You used me,” Nishinoya said, disappointed. “For personal gain.”

“I’m sorry, Noya,” you smirked as your characters all slowly hopped off the chairs in the main lobby. You danced around his yellow character as everyone loaded in. “I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When the second game began, you let out a sigh of relief when the light blue confirmed you as merely a crewmate. This time you could legitimately just goof off with Nishinoya and complete tasks together while hopefully avoiding death.

After the map loaded you once again made your way to navigation together, keeping guard while the other was busy, and dancing circles every time you completed a task. When you eventually had entered the murder zone you trusted him to watch your back while you did your last task on the right side of the ship. Your first mistake apparently. You audibly gasped when the kill animation appeared on the screen. Nishinoya’s yellow character snapping your poor little crewmate’s neck in plain sight, leaving its little half body lying there for all to see. It’s poor singular bone popped out and bare.

You stared blankly at the screen while Nishinoya danced around your body for a moment, knowing that your ghost was hovering over it before he went down and hopped into the vent. You flopped back into your chair watching as Tanaka’s character ran into the room, stared at your body, and ran out. You could picture him cackling at the situation from here.

When a meeting was finally called, not even for you but Kageyama, Nishinoya pretended to be upset that “someone dares to kill you” and other bull shit. You crossed your arms and glared at his stupid yellow imposter self.

You supposed you deserved being used as a cover-up from the grave.

He better at least win.

#haikyū!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya yū #hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio #yachi hitoka #tanaka ryuunosuke #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya scenarios #nishinoya imagine

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softkuna · 3 years

Text

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content ║ Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

“-didn’t you say the band?”

“Yeah, but this is better.”

“Sure… but what happens if-“

Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

“Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

“I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

The interview process began.

She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

“After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

“There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

“You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

“Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.

“Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

“Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

“Let me check the tag.”

“What?”

The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

“I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

“While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

“Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags: @lovesakusa

#⛩.sukuna #⛩.fic #⛩.punk #🍺.jjk #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fic

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danishmiilk · 3 years

Text

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙤𝙨 - huang renjun. for @radiorenjun || love letters pt. 2

type: superhero!au, friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au

warnings: swearing i think, not very well explained plot holes

synopsis: from personal experience, you can tell that fighting crime with two best friends who can fly and turn invisible respectively is way easier than having a crush on one of the aforementioned best friends. also one extra little complication: the vigilante imposter who calls himself a member of your organisation screwing shit up.

taglist: @lebrookestore @starlightsooyoungs @sweetlyjaem @allegxdly ; send an ask or a dm to be added to the taglist (for all of the fics, and that can be quite a lot so do keep that in mind.)

wc: 1.2k

“he’s on the move again,” donghyuck swipes his phone screen viciously with two fingers, zooming in, “what’s his deal?”

you hum, “i mean, he claims to be one of the neos, but he’s always giving us trouble with missions and such, you know? an impostor, i’d thought. calls himself r, doesn’t he?”

“yeah, so pretentious, isn’t it?”

sniffing, you roll your eyes, remembering the time this r had almost ruined your mission and let lee sooman go free to continue terrorising the citizens of neocity. he’d simply gotten in the way of you and donghyuck, even shooting you and injuring you in the leg, and it was only thanks to donghyuck that you’d even managed to get close enough to your shock gun to fire at the villain who was flying away.

so a long story short, you hated r with a burning passion for being annoying, hurting you, and then still daring to claim that he was a neo. one of you. heck, you still couldn’t run at 100% speed.

“where’s renjun, by the way?” only just realising that the third and final member of your mission team was missing, you shrugged at donghyuck, not having the answer to that either. “shouldn’t he have been back already? our mission ended, like, 5 hours ago.”

“nothing happened to him, did it?” you didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that your eyes were clouded with worry for your best friend. best friend that… ah, you’ve fancied for quite a long time now, pining in silence. not that anyone else knew, of course.

there’s the unmistakable sound of muddy shoes squelching along the sterile clean floors of HQ (you’d know, you’ve tracked mud in too many times to count, to the dismay of the cleaning lady. or man, as far as unofficial cleaning man lee taeyong was concerned.) you whip your head around so far it nearly cracks, then quickly dart out of the way to avoid the boy sliding across the floor clumsily.

donghyuck isn’t so lucky though, because renjun barrels straight into him, showering him with water droplets.

“why are you so wet?” donghyuck shoves him away in disgust, “nothing happened to you, did it? i just saw the news today and r capsized one of the neos’ ships at the harbour. no altercations, right?”

renjun shook some water out of his hair like a dog, then pushed his fringe out of his face, “no. i tried going after r earlier, which is why i’m back so late, but i fell into the river. so there.”

you cringe slightly, moving as far away from renjun as possible, “go and clean yourself up, what are you still waiting there for?”

“to kiss you,” renjun leans over, puckering his lips, before turning around and rushing off in raucous laughter.

“i hate him,” you muttered quietly, trying to hide your flustered expression from donghyuck.

“no, you like him,” donghyuck shrugs, like that’s a universally acknowledged fact, “what? it’s true. everyone knows you think he’s so handsome and fine and-”

“shut up!”

—a few days later

cradling your injured arm, you hissed, cursing out lee sooman with the worst curse words you knew in ten different languages and crawling behind a trashcan, hoping against hope that donghyuck and renjun would be able to take care of him. sure, you hated always being the one to get hurt, but it wasn’t like you could 1. fly or 2. turn invisible. the only power you had was healing, and it didn’t even work on yourself, so what was the point?

“i mean, as long as r doesn’t show up and ruin shit, they’ll be fine, won’t they?” you mumbled to yourself, taking cover behind a discarded barrel. there’s a sudden sound and you swear in your head, whipping around to point your gun at its source. it couldn’t be an enemy- your dominant hand was essentially useless until you got back to HQ and your other hand was nowhere near fantastic at shooting.

“who’s there,” you call out unwisely, before cursing yourself even more, “are you a friend or a foe?”

there’s no reply, so you inch even closer, using the barrel as protection while you rounded the corner, only to be met with someone zipping up their full latex superhero (or supervillain, you couldn’t tell) uniform.

and it was r.

the little fucker.

raising your gun, you aimed it right at him, but hesitated. didn’t it go against everything you stood for as superheroes to outrightly shoot someone without concrete evidence that they were a villain? all r had done was to spoil some of your equipment and ruin some missions, but he hadn’t actually killed anyone, had he? but in the split second it had taken for you to decide, he’d turned around to face you, suit fully zipped up now. revealing a very familiar face.

“huang renjun?”

“shit,” renjun’s eyes darted around frantically, fiddling with his hands like he didn’t know where to put them, “that’s not how i intended my crush to find out about my hidden identity as a vigilante.”

“your what now?” your brow furrowed. too many revelations in too short a time.

“that was also not how i intended my crush to find out about my crush on her,” he groans and pulls a hand across his face roughly, “right. i bet you want an explanation. so basically i know i’m classified as an impostor and repeat offender right now, and i think you hate me, but i just wanted to… garner some glory for myself as an individual superhero who’s super famous worldwide or- that sounds dumb, nevermind. but i was kind of clumsy so one dumb thing led to another and… yes! alsoiwaskindofwonderingifyou’dgivemeattention.”

blinking, you lowered your gun and stared at him hard, taking in a deep breath. renjun cringed away slightly, awaiting beration, but you just set the gun down with a thump and narrowed your eyes at him.

“huang renjun, did you just say you have a crush on me?”

“is that bad?”

“no- it’s- like, i like you too. so you didn’t have to sink ships to get my attention,” you smiled gently at him, conveniently ignoring donghyuck’s hopefully overdramatic cries of pain in the background.

“that’s- great. wow,” renjun grinned giddily, stating intelligently, “i never thought you’d say that.”

you laughed breathily, hoping your voice wasn’t going up by an octave, “well. so i have.”

donghyuck rips his newly healed hand out of your magical grasp and glowers at the new couple. “you’re telling me,” he growls, “that when i was getting my ass beat by lee sooman, the two of you were sucking face behind a wall? some friends you are.”

“we thought you were being overdramatic. the boy who cried wolf, you know?” renjun grinned at him, “but you’re fine now, right? sorry.”

the former walks out of the medical tent backwards, features still arranged in a frown that was meant to be intimidating, but all the effect was soon lost on you as he mumbled a small “congratulations” on his way out.

donghyuck would come around.

or you’d have to make him.

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atqh16 · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand (Say You Need Me Still)

A Daredevil Fic (Matt/Foggy, Girl!Foggy. Pre-Slash)

Summary : Look, getting shot is just the New York experience. You haven’t lived unless you’ve been held at gunpoint at least once. And if you save someone doing it? Hey, bonus!

First Chapter: AO3

“I had to exist without you”,

Foggy had whispered those words as if in a trance. Face turned towards the sky as if speaking to no one in particular. Her words had been unprompted. They had been simply been enjoying each other’s company that day after a long work week and a chance to relax at a barbeque courtesy of Luke and Claire.

It was a month after Fisk and 7 before the incident at the police station. Matt remembers the both of them lying on a mattress futon and a pile of duvets on the roof of Colleens Dojo. Foggys tone had been soft but Matt was so focused on her that it was enough to drown out the other sounds around them. Luke and Danny laughing where they were manning the barbeque grill. Misty and Karen comparing notes on Jessica’s recent client which she didn’t appreciate but didn’t seem to mind enough to make them stop as she nursed her Jack Daniels on the edge of their conversation. Misty talking sports of all things with Colleen who was wholly and very competitively invested in the New York Yankees.

But they had all turned into peripheral noise to Matt. He had pushed himself up. Fully turned his body towards her. Something Matt didn’t really have to do since there was no visual component in his interactions with the people around him but Foggy had always appreciated the gesture. A sign of assurance from her best friend that his attention was completely and undividedly on her. For her. She’s always been proud of herself for being able garner that kind of reaction from him.

But at that moment Foggy herself had seemed distracted. Even without being able to see it, Matt could tell that her eyes weren’t directed at him. She felt distant. Sounded distant. A mirror of what Matt had been feeling ever since he came back.

He hadn’t really understood why at the time. After all he’d gotten everything he ever wanted. Even more. His firm, his partner, his identity and most importantly his friends. Not just Karen and Foggy. His best friend had made sure of that when she dragged him to Jessica’s place and sat outside her office slash apartment door while Jess tore Matt a new one over what he’d done and proceeded to throw him out with a door slam so hard the glass panel shook.

That night Jessica called his burner later telling him to meet her on a roof top (What is it with roof tops?) because she needed his ears and to quote her “You owe me. Your ass better be here in an hour”.

Matt was there before the hour was up with 20 minutes to spare.

“Fucking Boy scout”, Jess had muttered under her breath but Matt smiled and tossed her a brand-new grey scarf.

“It’s the cheapest one at Walmarts”, he had said but the softness of the material and the tag said otherwise.

Matt hadn’t needed prompting to show up on Luke’s apartment door next and meeting Danny at the Dojo where the millionaire had proceeded to wipe the floor with him in hand to hand.

“I let you win”, Matt had panted, trying to catch his breath.

“Keep telling yourself that”, Danny sniped back, though there was no heat in his words, as he threw him a water bottle.

Matt woke up the next day sore, bruised and unable to wipe the grin off his face when he showed up at the office that morning to an array of extremely expensive looking bouquets congratulating their re-opening and heavily perfumed because Danny Rand is a passive aggressive dick.

But it also came with a 6 digit cheque from Rand Industries so none of them were about to complain. “A gift, from Rand Industries to the Firm of Nelson and Murdock. To hopefully new and better beginnings” was written on the envelope it came with.

Matt wished it had been as easy with Foggy. Not that either of them had given any resistance in efforts of reconciliation. But there were no ‘How To’s’ they could follow telling them exactly how to do that. No guidebooks detailing the steps needed to take to rebuild a bond that had gone through so much. The awkward bubble between them seemed to only grow more and more, stretched thin and fragile and so vulnerable to the slightest touch.

Until that night when after a few bottles of beers and a feeling of relaxed contentment that only came with a full stomach, Foggy whispered her confession as if asking for contrition.

Her words, though morose, held no acrimonious judgment. But the vestige of pain in them was bare and it had twisted Matt’s insides to hear it. It was such a simple phrase but it held so much and he knew instantly that it had been something she’d been keeping quiet. Out of shame, thinking that it was something she didn’t have a right to feel. Afraid that it might make Matt more distant.

But it was an admittance that Matt had realized he needed to hear. An honest fearless truth that was not spoken to condemn but instead a plea for him to understand where she stood. For him to know she was still bearing pain that she herself found difficult to admit. So afraid that Matt would recoil from her for it. But how could he. How could he punish such fearlessness when he knows how much he had taken from Foggy?

Both of them had made mistakes, but Foggy had been so patient. Matt had already taken and asked so much from Foggy who still tried his best to welcome him back with open arms. But Foggy had never been one to tip toe around Matt about anything. A habit that could be aggravating at times but it was always a cost he had been willing to pay for the intimacy that was brought forward from it.

And this was Foggy begging Matt to have that chance for intimacy again. As if she didn’t deserve to ask for it and it was a failure on Matts part that Foggy would harbour such hesitation.

Even through all his secrets and fear, Foggys openness about where she stood in regards to Matt had always been a beacon for him. A guide to teach him how to be a friend. Lessons he’d been deprived off the second his dad died. Matt had cast out the hope of ever achieving such a relationship. Already given up early on at the thought that he could ever receive the kind of easiness that Foggy offered and it was a miracle for him that she did. A miracle that they had met in Columbia and a miracle that through all Foggys annoying habits, that he’d been open to give her a chance. A choice that he would never have made if Foggy had been anything less than who she was. She in of itself was a miracle to him and Matt was deeply torn that he had made Foggy ever feel otherwise.

“I had only ever wanted a friend”

Foggys words from the night of their huge fight came back to him and while it might have been said in less than stellar circumstances, he knows even then that it had rung with truth. Foggy had never asked for anything more. How could he have failed to give her something so simple.

After a while Foggy finally turns her face towards Matt. He tastes salt in the air but doesn’t move to address it because he needs to focus right now. To really listen and conscientious, to what Foggy was trying to say. A lack in communication had after all been their downfall. Too much resentment over kept secrets and rancorous unspoken anger.

But there’s none of that hanging in between them now. Instead, Matt heard what wasn’t spoken loud and clear.

“Don’t leave. Don’t make me go through that again. Stay. Here, with me”

Matt doesn’t think there’s anything he can say that could live up as an answer to that so instead he creeps his hand forward to grasp Foggys in a sincere hope that his own words would ring with the same vulnerable truth that Foggy had offered.

“I’ll try”

Things had gotten better afterward. The honesty Foggy openly shows was an invitation for Matt to do the same. Not a demand and Matt will forever be grateful for that. But even so Matt still walks on eggshells at first. Not knowing what he was allowed to reveal. What was welcomed and what was not. Foggy like always, had put Matt at ease the way she always could.

It starts with an open invite to a home cooked dinner where Foggy made it clear that she wanted to know more about Matt’s abilities.

“If you want that last brownie you’re gonna have to impress me Murdock and for extra motivation, it’s a corner piece”

Matt had laughed, “I’m not sure what you’re asking here Nelson. I’m not sure I want to. The last time you gave me a dare I ended up doing the chicken dance in the college cafeteria”

“Boohoo, you deserved it after that stunt you pulled with the waffle incident. I’ve still got the burn marks to prove it. Now enough excuses and man up Murdock”

The banter might have sounded harsh to a stranger’s ears but it held such a familiarity that Matt rejoiced every second and every word. But despite all that he was still so scared to ruin what they were trying to rebuilt. Scared to run Foggy off with ‘too much’.

Foggy had again, nudged him into it gingerly and with such patience that Matt hadn’t found it in him to deny her.

She asked him to talk about what he could taste in the food she’s cooked. At first Matt was afraid to criticize but Foggy had started doing so herself. Once after a dinner Chicken Paprikash of all things, she asked if Matt sensed the yoghurt that used was close to getting bad. Matt tentatively had noted that it wasn’t rancid but it was definitely way past its prime days. Foggy wasn’t annoyed, instead she breaks the tension and laughing, jabbing about how horrible some parts about Matts senses must be. About the embarrassing things he’s had to endure.

To Matt’s surprise, the topic of his abilities became a favourite thing to talk about whenever they spent time together.

“Are you saying everytime I found you staring into space in your room it was because you got contact high from your stoner neighbour 5 rooms away from your dorm?”

Matt had groaned and dropped his forehead onto his folded arms in embarrassment. It was enough of an answer Foggy needed.

“Oh my God, you turned them in! Matthew Michael Murdock you tattle tale”

“It wouldn’t be such a problem if they didn’t get stoned every night. It was barely a secret anyway. The corridor reeked from it and personally I think I did a public service”

“Did you snitch on me bringing snacks into the library too?”

“No Foggy, that was all the crumbs you didn’t bother cleaning off your dress everytime we passed the librarian. She could probably smell the Cheeto dust on your fingers a mile away”

“I knew it! You threw away my Cheetos stash didn’t you!”

“They’re like cheese dust bombs! They were more chemicals than actual food. I did you a favour”

“And here I was thinking Tanya was stealing them from my bag during civics”

“The girl who sat beside you? Oh, she stole food from you all the time. You left your bag unzipped, it was inevitable”

“And you never told me?!?!”

“Most of the things you had in there were junk food. It’s no wonder you were on a sugar high all the time”

“In my defence, Redbull and Twinkies are a perfectly good way to combat law school stress”

“Oh god the Twinkies!”

“Don’t you dare go after Twinkies!”

Just like that the tension brought from the elephant in the room that was Matts powers was broken. Foggy made a game out of Matt trying to guess all the ingredients she’s used on nights that she cooked. Matt had initially protested on the unfairness of it all but eventually stepped up to the challenge cause he’s a competitive bastard and Foggy knows it.

“How am I supposed to know what kind of nuts you used in the Pad Thai??? I can barely afford anything other than ground nuts”

“Excuses. You haven’t suggested anything else either”

“I know you used Italian basil instead of Thai”

“Whats the difference?”

“Thai basil has a sharper taste”

“And more expensive”

“Authenticity is important. We don’t want to get sued for cultural appropriation and all”

“Oh look at me, I’m Matt Murdock and I can only eat fancy organic Thai Basil”

“It doesn’t matter, I won. Now give me my brownie Nelson!”

“Bite me Murdock!”

Matt won 9 times out of 10. The game was rigged and they both knew it but they usually ended up splitting the last piece of whatever dessert they had for the night anyway so it was never really about winning. Not for either of them anyway. On nights when there were no sugary delicacies waiting for them after their meal, if Matt won, he got to pick what they did after dinner. Watch a show, listen to an audio-book, play games before he had to leave for the night for patrol. Foggy never complained except for an over exaggerated whine or two at Matts predictability.

It’s fun, intimate. They don’t just focus on the fun stuff either. Matt had wanted to get even more intimate. He was tired of carrying all his secrets and for once he was the one who took the leap to trust that foggy wouldn’t run.

So, one night Matt finds himself stumbling into Foggys apartment after patrol. It was closer and he had a concussion. He was surprised when Foggy didn’t freak out like he expected and actually knew how to handle the situation. Like she’d prepared for it. She got some lessons from Claire who owed her for helping Luke. She doesn’t talk about when she started doing it or why. Matt didn’t know if he was ready to hear the answer either.

“You know, I could always keep my window unlocked. If you ever… ya know, need to come over”

“I don’t want to wake you”

“I always sleep late anyway and besides; I’d rather know you have somewhere to go if you need to then........”, Foggy trails off but Matt doesnt need to be a psychic to know where her thoughts had went.

“I don’t want to make thing’s hard for you", he says back and they both know he didnt just mean waking her up late.

“Matt, I want to.”, Foggy had said, firmly as she smoothed the Arnica cream over his newest bruise.

Her heart had beaten with a steady thud of truth, truth, truth.

It was comforting to know that Foggy wasn’t soaked in fear and disapproval the way she used to be before, and he did come over sometimes. Once or twice a week to get his ribs bandaged properly when they were bruised or some cuts stitched. Matt can tell Foggy’s nervous and queasy about the stitching but she soldiers on anyway and it reminds him of Maggie telling him how she had done the same for his dad when they were together and the similitude makes a roll of warmth coil around his insides like a soothing balm. It feels right.

He realizes when he gets home as is drifting off to sleep, that it’s not something he’s ever had with Elektra either.

“Foggy, I need to tell you something”

“Hmmm?”

“About midland circle”

“Matt-”

“I need you to know, why I stayed. Why I didn’t try to come back.”

“Matt, you don’t-“

“Foggy please. I need to do this”

“Ok Matty. Fire away"

“It wasn’t about you, or Karen. Maybe that’s hard to believe. I’m not gonna lie and say it wasn’t selfish of me because it was. I hurt you. You gave me the suit and you trusted me and I let you down. But you have to know Foggy, it wasn’t because of you”

Matt had ducked his head in shame

“Truth is I wasn’t thinking about anything else at that moment. I’m impulsive, we both know that. You’ve always known that. I was so overwhelmed by the fact that she was alive that I-“

He gulped.

“Did I tell you how she died? The first time?”

“No”

“It was because of me. She took a knife to the chest for me and she died in my arms and it was my fault Foggy. It was my fault. The worst part is, she’d told me beforehand that she wanted to stay with me. She wanted to try and she died in my arms because of me. I heard her heartbeat stop and it was because of me and I couldn’t… I couldn’t move Foggy."

He remembers feeling his eyes water, struggling to keep them from flowing into streams down his cheeks. But he couldn’t stop the way his voice choked.

“And I heard her heart beat that day when I found out she was alive. The way she moved, the familiar scent of her and how warm she was whennever she was close. She was so alive and I was desperate to save her this time. When she refused to leave Midland, I couldn’t leave her behind. I couldn’t leave her alone. I couldn’t let her die because I couldn’t save her for the second time. I couldn’t foggy. Everything was falling apart around us but I held her and she was so alive. I couldn’t let that go. I’m sorry Foggy. I’m sorry I hurt you. But I can’t be sorry for staying with her”

“Matt I’m not angry”

He’d perked up at that.

“I mean I was initially. Went through all 5 stages of grief. Thought a lot about beating you up if I ever saw you again. Blamed myself for letting you go. For not giving you a stronger reason to stay-”

“Foggy-”

“I understand why you did it now. But back then all I could think about was how you’d left me. You broke your promise and you left us and I kept having nightmares of how you were probably still alive and had just fucked off to god knows where with her. It took me too long to realize I’d rather you were alive then dead even if you had”

“You had a right to say no when I asked for help. I stole your wallet. I took advantage of you the second I saw you again. It was a dick move on my part”

“Oh, trust me, it definitely was and I’m not gonna let you forget that for a very long time. You owe me so many favors. But I got you back Matt. I’d asked for only one thing ever since I lost you and I got you back. How could I turn my back on that? You’re so good Matt. I know you don’t believe it but you are. Even if I was pissed, I knew you were doing things for a good reason. I knew it was because you were helping people and I’m a damned lowlife if I even thought of turning my back on that. I’m not angry at you Matt. You’re my best friend. I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not gonna stomp off again if we get into another huge fight. But I can promise I’ll always try to come back. Maybe it’s not right for me to ask you to trust that. I know enough about your past to know that’s not an easy thing for you to do……...”

“You’re the one person I trust the most, Foggy”

“Karen-”

“- is a good friend. But she hasn’t stuck around and followed me into making stupid decisions for the past ten years of my life. If there’s anything I regret, it’s not trusting you with my secrets. For hurting you with them. If there’s anything I’d redo it would be that”

“We don’t know if I would’ve been open to accepting that back then. Heck, I don’t even know what I would’ve done if you did tell me. You had good reason to worry”

“After everything, I should’ve taken the chance. There’s no one I trust more in this a world than you Foggy. Maybe that’s hard to believe considering how many promises I’ve broken. But I’m going to do everything I can to keep this one"

“…… Thank you, Matt”

It had taken everything in him to admit it, but after all they’d been through. After all Foggy had given him. Foggy had earned the right to it. That part of him. He expects to feel fragile and small afterwards but instead he feels lighted. Just like before, it felt right. This was the path they were destined to be on. The path they both have worked hard for. Foggy had returned his vulnerable revelation by sidling up to him. Intertwining their fingers and leaning to the side to place a soft peck on his temple. Matt couldn’t find it in him to pull away. They stayed that way in silent comfort until they’d both nodded off. Her head fitted to the crook of his neck and Matt’s own resting on hers.

Matt had woken up first the next morning to Foggys head on his lap. A soft and unladylike snore whistling pass her lips and he remembers how it had annoyed him to no end through their first year of law school, on nights when Foggy had fallen asleep from exhaustion on Matt’s bed after a night of unending studying with him in his room. But after a while it had become a familiar comfort, accompanied by the beating thrum in her chest. An unexpected lullaby especially on nights when both of them were overwhelmed. Matt had a single room and Foggys roommate was never around, preferring to stay at her boyfriend’s place most nights. They switched between each other’s room every other night, more and more often but it never felt invasive.

Matt hopes Foggy knows how important her presence had been for him at the time.

He hadn’t attempted to wake her up that morning from her peaceful slumber even as his legs felt numb from the weight. Instead, and he stupidly hadn’t realized why he’d done it at the time, he found himself gliding his knuckles on her cheek, realizing in that moment how long it had been since they’d been this close. How much he had missed it. Touch starved in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while since they met.

This progress, this newly attained intimacy doesn’t stop. There is a relief in being able to talk to his best friend again about every part of him that he had always feared she wouldn’t accept. Not just about the heavy, things either. Even the small, minute, careless details.

To Foggys credit, she bares herself raw the same way he does.

“How did you get so good at cooking?”

“I take offence to that. I was always a talented cook”

“Pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches maybe.”

“Hardy har. And you can boil an egg, good for you.”

“Seriously, curry noodles? I didn’t think you even knew where the spice section was”

“It was… it was actually after Midland. I couldn’t sleep sometimes and I’d stay up watching cooking channels and I gave in and just started actually making them myself. I started small but I got used to handling things after a while. It was actually… therapeutic”

“Foggy…. I-“

“Matt stop, seriously. I meant what I said. I’d rather have a life with you and all the adrenaline fueled bullshit, then a quiet life without you. Always. So, don’t worry, ok? We’re good. I promise”, Foggy had ended her little speech by reaching out to tap her fingers in a comforting rhythm on his knuckles and Matt had asked himself for the hundredth time since he got back, what he’d done to deserve such loyalty.

“Also you’re washing the dishes and paying for lunch tomorrow”

Matt had let out a burst of laughter, “Haven’t I been paying for lunch anyway?”

“And you’ll keep paying for lunch until further notice. Besides, you’re getting a free home-cooked dinner almost every other night so I’m not going to hear a peep out of you”

He’d raised his hands in a mollifying gesture, “No arguments here”

“And none of that healthy stuff too”

“Damn"

The catholic part of him that latched on to guilt too close, wasn’t satisfied. Not even close. He’d done too much, made too many mistakes. He didn’t deserve what Foggy and even Karen for that matter, were giving him. A step onto green grass that promised him sanity in exchange for something as simple as him pulling down his walls for them. To not push them away. And if that’s what Foggy asked for then Matt was going to teach himself to give it to her, even as he he itched from old habits to pull back behind said walls.

It takes 6 months for them to go through all the unsaid baggage that had been floating in the water like leftovers from crash created by their past mistakes. But at the end of it all, Foggy poked her head into his office again and told him to hurry up if he wanted her to do any actual cooking.

“I feel like I’m being sabotaged”,

“You don’t need me to do that”

“Well, that’s not very helpful”

“I mean, I didn’t tell you to try make dinner rolls from scratch, did I?”, Matt had said with a tone of faux pettiness.

“That was not my fault! I didn’t know cats could smell the yeast all the way from the alley! Ruined a perfectly batch of dough. I spent 20 minutes kneading!”

“I told you to close the window. Fair is fair, I didn’t know cats liked yeast either, I’ll give you that. So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Well, you made Italian last week and I’ve been exchanging gossip with Mrs Yong for a while now….”

“Getting tips from your Vietnamese neighbour is cheating”

“Do you want to eat or not?”

“I’m guessing Pad Thai?”

“Couldn’t afford your oh so expensive cashews that you just have to have. Its Pho!! We are having Pho tonight! I spent 6 hours simmering a potful when I was going through the Jenner case last week and now, I’ve got enough frozen pho in my freezer to serve 8! I mean, I did have enough for 8. It’s more like 3 now. Maybe 3 and a half”

“Is that what you were passing to Karen and Mrs Adli yesterday?”

“Karen needs to eat more if she keeps spending her nights consorting with Jessica Jones. God knows what diet Jones is on. I gave Karen extra to pass to her so hopefully she’ll see it as incentive to keep giving us tips. We definitely can’t afford her”

“I’m sure you can charm a few more favours out of her. And Mrs Adli?”

“Oh yeah, her kids sick were with the flu and from what Mrs Yong told me, Pho has magical healing powers that can beat chicken soup any day”

“You didn’t eat the rest, did you?”

“Boo hoo, shame on you. Unlike you, I know how to bribe our friends. I gave some to Claire and Brett. He looked like I was trying to poison him”

“To be fair you did once”

“I was 5! He wanted to play Mommies and Daddies and I might have been overzealous about preparing dinner”

“You know if he finds out you told me he’ll have you thrown in Rykers himself”

“Which is why if you want any of that Pho yourself, you’ll keep yourself quiet you dick”

The air between them had turned so light and easy. Every morning Matt woke up beaming with joy at the simple thought of being able to just be with her so close throughout his day and every night he was lulled to sleep by the memories left from it.

There were no more walls. No more fear or doubt. Not with her. Not anymore.

“I went to see Maggie today.”

“Yeah? How is she? I haven’t met her yet”

“She’s fine. She wanted to wish me Happy Birthday”

“That sounds nice”

“Yeah……. She gave me her ring. The one my dad gave her. It was one of the few things she had from my dad and she wanted me to have it”

Foggy had stayed silent for a moment before responding, “That was nice of her”

“Yeah. It’s nothing fancy. Doesn’t have a diamond or anything. It’s just a smooth gold band. But she said my dad saved up for months to get it. It sounds just like him. She wanted to talk with me a bit longer but I just…. Couldn’t. I think I hurt her feelings when I left”

“You don’t owe her anything Matt.”

“It was rude”

“Matt, hey, I need you to listen ok. I need you to listen to my heart. Are you listening?”

Matt remembered how his throat had tightened so he had just nodded to the question.

“I love you Matt. You’re my best friend. I will always love you. But you need to know, hey, listen buddy. You need to know that you never have to earn that from me. Not from me, not from Maggie, not from Stick, not from anybody”

“I could’ve tried harder”

“You shouldn’t have had to. You were just a kid”

“Didn’t stop them from leaving”

“And it was their fault, not yours. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I’d asked them to make it stop.”

“What?”

“It was after Midland. There were two guys, trying to hijack a car. I couldn’t beat them so I asked them to make it stop. To just.. end it.... end me. It was so pathetic Foggy-”

Mat hadn’t realized she’d moved from her seat until her arms were around him. Her grasp was gentle but Matt got the feeling that hell or heaven couldn’t tear her away no matter how hard they tried.

She was on her knees beside him where he was sitting on the couch. One hand pulling his body to her chest and the other caressing the side of his head. Nose buried in his hair, whispering softly, “No Matty, no. Never. God, you’re so good Matt. So brave. So strong. It’s ok to not be sometimes. I’m here. I promise. I’m right here”

For some reason, Matt had let out a startled laugh but he had felt something wet streaming down his face and suddenly he was choking on sobs. His own arms folded around her middle and he lets go. Lets himself sink into her, head buried into her shoulder, not thinking even for a second that it would be enough to cover up how loudly he was crying. But Foggy hadn’t said a word. Once upon a time he might have felt indignant at the idea of being so vulnerable with someone like that. He hadn’t been this open since Elektra and look how that turned out. Elektra herself had been different. He loved her. He still loves her. Loves how comfortable he felt in her presences. Unguarded and free.

But unguarded and comfortable was different than allowing himself to feel and appear weak. To let someone see the broken and jagged pieces that made him who he was and not be afraid to be judged for it. Elektra never made him feel like home. At least not the kind of home his dad had given him as a kid. Safe. At ease.

Loved.

They fell asleep that night like that. Lying on the couch, Foggys arms wrapped around him tights and close. His head tucked in the dip of her clavicles. Curled into her and knowing with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t ever let him go.

Matt woke up the next morning to the smell of pancakes and the annoying tap of Foggys fingers on his cheeks.

“Wake up sleepyhead. The pancakes are getting cold and I don’t want to hear you whining about it”

For a second Matt had refused to open his eyes even as the corner of his lips were pulled up.

“Five more minutes mom”

“Very funny. Catch me making you breakfast again you ungrateful prick”

Matt had let out a disgruntled groan but relented to push himself up with an over exaggerated stretch.

“You owe me groceries for this”, Foggy sing songs, pushing a plate stacked with pancakes, dripping with an unhealthy amount of syrup just the way Matt liked it. It’s one of his most unhealthiest guilty pleasures but fuck him if every bite didn’t have him melt with sinful pleasure.

“It’s the least you could do with how you had half my ass hanging off the couch last night”, Foggy continues as she digged into her own stack.

“It’s not my fault your apartment is so warm. I was practically cooking”, Matt had clapped back but was half-hearted and said through a juvenile muffled mouthful of his breakfast.

“Price of being the little spoon my friend”

Matt indulged her with an eye roll but he’s much too distracted with his breakfast to keep up the banter. Foggy sneakily pushes the extra plate pancakes forward followed by the bottle of organic syrup that was way too obscenely expensive for her budget but so very worth it to see Matt light up animatedly with a child-like glee at the taste of it on his delicate taste buds.

They had continued their banter a bit more over a steaming cup of coffee and all the while Matt realizes in that moment that he felt truly and incandescently happy with his life and where he was then compared to how where he was just six months before and a large part of it was because of Foggy. Karens acceptance of him had been great. But foggy knew him more than anyone. It’s Foggy that despite their decade long friendship, he’d disappointed and hurt and let down over and over and the fact that Foggy was still there, a constant unerring affirmation of his worth. That if there was someone in his life that could love and stick around the way foggy had then life was definitely worth living no matter what it threw at him. Foggy who’d given something no one else had. Not even Elektra.

Matt truly and utterly realize that Foggy at that moment, after so much time and effort on both their parts, truly knew him better now, more than anyone ever did. And with it Foggy had given him something he hasn’t felt since his dad died

And its not just the happiness. It’s a deep rooted and affection of what they have. Of what they’ve built through it all. . It’s a fondness. Its an appreciation. It’s a love that has driven right down to his core, so deep that its become part of his being. Its… wait… oh…. OH….. oh shit.

#foggymatt #foggy nelson #matt murdock #Daredevil #mine #my writing

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whatmack · 3 years

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Hi! I know it's been a while since you wrote it, but I recently re-read in Flanders Fields, and I needed you to know how much I love it. It's maybe my favourite piece of fanftiction ever, and it has a very special place in my heart. I read it first when it was still being published, and it's been living in my mind rent free ever since. I was wondering if there was anything you left out of it that you wanted to talk abt? Dw if you don't wanna respond to this, it's mostly to let you know how much I loved this fic (and also to try get myself some extra content ;p )

Thank you so much! That’s-- ah, this means a lot to hear. It’s fucking wild that IFF went up less than a calendar year ago, huh? The aesthetic choice to have Neil not wearing a mask in surgery did not age well One of the things that I really enjoy about writing fanfiction is that you’re working with a reader base who already has a body of information about the characters, relationships, etc., and whatever you change, or don’t change, you can still imply things or have background interactions that don’t requrie as much in-text explanation, because it’s reasonable to assume your audience will pick up what you’re putting down based on what they already know. (It’s why, for example, in BAST from the year before, I was skimpy on the details of Nathan and Lola’s violence, and on Andrew’s abuse. The readers already had the relevant basics, and I tried to toss out enough details about what changed so that, hopefully, y’all’d get the picture.) That said, the reference to Kevin’s tattoo in the chapter with the wine cellar has never sat quite comfortably with me. The scene itself I kept in not just for the trivia (that’s based on a real event, one that I doubt was isolated, of soldiers being ordered to blow an alcohol cache and drinking themselves silly instead), but because I wanted to keep up with the narrative of Andrew protecting Kevin, and also how he protects “his” other people with Kevin as an example. The tattoo was an easter egg to myself, and to the readers, to indicate to us why Kevin was upset, though Andrew didn’t know the specifics. (More after the cut)

But I wish I had put a bit more buildup to that, a bit more backstory. In the fic as a whole I feel it sticks out as a random detail, and I’d have liked to either remove it and find something else to reference, or seed more of Kevin’s backstory earlier, so the tattoo, and Kevin touching it when remembering shit that upset him, wasn’t so-- weird? Incongruous? Because I didn’t include the backstory in the story proper, I had only a vague outline of what Kevin’s life had been like pre-Andrew’s Squad. Therefore this isn’t going to hold up to the level of fact-checking and forehead-creasing-late-night-museum-website searching that I tried and sometimes almost succeeded in applying over the rest of the fic. That said, what was in MY head while writing, was: Like in canon, the Moriyamas set Kayleigh up to be killed in an accident (likely horse-drawn-carriage, though there WERE some automotive vehicles around pre Model-T-Ford), and took Kevin to be, well, Riko’s. Instead of Exy, Kevin was raised to be Riko’s retainer, second, bodyguard...whatever Riko needed. Or wanted. I’ve shunted Riko and Kevin, at least, to England for this, because the US did fuckall in WWI. Kevin endured canon-typical abuse from Riko, including the paired face tattoos, but also excelled in the training and tasks the Moriyamas set him; he was in particular a very skilled shot. Riko did not break his hand (that big ol’ rock from the shell blast did that, whoop), but after a particularly ugly altercation on the eve of war Kevin made his defiant stand by running away and enlisting in the Irish army, not the English, out of loyalty to the mother he barely remembered. It took Wymack a while to track Kevin down after Kayleigh’s death. Once he did, he spent the following years attempting get Kevin away from the Moriyamas. Unfortunately-- though to his credit-- this garnered their attention. As a Filipino man in Britain, he already had difficulty finding work; as a Filipino man who had made himself a nusiance to a powerful crime family, it became impossible. He joined the army to keep from starving on the street, and found to his surprise that he was good at it. He gained a reputation among the enlisted men for being impossible to kill-- for being lucky-- something that provided him with a great deal of dark amusement. Despite continued trying, he did not manage to meet Kevin until Kevin wound up under Whittier’s command. By then he knew Kevin was his child; I haven’t decided how, or when, he found out.

#fic: in flanders fields #wHOOSH #thank you so much!!! ahhhHHH i'll offer you a social-distancing hug or polite wave of your choice #alcohol //#Anonymous

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tscosi-minibang · 2 years

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Hi, just curious if you're planning a minibang for tscosi gor 2022? I got hooked into this fandom pretty recently so of course I'd love a minibang ♡ No pressure at all, just asking. Thank you for organizing the 2021 one and facilitating so much content! All the best in the new year

Hi! Thank you for asking this, I’m sorry if it took me ages to get to because I rarely check this account, and you know how Tumblr is about notifications.

This answer is a hard maybe. For several reasons, though please do take this is an open casual discussion and nothing super serious.

I ran the 2021 minibang by myself, and while it was a lot of fun and I loved everything that came out of it, I ended up doing a LOT of pinch-hitting myself. It was fun at the time, but I simply don’t have as much time to dedicate to a bang this year, I’m really really busy with more important stuff. I’d need to have help.

Secondly, the TSCOSI fandom is kind of inconsistent in a weird way. I know it was really big around season one, or at least the history of fanart on tumblr and fic on ao3 suggests that, but now it has much fewer active fans. There’s a reason I made it a MINI-bang, but I’m not sure how much interest it would garner now because--

Thirdly, I haven’t been that into TSCOSI myself lately. do NOT get me wrong, I still love this show and fully plan to finish it. Eventually. But for several reasons, including my business and minor (minor, minor, i mean TINY) drama with other fans, I’ve stepped away for a while. It just kind of became exhausting t produce so much content for that much. I didn’t want to so it anymore.

In conclusion, I’m glad you’ve expressed interest in having another minibang! That means a lot to me, and I’m going to put this in the main tag so that anyone else who might be interested can see it and hopefully give feedback. I’ll feel it out from there, and maybe we can put something together when I have a break from the onslaught of tasks that is Life.

Thanks again,

Mod Edil

#TSCOSI #I have nothing against the fans it was just like...#a miscommunication thing MONTHS ago #but I stepped away for my own wellbeing and it's done and over with now!#So MAYBE #because GOOOODDDDDDDDDDD DO I LOVE KREJJH #I LOVE KREJJH SO MUCH I COULD CRRYYYYYY #these are not helpful tahs this is the bit where I yell because OH. MY. GOD.#I was working like literally 8 hours a day or some shit trying to figure out dwarnian and piece together cultural information #it was actually stupid #Fun! but stupid #not the best time management #so we'll see #and if we do it hopefully I'll be a better mod with more expirience #because god knows I could use some improvement #asks

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whumpywhumper · 4 years

Text

Trouble

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

TW: Sick fic, mostly fluff

Tagging: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @walkingchemicalfire @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo

As always, special thanks to: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread

I’m spoiling you with content, it’s been months since i’ve posted this much. This is set shortly after Markus is released from the hospital, in the vague future timeline.

Masterpost

V***V

Markus shivered, pushing himself deeper into the couch, icy hand tucking the blanket around the exposed skin of his neck.

He really wanted to sleep. If he could sleep then maybe he’d start to feel better.

The doctors had warned him about pushing himself too hard so soon after being released, but working on one charm had rolled into the next, and before he knew it, he’d been working for hours. He had barely managed to drink some tea before the exhaustion was rolling over him. The sandwich he hadn’t even really wanted was still sitting on the coffee table, untouched.

What he really needed was sleep anyway.

He grunted, shifting on the couch to try and soothe the ache in his back and muscles. Now that he wasn’t vertical, he couldn’t find the motivation, or the energy, to get up and go to bed.

The couch was comfortable enough, usually. He would just sleep here.

If only he wasn’t so damn cold.

Groaning, he leveraged his heavy eyelids open and found Kincaid’s blanket thrown over the back of the couch. It was a thick, lumpy crochet thing that Ben had apparently made for him years ago, and the man was ridiculously proprietary of it. Even Ben wasn’t allowed to use it without suffering from Kincaid’s damn puppy dog eyes.

Heavy eyes slid across the room, the dusk light creating shadows over the empty apartment. From what he recalled, Ben and Kincaid wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Snaking his arm out into the frigid air, he snagged the soft material and pulled it over his own blanket, the heavy weight pressing him back down into the couch. Heat slowly built under the blankets, and while Markus didn’t feel any more comfortable than before, it allowed his muscles to relax.

With a sigh, he let his eyes slide back closed, eyelashes feeling glued together. Absently, he hugged himself, arms bracing his perpetually aching ribs. He took a deep breath, coughing slightly as the air tickled his throat, and rubbed his cheek against the throw pillow.

Maybe he could sleep now. Get some energy back. He would feel better in the morning.

Ben unlocked the apartment door, his duffle hanging heavy on his shoulder as he made his way into the dark entryway.

Trying to be quiet, he lowered the bag to the floor and toed off his shoes. It had been a long day, and Ben was eager to get to bed even though he wouldn’t be sleeping next to Kincaid. The other officer was still on stake out, but Holland had sent Ben home.

He’d fucking fallen asleep. Twice.

Using the light of his phone, he illuminated his way into the kitchen, grimacing when the oven clock announced that it was two o’clock in the morning. He groaned lowly, rubbing at his whiskery cheeks. Grabbing a glass of water, he thought about rummaging in the refrigerator, using the microwave to heat up something, but he didn’t want to wake Markus.

They were getting along better, the witch was less wary of him now, but it was still day by day. Something about the fact that Ben wasn’t a supernatural made Markus nervous, and after everything he’d been through, it was tough to blame him.

Shuffling toward the living room, he yawned, intent on the bedroom at the opposite end. A soft, muffled whimper from the couch, however, halted him in his tracks, ice sliding down his spine.

He swung around, the dim light of the phone not doing much other than showing him an indistinct lump on the couch. Infinitely more awake than before, his hand snagged the chain on the standing lamp, the soft, yellow light flooding their apartment. Ben’s eyebrows drew together in concern when he made out the lump on the couch.

Markus’s tall figure was curled up there, somehow buried in the cushions to where only the back of his head was visible. Ben’s heart swelled when he realized that the witch was wrapped in Kincaid’s throw.The blanket was a monstrosity of yellow and white, Ben’s ill conceived hobby resulting in only the one blanket that he’d gifted to Kincaid for their second anniversary.

It was ridiculous, not to mention inappropriate, how his heart skipped a beat and sped when he thought about Markus being wrapped in it.

Padding over on sock clad feet, Ben peered into the cocoon of blankets and frowned at what he saw. Markus’s face was flushed, color high on the apples of his cheeks, and his eyes moved rapidly under red tinged lids. Ben cocked his head, ears picking up on the slight wheeze to each of his sleep heavy breaths.

“Markus?” he questioned softly, hesitant to startle his friend. The witch barely stirred, his nose wrinkling slightly as he let out another quiet sound of discomfort. As gently as he could, Ben brushed the back of his fingers against the sleeping man’s cheek, unsurprised by the heat he found there. He tsked, frown deepening.

On autopilot, Ben moved to he and Kincaid’s bathroom, collecting the supplies he would need and snatching one of his many kits from under the sink. He wasn’t terribly worried, even though the witch hadn’t been out of the hospital all that long. Markus’s immune system was down, and the witch hadn’t been very receptive to all of their warnings about taking it easy. This was probably just a bug, but he still needed to check Markus’s injuries and see if they’d gotten infected.

Back in the living room, Markus hadn’t moved, his dark hair glistening slightly with beads of sweat. Sliding an untouched sandwich out of the way, Ben set his supplies down on the coffee table, and started rubbing Markus’s shoulder through the blankets. “Hey, Markus,” he called, voice slightly louder than before but still soft, “I need you to wake up for a minute, okay?”

Markus shifted slightly, moaning in complaint when Ben started rubbing his back a little harder. “Wake up, buddy, I need to check you out.” Green eyes creaked open to glare at him, and Ben couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even hazy with fever and sleep, Markus’s ire at being bothered was clear. “Easy there, tiger,” he chuckled, “it’s just me.”

“Ben?” Markus mumbled, voice rough, “wha’s goin’ on?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me,” he answered, smiling encouragingly, “I think you’ve got a fever, I gotta check you out, make sure nothing’s wrong.”

The other man grumbled, turning his face back into the pillow. “‘M fine, just need some sleep.”

“Nuh-uh,” Ben shook his head, not allowing him to escape that easy. He brushed his fingers through Markus’s hair, pulling gently at his shoulder. “At least roll over and let me check your temp, huh? Get some ibuprofen in you.”

“Don’ wanna,” Markus groused, “‘Lemme alone, ‘m sore.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Ben said under his breath, reaching behind him for the temporal thermometer. As well as he could, he pressed the small device against Markus’s forehead, rolling to get an accurate read. 101.8. He winced, whistling through his teeth. “Yeahhh,” he drawled, “you’re running a fever, Bambi. C’mon,” he coaxed, pulling at the corner of the blankets. He needed to get that fever down and the only thing the blankets were doing was making it worse.

Markus shivered, whimpering softly as the cool air hit his fever warm skin. “You suck,” he whined, “it’s cold.”

“I know I do,” Ben agreed, helping Markus as the witch finally cooperated and rolled onto his back. “I’m gonna grab you some water to wash these down with, I’ll be right back.”

Throwing his arm over his eyes, the witch nodded stiffly as he clenched his jaw against chattering teeth. “Be here,” he said faintly, fisting his free hand in the corner of the blanket.

Ben shook his head, pressing his lips together as the exposed line of Markus’s throat caught the dim light, the small, shiny scars from the bite marks standing out. The poor guy can’t catch a break, he thought darkly.

In the kitchen, he grabbed one of the chilled water bottles they had in the fridge. As an afterthought, he snagged a soft towel from their overstuffed drawer and wet it. He knew how much he hated being touched when he was running a fever, but he didn’t want that for Markus. Hopefully, the worn material wouldn’t chafe the witch’s oversensitive skin.

“Can you sit up for me, Markus?” he called, hearing a groan answer him. He returned to the witch leveraging himself up on his elbows, arms shaking as his dark hair fell into his face. Ben darted in to support Markus’s shoulders, murmuring a soft apology as his quick movement garnered a flinch. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, the much more familiar endearment slipping from his lips as easy as breathing, “sorry, just want to help a little.”

Markus let him take over the movement, allowing Ben to brace him against the back of the couch as he sat next to him. “S’okay,” the witch sighed, “just dinn’t see you.” Their eyes met, and Markus’s placating smile wasn’t enough to hide all of the exhaustion that had nothing to do with fever and sickness.

Ben suppressed the instinctive need to soothe him, knowing it would just be taken as pity, and hummed in response. “Take these for me?” he requested, handing over a few ibuprofen. The witch grimaced, but tossed the pills back and dry swallowed with the practiced motion of one accustomed to a barrage of medications. Ben cracked open the water bottle and held it out, but one look at Markus’s shaking hands had him raising it for the other to drink.

A glassy, irritated glare was all the objection he received, so he let the bottle rest against Markus’s chapped lower lip, ignoring the way the water soothed the dry skin as he tipped it. Markus drank a few mouthfuls of the cool water, shaking his head and turning away with an exhausted sigh when he was done. “Okay, baby, just a little more, and I’ll let you go to sleep,” Ben said quietly, “Can I see those incision sites? I need to know if they’re infected.”

“Can’t get me outta my clothes that easy, Ben,” Markus slurred, eyelids firmly closed even as his lips lifted in a soft smile, “gotta at leas’ buy me dinner.”

Ben couldn’t help but laugh, his hand moving to brush the hair away from Markus’s eyes without even registering the motion. “Aw, c’mon gorgeous, you’ll make my night.”

Markus laughed, but the exhale turned into a low, grinding cough that made Ben’s smile drop into a concerned frown. The witch grimaced in discomfort, hugging his ribs as he tried to even his breathing. “Fucking hell,” Markus cursed, breaths rough in his throat.

“Yeah, okay, Bambi,” Ben soothed softly, petting through Markus’s hair again. His chest ached when the witch turned to nuzzle into Ben’s palm, the unconscious action startlingly comfortable. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, fingers going to the buttons of Markus’s soft flannel. Clinically, he examined his friend’s lingering injuries, moving the waist of his sweats as modestly as he could so that he could palpate the healing stab wound above his hip. Other than a grimace at the ache, Markus didn’t show any sign of discomfort, and Ben felt himself relax when there wasn’t any sign of infection.

“I don’t think anything’s infected,” he announced softly, pulling the stethoscope from his bag, “but I’m thinking that cough is going to be our culprit.” The cool circle of the tool made Markus jump, and Ben hissed in apology. “I always forget to warn about that, sorry, pumpkin. Take a deep breath for me?”

Markus obeyed, staying limp against the couch as he took the careful, measured breaths that Ben requested. His skin was pebbling with goosebumps as the fever made him shiver, a slight sheen of sweat highlighting his pale skin. “‘M really cold,” Markus whimpered, eyes sliding open to half mast as his breath colored with the sound of a sob.

Ben’s heart broke, and he set aside the stethoscope to pull Markus’s shirt closed. “I’m done, baby, I’m sorry. I know you’re cold.” He disentangled Kincaid’s throw from Markus’s and draped the crocheted blanket back over him, tucking it around him even though he probably needed the thinner material of the other blanket. “I think you’re gonna be okay, so no ER tonight. Do you want to stay here or do you want to go to your bed?”

“Not movin’,” Markus muttered petulantly, long, dark eyelashes kissing his rosy cheeks as he seemed to sink back into the cushions.

“Gotcha,” Ben chuckled, “I’m gonna help you lay back down, okay?” Carefully, he slid his arm under Markus’s shoulders, free hand cradling the back of the other man’s head as he moved to stand and free up the space on the couch.

A hand latched onto Ben’s bicep through the blanket, and he froze when Markus’s foggy green eyes fluttered open to stare into his own. “Don’t go?” the witch breathed, the request so soft that Ben wouldn’t have been sure he heard it except for the desperate longing in Markus’s eyes.

It was impossible for his weak heart to resist.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Ben replied, settling back onto the cushion and grabbing the damp cloth he’d set aside. Reverently, he maneuvered Markus so that he was in the circle of his arms, heart fit to burst as Markus’s cheek settled against his chest, “I won’t go anywhere.”

Gently, Ben pressed the cool cloth to Markus’s face, moving it over his heated cheeks and down to his neck. The witch sighed in relief even as another shiver stole through his body. Ben smiled sadly, knowing the contradiction of fever hot cheeks and cold aches that made your entire body sore. Absently, he pressed his lips against Markus’s hair, holding the other man as his breathing evened out into a restful sleep.

It wasn’t long before Ben joined him even with the light of the lamp pressing against his eyelids. The exhaustion of the day, the last several weeks really, catching up with him as he held his friend.

That was how Kincaid found them hours later. Ben’s legs stretched out in front of him and his cheek smashed into Markus’s hair. A gentle kiss to the forehead had Ben twitching and opening his eyes, automatically smiling as he met his lover’s gaze. “Hey, baby,” Ben whispered softly, words ponderous and sleepy.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Kincaid whispered back as he ran a hand through Ben’s dirty hair, “what’s going on?”

Ben hummed, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he picked his head up. “Markus was running a fever,” he answered, yawning through his teeth. “He didn’t want to get up.”

Kincaid’s face creased in concern, moving his hand from Ben’s head to brush the back of his fingers against Markus’s cheek. The witch didn’t stir other than to curl his fingers tighter around Ben’s thigh, causing Ben himself to blink in surprise. He didn’t remember Markus’s hand moving there.

“He still feels a little warm, but it doesn’t seem high.”

“I think he pushed himself a little hard today, I don’t think it’s too serious. We’ll monitor him, make sure he takes care of himself and doesn’t let it get worse.”

Kincaid nodded, and Ben watched his lover’s eyes soften as he took in the two men curled together on the couch. His big hands were gentle when he pulled the edge of his blanket back around Markus’s shoulder, smoothing the bunched, well-loved yarn as he stroked his back. Already wrapped around his little finger, Ben thought, heart swelling.

“We’re in so much trouble,” Ben murmured, smiling softly when Kincaid’s eyes snapped over to his own. Ben didn’t feel anything other than acceptance, love, and affection in his expression when he pressed his cheek against Markus’s hair again. There was nothing else in his heart for both of these two.

“I know,” Kincaid whispered, shaking his head a bit as his growing smile turned rueful.

They didn’t need anything else to know that the other was on the same page.

Slowly, Kincaid bent to place a kiss on Markus’s forehead as well, his other hand curled around Ben’s nape.

#Whumptober2020 #No. 21 #Infection #Markus/Lucien Series #hurt/comfort #sickfic #fluff #Markus Protection Squad

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fallinnflower · 4 years

Text

the witch & the nine-tailed fox

young k x reader (kumiho!au, historical-fantasy!au, drama)

wc: 8k

tw: mentions of blood and illness

a/n: hi so this took forever but happy halloween! this isn’t a traditionally scary halloween fic but i did a lot of research into the kumiho (fox spirit) and early joseon korea and just really needed/wanted to get this done. i was inspired in part by the sungjin bear spirit fic “thirteen moons” by @prettywordsyouleft !!!

The first day of your twenty-first autumn dawned bitter cold, too cold for the trees and the wild grasses and the inhabitants of your village. You knew, though you tried not to admit it to yourself, that the beginning of the season held bad omens — from the moment you stepped out the threshold of your cottage, you saw the crows perched within the quickly withering trees, and you knew.

Your mentor knew too, maybe before you even had, maybe before anyone else. The greatest healer of the past century, an old woman with more magic flowing through her veins than blood, with more scraps of wisdom than there were silvery hairs on her head. On that first day of autumn, you had woken before her, and you knew something was wrong.

In your village, most people had known from your earliest years that you were born with magic. At any other time, in any other place, this may have been your downfall; had it not been for the benevolence of your mentor to them over the years, the respect you had garnered, you may have been cast into exile. Instead, your parents, uncertain of how best to raise you by the time you had turned thirteen, called upon Eunji the healer, and you had remained by her side ever since.

Eunji was small and lithe, made of little more than her muscles and bones and magic, with a curtain of silvery hair she kept in a traditional braid down her back. She taught you how to anticipate natural disasters and illnesses, imbalances of any kind within the world around you; she taught you what native plants you could eat, which would heal and which would harm; and most importantly, she taught you magic.

It was Eunji who taught you that all of the legends you had heard growing up had some seed of truth within them, no matter how deeply buried. And so it was Eunji who had told you of the kumiho living at the top of the mountain, though she could say no more than that it existed and did indeed possess the pearl of knowledge as in the legends, yeowoo guseul. The village stories of its violence, its lust for human flesh — specifically livers — and slaughtering of its adopted family, still sent chills down your spine. Despite the many fears Eunji had managed to expel from you with her wisdom over the years, the kumiho was still too mysterious for you to shake that nervous feeling.

But when the chill descended too soon on that year, you found yourself feeling a deeper fear, staring into the dying wilderness.

Eunji’s decline occurred abruptly. With the abnormal cold came an internal chill which forced your mentor to remain bedridden. You tried all the methods you knew, all the herbs you could find and all the charms and incantations you could imagine to heal your mentor, but the sickness kept her in its icy grip.

Meanwhile, the villagers in the valley became hungry and sick, unprepared for the unprecedented weather that had befallen your land. Although Eunji had trained you well, she was still the better healer by far, and you knew that without her you had no chance of saving the village — and yet to save the village, you first had to save her.

In your desperation, you read every aged tome you could find in Eunji’s library, looked over everything you had written in your journals for any possible solution you could have overlooked.

And it came to you, both a blessing and a curse, the word striking into your heart equal parts fear and hope: the yeowoo guseul.

According to legend (and Eunji), the kumiho’s power came from its yeowoo guseul, a small but powerful bead-like object which resided inside of the nine-tailed fox. If a human were to kiss a kumiho, one of two things could occur: the kumiho would reclaim the yeowoo guseul, thus taking the human’s energy and their life in the process; or, if the human managed to swallow the marble, they would gain preternatural knowledge from or about anything they laid their eyes upon afterwards.

And it was that knowledge you needed. Things that possibly even Eunji could not know, and that you certainly didn’t — the answers to all your questions about the current state of your home and mentor, and the cure you desperately sought.

So it came to be that only mere days after the beginning of that bitterly cold autumn, you packed a bag and began your trek up the unforgiving mountain, not knowing whether you would ever descend again.

The journey up the slope is lonely. All you have with you is the pack on your back, which contains a small journal, materials to start a fire, a bag of uncooked rice and a small clay pot for you to cook it in. Atop your bag is a thick blanket, rolled tightly and bound with rope to your straps. The more your climb, the less you seem to hear, the woods seeming to swallow up the sound of the animals around you. Your only company are the small animals which occasionally cross your path, but they do no more than glance at you and keep moving. You notice, heart sinking, that they’re all preparing hurriedly for the winter months, many of them without their thick winter coats fully grown to keep them properly warm.

At first, the path is clear. Journeying partially up the mountain isn’t unheard of, especially when it comes to collecting herbs — but it’s well known amongst villagers that this is the kumiho’s mountain, and you shouldn’t stray far beyond the paths, and should end your journey where they come to an end. By the end of your first day, you’ve already trekked far beyond your usual routes, gently creating your own path with the walking stick you had brought. Along the way you pluck up edible leaves to pair with your rice, occasionally even digging up the roots you know you can eat. It isn’t much, but it will have to do — the lighter you traveled, the quicker you could make it up the more precarious parts of the mountain, and the sooner you could (hopefully) return home to Eunji.

But you can’t shake the feeling that something is off. For starters, there are crows all around you, calling out to one another across the dying woods. Although you take no personal issue to crows, such a large murder of them easily classifies as a bad omen, and you find yourself walking faster the more you hear them. The further you get up the mountain, the more uneasy you feel — in fact, as night falls, you’re sure you can feel eyes on you. Once your meager dinner has been cooked and eaten, you tie your bag up into the branches of the trees, but not before fishing out the protective charm Eunji had given you. You loop the drawstring around your wrist, clutching the pouch in your hand as you lie down on your blanket.

As you stare into the dying embers, allowing yourself to feel enveloped by Eunji’s magic, you think for a moment you see a pair of glowing eyes gazing back at you.

You rise, as you have many times over your life, with the sun. For a long moment you remain in the same position you had awoken in, waiting to hear the telltale chirping of birds or other animals scampering through the brush — but there’s nothing. Your ears are met only with silence, not even the sound of wind in the trees, and you can feel the hairs rising on the back of your neck.

As you roll your blanket up and tie it onto your pack once more, you keep Eunji’s charm on your person, taking what little comfort you can from your mentor’s power.

Although the crows seem to have departed you, you still get the sense that you’re not alone. There are no sounds to indicate another living creature is anywhere near you, but you can feel eyes on you at every turn — and yet whenever you look between the trees, you see nothing. The sky above you is abnormally dark, the sun shrouded with thick clouds that seem to promise nothing but coverage. Without the sunlight shining through the canopy you feel almost claustrophobic, as if the trunks of the trees are all leaning in towards you, threatening to swallow you up into their shadows.

You set up camp for the night relatively early, having found a small clearing just before what appears to be a rather steep portion of the mountain. With the sun already beginning to dip towards the horizon and the temperature dropping steadily with it, you feel you have no choice but to leave that hike till the morning. You’ve only just untied your blanket from your pack when the first rumble of thunder arrives. Looking up into the nearby trees you feel your heart sinking — the dying leaves offer little defense from the rain, and there’s no telling whether the storm will pass by tomorrow. You have no way to keep extra wood dry or carry it practically with you for later campfires. Chewing on your lower lip, you stare into the sky, clutching Eunji’s bag as though it will deliver to you the answer you seek—

“Excuse me.”

In an instant you’re on your feet, allowing Eunji’s bag to fall back under the coverage of your sleeves as you brandish the only weapons at your disposal: your fire-starters.

A young man dressed in white stands across the clearing from you, hands raised so that you can see their emptiness. His expression is friendly but guarded, eyes wide as he regards you, and his clothes appear old. Even from a distance you can see that they’ve been repaired many times over, but they look clean, nonetheless, as does his face and hair. It’s the most basic clothing, free of dyes or embroidery; the kind of clothing worn by many of the farmers and peasants in your village.

Except this man is no villager — at least not one you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen most of them. This man is a stranger who appeared from the trees like a falling mist, and so you maintain your guarded position as you stare him down.

“Who are you?” you ask, and then, after a moment. “What are you doing on this mountain?” He lowers his hands slowly as he replies, and you feel some of the tension slip off your shoulders as he speaks. His voice, despite being unfamiliar to you, has a soothing quality that you can’t quite place. He holds your gaze as he speaks,

“My name is Younghyun. I’m a woodcutter. I live on this mountain.” At that you narrow your eyes. You had heard of solitary woodcutters living in the mountains, but never on this particular one — hardly anyone dared to climb the kumiho’s mountain, much less live on it.

“I know this seems strange,” he says, softly. “But there’s a storm coming, and I would feel awful if I didn’t at least offer you shelter for the night. I would understand if you didn’t want to accept—”

As he speaks another rumble of thunder rolls across the sky, and you suddenly feel the air pressure around you changing. It’s clear to you that you don’t have much time left to make your decision. You look from the darkening sky back at the young man, still clutching the tools for your fire in your hands and feeling the weight of your protective pouch in your sleeve. The charm reminds you of your journey’s purpose, and after a moment of consideration you bow your head,

“I’m in your debt, Younghyun.” He looks surprised by your answer at first, but quickly nods his acknowledgement.

“Then we don’t have much time. Here, give me your bag.” He crosses the clearing and scoops your pack up from the ground as you pull your blanket into your arms. Immediately he starts off back in the direction he had come from, and so you follow him with your hands still tangled within the mass of fabric.

Younghyun moves through the woods gracefully, weaving between the trees and brush. Although you’re certain he could rush ahead, he maintains a pace that he knows you can keep, glancing back at you ever so often to be sure you’re alright.

As you ascend, you can see the species of tree changing. Up where Younghyun appears to live you’re surrounded mostly by evergreen trees, with scatterings of pine needles muffling your footsteps. It’s densely wooded, and the ground beneath you has become firmer, more rock than soil. You realize that although you aren’t quite at the highest peak of the mountain, Younghyun appears to be leading you towards one of the many cliffs surrounding it.

He slows his pace, and through the trees you can see the silhouette of a building. Younghyun’s home is smaller than the hut you and Eunji share, but not very different otherwise. If you look out the door you can see across a rocky outcropping which drops off steeply. You’re sure if you stepped onto its broad expanse, you could look up and see the peak — but the coming storm deters you from doing just that.

“I don’t have much food to offer you, but you can at least sleep somewhere dry tonight,” Younghyun says almost sheepishly as he ushers you into his home. You drop your blankets near the fire and reach for your pack, which he hands over readily.

“I brought some rice and barley with me,” you reply. “I can’t give you much of anything else to show my gratitude, really, unless you’re in need of medicine.” When you don’t receive a reply, you look back up at your host only to find him looking at you almost in a daze. Although his eyes are trained on you, he’s obviously somewhere far away in his mind, drifting, the expression on his face pinched and almost nervous. You stand slowly, cradling your bag of rice in one elbow and reaching for his shoulder with your free hand.

“Younghyun?” He startles, shaking his head as if to clear away the mental fog, and smiles apologetically. It doesn’t reach his eyes, which still seem unsettled, and you frown.

“Sorry. That’s more than enough, thank you. I think I have some things left from my summer foraging, if you’ll excuse me…”

Younghyun brushes past you to go back outside, no doubt to go around to a possible small storehouse or dig up buried goods. Once he’s left, you decide to walk the perimeter of his hut, moving quietly. You don’t yet feel ready to lower your guard, but your inspection yields no real results — Younghyun’s home is nearly empty save for his own blankets and extra clothing which were folded neatly beside the chimney.

Younghyun returns moments later, remaining in the doorway as he excitedly brandishes what he’s found.

“Matsutake?” you inquire, already making your way towards him to inspect the rare mushrooms more closely. You wonder how he managed to find them, difficult as they are to track down, without any sort of help from an animal. As he nods you notice a smudge of dirt across his cheek which distracts you, and you point to your own cheek, unable to keep from smiling as he hurriedly rubs the dirt away.

The two of you make your way outside together, and under the cover of his overhanging roof on the opposite side from the chimney you find an old, soot-covered earthenware pot suspended above the remnants of a fire. Younghyun quickly squats down at its base, starting the fire once again.

“I’ll get the water,” he says, barely glancing at you before circling round to his front door once again and disappearing inside. You carefully take a seat on the ground near the fire, the bag of rice and barley resting in your lap as you warm your hands. The air is much colder up this high, and with the coming rain it seems to seep into your bones even through your clothing, clinging to your skin like a cold sweat. For the first time in days, you allow yourself to relax a bit, feeling warm and, if you’re honest, excited at the prospect of sleeping inside. When you peer past the fire you can see that, despite the rudimentary nature of his house, Younghyun still has an ondol system below the floor. You can already imagine the warmth of it beneath you when you sleep, and it’s a welcome change from the forest floor of the previous night.

Younghyun returns with not only a small, plain earthenware onggi of what you assume is rainwater but also an oil lamp and two small bowls, and you pull the lid off of the agungi for him, already feeling the heat wafting up from within it. He pours the water in and you set the lid aside as you open your bag, pouring two scoops of your rice and barley mixture into the water before Younghyun replaces the lid himself.

For a while the two of you sit in silence, and eventually Younghyun pulls out a small knife and begins cutting up the mushrooms whilst you stare into the fire and listen to the distant rumbles of thunder as the storm creeps ever closer.

Once the food is cooked, both of you fill your plates and Younghyun lights the lantern before leading you inside the hut once again. Almost as soon as you’ve both settled on the old mats he’s laid out for you to sit on you can hear the rain start outside, not heavy but steady and relentless.

Over your shared dinner, neither of you speak much. Younghyun hardly looks up from his food, almost as though he’s forgotten he has a guest, and it gives you much-needed time to truly analyze him. He’s attractive, you’ll admit, but the sharp shape of his eyes makes you nervous. Everybody you’ve ever spoken to has claimed that kumiho are female and lure men in with their appearances, but you feel that you can’t be too careful. In the lowlight offered by the single oil lamp between you he appears even more otherworldly, his features sharp and symmetrical.

It isn’t until he’s finished his food that he finally speaks to you again, though he does so with a contented grin on his face,

“So…”

“Y/N,” you offer, and he smiles.

“Y/N, what brings you this far up the mountain?” Although it’s stated casually, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Something about his asking feels oddly territorial — though you imagine if you were in his shoes you’d also be suspicious — and his smile doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. Even the way he repeats your name makes you feel on edge, though you can’t say for certain why. For a moment you hesitate in answering, taking your time chewing your food, but the rumbling of thunder compels you to say something that will allow you to stay in this shelter.

“I’m looking for a cure for my grandmother,” you say, glancing down into your bowl to pick up another bite. You hope he doesn’t notice you avoiding his gaze, and decide before he can counter you with any more questions to bring up one of your own.

“So, Younghyun,” you start, trying to keep your tone light. While a part of you would love to truly confront him on just how and why he came to be living on this mountain alone as a young man, you don’t want to lose your shelter for the night,

“How long have you lived here?” You glance up at him through your lashes, trying to gauge his reaction as you chew your food. Although he recovers quickly, you still see the momentary slip in his demeanor, his smile fading before he obscures his mouth slightly in thought.

“My parents were woodcutters before me, so I just inherited the business,” he replies, grinning at you and shrugging almost helplessly. “I’ve never known life off the mountain, so I stayed even after they both passed away.”

Immediately you begin wracking your brain — has anyone ever spoken about a family of woodcutters on this mountain? No matter how hard you try, you can’t think of any stories but the kumiho’s associated with this slope. In fact, you can’t recall ever seeing anyone coming down the mountain with wood, despite how long you’ve lived in the valley. You attempt to shake off the sinking feeling in your chest by telling yourself he and his family must sell to another village on the other side of the slope; it doesn’t feel true even as you think it, but the storm outside has only just begun to rage.

“Are you a healer?” Younghyun asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You lift your head, furrowing your brows.

“How did you know?”

“You mentioned medicines earlier, as payment,” he replies casually. “I assumed you weren’t carrying a variety on you, so you must know how to make them.” You relax slightly at his explanation. In truth, you’d almost forgotten you’d offered the medicines, in part because of his strange reaction at the time. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed or remembered such a thing, but more and more he’s proving his receptiveness. You remind yourself to watch your words as you open your mouth to reply.

“You’re right. My grandmother taught me,” you say. “I don’t know as much about healing as she does, which is why I need to find her a cure before it gets too cold...” Younghyun nods, frowning sympathetically as you drop your gaze into your bowl once again. The thought of Eunji lying small and weak, all alone in your little hut near the woods makes your stomach turn. Any appetite you have leaves you, but you find yourself taking another bite anyways, knowing you’ll be of no use to her without food in your belly.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” Younghyun says softly. Before you can reply, he continues, “I know this mountain better than anyone. I don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, but I can show you the best paths to the peak.”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” you say, watching as Younghyun scrapes the last of his food together and eats it with a smile.

“It’s no trouble,” he assures you, “I can’t fell trees for a few days after a storm like this, in any case.” His explanation makes perfect sense to you, and so you find yourself nodding, accepting his help.

“Of course. Then I suppose I’m even further in your debt, Younghyun.” The man across the table from you laughs, and the sound eases your nerves slightly, bringing a smile to your own face.

“Sad as this may sound, you just gave me the best meal I’ve had in a long time. Consider any debts paid.” For a moment, you simply hold one another’s gaze, analyzing each other, until eventually you make the decision to put an end to the strange interaction.

“Well, we should probably get some rest. Long day tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” Younghyun says, nodding. His gaze drifts past you towards the door, and he narrows his eyes. “I think the storm should pass by morning. We can get an early start, if you’d like.”

“Sounds perfect. Thank you again, Younghyun,” you say, bowing your head. The young man only shakes his head, smiling.

“Think nothing of it,” he says. The two of you rise from your seats, and Younghyun moves the lantern between your sets of bedding as you both get settled. Once you’ve both slipped beneath your blankets, Younghyun blows out the lantern, plunging you both into darkness.

“Goodnight,” you say, eyes already slipping close. You can hear Younghyun shift in his bedding across the room from you before replying in a low voice,

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

You open your eyes to near darkness, the light filtering into the room grainy and gray. When you roll onto your side, you don’t see Younghyun where he had fallen asleep the night before, only his blankets in disarray on the floor. An icy cold panic stabs through your chest and you sit up, realizing the moment your hand touches the floor that the warmth you feel isn’t coming from the fire outside — it’s wet, and as you draw your hand up the dark liquid follows like a shadow.

You recognize the smell. Iron, salt — it can’t be anything but blood. Despite the many times you’ve smelled it in your days as a healer, you suddenly feel sick to your stomach as you realize the floor is covered in it. It reflects the pale light and makes you dizzy as you sit up, trying to take deep calming breaths but feeling the moisture in the air clog your throat. The scent of the blood is too heavy, and you know you have to get out before it’s too late. Your blanket slides on the blood beneath your feet and you fall, the blood soaking any cloth it comes into contact with. You squeeze your eyes shut as you peel your cheek off the floor, mouth pressed into a thin line to keep from gagging.

A growl, too low to be human, shakes the floorboards beneath you, and as you lift yourself up onto your hands and knees you can feel the eyes on you once more—

A white fox sits at the door, nine tails swishing in unison. Its fur seems to glow, and in the new light you can see the blood just barely drying on the fur of its face. It opens its mouth and lets out a sound almost like a cruel laugh, its burning eyes pinning you in place as it lowers itself to the floor. You can see the fur bristling as the muscles tense in preparation of lunging, and you suddenly realize the protective charm is no longer on you. With one last shuddering breath, you close your eyes to the sound of the fox’s claws scraping the floor and its inhuman growl—

“Y/N?”

It’s Younghyun’s eyes that meet yours, dark but unmistakably human. Your breath comes in short gasps, and he sits back, eyeing you nervously as you try to calm yourself down. After a moment you manage to sit up, swallowing hard and finding your throat terribly dry. Seemingly noticing this, Younghyun scrambles to his feet, returning to your side with an earthen vessel half-filled with water. You try not to drink too quickly, but the moment the water reaches your throat you find it difficult to keep from gulping all of it down at once. The young man waits patiently for you to finish, sitting beside your bedding and watching you with concern in his sharp eyes. When you set the water down, he finally speaks up,

“Are you alright?” You look at him, clutching your bedding to keep him from seeing the trembling in your hands. As you usually do in times of panic, you focus on the weight of Eunji’s charm still tucked into your sleeve. Looking at Younghyun, you can’t find any reason to doubt his concern for you — either he’s an incredible liar, or you’re too naive, but you choose to trust him anyways.

“Yes,” you sigh, finally, passing a hand through your hair to get it away from your face. “Yes, just a bad dream.” Younghyun nods in sympathetic understanding before rising up from his seat on the floor. He clears his throat before speaking again.

“I’ve cooked up some root vegetables for us with your rice. I hope you don’t mind.” You shake your head, pulling yourself out of your bedding.

“Not at all. Thank you for making breakfast.”

While you roll your blanket back up and replace your outerwear, Younghyun goes, you assume, to put out the fire and bring in your breakfast. The two of you eat in silence, and outside you can hear the birds beginning to chirp as the sun rises over the horizon, casting a golden glow through the open doorway. Younghyun rinses off your bowls and chopsticks before slinging his own small pack across his back and locking up his house.

“The peak is only a day or so’s journey from here. With the ground being so wet it may take us a bit longer,” he explains, leading you through the woods. From time to time he reminds you to watch your step, or holds branches out of the way for you. As you trail behind him you can’t help but notice the lightness of his footfalls, the way he seems to cause almost no damage to any of the brush underfoot. You feel far from graceful as you follow his footsteps, crushing leaves and twigs with nearly every step.

Your only conversation occurs close to midday, when the both of you pause to catch your breath and drink water.

“How far up do you think these ingredients will be?” Younghyun asks, and you bite down on your lip, weighing your options. You cast a glance at Younghyun and let out a sigh, deciding to be honest with him. After all, you feel as though it’s the least you can do after all the help he’s offered you.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. Younghyun crouches down beside you on the ground, knees nearly brushing, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “The truth is, I don’t know what I’m looking for. My whole village is being overrun by an illness, and even my grandmother doesn’t know how to cure it—” you pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to try and still the warble in your voice. You close your eyes to fend off the sudden tears you feel welling up,

“—I'm actually looking for the kumiho.” Both you and Younghyun sit in silence for a moment after your statement. Saying it aloud makes it feel far more real than it had before, and an icy stab of fear pierces your heart.You find yourself continuing in desperation, still fending off tears, “I need the yeowoo guseul, because I don’t have the knowledge to save my people, a-and there’s nothing more I can do until I get it.” Younghyun remains still for a moment, then shifts his weight slightly. You can feel his gaze on you as intensely as ever, but you keep your eyes on the ground, trying to will your emotions away.

“How do you know the kumiho won’t just kill you?” he asks, voice gentle. You bark out a laugh, which sounds almost like a sob.

“I don’t,” you say, finally turning to your companion. “I’m just hoping.” Younghyun’s gaze softens, and he rests a hand on your shoulder as you swipe at your eyes with the ends of your sleeves. Once you’ve pulled yourself together somewhat, he stands up and offers you a hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Without another word, he continues taking you up to the summit.

It’s early afternoon when the clouds begin to roll in again, although you don’t notice them immediately due to the shade already provided by the pines. It’s Younghyun that stops in his tracks, holding out an arm to signal you to a halt as well. You stand behind him, watching him with a mixture of confusion and nervousness as he signals for you to wait and disappears through the trees towards the edge of a cliff. Your heart pounds, leaping into your throat as you wait for him, and you cross your arms across your chest, subtly clutching the protective charm as you shift your weight from one foot to another. A sudden breeze weaves through the trees and sends shivers down your spine, and when you exhale you can see your breath.

No sooner do you realize that than Younghyun is coming back towards you at a quickened pace, face etched with panic,

“We have to find shelter.” You stare at him, dumbfounded, hardly realizing what he’s said until he’s taken hold of your arm and begun pulling you further into the woods.

“W-what? Younghyun, what’s wrong?” you finally manage to ask, picking up the pace so you’re no longer stumbling behind him in his determined stride.

“Snowstorm,” he says. “I didn’t see any sign of it this morning, but it’s coming fast.” He glances back at you over his shoulder, brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry.” You don’t have time to dwell on his apology as he takes a sharp turn and you struggle to follow him, even as he slows at times to pick up pieces of wood he finds along the way. Eventually, you make it to a small cave, really little more than a rock awning over a patch of ground, and Younghyun drops his small pile of wood.

“Start a fire,” he says. “Hurry.” With that he disappears into the trees once again, leaving you fumbling with your shaking hands. You do, thankfully, manage to start a fire — though you struggle to protect it from the bone-chilling wind that seems to be picking up by the second. You unroll your blanket from your pack and drape it over your shoulders, warming your hands as you watch anxiously for Younghyun’s return.

There are snowflakes in his hair when he emerges from between the trees, and his expression is so filled with fear you can’t help but feel nervous.

“It’s bad,” you say, more a statement than the question you had intended. Younghyun nods grimly, tucking the excess firewood behind you to keep it dry. He pulls his own blanket off his pack and places it atop your own, and you turn to him in confusion.

“Younghyun—”

“I don’t need it,” he interrupts. When you continue to hold his gaze with your confused, concerned expression, he continues, “Trust me. I’ll be fine.” You decide that really, you have no choice but to trust him, and so you nod slowly, inching closer to him in an attempt to share your warmth. The wind howls through the trees, and you can see the storm clouds drawing ever closer to the two of you. Despite the two blankets atop your shoulders, you begin to shiver, and Younghyun takes notice.

“Y/N,” he says, slowly, as if you’re a wild animal he’s afraid to approach. You sit up and meet his serious gaze. “Do you trust me?” You feel your heart skip a beat and accelerate, but you nod nonetheless.

“This storm, it could kill you. But I think I have a solution.” You find yourself more confused and frightened with each word that falls from his lips, but you keep your gaze steady, waiting for him to finish.

“I’m going to change forms. Don’t be afraid,” he implores, and you can see the fear in his eyes as he stares into yours. You breathe in sharply, and all you can manage to say in your panic is,

“You?” He nods slowly, still holding your gaze.

“Just, please,” he says, his expression almost sad. “I want to help you.” You nod, dumbfounded, still shivering as he stands up and walks out from beneath your shelter into the snow.

Although you see it happen, you hardly believe it. There’s a flash of light that disperses quickly into a thick fog, and you close your eyes at the suddenness of it. When you open them again, you’re met with the sight of a brilliant white fox, it’s nine tails moving in unison like a fan behind its head. Its eyes glow a brilliant gold, and despite your fear you manage to speak.

“Younghyun…?” The fox dips its head in response, and you find yourself reaching out towards the animal. Slowly, it advances towards you, taking halting steps as though it’s trying not to startle you. Eventually, the kumiho makes its way back under the cover of the rock, resting its muzzle in your outstretched palm. You let out a laugh of disbelief, and the fox spirit huffs slightly as you reach your hands up to scratch behind its ears.

When you withdraw your hand, Younghyun, the kumiho, makes his way back into the spot he had occupied in a human form only moments before, sitting down beside you and draping his nine tails over your lap and behind you, surrounding you in warmth. The glow of the fire makes his fur shine a pale yellow, and once you’ve adjusted the tails to be more comfortable you begin to pet the kumiho once again, scarcely able to believe it’s real even as you feel the fur beneath your fingers.

Before the storm worsens, you make a portion of rice and barley for yourself and Younghyun, who bows his head towards you once more as if in gratitude. Once the food is eaten and the bowls are set aside, Younghyun curls up as if to sleep. You watch as he indicates with his nose towards his back, and you slowly move around behind him, lying down and holding him as though he were a toy and not a supposedly vicious forest spirit. Watching the snow falling in a thick curtain beyond the fire still burning, you fall asleep to the rhythm of Younghyun’s breathing.

You awake in the morning to birdsong and warmth. When you open your eyes, you find Younghyun’s very human arms around you instead of the nine tails, but the strands of white fur that remain on your blankets and clothing assures you what you saw the previous evening was no dream. Slowly and gently you extricate yourself from Younghyun’s embrace, which was loose in any case, and sit up to look at the damage the storm had left behind.

You’re awestruck by the sheer amount of snow left behind, though the rising sun appears to already be melting some of the ice off of the trees as you can see it dripping. You notice the fire burning feebly and climb over Younghyun’s sleeping form to revive it, dragging some of the wood from the back of the cave. As you get it back to its former roaring, you grab the bowls and your bag of rice and barley once again, preparing breakfast whilst Younghyun continues to sleep.

Your shock over the previous night’s events slowly fades, and you’re surprised to find that you feel no fear in the aftermath. Then again, you suppose that if Younghyun had wanted to devour you, he easily could have the night before — instead, despite any tales you had heard that would contradict it, he had been unbelievably gentle with you. Rather than taking your life, he had saved it.

Now you only had to wonder whether he would willingly give up the yeowoo guseul to you. You cast a glance at his sleeping form and felt a stab of sympathy for him. To even be a kumiho he had to have lived a thousand years, and you couldn’t help but imagine how lonely his existence may have been for a large portion of that time. And considering all the legends about the kumiho you had heard were generations old at best, you imagined the answer to that would be very.

Although you had already been convinced that Younghyun was good, you still couldn’t be sure if he would give up the pearl of knowledge he held within him. From what you understood, if you managed to absorb it, he would become a human and age once more — in essence, he would have to give up his immortality to save your village. Previously you had thought you would have to fight a monster to retrieve the knowledge you sought, but watching Younghyun sleep you found that you couldn’t bring yourself to even consider hurting him. If he said no to giving you the yeowoo guseul, you wouldn’t be willing or able to force him.

You shook your head to clear it of those thoughts, turning your attention back to your meager breakfast. At the very least you had no doubt Younghyun would guide you safely back down the mountain, so you weren’t too concerned about extreme rationing any longer.

He awoke before you finished, sitting up and stretching with a sigh. Neither of you said a word as he sat up beside you, looking out over the snow covered stretch of forest. The two of you eat your breakfast in silence, sitting side by side with your shoulders touching. Once Younghyun has taken his last bite he speaks up,

“You can have it.” You nearly choke on your food, dissolving into coughs. Younghyun gently pats your back as you struggle to recover, eventually gasping out your reaction.

“What?” As you look at Younghyun he appears completely calm, shrugging slightly as he replies.

“There's really no joy in the life I'm living. I made this decision when I was young and foolish, thinking immortality would be fulfilling, but now… now, I just want to live a normal life. So, you can have the yeowoo guseul. You'll do more good with the knowledge than I ever have.” He even smiles at you, and although it appears sincere you can’t help but be absolutely baffled by how casually he drops this information.

“Are you sure?” you ask, and he nods resolutely. The information slowly sinks in, and as it does you can feel your face begin to warm. “So, then…”

“Yes,” he laughs, looking far too amused by your embarrassment. “You’ll have to kiss me.”

“Right…”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “You trust me, right?” You nod. With that, Younghyun stands up, reaching his hand down for you to take. Just like you had the day before, you accept his help, though this time he doesn’t let go, keeping you close to him.

He hesitates for a moment as though offering you an out, and so you’re the one who finally leans in and presses your lips to his. At first, it feels completely normal, and Younghyun reaches up to cup your jaw with one hand as the other wraps around your waist. He adjusts the angle of the kiss and you feel a shiver run down your spine as his tongue gently parts your lips.

Almost immediately you feel the yeowoo guseul pass between your teeth, small and cold, terribly cold. Suddenly afraid, you press it to the roof of your mouth with your tongue, squeezing your eyes shut tighter as Younghyun's lips part from yours.

"It's alright," he whispers. "You have to swallow it. It's alright."

You think of Eunji, your village, the man before you — and you try. You really, truly do.

But the moment it reaches the back of your throat it suddenly burns like no alcohol ever has, and you begin coughing, doubling over—

With the arm around your waist Younghyun turns you, pressing your back to his chest to keep you upright, and with the other he tilts your head back. He holds your mouth shut, all the while murmuring reassurances in your ear, reminding you of all the reasons you’re doing this. After a long moment you finally manage to swallow the bead, and you feel it burn down your chest, leaving you gasping for air, tears streaming from your tightly shut eyes. Younghyun rights you, turning you to face him, brushing hair away from your now-sweaty forehead.

As you open your eyes, you find nothing but white before you. Your knees give way and you reach out desperately, clawing at Younghyun's shirt even though his hands remain on you,

"My eyes!" you scream, but the trees seem to swallow your voice. "Younghyun, my eyes—!"

"Look up at the sky, Y/N, you'll be fine. Look at the sky." His voice is unwavering, the never ending calm of freshly fallen snow, and as you lift your head up you begin to see ripples within your vision.

The clouds, filled with your village’s first snowfall of the winter, suddenly appear above you.

"It's going to snow again," you say. The trembling in your voice ceases the longer you stare. "Not this week, but the next. It will be as high as my knees, and— and..." As you speak, you seem to blink the clouds away, revealing once more the morning sky you had seen before Younghyun's kiss.

When you look back to Younghyun, you no longer find a young man, but a face carved with wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. With shaking hands you reach up to touch him,

"You're old." He only stares at you, mystified. "You're going to grow old."

He smiles, breathes out a laugh, and as he does your vision restores his youth to him. You let your hands fall to his shoulders. The pure joy on his face has you entranced, and you almost want to kiss him again, overwhelmed and elated.

Then behind him, you see a glimmer. Like a golden thread which seems to weave away into the trees. You peer over his shoulder, past him, and he lowers his voice,

"Do you see what you need?" Your reply is scarcely more than a sigh,

"Yes." Your voice cracks as you break into a wide grin, laughing as you repeat your answer more confidently, “Yes!”

You take Younghyun’s warm hand in yours and set out into the snow, ignoring the cold as you follow the shimmering trail. It leads you to a small clearing nearly devoid of snow, almost a perfect circle amidst the trees within which grows a plant with leaves glowing gold. Once you drop to your knees beside it, however, it ceases glowing, becoming its normal deep green color.

“That’s it?” Younghyun asks excitedly, standing behind you. You nod, at a loss for words, and he comes to kneel beside you. There’s more than one of the plants, and so after gathering yourself you instruct Younghyun to pluck as many of them as he can, meanwhile you begin digging into the half-frozen soil, ignoring the cold and the pain as you try to reach the plant’s roots. Although it’s used to a mountain climate, you have no doubt Eunji will find a way to grow it closer to your home once she’s well again.

Carefully, you cradle the roots of the plant in your cupped hands, mud and dirt caking your palms and stuck beneath the half-moons of your nails. Younghyun returns with his shirt partially hiked up like a pouch, filled with the leaves that you need. He looks at the small plant in your hands in wonder.

“Incredible,” he says. When you glance up you find his gaze on you, and he breaks into a somewhat sheepish grin, clearing his throat.

“We should get you back to your village.”

“What about you?” you ask almost immediately. Younghyun’s expression falls slightly, and he blinks at you.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I could leave the mountain, but I don’t know what I’d do.” Without another thought you find yourself using one of your hands to grasp one of his, holding his gaze earnestly.

“You could come with me.” Younghyun appears almost shell-shocked, and you quickly elaborate on your statement, “Eunji and I could always use extra help, and you’re stronger than either of us. You wouldn’t have to stay forever, of course, but at least until you decide what you want to do…” You trail off uncertainly, withdrawing your hand from his after a moment, feeling embarrassed by the zeal with which you’d made your offer.

Despite that, though, Younghyun’s response is in the affirmative,

“Alright.” You look up in surprise and find Younghyun smiling. “I don’t know what my future holds but… I think I’d like to take that first step with you by my side.” At his response you can’t help but smile back at him.

“I think I’d like that, too.”

And so the two of you pack your belongings and begin the long trek down the mountain, leaving the legend of the kumiho to wither away behind you like the small hut sitting alone and empty amidst the trees, little more than a memory.

#day6 scenarios #young k scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #kpop writing #kpop texts #kpop reactions #My writing

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