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fushisagi · 8 months

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miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I’m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

#atsumu #miya atsumu #hq #haikyuu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu angst #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu angst #hq angst #fic: miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

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simp4konig · 8 months

Text

Self-aware König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: ~2800

König slowly comes to the realisation that he was in a game, that he was never real, and that he'll never be with reader.

His sense of self deteriorates as all he wishes for is to escape from the boundaries of his code and be real.

In this instance, ignorance really *was* bliss.

*Slow burn

*König has a mental breakdown at one point lmao

Edit on same day: HOLY SHIT thank u for so many notes!!!!!!!!!!! 🥹🥹💞💞💞💞💞 You guys are so nice 🫣🫣

*Self-aware AU belongs to @puff0o0 !!!🥳🥳 (The girl behind the disguise🥸... Was rthis loser all along!!!!! 😈😈imagine giving permission to 👍THIS 👍idiot to write Ur fic idea lol u made a mistake 💀💀💀ok but idid my best not to ruin their awesome au with this pathetic controbution and jope I honoured it well 😭😭 but fr i had been stalking their profile since the begigning of their self aware! au and ivloved their acc 🥺🥺I love their imagines and how they fulfill the request yet leave enoith for imaginstion !! (which, don't mind if I do🤠all of the König scenarios added tovmy incessant daydreamimg hhhhhhhhh oh no),, and when they followed me I was staring at my phone with the BIGGEST goofy grin on my face 🥹🥹Thank YOU sm!!!!! 🫂MUCH LOVE!!!!!!!!!!💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

*To anyone waiting (I've gotten such lovely messages from people saying they liked my first fic (which made me so happy as it was the first ever fanfiction I published online🥹🥹)), Part TWO of my first fic is on its way !!!,, I didn't want to make u guys all fluffy 🥰🩷💘✨🤗 inside only to tear your hearts 💔🥀🗡️🗡️😭 in two witj this 😿 dw I promise to reward u guys with another fic and cute himbo (and absolute menace while on the battlefield 👹)König <33, with King X König having more wholesome interactions in the near future!!

If you had told König that he wasn't real, he would have looked at you blankly and said nothing, passing off your suggestion as a joke of sorts that he possibly couldn't understand.

Perhaps if he was ever faced with a situation like this he'd question you about it, but nothing more, and drop the subject at hand.

Honestly, the likelihood of him ever thinking over this twice would have been slim, as he would not pay your philosophy much thought shortly afterwards.

In fact, he believed that his life as a Kortac operator was indeed a real one, and he wore his embroided Austrian flag on his shoulder with something next to pride, always praised for his outstanding efforts by his superiors in the same tone of voice. To König, however, it meant nothing, and he'd only nod his head in an attempt at gratitude, turning his back to the commemoration in indifference.

Despite not remembering anything of his childhood, his upbringing — hell, even any of his past prior to becoming a soldier — König didn't ever think over it too deeply. The overwhelming pressure to make sure missions went without a hitch and constant deployments to foreign countries left no time to reminisce, especially not when his work was so demanding, and it only made sense to him that they were the reason for his forgotten memories.

Besides, even if he had time to spare and be inactive, he had to stay focused, as being an operator meant that he couldn't let any nostalgia or softness distract him from his tasks.

On the battlefield, König worked on autopilot, performing finishing kills with efficiency and with machine-like precision. Reacting quickly to enemies ambushing him from behind or an enemy that was laying on the floor behind the corner waiting to shoot him in the head, he'd eliminate the targets with bullets to spare. Really, he was unstoppable, and he was on a killing streak.

Until he was shot in the head one day.

The moment it happened, the shot was like an explosion that almost obliterated his eardrums, outside noise deafened like his head was underwater. All he could hear was the high-pitched ringing, and it held an uncanny resemblance to the beeping of a heart rate monitor machine that he would never lay next to, dying instead on a bed of cold rubble and broken shrapnel.

Somehow conscious enough to look around, his mind was completely empty, eyes attempting to adjust. What he'd assumed would happen in a time like this was his mind flashing with memories like a movie reel in his last moments, his entire life playing out in his final dying seconds.

Yet he remembered nothing. No Mama, no Papa, no childhood or any his life trials, nothing that had changed him and moulded his character, not even his motive for enlisting into the military in the first place.

The part that was most unnerving about all this was his complete apathy to it all.

Did he even care that he was dying? Shouldn't he at least feel regret at having essentially been the one to pull the trigger, cutting his own life short with the lifestyle he had committed himself to? Why wasn't he scared, sad, even bewildered at the very least, shocked that his life would soon end so unceremoniously? Fuck, not even mild disappointment at least at not even had travelled the world, and failing to ever explore any place besides abandoned buildings housing hostages and terrorist bases swarming with foes? Nothing at all?

Unable to process his situation, König just... laid there, unmoving, while his surroundings moved in double speed. Nondescript figures holding rifles wearing camo and balaclavas blurred in his vision, and he couldn't differentiate the enemy from his own.

Slowly losing consciousness, he felt his world darken around him, dulling his senses to the mayhem unfolding in real time. He'd accepted his fate, and could do nothing about it. That was that. And this was it.

It was a shock to his system when a silhouetted hand pulled him up by the arm limp by his side and shouted in his face, "Get up, soldier! This is no place to die!"

König didn't need to be told twice. He nodded his head robotically, his eyes looking ahead of him with a thousand-yard stare, and not even sparing a glance to the anonymous ally that saved him, he picked up the his gun off the floor and loaded another magazine into it with a satisfying click.

In his delirium, he worked on autopilot after that, shooting at anything that shot at him first. Too much in a daze, he was past the point of realising that the gaping bullet wound had suddenly sealed itself, vanishing entirely and leaving no mark that it was ever there.

After that, König didn't realise that he wasn't real when any injuries still didn't affect him. He assumed that his insensitivity to wounds was a result of a high pain tolerance, and his body healing miraculously was his ability to regenerate fast.

Although he would lay on the ground, his arm outstretched while through gritted teeth shouting: "Scheisse! Ich brauche hier Hilfe! I need some help over here!"; truth be told, he'd only do so when he after getting used to seeing so many bodies writhe in pain like so, and something for some reason told him that it was the right thing to do.

Waking up moments after not far from the spot he supposedly died in a daze, all bullet wounds gone, he didn't have time in the moment to think over the specifics of his death. Maybe he was hallucinating, or remembering things incorrectly.

König began to suspect that something was wrong when he'd hear his operators say the same sentence word for word. He rationalised that the constant shooting that never ceased even late into the night and dangerous missions that left him with far too many close calls put pressure on his mind. This mania amongst soldiers in the military was a common phenomenon after all, so it shouldn't have been as much of a surprise for König when he felt waves of déjà vu at hearing statements he could have sworn were related to him before at one point, and going to infiltrate areas that were vaguely familiar.

At some point, he thought something was REALLY wrong when he was storming a military base with... a sniper rifle.

Time stood still as he inspected the weapon in his hands, eyes wide.

That... was impossible. He had never been a sniper. True, he had wanted to be one from the beginning, yet he had adapted to his role as the main means of assault, always on the offensive rather on the defensive. So then... Why?

Adding to that, his appearance would differ. They were subtle changes at first, yet still noticeable: a red helmet instead of his black; an ochre hood instead of his black veil with its signature red streaks; a sniper camoflauge when that disguise had never been in his possession before; and even a gas mask with a hazmat suit when he had been wearing something else altogether on the helicopter heading towards its destination.

Although König hadn't know it yet, his reality was slowly shattering along the cracks, but he stubbornly fought the gnawing feeling that ate him up from the inside. He had to stay focused, he repeated to himself. No time to ponder when a task was at hand.

"All units ready your weapons, and in position immediately." Through his walkie-talkie, a voice began counting down the time left before the mission would begin. "60 seconds."

König checked all of his gear, making sure that everything was in place and he was fully equipped. A rifle, a side-arm, ammo, grenades, a med kit for an emergency and a knife. "40 seconds."

Looking up into the sky and straight into the sun, he didn't need to cover his sight as his eyes weren't affected by it at all. Yet, his eyes squinted in confusion, sensing that he was seeing something that he wasn't meant to see behind the glowing eye. "20 seconds."

He saw more than an eye. An ear, a nose, then a mouth. A face.

He saw you.

You were looking at him through a screen, holding a controller and waiting to start playing your game.

His reality shattered all at once, and he stumbled on his feet, unable to regain his balance, feeling himself go weak in the knees. He tuned out the all-important seconds through the communication device, unable to compose himself as for the first time ever he struggled to breathe.

Suddenly, all of it made sense.

People telling him the same things and never deviating from the topic of the mission, the reawakenings, the pain insensitivity — all of it was because none of it was never real.

People never branched off into other topics of conversation because their sole existence was limited to a few hand-selected voiceliness and idle animations. With each upgrade and level up, König had gotten praise from from him superiors, which explained how emotionless their announcements always sounded and why they were so constant.

The frequent brushes with death weren't a matter of luck, and instead it was just his entity respawning until a certain condition was met, until either Kortac or Specgru came out victorious — otherwise, he could "die" as many times as it took until the time ran out.

He was unfazed by bullets that grazed him and knives that tore though his flesh as he could physically feel no pain, his very existence artificial, his skin composed of pixels with no human matter hidden beneath them.

And, his inability to trace back to before he was transferred to Kortac was all because it was all he was programmed to know. There was no childhood. There was no Mama or Papa. It was just him in this world, and he had been manufactured, his thoughts and behaviours fabricated.

For a moment, he considered you the creator of his word, his God, and felt forsaken. He wanted to curse you, to snap your neck in his hands and watch your head drop lifelessly in his hold.

Yet it became apparent that you weren't the one behind this realm. Seeing the headphones strapped to your head and the controller held in anticipation in your hands, you were simply indulging in a past time, and weren't to blame for his state in any way. It wasn't your fault that you were unknowingly playing as a König trapped in the game.

You let out a groan of frustration, mashing buttons on your controller in an attempt to get König to move.

"What the fuck is going on?!" You hissed, trying in any way you could to start playing. Checking your router and the game's ping, you saw that your connection was secure, and that there was no reason for König to be frozen in place. "Fucking piece of shit console."

König shook his head, still disbelieving and unable to accept his fictional reality, yet hearing the sound of your voice made everything an even tougher pill to swallow. He had to stay in character. For you; it was the least that he could do.

After the initial lag at the beginning of the match, the game went smoothly and you couldn't find any faults. However, you suddenly noticed that your movements over König improved, moving with more fluidity and suddenly taking less damage than what you would normally use to. Headshot after headshot and kills all of the time poured onto on your screen until you'd find yourself being ganged up by bitter players wanting to ruin your streak as revenge.

Still, you topped the leaderboards with a new personal record that night. 97 kills to 0 deaths flashed on your screen, and you jumped up from your gaming chair, ecstatic, almost knocking it over in the process.

König felt butterflies in his stomach seeing you smile and jump around excitedly, and that's when he had found his purpose.

From that moment on, you became his lifeline. You gave the unfeeling König something to live for, a motive to keep fighting that he hadn't been given when being created in the game — for you and your greater good.

Really, you made him feel things: made him feel alive; made him fight with more passion and determination when your happiness was on the line.

He fell... In love.

The feelings and emotions he felt in his chest chest were genuine, and weren't pre-written in a script or manipulated by a third-party. Even the bullets that would pierce through his gear and leave him on the ground withering in agony was worth it, and he'd exchange his invincibility any day to feel what he felt when he saw your face, and the smile that tugged at your lips when you were revived or got a difficult kill.

His love for you was immortal, and it would persist through generations and could last for a lifetime, and König was almost certain that you could feel all of his energy channelling through your TV.

He found himself lovingly staring at you through the screen, admiring you as if you were an ephemeral being, a beautiful angel, even when your hair was greasy, your old tee had armpit stains and your eyes were bloodshot from how long you had been playing. Really, none of that put König off — if anything, all of those made you so distinctly you, so human.

Yet, König was in love with someone that was practically in another dimension and he would never speak to them, never touch them, never share thoughts and pass the time doing everything and nothing with them. None of that, because he wasn't real.

Had his life improved now they he had grown self-awareness? Had his ignorance really been bliss before his revelation? Perhaps if he had been another NPC that only gained manipulated consciousness whenever the player spawned in the map he wouldn't be so stricken with grief and crouched over in agony, the knuckles on his hands turning white from how fervently he was gripping his mask. He'd hyperventilate off-screen, sometimes the torment being too much.

Being so close to you yet being restricted to his three-dimensional world was bittersweet at the least, and internal suffering at most. His insatiable craving to be with you, and you with him only, fuelled his desperation, and he tried to keep you with him for as long as possible through any means necessary.

When you selected an operator that wasn't König, your game glitched heavily and would even crash whenever you made the mistake of even complimenting their design, and God forbid whenever you tried to play as someone other than him, as your console would near explode.

When you'd boot up a different game on your PlayStation, your loading screen would suddenly transport you back to the one of MW2, König greeting you with a voiceline that he reserved and perfected just for you:

"Welcome back, schatz. I have been waiting for you." Because he treasured you, and you were the only person that he could ever have feelings for.

Perhaps a recent update was fucking up your console, or it was just malfunctiong due to age. Either way, playing on an eight year old PS4 meant it could only run for so long and glitches like this were inevitable, yet you persisted in keeping the console running, not in your budget to afford to upgrade.

You'd search frantically on the internet for any information about the new König voicelines and whether there was any resolution for your problem when playing CoD, something telling you that your game was not functioning in the way that it should.

A thought crossed your mind that König had gone rogue, and you tried to laugh it off. Swallowing thickly, that still didn't relieve the deep pit in your stomach. If anything, the mere idea made it worse for you, and you'd get an intense gut feeling that would make you feel dizzy whenever König would make eyes contact with you and stand there, making you question whether he was acting out of character or not.

His attempts to keep you with him were commendable, yet none of it could change the fact that it would never be anything more than one-sided pining, a deep longing for a person whose world kept spinning while his stopped once you logged off the game, his day ending abruptly and being consumed by darkness.

For now, König had to content himself with being stuck behind a screen. He wished so desperately to be able to touch you, to escape this human generated world that trapped him in these bounds, and to find who he really is when with you. Shrouded in this deep black void, all he could do was wait patiently until you'd boot up the game again.

A hand was placed on his side of the screen longingly, resting it gently on the face on the other side.

Note: this wasn't meant to be so sad ,how did an idea of König popping out from the screen turnvto this 😭😭

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dorotheataylor · 23 days

Text

You are in Love

Pairing- Gojo Satoru x fem!Reader

Summary- The three times he realised he loved you, and the one time he said it. Inspired by You are in Love (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift.

Warnings- Its just fluff, a little angst if you squint? SATORU IS WHIPPED (hes so cute😭), best friends to lovers romance, Shoko and Suguru playing cupids, whipped satoru (yes this warning again), swearing (its only one word but still), no curses!au, modern!au, my poor english :p

Word Count- 3.5k words

A/N- Whenever I listen to Taylor, either this guy or his best friend pop up in my head. Like the amount of times I think about them is so insane and I can’t help it anymore. Anyways, here’s another songfic (is this even a surprise atp?) based on another Taylor’s song coz i love that woman so much. Alsoooo it’s my birthday today! And what is better than writing a fic abt your man on your birthday? So I hope y’all enjoy this little birthday gift from me!

The first time Satoru realised he loved you was when you were in college together. It was the last day of the semester before everyone bid farewell to each other and went home for the holiday season. You and him were walking along one pathway coming back from your Christmas shopping, snow falling softly around everyone’s body, and a chill in the air that made everyone want to snuggle up beside the fireplace in their houses.

Suguru and Shoko had joined you both too but then excused themselves to leave you two alone, hoping that the romantic ambiance of the holiday season would finally give Satoru the confidence to tell you how he felt.

To say he was a nervous wreck was an understanding. He had spent the whole afternoon talking to himself in the mirror, practicing what he would say so that he won't stumble on his words and ruin the moment.

He didn't have a problem talking to you as he normally does; you were his best friend after all, like Suguru and Shoko, but once he tries to tell you that you make his heart beat faster, make butterflies flood his stomach, it makes him lose all his senses. Suguru had to drag him out of his room, complaining about waiting for 'thirty fucking minutes' already.

Eventually, he met you and Shoko at the front gate of his house and walked with you towards the mall. The entire day, he felt so jittery, like he couldn’t stay still. You remained oblivious to the fact that Satoru was about ready to burst from the inside from how nervous he was.

Suguru and Shoko, on the other hand, couldn’t contain their laughter. By the time the sky began to fade into the night sky, Suguru and Shoko decided that now was as good of a time than ever and made up an excuse to leave the two of you alone.

Now here you were, walking beside Satoru, bundled up in your white scarf, and the cutest red blush on the tip of your nose. You readjusted your beanie, looking up at him to start conversation. Satoru felt his words get stuck in his throat, unable to remember how to speak with you staring up at him with the twinkle of oblivion in your eye.

"Toru?" you asked bumping your shoulder with him, noticing his uneasy expressions as you wrapped an arm around yourself to get some warmth as the snow had started to fall little more harshly, "am I that boring that your mind had to drift somewhere else?"

"God no." He blushed, finally able to say something without stumbling. Without thought, he wrapped one of his arm around you, bringing you closer to him. You sighed in content, melting into him and Satoru swore his heart swelled three times its size.

The snow crunched under your boots as you walked up the path. The lights lining the cobblestone street gave a yellow tint to the sight. He walked with you in silence but in his head, he was going over exactly what he wanted to say. This was the perfect time.

The snow falling from the sky, little snowflakes tangled in the strands of your hair. You were pressed up against his chest, so close to him that he could smell your perfume, sweet and addicting. There were no other people around, all too eager to find sanctuary in warmth that their houses brought. It was the perfect time.

He stopped walking, halting you with him. He let you go for a moment, taking a deep breath in and slowly let it out. You watched as the cloud of fog escaped his lips and dispersed into the air. His white hair poked out from under his hoodie, matted on his forehead. Satoru looked down at his wet boots, kicking around snow that pooled around the soles.

Finally, he looked up, taking your two hands into his palms in the process.

You smiled at the gesture, your heart fluttering in your chest. You looked at him, offering a comforting look as you raised your eyebrows up in suspicion, “What’s up, Toru?”

And just like that, all of the words he worked so hard to conjure up, slipped right out of his mind. When he saw you looking up at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks and nose tinted with a light shade of pink, and your lips plump and red, he realized that there were no words to describe what it was he felt about you.

You watched him in silence, studying the way he gave you a lopsided smile when you tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, letting out another sigh of relief.

“Nothing,” he finally spoke, letting go of your hands. He wrapped his arm around you again, hoping you won’t hear the marching of his heart in his chest. “You’re my best friend.”

The second time he realised he loved you was when he found you crying on your couch. He had came to check on you when you didn’t come over for the routine movie night. Every Saturday, you, him, Suguru and Shoko got together at each other’s places for movie nights. Laughter, jokes, entertainment, talks, drinks and what not went on full night and the next day all of you were passed out on either couch or the floor.

Today everyone was coming over at Satoru’s place. Suguru and Shoko were already there but when it kept getting late, Satoru became worried about you. Shoko tried assuring him you were okay, just stuck in some work but he wouldn’t believe it. Because you were time punctual and never missed the movie nights.

So he came over to yours and opened your door with the spare key you’d given him only to find you curled up in your couch, crying.

He immediately rushed over to you and wrapped his arms around you tightly as you held onto him. He didn’t say anything but stayed there, holding you, feeling his heart break as you sobbed into his chest.

A few moments later, when he felt you relaxing a little, he took your face in his hands as he asked, “better?”

You just nodded as you snuggled into him. Neither of you two said anything, a comfortable silence, just sitting there on your couch, engulfing each other, enjoying each other’s company.

“Now tell me what happened?” he asked softly when your crying had quieted down, afraid you might break again.

“It’s nothing. I just- its too much. Work, studies, family, everything. I just got too overwhelmed and just couldn’t keep it in anymore. And I had nobody present here for me to tell me that its okay or listen about what I felt.” You said now realising what mess you had made and quite embarrassed that Satoru had to see you this vulnerable. “God this is embarrassing! I’m so sorry.”

“Hey look at me.” He said, cupping your cheeks to make you look at him when you didn’t. “Everyone in this world has a vulnerable side. Everyone on this planet has things which is maybe too much overwhelming for them that they might just break at any point. Just like you did. But don’t ever apologise for this. Because none of it is your fault. Okay? And I’m always here for you. Even if you’re far away, I’ll always be there. You’re not alone, okay?”

You just nodded and gave him the smile he adored so much. And without saying anything else, he wrapped both of his arms around you once again, letting you rest your head on his chest. He kissed your forehead and hummed in content as you snuggled even closer to him if possible.

And as he looked down at the girl in his arms, he realised this is what he wanted for the rest of his life. He loved you.

The third time he realised he loved you was after summer. He hadn’t talked or heard from you since 4 months.

You left without a goodbye or a message to god knows where. He'd tried searching for you but always ended up getting disappointed. Suguru and Shoko missed you too. They had helped him to find you too but to no avail. It was like you’d disappeared into thin air.

Satoru often wondered if you ever thought about him like he did, if you missed him like he did. He knew you were probably out there pursuing your dream career, which you'd always talked about and wanted to do, but a part of him wanted to be there with you. To support and cheer for you at every step you take, to give you advices, to have late night celebration for your achievements. Call him selfish and everything. Everyday that passed, he cursed himself for not telling you how he felt before you left. Would it have made any difference? He’d like to think so. Even if it didn’t, he, at least, wouldn’t have to live every single day thinking: “What if?”

He kept a picture of you in his office. He often looked at it whenever he was free, always wondering how you were doing, if you were okay or not. Suguru and Shoko always found this sight pitful. They had tried to get him to move on, but all of them knew that Satoru was so in love with you and you were special to all three of them and that nobody could ever take your place.

It wasn’t until six months later when you stumbled into the building, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. A part of you knew you didn’t have the right to be there because you left them with no warning. You wouldn’t blame them if they asked you to leave the premises the minute their eyes landed on you. You knew you deserved the cold shoulder. Because if they were the ones who did that to you, you knew you wouldn’t be so forgiving.

The receptionist had told you to wait while she checked if the three of them were free or not. As you waited, you smiled sadly at the memories of last six months. You had gone for higher studies, as your dad had promised, for your dream career. You knew you should’ve at least informed someone before you left but everything happened just so fast that one moment your dad had agreed on your consent and the next moment you were on the plane.

Surely you enjoyed the studies and training period there, Paris being busy in days and nights, but having really nice places to visit. You would always go to the Eiffel tower, watching the sunset, half expecting for Satoru to wrap his arm around your waist but whenever you turned your head you’d always met with empty space. Whenever you came home exhausted, you always expected Satoru to be there with dinner ready and him greeting you with a welcome home kiss.

That’s why you came back. To be in his arms. To be able to kiss him. To be able to call him yours. Because you’d realise that your life was nothing if Gojo Satoru wasn’t in it.

The receptionist told you to go upstairs at floor 5 but as you were about to click the lift button, you heard someone running on the stairs. You turned to look who it was and your eyes locked with a pair of blue ones which were close to home. He just looked at you and slowly stepped towards you as you did the same.

When you were both closer to each other, he brought his hand up, touching your cheeks delicately as if making sure you were real.

Satoru couldn’t believe it. When the receptionist called him and said that someone named Y/N L/N was here to meet him, he left all his works and ran downstairs. And now that he’d seen you, he was mesmerised and shocked. Shocked because you were really here and mesmerised because you looked even more beautiful than before. He touched your cheeks delicately, making sure you were really here and not another one of his hallucinations. And then without another thought he took you into his arms and held you tight and closer to him, now promising himself to never let you go. All the feelings he still had for you, tripled. His heart rumbled in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Even after all this time, he was still so in love with you.

“No need to tell me where you were. Because I already know.” You were tearing up as you finally felt complete in his arms and realised how much you loved him.

“Don’t ever leave me like that again.” He said as he was starting to tear up too. He loved you so much and the thought of being apart once again was killing him.

“I won’t. Ever again. I promise.”

It didn’t take long for Satoru to tell you how he felt after you came back. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Every moment that he didn’t get to call you his, chipped his heart. Both Shoko and Suguru were growing tired of it, encouraging him to just say it because they were sure you felt the same. He tried to ignore them, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help but think about how amazing it would feel if you told him you loved him back.

You came over to Satoru’s for dinner that night, Suguru insisted that they all missed you too much to go out to a restaurant. After dinner and catching up with everyone, you and Satoru excused yourselves and walked out in the garden. His hands were in his pockets, unable to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. He’s been practicing what to say to you since years and yet, he still felt unprepared.

You were walking silently beside him, taking in the silence and calmness of the life you’re living now. You no longer had to worry about anything, just the day to day necessities, and your feelings for Satoru. Subconsciously, you intertwined your fingers with his snuggling up to his side for some warmth.

He froze for a moment. This is it, he thought, this is the perfect moment. So before he lost his confidence, he spoke, “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, Toru?” you asked, rubbing your thumb over the top of his hand. “What is it?”

There it was. He missed it. He missed the way you called him ‘Toru’. And now finally hearing it from you made his heart skip many beats.

He held you in your place, stopping in the middle of a field of flowers. The moon illuminated one side of your face, showing off your perfect features. Satoru smiled, reaching over to caress your cheekbone. With tears in his eyes, he said, “I love you.”

You gasped softly, looking up at him, “What?”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Satoru sighed, connecting his forehead with yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

You slowly brought your hand to his face and cupped his cheek as he melted in your touch. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I was afraid of what you'd say. I didn't want to ruin our friendship and lose you. I just thought that maybe if you didn't love me like that, I'd still have you. Even if it's just as your best friend."

"Then why now?" you asked, you voice getting even quieter. He kissed the palm of your hand as he met your eyes.

"Because after all those years of crushing on you, all those months of not being able to see you or be in your arms, made me realise how much in love I was with you. All those six months, you consumed all of my thoughts, your laughter was all I could hear in my silent nights, your smile was all I could see everywhere I went. And not being able to tell you how much I loved you was killing me." He finished, tears flowing uncontrollably from his eyes.

You didn't know when your eyes started tearing up. All you knew was how much you loved him at this moment. Him confessing all his feelings for you, so vulnerably. It made you realise how much you just wanted to hold him and never let him go.

So you said, "I'm in love with you too, Satoru."

At first he thought his ears were playing tricks on him. You loved him back? His eyes shot open, pulling away from you as he stared at you in disbelief. “Y-you love me?”

"Yes, you idiot." You chuckled through your tears, pulling him closer. Your lips ghosted over his, causing him to shiver. "I've been in love with you for a really long time as well."

"I'm really an idiot, aren't I?" he said, laughing a little.

"Yes, you are. But you're my idiot."

And with that, he kissed you. All those years where he hid his feelings came pouring out in this one kiss. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his like there was any more space between the two of you to close. Your arms looped around his neck, his one hand snaked down to your waist to steady you while one still remained on your cheek. He kissed you, pouring in all his regrets, mistakes, apprehensions, into his love, no longer wanting to pass up an opportunity to love you for the rest of his life.

And when he pulled back for air, he had the biggest smile on his face. "I'm the luckiest man on this earth." You pecked him again as you gave him your biggest grin.

On your way back home, you could feel it, you could hear it in the silence, you could see it with the lights out in the garden. It lingered between you two, suffocating you but it was the best feeling ever. Gojo Satoru is in love with you. You are in love.

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koqabear · 7 months

Text

Just A Taste

♫: 28 Reasons, Seulgi // Sacrifice, Enhypen // Hush, Ari Abdul // Oh my god, (G)I-DLE

“Sometimes, the best things are hidden in plain sight; all you need to do is give in to the chase."

vampire!soobin x fem!reader

Genre: supernatural au, office au, smut. pwp.

Word count: 9.8k

Warnings (for both the story and smut, it all blends together idk): barely edited. power imbalance oou… soobin’s a little evil and manipulative. And obsessive (severely). They have a bit of a predator/prey relationship idk how to explain it 😭😭 mentions of blood/drinking blood, soobin has like. inhuman strength. dom!soobin, sub!reader, bit of a fear kink? for both of them? dubcon, also scent kink for soobin, pet names, (bunny, bun, pet) humiliation kink ig, manhandling, dacryphilia, biting (whaaat??), implied aphrodisiacs, thigh riding, dumbification, praise, subspace…? multiple orgasms, degrading, strength kink, begging, use of restraints, breast play, fingering, orgasm control, cum eating, finger sucking, pain kink for the mc tbh… brief male masturbation? Soobin is big mwuah, unprotected sex, possessiveness, claiming/mating?, overstimulation, creampie, mc briefly blacks out lol, lmk if i missed anything..

notes: starting october with this absolute banger that was sent in quite a while ago. this story is teetering on the darker side, so please read the warnings carefully before you read!

Soobin, who is alluring and intimidating yet strange all at once— a bit standoffish yet charismatic, a total enigma to his coworkers. There’s something off about him, yet no one can really pinpoint what it is; he’s just too good at acting normal— at acting human.

Soobin, who immediately takes an interest in his meek and evasive coworker who just transferred into his department, who always seems to be tense and even afraid when he enters the same room— naturally, his curiosity wants him to find out why.

You’re smarter than Soobin gives you credit for; because the moment you stepped into the office for the first time, taking in the new environment and its people, you immediately knew there was something wrong about the head of the department— but, instead of brushing it aside like everyone else, you stood by your gut feelings.

A terrible choice, really.

Because after a particularly busy evening for you, you quickly found yourself staying after hours in the office, glued to your chair and zoned out as you finished the countless tasks that were suddenly piled onto you— little did you know, it had all been on purpose.

From the privacy of his office, Soobin watched you carefully; could it be possible you caught on? Was there a reason you never wanted to be alone with him, never afraid to show the skeptic look in your eyes the moment he tried to be friendly and approach you? It’s not that Soobin hadn’t tried to dissuade your clear distrust in him— but it never worked, and most times he found that it only made things worse for him in the end.

Normally, he would let it be— so what if you find him strange? Everyone in this office does; though he pretends otherwise, he’s fully aware of the comments they’ve all made of him— yet it never fazes him.

You however, seem to be a completely different case; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about a human, never the type to give into his carnal desires unless absolutely necessary— even then, he’s always sure to give his prey mercy before feasting, only taking enough to satiate his hunger.

Maybe it has to do with the way your heart seems to beat a little faster around him, your eyes stricken with a subconscious fear that sharply contrasts your cold and indifferent attitude toward him, never batting an eye yet trying to hide the way your hands seem to shake when he gets even slightly close.

Poor little thing— in your attempts to distance yourself from him, you’ve only piqued his interest further.

Because as Soobin sneaks yet another glance at you, watching your every mannerism with hungry eyes, he’s found himself realizing that your fear is quite addicting.

With one last reassurance that the office is empty, Soobin makes his move.

You don’t hear his office door open; you don’t hear his footsteps approaching you, don’t even feel his presence as he stands behind you, quietly watching the way your fingers fly across your keyboard in an eager attempt to finish your last task of the day.

“Shouldn’t you be home by now,” Soobin fights the urge to smile as he watches the way you practically jump out of your seat, twisting around violently to look at him— the way you curl into yourself slightly isn’t lost upon him, “___?”

The way your name rolls off his tongue is dangerous; it’s perfect and addicting, just like the quick beating of your heart and your eyes that widen slightly as you realize who is currently towering over you— you seem unsure of what to say as you stutter your response to him, and Soobin has to resist the urge to coo softly at the way your hands grip onto your seat a bit tighter, your eyes glued to an unknown point behind him as you speak.

“I’m almost done, I’ll be leaving soon.” you say, biting your lip as you wait anxiously for his response; though you’ve always tried to seem flippant and indifferent in front of him, you can’t control the way your weakness leaks through you as you realize where you are— in the office, alone, cornered.

A moment passes. Soobin has yet to say anything, and despite your instincts telling you not to, you’re nervous enough to look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction through his expression.

His eyes lock onto yours immediately.

You’ve never gotten a good look at his face before; every time he’d walk into the same room as you, you’d make it a point to avoid him entirely— but now, as you really begin to take him in, you realize with a slight dread that he’s incredibly handsome— you think you know why your coworkers were so eager to dismiss any strange behavior from him now.

“There we go,” he smiles, his plump lips stretching into a smile; his teeth are perfect and shine even under the old lights of the office, and you can feel yourself shrinking slightly as you take in his smile— oddly dangerous, your eyes falling onto his sharp, fang-like teeth that glint at you, the expression more warning than welcoming— and you will yourself to meet his gaze once more, his eyes scrunching up in a way you would’ve considered endearing— but the way his eyes flash isn’t lost upon you, and you can practically feel your heart stopping at the sight.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

That wasn’t normal. Normal people can’t do what he just did— they can’t make their pupils glint with the same, sharp crimson that Soobin’s just did, taking in your reaction with a dark desire— no, if it weren’t for the fact that Soobin’s mere presence was already enough to make your hair raise like a frightened cats, you would’ve had half the mind to blame it on your tired brain.

“What was that?” you ask quietly, not trusting your voice to be any louder as you scoot your chair away from him slightly— a horrible choice on your part, leaving you more pressed into the desk and as a result, more trapped.

You think you might have lost your mind as you watch Soobin tilt his head, eyes almost transforming and turning into something more sweet and innocent, round and sparkling under the old office lights as he pouts slightly; a total change from the man seconds before, and you would almost begin to wonder if your mind really was playing tricks on you, if not for the subtle twitch of his lips as he takes in your befuddled expression.

“What are you hiding,” you say, your voice becoming stern as you finally decide to take a leap of faith; you’ve had enough of cowering in suspicion, beliefs that only grow stronger as you stand, taking in Soobin’s amused expression as he watches your brave front.

“What do you mean?” he asks, still pretending to be clueless as he takes in your accusatory tone with a raise of his brow.

“You… you’re not normal,” you feel a bit ridiculous the moment you say it out loud, but the way the man before you only begins to smile blatantly spurs you on, “You don’t have to hide from me— I’m not stupid.”

“And what will you do about it?” He asks, and it’s only then that you feel your streak of courage begin to fade; he’s taken slow, deliberate steps toward you, and before you can stop it, he’s got you pressed against the desk— hands on either side of you, arms caging you in as he looms over you dangerously, “Will you tell the others?”

You freeze as he begins to lean towards you— you’ve gone in total panic mode, unsure of what to say or do as you merely stand helpless to him, feeling a primal fear take over you as your poor heart beats harder against your chest— Soobin’s lips are near your ear, the soft huff he lets out in amusement defeating to you.

Slowly, he begins to lean down lower— you don’t know what his intentions are or what he may do, but all you know is that you can’t remain still any longer— his breath fans across the exposed skin of your neck, and your eyes widen as you feel his teeth graze the sensitive flesh, razor sharp and threatening as he threatens to carve a path down the column of your neck; like instinct, your fists come up to push against his chest, using your full strength to push him away in a rush of adrenaline.

Except, it doesn’t work.

Soobin remains still. Entirely. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move an inch, even when you continue to punch at him, even beginning to kick at him when that doesn’t work— still, he remains unfazed, still as stone as you continue to try and get him off you.

Before you can even process it, his hands fly up to catch your own; his grip is bruising, and you can’t control the pained yelp that escapes you from how tightly he’s got you in his grasp. His strength… is inhuman. Helplessly, you meet his eyes.

“How cute.”

He smiles, and there they are again— his sharp fangs, his eyes that seem to glow threateningly at you, and his bruising strength that makes you wonder if he’ll shatter your hands— except, this time, it all seems to piece together, your mouth falling open as you begin to conclude the impossible.

“Your heart might explode at this point,” he mutters indifferently, eyes darting down to your chest that rises and falls with rapid, panicked breaths, “What’s going on in that darling brain of yours? You seem so, so afraid.”

“What…” Your words seem to die on your tongue as you thrash weakly in his grip, attempting one last time to escape before you finally give up, discouraged as you try to continue to seem brave, even if Soobin sees right through it, “What are you…?”

Soobin grins.

“Now you’re asking the right questions.”

♡♡♡

Your requests to transfer departments have been denied. All of them.

Not a day has gone by where you feel safe in the office since then. Of course, there’s no way Soobin would do anything— not in such a public setting at least, where he’s vulnerable to exposing his real identity.

That still didn’t stop you from avoiding him— if anything, your attitude toward him only became more blatant ever since that fateful night— and though you wish you could say it worked out well for you, you know that’s a lie. All it got you was more questions from your coworkers and rumors that stirred up about the two of you— whether it was a secret vendetta or a soured relationship, you think you’ve heard it all.

“What is it about him that you just don’t like?” they would ask, nosy as ever as you simply tried to laugh it off and deny your behavior— if you told them the truth, what would they even say? How would they react?

“Why… are you telling me this?” you had asked him, sitting back against the desk in order to not fall— your legs were weak and you’re sure they would buckle the moment you tried to stand, eyes teary and giving away your fear as you stared up at Soobin.

“Because,” he laughed, the sound soft and breathy as he looked down at you, his tongue running along the top row of his perfect, razor sharp teeth; the sight was enough to make you shiver.

“No one will believe you.”

You haven’t allowed yourself near Soobin’s presence since then. Haven’t looked in his direction, haven’t gone near him, always sure to give him a wide berth whenever he’s in the same room as you, eager to show him that you don’t tolerate his presence and that you refuse to acknowledge him, no matter how… terrifying and threatening he might be.

Throughout the time that has passed since his confession and now, he’s taken every subtle change of yours with great interest— any change of expression, change of behavior, change of feelings, he’s taken note of it all.

Recently, he’s taken note of your heartbeat. The sound is usually very jarring to him the moment he senses you; always rapid and panicked, even more so once you realize he’s nearby— and he’s found himself searching for the sound more often than not, beginning to seek you out even if you may not realize it.

Though Soobin has noticed something different these days— at first, he thought he was imagining it, that it was just his deprived brain coming to conclusions that simply weren’t there, but the more he paid attention to it, the more he noticed it.

Your heartbeat has changed. It was miniscule at first, something so minute and subtle that if Soobin hadn’t spent most of his working hours paying attention to the sound of your heart, he could have missed it. But he didn’t, and the sound only became more and more blatant to him the more time passed.

Your heartbeat wasn’t the only thing that changed. Slowly, you changed as well. He wasn’t stupid; he wasn’t ignorant to the way you began sneaking glances at him, observing him when you thought he was unaware— but when it comes to you, he pays more attention than he lets on— and if were to say that he didn’t notice the way you’ve began to study him with a subtle curiosity, that would be a downright lie.

Soobin finds your act of bravery very cute.

So, when the news is delivered that you would be presenting the monthly report of the company’s revenue to the higher ups, you think you felt your legs give out on you— Soobin could only watch with amusement from his office as you sat at your desk, a troubled expression on your face and your lips stuck in a pout as you chewed on your bottom lip like a habit— a habit Soobin had come to be jealous of, slowly finding himself craving to be the one to sink his teeth into you.

Soobin isn’t one to feed whenever a craving arises; he only does it when absolutely necessary, finding perfect victims before he swoops in and takes his fill— always enough to satisfy himself, but never enough to hurt.

His methods had been enough to have him survive and live a normal life, unlike those who jumped at the chance to fill a simple craving like beasts. So, being around you was both thrilling and dangerous— he found himself unable to control his thoughts the longer he remained around you, wondering what it would be like when he finally got his hands on you, wondering if you’d be willing to submit to him and let him use you as necessary.

For a second, he even ponders keeping you for himself.

♡♡♡

It’s late at night when you’re finally forced to present, the timing odd and unfortunate as you were told by your supervisors that “it was the only time that worked best.” The sentence was enough to have you irritated by the time the hour came along, forced to stay in your office long after everyone else had left before you finally made your way towards the presentation room on the top floor.

It was eerily quiet and empty as you made your way up, save for a janitor here and there or another employee that was finally leaving after their overtime; you had five minutes left before you had to present, and you could feel anxiety building up inside you as you shifted your weight on your uncomfortable heels— you had been wearing the uniform for so long that you couldn’t wait for the second you could go home and change.

Your heels clicked against the tiles of the floor, your hands gripping tightly onto the papers and laptop in your arms as you took in how many people were in the room; it wasn’t as much as you expected, but their power and positions had been enough to scare you straight as you enter slowly, closing the door behind you with a soft click as you greet them politely.

Your smile falters as you spot Soobin at the end of the meeting table, leaning back against his seat with a bored expression.

The meeting room feels a lot smaller than it did before; you feel suffocated and on edge as your eyes meet his, feeling stiff as you slowly make your way to the podium. You’re quick to look away, eyes glued to the floor as you clear your throat nervously; even now, you can feel his eyes burning into your skin.

Soobin can feel his desire burning stronger the longer he looks at you; he’s able to take you in properly, no longer able to hide or run away as you push through the presentation, the polite smile you keep on your face professional despite the rapid beating of your heart. Soobin can feel it all— he’s trying so hard to keep his instincts under control, but you make it so difficult as you remain nervous and skittish before him, eyes meeting his as he becomes unable to hold back the smile that spreads on his face.

You feel oddly cornered; you’re surrounded by people, but it feels like it’s just you and Soobin as you watch him flash you a smile, dangerous and terrifying as you take in the way his sharp teeth manage to stick out, even at a distance— you can’t help but feel as though you need to run away and hide.

It’s always expected to stay back and wait for everyone to leave after you’ve presented; so that’s exactly what you do, head ducked down as you pretend as though the idle screen of your computer is much more interesting than your supervisors that file out and chat amongst themselves. Biting your lip, you try to ignore the way you can practically feel Soobin’s presence as he comes closer— you’re eerily aware of the way it’s just the two of you now, the heavy door clicking shut after the last person that left.

Your attempt to ignore him until the very end is almost cute to Soobin. He can’t help but let out a breathy laugh as he watches the way you flinch, figure becoming tense as you take in the way he comes up behind you, looking over your shoulder to see what could possibly be taking up your attention like this.

“Well done,” Soobin says, his voice smooth as ever as he takes in the way you shiver slightly, “your presentation was quite impressive.”

All you can do is let out a soft thank you, hoping your uninterested tone and closed off posture is enough to shake him off— but of course it’s not, and you’re practically scared to breathe as you hear the man take a step closer to you, your jaw clenching as you feel his head hovering over your shoulder.

“Is something wrong? You look a little… tense.”

You’re shutting your laptop and ready to exit in the blink of an eye— but before you can even take a step towards the exit, you’re being pulled back, pushed against the podium and shrinking against it as you meet Soobin’s gaze.

“Please, leave me alone.”

There it is— the look Soobin has desperately been craving, eyes darkening at the way you stare up at him, meekly masked with a brave front as your eyes give away your true emotions; he inhales slowly, and he can practically drown in the way your scent changes at his proximity, the once sweet and alluring smell now intense and intoxicating, the twinge of something new piquing his interest as he finds himself stuck on it, unsure of what it may be.

“Have I done something wrong? It seems that you didn’t like me from the very start,” Soobin’s act of innocence is far from amusing to you. You’re unsure of what response he could possibly be looking for as he stares at you expectantly, pouty lips and round eyes a contrast to the true identity he revealed to you long ago.

“You know what it is,” you say, finding yourself unable to make space between you and Soobin as you press yourself further against the podium, “You— you’re not… human. You’re dangerous, I don’t want you near me.”

Your words are enough to have Soobin’s brows raising in surprise— the sudden confrontational tone you’ve taken on is quite surprising, and he finds himself oddly satisfied with the way your heart rate slowly begins to change, your scent going from something more panicked and sharp to something that practically makes Soobin dizzy— he has to hold himself back from getting lost in it as he smiles softly at you.

“Dangerous?” he repeats, though he doesn’t seem to be offended by the word as he slowly begins to lean in; of course, you lean away in response, but it only gives you so much space before you’re craning your neck back awkwardly, leaving you in a vulnerable position as Soobin eyes it carefully.

“Have I… done anything… dangerous, to you?”

Soobin’s voice is barely above a whisper; if you weren’t so focused on his every word, you could have missed it.

You gulp; Soobin’s eyes flicker down from yours, and you can feel yourself shiver at the realization that he’s staring at your neck. His words ring out in your head again, and you feel yourself tensing from a threat that seems to be hidden behind it all.

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you...” Your eyes are widening at his confession. There’s an unknown emotion swimming in Soobin’s eyes, and you can feel your hands cramping from how hard you’ve been gripping the edges of the podium behind you.

His eyes flicker back up.

You can feel yourself get transported back to the lonely day at the office, the scene eerily familiar as you take in the way his pupils become dilated, an intense glow of crimson swimming within as you find yourself unable to look away; the sight is almost alluring, and you realize with a heavy dread that Soobin is holding back— from what exactly, you’re unsure.

“You think I don’t notice the way you look at me?” he asks softly; you’re brought back to your senses as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear as he speaks, the deep rumble of his voice sending shivers through your spine, “I’ve noticed it all— especially the way your heart and body reacts to me now. Was it fun, pretending to hate me?”

Everything is so overwhelming. It feels as though your head is underwater as your mouth parts, unsure of what Soobin is going on about— you practically jump at the feeling of his hand landing on your waist, cold and big as his thumb gently caresses the spot.

“Aren’t you curious, bunny?” he asks, and you don’t realize that your eyes have been shut tight until you feel him pull away, confused by the sudden absence of his presence.

He seems to be lost in thought; his chest heaves with a deep breath— once, twice, his eyes fluttering shut in concentration— then he sighs, eyes slowly opening and a smile twitching at his mouth, lips slowly being stretched into a grin. He looks at you, at your cowering figure, your pounding heart, and your scent infused with a certain twinge he realizes he’s very familiar with— just, not familiar smelling it from you.

“You’re enjoying this,” your scent is thick and heavy, settling deep into his head and leaving him intoxicated from the realization that you’re aroused, face heating up and expression dropping with horror at his words; it’s no question, especially with the way your lips press together to withhold a weak whimper, “aren’t you?”

When you push Soobin off this time, he lets you; he stumbles back and watches the way you shake your head frantically, as if that could deny the way the way you have yet to run away, the way your scent only grows tenfold at the way he takes slow, deliberate steps towards you— your face is flushed and your legs tremble pathetically as you step back from him, walking along the long table as he only steps towards you in response.

“I’m— I’m not, you’re—” you can’t even seem to finish your words, mind blanking and eyes becoming glassy as he realizes that you’re embarrassed; he coos softly at the realization, reaching out teasingly to grab you, laughing heartily at the way you yelp and flinch away— as though he were something you should be guilty of being attracted to, as if the way you were feeling was dangerous.

And maybe it was.

“Are you embarrassed?” he coos softly, lips pouting as he looks at you with pity; you’re running out of room, about to go around the table and inevitably make your way back around to the exit— but not if Soobin can help it, eager to not let you out of his clutches this time as he rushes over to you; he’s grabbing your waist and pinning you against the windows of the meeting room in the blink of an eye, taking in the way you squeal in surprise and brace your hands against his chest— your heart is pounding at a harsh pace, a stark contrast to the way you feel nothing at all under your palms that press against the firm muscles of Soobin’s chest.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he sighs, pressing you flush against the windows and watching the way your eyes screw shut, attempting to curl in on yourself as you press your thighs together tightly; the sound of your tights rubbing together is almost deafening to Soobin, and his fingers dig just a bit deeper into the flesh of your hips, as though he were holding himself back.

“It’s normal to feel this way, you know,” he coaxes you softly, whispering soft reassurances as he runs his hands up and down your sides, smoothing the fabric of your clothes and running down your tight mini-skirt; feeling the way your thighs tremble as his fingers skirt along the material that covers it, blunt nails scratching your flesh and pulling the sheer cloth along.

“You’re so tense, bunny,” he mourns, feeling the way your breath hitches as his hands move— one pressing against the small of your back harshly, the other grabbing at the back of your thigh in attempts to press you closer against him, caging you in entirely; your back is arching and your head is involuntarily tilting back as your neck is bared to him; through wet lashes and wide, doe eyes, you finally look up at him.

“Don’t be scared,” he breathes out, his hand trailing up your thigh, cold palm smoothing the material of your tights, ruthless against the cloth of your skirt as he drags it along— hand hitching on your shirt and tugging it up slightly, your chest rising sharply with the breath you take as he brushes up, up the delicate column of your neck until he’s got your chin in his palm— fingers digging into the plush of your cheeks, forcing you to keep your eyes on him as he smiles— it’s sweet, it’s dark, it’s predatory, and it sends a lick of fire down your body.

“I’ll take good care of you.”

When Soobin begins to lean closer, you don’t flinch away; your mind blanks and your lips part expectantly, pulse still quick and afraid under Soobin’s fingers that press against your neck, just under your jawline— and your eyes flutter shut, delicate lashes decorated with tears that wet your skin, a dark facade that only spurs Soobin on more— he’s finally got you under him, and it’s just as thrilling as he imagined.

When he kisses you, it’s gentle. He’s treating you like a fragile thing, testing the waters, waiting for you to respond to the way his plush lips press against yours, sighing in content the moment you do; your hands still shake against him though, unsure of what to do with them, only making Soobin hold back a groan at the way you grab onto the clean, pressed shirt the moment he slips his tongue past your lips, tasting you with such eagerness that you’re left breathless.

You’re shocked stiff when you feel it; his teeth, razor sharp and cautious, grazing along your bottom lip. The whimper you let out does nothing to distract Soobin from sensing the way your scent spikes, dense and rushing to his head as he does the only thing he knows how to do; his teeth sink into your swollen bottom lip, ripping a pained moan from you as your hands panic and press against his chest— but he stays there, feeling his fangs sink into the flesh, feeling the way blood pools around the wound and onto your mouth, on his teeth— he’s just as quick to pull them out, his hand that was once on your jaw traveling to the back of your head in a haste; eager to keep you close, tilting your head up and keeping your mouth parted as you simply allow him to lick and suck at the blood, to kiss you as though he could die any moment now.

It doesn’t hurt after a moment— that much surprises you, the only pain you feel coming from your burning lungs, from the need to be parted and breathe— but Soobin has deemed you his oxygen, his life force, reluctant to part even as you whine and plead quietly under him; after a moment, he finally gives in to your weak cries.

The string of saliva that connects you two is stained red; just like Soobin’s lips, and undoubtedly your own as well. His teeth are stained and your blood continues to fill your mouth, the taste metallic and strong as you try to regain your breath— slowly, your lip begins to feel strange, a tingling sensation running from your wound to your tongue, through the blood you swallow and into your system; your eyes widen, and Soobin merely looks at you with a knowing smile.

“What’s happening to me?” you ask softly, hands trailing up his chest to get purchase on his shoulders, broad and stable as you hold onto them like a lifeline— your body feels warm, your head is fogging, and your wound no longer stings— but the blood still dribbles out of it, far too much for you to keep up with it as you swallow continuously— and the feeling only worsens, until your thighs shake and Soobin’s touch suddenly feels much, much warmer.

“I feel— I feel…” you’re not sure how to describe this feeling; all you know is that you’re pulling Soobin back in for a kiss, fingers threading into his soft hair and tugging desperately to feel his tongue against yours again; to feel the way it runs along your bites soothingly, whimpering softly and being met with a soft groan in response; your taste, something Soobin once thought would be the thing to finally satiate him, is something he simply cannot get enough of.

“Feel weird, bun?” he asks softly, pulling away and cooing at the way you cry at the loss of him, “I know, I know— let me make it feel better, okay?”

Your form is no longer curled up in a desperate attempt to close yourself off; you’re no longer trying to hide the way your panties stick to you and your stomach burns with a strong desire, the window suddenly cold against you as you allow Soobin to press more against you, to place a thigh in between your legs, firm and thick as he goes up, up, and against your cunt— you practically keen at the feeling.

“It’s okay bunny, you’re okay,” Soobin says softly, both his hands finding themselves on your hips as he presses you against him; cute skirt now ruffled just under his hands, showcasing your sheer tights and your lace panties that are completely soaked; soft cunt grinding against his thigh, leaving a mess of slick arousal that only serves to spur the both of you more— your scent invading Soobin’s senses shamelessly, just as shameless as the sounds you let out, hips angling so that your clit can rub against the harsh muscle of his thighs.

He clenches and jolts the muscle against you. You’re left to weakly hold onto him, a hand on his forearm while the other is placed on top of his own hand, gaze going down to watch the way you rut against him stupidly— harsh pants leaving you as you watch your panties become soiled, your tights suddenly a lot thicker as they impede you from really feeling him— but you push the thought aside in favor of looking back up at him, unable to hide the shiver that wracks through you at the realization that he was already watching your face intently.

“Feels good?” he asks, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes, gauging your expression carefully— you nod frantically, attempting to say something, only for it to be cut off by a choked moan— Soobin has pressed your cunt flush against his thigh, forcing you to a slow grind that threatens your folds to spill out your underwear, the dirty sounds of your tights rubbing against the fabric of his pristine, smooth dress pants enough to have your face burning— and Soobin revels in the shame that it brings you, taking in the subtle, acidic changes of your scent with a deep inhale— he’s fascinated, and he refuses to let you go until his curiosity is satiated.

“What do you want, bunny?” The nickname affects you, that much he can tell— he holds you tighter, leans in to whisper in your ear, already feeling the way his close proximity is enough to have your heart rate spike, even if just for a second.

“How do you like it, hmmm? Want me to go harder?” his thigh tightens in a truly cruel way, angling it so that you can truly feel the contours of his every muscle— “faster?” and suddenly, you’re nothing but a pretty doll in his arms, his hands guiding your pace so that you’re riding him as recklessly as you want; the mewl you let out is enough to give him the answer he wants, changing his rhythm until he gets a particularly pathetic sound out of you.

“Like this?” He continues his set pace. And you’re shivering, unable to do nothing more than chant yes, yesyesyes, breathless and practically inaudible as you focus on the hot pleasure that you feel; Soobin is busying himself by whispering sweet nothings into your ear, things that would have you gasping and turning into a flustered mess any other day— but here, in these lonely, dark hours, with no one else around, you allow yourself to indulge; allow yourself to nod along to the way he asks if you’ll be a good little pet for him, if you’ll let him use you until he’s satisfied— and it all goes straight to your cunt, bringing a fresh wave of soaking arousal and making the pleasure in your stomach tighten until it’s unbearable.

You’re so close— and you’re quick to let Soobin know, watching your frantic attempts to take over the pace he’s set for you, whining and whimpering weakly as you search for that one thing that will set you off— and Soobin abandons whispering into your ear to place delicate kisses behind it, plush lips trailing down the column as his fingers dig into your hips, pressing you down against him, just like the way his lips trail lower, pressing kiss after kiss until his mouth opens and—

A cry is all you can muster as you fall apart on him. His teeth that grazed the sensitive spot of your neck have since then retreated, and Soobin is quick to sweep back in to steal your lips, pulling you in for a kiss you don’t have the mind to reciprocate; mind emptied, cunt clenching and soaking his pants as you allow him help you to continue riding out your high, whimpering weakly at the way he breaks the kiss to coo soft praise at you.

Come on bunny, let go sweet thing, that’s it, so perfect for me.

You’re not fully there by the time your orgasm has subsided; your mind is just as tingly and foggy as the rest of your body, your movements lethargic as you grab desperately at Soobin— craving nothing else but him, feeling as though the burning of your body can only be cooled by his touch— your eyes are glassy and fucked out as you stare at him, hips moving without you realizing as you silently beg him for more.

Soobin feels as though he could make you cum like this a few more times; entranced with the way your brows furrow and your mouth drops the moment you fall apart, the way your moans become choked and breathless as you ride out your peak— but he’s also undeniably greedy to be inside you, a desire he knows you share, judging by the way your hand has begun to trail down his chest slowly, eyes drifting down to the outline of his hardened cock against his smooth dress pants.

“Please…” you whisper out weakly, looking back at him with a face so pretty and undeniably pathetic that he refuses to hold back any longer— grabbing your hips and turning you two around quickly, forcing you to stumble back until you’re pressed against the table— and it doesn’t end there, letting out a whimper as Soobin hoists you up, the wood cool under your ass as Soobin continues to hover over you with need; you shrink under the intensity of his gaze, feeling your body buzz with a slight fear— and a slight adrenaline.

“What is it?” he asks, voice apathetic as he places a firm hand on your chest; pushing you down slowly, until you’re laying on the table and Soobin has parted your legs with ease to stand in between them; you’re whimpering out half-hearted and incoherent requests that Soobin doesn’t bother paying attention to, the hand on your chest making quick work to unbutton your shirt; low-lidded eyes taking in the cute bra that was hidden beneath, just as lacy and pretty as your panties as he smiles at the sight— your mind sobers for a second as you attempt to cover yourself in embarrassment, but Soobin refuses to let you as he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them above you. His face is dangerously close to yours as he glares at you.

“Tell me bunny,” he grits out, feeling his clothed bulge press against your warm cunt, tensing at the way your arousal already leaks through the clothing; his hold tightens around your wrists and you squirm, legs locking on his hips as you try to grind your cunt against him— the sight is both endearing and pathetic to him. “I won’t know what you need unless you tell me.”

“Need you, please please, wanna feel you,” you ramble, wrists fighting to get out his grasp as you hips buck under him; your mind has become foggy once more, nothing else but a deep desire in your head that you know only he can satiate— you’re desperate for his touch and he knows it, so to have him deny you like this is nothing short of cruel.

He’s not satisfied by your begging. His face remains stoic as he lets go of your wrists, eyes narrowing at the way you grab onto his sleeves, eyes glassy and fucked over as you cry for him not to leave you like this— your body feels weird, and you just don’t know how to make it go away— you’re trying desperately to tell him what he wants, but nothing seems to work as you run your mouth until you’ve finally pressed the right button.

“Soobin, I— please, feel so weird, just wanna feel you, please help me, please?” your body is restless and you feel as though your heart only beats for the man above you, hot tears spilling from your eyes and running down your face; Soobin is quick to brush them away with gentle hands, shushing you quietly as he pulls at his tie; it was practically suffocating him anyways, and he feels as though he can finally breathe as he finally takes it off— and begins to tie it around your wrists with deft hands, enough for it to restrain you but not enough to hurt— and he’s left with a bit of extra length that allows him to pull your wrists down and flush against your stomach, watching the way your fingers absentmindedly stretch toward him, furthering your attempts to touch him as your rambles continue seamlessly.

“Soobin…” you cry softly, your chest heaving softly, supple skin peeking from your undone shirt, “feels so hot, wan’ your help… need your cock…”

There’s a thin layer of sweat that covers your body; a light sheen that sparkles along your chest and abdomen, hidden by the white, neat shirt that Soobin simply pulls further apart with a rough hand, untucking it haphazardly from your mini-skirt— and you shudder, unable to do nothing more but lay there as you wait for Soobin to do something— a soft cry of his name has him shuddering, dark eyes flickering back to your face as you repeat the pitiful sound.

His name has never sounded sweeter. He’s leaving wet, sloppy kisses along your breasts, free hand shoving the rest of your skirt up and onto your waist roughly— your body jolts from the crude movements, thighs shaking at the way his cool fingers skirt around the inside, drifting closer to where you need him the most, a shuddered sigh escaping you once his cool palm is pressed onto your cunt.

The fire in your body burns brighter. His touch is addicting and the lust that courses through your blood is only amplified by the feeling of him teasingly biting your breasts— never enough to break the skin, but enough to remind you of who he is, of what he’s capable of.

His strength is something you will never be used to— he’s able to rip your tights with a single hand, not flinching at all before he’s moving onto your panties next; the sound of the fabric tearing is eliciting a soft gasp from you, only for it to be replaced with a broken whine as his fingers glide up and down your slit— feeling just how much of a mess you’ve made, soaking his fingers and dripping onto the table as you buck your hips at him desperately— his fingers are wet as they circle your clit slowly, needy whines escaping you at the small stimulation, quietly begging for more— but he simply teases you, dark eyes staring up at your face and drinking every change of your face eagerly.

His fingers slip in so smoothly it makes him let out a soft moan; you’re so wet and tight, needy walls pulsing and sucking him in desperately, your cries still broken as you try to grind your hips against his two fingers, long and calculated as he presses along your walls, curling curiously and searching for the spot that will have you weak beneath him— and he finds it in no time, a long moan escaping you the moment the pads of his fingers press against it, curling and uncurling, watching the way your legs shake and jump at the sensation with a wicked grin; he’s pumping his fingers into you, adding another finger in, stretching you out until you feel as though you can’t handle anymore— and he tugs at your restraints teasingly, looking down at the way your nails dig into your palm and your arms become stiff from the pleasure— it only takes the feeling of his palm pressing against your clit for your breaths to pick up and become frantic.

“Soobin— Soobin please, ah— so– so close, gonna cum, ngh—” you’re thrashing under him, the pleasure so intense that you’re fighting against his restraints, head turning to the side as though you could hide your face from him, “please, need it, need t’cum, fuck…!”

You’re breathless and on the verge of tears, and Soobin takes it all in eagerly; he watches the way your face twists with pleasure, the way your arousal has soaked his hand and leaves your tight-covered thighs slick, and he feels the way your walls begin to tighten around him, so close, so impossibly close— he just needs to grind his palm against your clit a little harder, harshen his thrust so that your sweet spot is abused and you’re left a wailing mess, maybe bite at your skin teasingly, a promise for what’s to come—

But he doesn’t. He does the exact opposite of that, watching as your eyes widen and a broken look of realization dawns on your lips, eyes cloudy and filled with tears that refuse to spill; your voice is defeated and breaks with every frantic plea, your hips bucking desperately to try and get that fleeting pleasure Soobin is now denying you.

“No, nononono,” you babble, hiccuping softly as you screw your eyes shut, tears finally escaping you at the action, “noooo, please don’t stop— close, was so close to….”

Your words are interrupted by a soft sob that escapes you, your mind and body so desperate for pleasure that you feel as though your whole life-force is being taken away; your soft pleas blend together as you stare up at Soobin with pathetic eyes, hands that were once closed shut now stretching out to try and reach for him— but he refuses, staring down at your broken form with a blank face.

Soobin is quick to shut up your slurred pleas; his fingers are slipping out your cunt, dripping and shining with your slick arousal as he brings them up to your face— slapping softly at your cheek, watching the way your cum smothers over the soft skin and your mouth opens without much of a thought— your lips are tempting and pretty as they wrap around his fingers, a shiver running through his body at the feeling of your warm tongue running along the soiled skin, tasting yourself and letting out a soft moan; hazy eyes staring up at him, ruined cunt still bucking up at him subtly, as though tempting him to finish what he started.

And that’s exactly what he’ll do— his fingers are slow to slip out of your mouth, watching the dumbed out expression on your face as he does so— and his hand is trailing back down your body, brushing over the exposed skin with your spit-soaked fingers, not stopping until he’s back down at your pretty cunt.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, bunny,” he says softly, his thumb going to rub gentle circles on your clit, his index and middle finger running up and down your folds— his other hand has abandoned your restraints, and you attempt to sit up slightly as you watch him undo his pants— unbuckling his belt and letting it and hang loose, undoing his jeans with haste and letting them lay low on his hips, his hand disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers— and you can only let out a whimper at the sight of him finally pulling his cock out, long and thick with a flushed tip, leaking so much precum that you wish nothing more than to clean him up nicely with your tongue.

The pressure on your clit is becoming harsher; he’s building you up again, watching with apathetic eyes as your sounds begin to pick up again, still tense from your previous, ruined orgasm. You shake your head at the feeling, whining that it’s unfair, don’t wanna cum like this— need you inside, need your cock, pleaasee— god—

But he doesn’t stop— he’s stroking his cock at the same pace he’s set for you, the slick sounds of him fucking his fist going straight to your head, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming sight before you, nimble fingers swiping over his tip to collect his leaking arousal— and you’re close again, you don’t think you’ll be able to stop it this time, even if he pulls away, even if he tells you not to—

Soobin lets you cum this time. He watches the way your eyes widen and your mouth falls open with shock, his face twisting into concentration as he lets you cum on the head of his cock, pressing it in and breaching your walls just before you hit your peak— and you feel stretched, you feel full, helpless cries escaping you as he begins to thrust the rest of his length into your clenching walls, hands unsure of what to hang onto before you’re able to grab a bit of his shirt— and you’re pulling much harder than expected, eyes widening as you watch a few of his buttons pop off, not able to focus too much on it due to the feeling of his thick, pulsing cock entering you with every clench of your walls.

Your chest heaves in attempts to calm yourself down— his shirt is twisted in your fingers, but it’s not enough to ground you as you feel the way his length curves into you, pressing against the abused and sensitive spot that has you keening and clenching around him, shaky legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer— and he’s hovering over you, supporting himself with a forearm by your head as the other holds onto your waist.

He begins to move— it’s slow and subtle, starting at nothing but a grind of his hips as he feels the way your hot walls adjust around him, squeezing and fluttering and expanding, all as you try to take in his impressive size— then he pulls out slowly, feeling the way your cunt attempts to protest the action, your eyes rolling back at the way you feel every detail of him, pulling all the way out until the only thing left is his tip that catches on your entrance, the rest of his length covered in your shared arousal.

Soobin remains there for a second; deep breaths fanning against your skin as he closes his eyes in concentration, willing himself to not cum at the feeling of you, the sight of you underneath him, the sounds that are panted and whined directly against the shell of his ear.

Without warning, his hips snap back against yours— the action is sudden and has your body sliding up the table slightly, only to be brought back down by Soobin, who wraps the length of his tie around his hand and pulls you back against him— burying himself deeper into you, feeling the way his cock practically splits you open— but you like it, your scent practically emptying his mind and your walls gripping him like a vice— it’s hard to move, but Soobin accepts this challenge eagerly as he begins to fuck you.

Slow, it’s so agonizingly slow. But it’s deep, and Soobin angles his hips so perfectly, grunting against your ear and letting out sighs with every pull of your restraints, the tie tightening around your wrists and sending you back down on his cock ruthlessly; you’re nothing but a doll for him to use and control, your sharp heels digging into his back as you try to hold onto him helplessly, treated like nothing but a ragdoll as Soobin slowly begins to pick up his pace.

Then his hips are slamming against yours. The sounds of skin against skin is echoing harshly into the meeting room, and his cockhead is mean and thick and heavy as it presses against your sweet spot, again and again until you’re hiccuping moans, unable to breathe, unable to fight against the overwhelming pleasure— and it’s just how you like it.

Your mind is racing, your mouth unable to spit out a coherent thought— but your body speaks for you, and Soobin watches as you begin to grow restless under him, the way your legs tense and your hands pull at his shirt, eyes rolling to the back of your head and fluttering shut as he retaliates by fucking you a little harder; your wrists ache and so does the rest of your body, but you don’t seem to care as you walk this tightrope of pain and pleasure, something Soobin is well versed in— he laughs softly at your fucked out expression, releasing a sharp breath before his lips are hovering right by your ear, sentences punctuated and broken up by the exertion of his body and the moans that your cunt rips out of him.

“That’s a good bunny— cunt so fucking tight– shit, just wanna make you mine, keep you to myself, claim you like you deserve—” he listens to the way you react to his words, feels it, your cries and nods not slipping past him as he lets out a breathy laugh, “you’d like that? Yeah? Fill— fill you up nice and full— fuckin’– take care of you like a good little pet— hah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You’re nodding, fuck, there’s drool building up in the corners of your mouth, tongue lolling and absentmindedly brushing past the bite marks on your lips, the dull sting only bringing about more shocks throughout your body, desperate to be satiated, a fire begging to be put out— and the idea of being nothing else but Soobin’s, his to use and claim, is absolute heaven in your mind.

The knot in your stomach is becoming impossibly tight; you’re on the verge of hitting your peak again, Soobin can tell, yet there’s something else your body seems to be begging for— and he knows exactly what it is, grinning wildly and practically stealing the thoughts from your head as he pulls the tie in his hands roughly; his inhuman strength sending you back down on his cock with ease, lips brushing against your ear and hot pants making you shiver as he speaks to you in that dangerous, low voice of his.

“Say it,” he growls, his pace not faltering even if your cunt is willing to hold him so tightly he’s unable to pull out at all, your head thrown back and your eyes screwing shut from the pleasure.

“Tell me you want it. Tell me you’ll take it– fuck– take it like a good pet— say it. Say it, use your words, bunny.”

Your words are coming back to you with a particularly unforgiving thrust of his— eyes widening as they search for Soobin’s frantically, only to be met with his head of blond hair and his face that’s tucked in the security of your bared neck— and you let go of any shame that was left inside you, a carnal and primal feeling overtaking you as you beg, and beg, and beg.

“Please– please please, I want it, I need it— Wanna be yours, wanna be claimed— fill me, use me I– need— need it, hnng– want it, want you to fill me, cum inside please— been so good, right? I’ll take it, I— ah! I— wan’ you to claim me, make me yours—!”

Soobin has never heard anything more perfect. He’s calculated as he thrusts right into your sweet spot, once, twice, three times— and he sinks his teeth into your pretty little neck, listening to the wanton squeal you let out, cunt immediately soaking and choking his cock— but he holds you down nicely, pressing his weight onto you and placing both hands at your hips, making sure you can’t squirm away from him or his cock that lets you ride out your orgasm, rutting his cock into you even after you’ve begun to shake from the sensitivity.

Your blood is heavenly. There’s no single word that could describe its taste, the way it makes his body shiver and his eyes roll back, finally setting him off the moment he swallows. And he cums inside you, fills you up good, the warm liquid squirting endlessly inside you, prolonging the feeling with the subtle rocks of his hips. It goes on longer than the two of you expected, filling you up with cum until it has no room to go, dripping out of your abused hole and leaving a ring around the base of Soobin’s length.

He listens to the way you cry and sniffle above him, lost in the pleasure— it doesn’t hurt. No, far from it. It makes you see stars and makes another weak wave crash over you, and you think your consciousness is slowly slipping out of you from the intensity of the pleasure you’ve received; Soobin’s lips are stuck on your neck for a few more seconds, warm tongue brushing over the sore punctures before he’s pulled away, your neck sensitive and bruised from the bite.

And it heals nicely the moment he’s pulled away. But there’s something different this time, something that shows up on your skin that he’s never seen before; two faded dots remain on your skin, and though it’ll remain inconspicuous to everyone else, Soobin immediately recognizes it with a soft shudder— he feels his cock twitch inside you.

It looks like his body has agreed with his mind; you’re the perfect fit for him, his to use and take care of until he can’t anymore— he rubs soft circles on your hips, straightening up and looking at the mess before him with fond, lustful eyes— a sheen of sweat covering your whole figure, your closed eyes and parted mouth, your shirt that’s been left open and mirrors his own torn one, your bound wrists and skirt that’s haphazardly bunched at your hips.

And his eyes wander lower, to take in the way your thighs continue to tremble and his cum leaks out, staining your tights and the table of the meeting room— you’re waking once more with a soft groan, looking up at Soobin through bleary, red-rimmed eyes.

He leans over, hovering above your face; pulling you in for a sweet kiss, smiling at the way you can’t even reciprocate it properly— and he nips at your bottom lip teasingly, feeling the way you immediately shiver in response.

“So good for me, bunny,” he smiles, continuing to trail kisses all along your face, on your jaw, traveling to your neck— and his eyes scan your faded bites with satisfaction, kissing it softly and feeling the way your body warms immediately.

“You’re all mine now, you know that?” your cunt clenches involuntarily at his words— and he’s slowly beginning to rut his cock into you again, already feeling a cruel thirst fester within.

“All mine.”

You can take another round, he’s sure of that— after all, you’re his good little pet.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin smut #soobin ff #soobin imagines #soobin oneshot #soobin x reader #soobin fanfic #soobin fanfiction

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hannie-dul-set · 7 days

Text

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [3].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, talks about stalking, talks about death, data privacy violations, so much emotional whiplash yummy, a very long conversation, google dependent historical information. WORD COUNT. 6.3k.

NOTE. this chapter finally made its way out hell 😭😭😭 per usual, please let me know your thoughts on the chapter! a single comment on ao3 inspired me to finish this, so ur feedback really means a lot! enjoy<3

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

CHAPTER 3 — can we go back to being parasocial?

IF SOMEONE HEARS YOUR SUMMARY OF THE EVENTS THAT UNFOLDED WITHIN THE PAST FEW DAYS, they may accuse you of lying. Delusional, even. You’d think the same had you not been the center of it all— yet the proof is in your pockets. Your phone. In the album Choi Yeonjun failed to sign, stuffed inside your bag at the last minute before you left your apartment earlier.

The summary. Right. Yes.

“Can they stop sharing that video of Yeonjun excessively flirting with a fan?! I’m going to kill myself if I see it one more time.”

You were lucky enough to nab a fansign slot. But instead of getting Choi Yeonjun’s signature, you ended up getting a kiss of a hand instead, along with a scrawl of numbers on your album that you’re far too terrified to try to dial.

“Hey, send me our photo with Soobin the other day,” nudges Huening from beside you. “I’m gonna print it out and put it in a locket and use it as a family heirloom.”

You bumped into one of your favorite actors, Choi Soobin, in the middle of a late night convenience store run with your friends to fuel your group all nighter, stained his shirt with your ice cream, and got a photo with him in the process.

“By the way, have you called the business card yet? What are you gonna do with your broken phone screen?”

And Choi Beomgyu may or may not have professed his undying love for you, asked for your hand in marriage, and started crying in front of you in less than ten fucking minutes.

“She’s zoned out.”

The problem is, you can’t even bask in the delightful absurdity of it all because one common thread from all those three separate instances has been keeping you up for nights. It’s clawing at your brain, lingering in the back of your mind like an incessant stalker— which, mind you, is not a pleasant feeling when the very causes of such disturbance were once the bringers of joy and all things good in your otherwise meaningless life as a cog in the capitalist machinery that is society.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

Said problem being the fact that you’re pretty sure they all called you by your name at one point.

How the fuck do they know your name?

“I deleted Twitter. I Airdropped it to you. No, I have not called it yet. Now please let me think in peace.”

Crazy. This is all too crazy. In the first place, what are the odds that you bump into three celebrities within one week’s time? Is this some sort of prank, or something? Are those three filming a hidden camera show together? No, no. That couldn’t be because there’s no fucking way a company is sane enough to stage a risky hidden camera prank during a fansign knowing full well how obsessive and insane fans can get. You’re lucky your face wasn’t caught in any of the videos circulating online— video of you and Choi Yeonjun, mostly him, acting out a fucking sageuk. You’re lucky you haven’t been doxxed yet.

“Finish your sandwich,” Taehyun clicks his tongue, nudging your food closer to you, and you sigh heavily. Maybe you’re just wrong, you think, taking a bite from the bread. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe you’re just overthinking.

You eat your lunch and steal some wet wipes from Gaeul in between. Right. It’s not like you’re ever gonna bump into them again. You live in, as cliche as it sounds, two different worlds after all. You’re just gonna watch their dramas, listen to their music, enjoy their performances, and that’s it that’s it that’s it.

“Prof Jang sent a message. Class is canceled.”

But still—

“Woohoo! Let’s go to the new dessert shop that opened downtown.”

Choi Beomgyu’s voice saying I love you, Choi Soobin’s cologne wafting in the air you were breathing in, and Choi Yeonjun’s lips pressed against your skin.

How can a sane person just forget about all of that?!

“Why do you look like you’re fantasizing about perverted shit?” Woohyun slaps you in the face with a reality check. This is fucking stupid.

“I’m not fantasizing,” you grunt, because they were events that actually fucking happened— they weren’t birthed from your brain’s insanity. “Anyway, dessert? Where is it?” You ignore your burning face, hoping that your friends decide to ignore it too, but Gaeul has her eyes narrowed at you. Crap. She didn’t recognize that it’s you in the videos right? Holy fucking hell, you’d rather die.

“Aren’t you gonna answer that?”

Oh. Well. That’s— that’s something. A good something because she hasn’t suspected you yet, moitioning instead to your cracked phone that has been buzzing under your notice because you’ve been thinking way too fucking much.

You check the caller ID, but it’s an unknown number, and it doesn’t match the business card you got from your run in with the alleged Choi Beomgyu. “Hello?” you answer, and a voice you don’t recognize says your name and asks if it’s you. “Yes, this is her. Who’s this?”

Another item added to the weird as fuck things that happened to your this week. You excuse yourself from your friends, and with knitted brows, you listen to the stranger at the other end of the line. “You met Choi Soobin the other day at a 7-Eleven in Gangnam, right?” The fuck? Did someone see you that day? Is this a stalker? “This is his manager. Lee Byeongho. I would like to speak with you regarding a certain matter.”

Now, hold the fucking phone.

“Is everything alright?”

You respond to Huening’s concern with a stiff smile before turning away from them. “Did I do something wrong?” you fuss into the call. “I didn’t post any of the photos from that day. I never talked about it online either, and I’m pretty sure my friends haven’t either. Wait. Wait a minute. How did you get my number?”

“Yes, it was difficult to obtain knowing only your first name and university.” That doesn’t answer your question. That just gave you more questions. “But, no. You aren’t in trouble. Actually...I called because you’re the only one who can help us— help Soobin— get out of trouble.”

Your face scrunches up.

“I’m at your campus right now. Parking lot. Do you mind meeting me for a moment?”

Just what did you get yourself into?

“You haven’t finished your food. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere,” you reply, quickly snatching your half-eaten sandwich from the table as your friends follow your swift movements with matching looks of confusion. “I’ll be right back. It’s nothing, don’t worry.” However, you are quite worried. You’re pretty sure Lee Manager, or whatever, is committing some data privacy crimes against you, but the one thing you want at the moment is answers. Your brain is about to explode from all the fucking questions and confusion. There’s a sliver of hope that meeting up with this sketchy guy can answer a few of them. You’d take that chance to air out your head.

There’s a black van in the parking lot. It’s the first thing you noticed because one of its doors are open, and there’s a familiar looking guy waiting just in front of the exposed seats.

He notices you approaching. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says. What’s with men you’re meeting for the first time treating you with familiarity? You’re going to rip your hair out and throw yourself into moving traffic.

“Sure, but can you get to the point?” you stiffly say. “I’m a little busy. I still have classes in a bit.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. This whole situation must’ve come off as a shock to you.” Great, now you’re feeling bad. Soobin’s manager (allegedly) looks like he’s been through a whole lot as well. “Anyway. You are a fan of Choi Soobin, correct?”

“Well,” you blink. “Yes.”

“How about the dramas Kang Jaehee has written and directed?” he follows up. “Are you a fan of those as well?”

Your brows furrow. “I guess?” Peach Tree. That Summer. Mogi. Those are the titles that come right at the top of your head. “What does that have to do anything with me?” Manager Lee spares you a look of pity. You feel like this meet-up is just set out to making you even more fucking confused.

“I sincerely apologize. I didn’t want to drag you into this either, but I’m afraid you’re the only option I have,” says Manager Lee despondently. “Since...since you are a fan of Soobin, and I assume that means you also care about his career, so—”

He pauses. Like he’s practicing the next set of words he’s about to say inside his head.

“—do you mind meeting up with him to convince him to take the lead role for Kang Jaehee’s upcoming drama?”

But nothing could’ve prepared you for that.

What.

What the fuck?

“Mr Manager. Sir,” you start, appalled beyond comprehension. “I’d appreciate it if you start making a bit more sense.”

“Trust me, I can’t believe I’m doing this either.”

You’re speechless. Your mouth is hanging open with no words coming out because, again, what the fuck? Manager Lee looks just as defeated as you, as if he weren’t the one who had just presented that ridiculous proposal. You are, quite frankly, at a discernible loss.

Manager Lee lets out a sigh and digs a hand into his pocket. “I’m afraid this is all the time I have today. But please contact me once you’ve made a decision.” Another business card acquired. This is just dandy. “I am really hoping for your cooperation, miss. I’m sure you’re aware of Soobin’s inactivity lately, and my intention of approaching you today is simply in order to help my star’s career. Please consider the favor positively, and we will compensate you as much as my authority can allow.”

With that, you’re left with another laminated piece of paper in your hands. Gosh. This is a headache. When you get back to your friends, they notice the distress you’re in, further justifying a visit to the new dessert store, and seeing how your soul has completely left your body, you’re dragged along with them with ease.

“Hey, pick one. My treat,” says Woohyun. You let out a grunt and point at a random pastry on display. Next thing you know, you’re seated in between Huening and Gaeul at the store you don’t even know the name of.

Huening is force feeding you an eclair. “Eat.” Your scowl disappears when you allow the eclair entry into your mouth. “Seriously, what’s going on with you? Who did you meet earlier?”

Seeing as you show absolutely no intentions of telling them, they refuse to question you about it further. Good on them, because there’s no way in hell you’re spilling your predicament. Not until you find out exactly what kind of situation you’re in, at the very least. The two business cards feel like they’re weighing your pockets down, a constant reminder of their existence along with the scrawl Yeonjun left behind.

“I know exactly how to make you feel better.”

The declaration comes from Gaeul, who slides her phone over to you, and when you look down to see what exactly her miracle medicine is to make you feel less manic, you hack out a cough upon seeing Choi Yeonjun’s face on her phone screen. “The hell is wrong with you?” asks Taehyun from across, giving you some water to push down the eclair lodged in your throat. “I know you like him, but even that is an overreaction.”

Jesus, you’re close to losing it. When you’ve avoided choking to death, Gaeul puts an airpod into your ear, and you hear Yeonjun reading out some comments. “Choi Yeonjun, you look really happy lately, did something good happen? someone asked,” he says while having snacks of his own. “First of all, why are you calling me Choi Yeonjun? It’s like you’re putting a wall between us. I don’t like it.”

Gaeul makes a noise of some sort and had you not been subjected to this week’s insanities, you might have reacted the same way too. Instead, you simply listen to his live in caution, feigning disinterest as you watch him nibble on some pretzels and churros through the screen, continuing to answer the slew of questions in the comments.

“Anyway, you’re right! Something good did happen.” Yeonjun hums while picking out a pretzel from the paper bag, rustling noise and a lively tune filling the audio for a moment— a short moment, right before he continues speaking. “That’s because I finally met the love of my life.”

Taehyun has to give you his water again.

“Oh? Oho, what’s with the exclamation points?” he laughs. “Did I meet them the other day? Hmm...that’s a secret. You’re curious? You think it might be you? Well, let’s see. Should I describe her?”

“God, he’s so fucking messy,” says Gaeul from beside you. “This is why I like him. How many calls is he getting for his manager and company this time?”

“What’s going on? Why is she so startled?”

“Yeonjun’s talking about his apparent soulmate, I don’t know. Wanna listen?”

“Didn’t he get in trouble for doing the same thing last time too?”

Now, you’re not one to give a shit about his love life, and you like to stay out of that side of celebrity gossip as much as you can, but Choi Yeonjun himself is droning on about the love of his life right now. You can’t not hear about it even if you want to. However, as much as you want to let things come into one ear and out through the other, you can’t. Because— wait. Wait. His description is eerily familiar. His description is making you double take and second guess what you’re fucking hearing.

“Sounds a lot like you,” Taehyun remarks without much thought, right after Choi Yeonjun says that the girl he likes has a bit of an attitude, but he likes that about her.

Huening lets out a snort. “Yeah, that’s definitely you. Why don’t you go in a wedding dress the next time you attend a fansign? Who knows, you might have a shot.”

You snap them a dirty look. Fuck. This is making your head spin. For the second time, Choi Yeonjun’s tendency of putting himself into headlines and the trending searches for doing something insane is giving you nothing but stress.

“I did give her my number, but she hasn’t messaged me yet, so I’m quite hurt.”

Number. Hold on a fucking second.

“The comments are going crazy.”

You grab your bag from underneath you, dropping it down to your lap.

“Hey, if you’re watching this, pl—eeeeease contact me. Kim Noona thinks I have a phone addiction now because I’ve been dying waiting for your call.”

You quickly get up from your seat.

“Yo, where are you going this time?”

“I need a minute,” you announce, eyes scanning the store for a quiet place alone while hugging your bag to your chest. There’s nowhere. Looks like you have to get out.

“Damn, we were just joking. As if you have a chance with a celebrity like him.”

Huening’s joke is ignored and you quickly leave outside the doors, making a sharp turn around the corner, slipping through the passersby downtown until you find an empty alley. Your heart is racing. Your heart is racing like crazy and you may be reaching right now. You may be acting crazy, but what Choi Beomgyu said during the interview with Yeong-Il the other day is echoing in your mind, and— in conjunction with everything else that had happened— you’re starting to think that maybe he wasn’t joking.

Your cracked phone screen greets you when you take it out of your pocket. On your other hand is the first business card you got this week.

“Who’s this?”

“Hello. Good day.” You tell them your name, the events that led up to you receiving this number, with the hope that maybe you’re finally on to something. “I’d like to talk about the compensation for my broken phone.”

Whatever that something is, you’re gonna get to the bottom of it.

It’s already beyond closing time at Kwiyeomdongmoim Cafe (a mouthful, you know), yet your pink apron is still neatly tied around your waist as you pace back and forth, to and fro, in circles inside the breakroom. The time is half-past nine in the evening. You should’ve clocked out thirty minutes ago, but you’re still waiting.

The knock on the door signified the end of your wait. You turn to see your boss’s head popping in through the half-open crack.

“Three guys are waiting for you,” informs Seokmin. “They all seem handsome. Are they your suitors?”

When you ditched your friends at the still unnamed dessert store the other day, you did it to make a few calls. Three, to be exact. Today is the culmination of those calls, which is why you’ve been erratically nervous the entire freaking day. Choi Soobin, Choi Beomyu, and Choi Yeonjun’s managers all answered respectively when you called all the sketchy numbers you got and made some negotiations (apparently, the mess on your album is Yeonjun’s number, but he got his phone confiscated after that livestream).

“As if,” you say, walking up to the door leading back into the cafe. Suitors, more like stalkers. Fans stalking their idols is common, but the other way around is a pretty fresh idea. “Anyway, thanks, Kyeom. Thank you for letting me use the store for a while.” Because this is the only private place you can think of outside of your own home— and there’s no way in hell you’re letting them in there when you don’t even know how they managed to get hold of your personal information.

“We’re closed anyway.” Seokmin smiles and makes way for you to pass by. “Go ahead and do your thing. Do you want me to stay inside or keep watch?”

“You can stay inside, it’s alright.”

He nods. “Call me when you’re done. Scream if you need backup. I can handle all of them.”

You laugh and thank him once more, a pat on his arm before you decide to peek out the door first as a precautionary measure. From your spot, you can see three thoroughly covered men in windbreakers, caps, and masks sitting on three separate tables in the store. The blinds have already been rolled down, so you can’t see anything outside, but there doesn’t appear to be any cameras around, so you take it as a safe sign to finally leave your hiding spot.

The moment you do, the break room door creaks, and all three pairs of eyes immediately fall on you.

They stand up. They call out your name in unison.

Holy shit.

And when they do, they all look at each other with a sudden flash of hostility in the air.

Um. Well. How are you supposed to do this? “H—hello,” you manage to squeak out, prompting their attention once more. Soobin takes off his cap and removes his mask, the other two following suit, and oh my god. Oh my god. You suck in a deep breath. Today, you are not a fan. You are an interrogator. This is not a fansign. This is an interrogation.

“I— uh, I asked your managers if I can meet you all to—today for a specific reason.” Wow. Good job. Your hands are shaking and you can’t look up from the floor or else you’d start losing your mind. “But—but, before that— would...would you like some drinks…?”

Interrogation paused. You need to get your shit together first.

“Please enjoy.”

With the help of your boss (because your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and you dropped the first one you made), you managed to whip up four iced teas and settle all three of them into one table at the very back of the store. You send a stiff smile at Seokmin after he placed all the drinks on the table.

God, you owe him so much— especially when he’s being unreasonably glared at by the three men sitting with you right now. Choi Beomgyu to your left, Choi Soobin to your right, Choi Yeonjun directly across from you and holy fuck, you have yet to look at them properly yet for your own safety. They haven’t been talking to each other either, simply sitting and waiting for you to speak. You’re pretty sure they know each other though, at least by name, being in the same industry and all.

To say that the tension in the air is suffocation would be an understatement. How...how do you start this? The fuck should you say first?

“You know, I was really happy when Kim Noona told me you called.”

Apparently you don’t have to start it. Choi Yeonjun does it for you.

“But why are these two crashing our date?”

And that’s when things also start to get messy.

“Date?” Choi Soobin interjects. He sounds offended. Why does he sound offended. “What are you talking about?”

Choi Yeonjun doesn’t get a chance to make his case. Because Choi Beomgyu from your left suddenly snatches one of your hands from the table, prompting you to look at one of them for the first time tonight, and your eyes fly wide open. “I’d...like to apologize for the other day. I was just overtaken by my emotions. I hope you weren’t too freaked out.”

You are quite freaked out because holy shit, this is too much maybe. Not maybe. Yes. This is too much. Too. Much.“Hey, why are you holding her hand?!” you hear Choi Soobin exclaim from your other side. Choi Beomgyu’s soft expression suddenly disappears into a glare and a sneer the moment he shifts his gaze.

“You’re holding her hand too!”

“Why can’t I?!”

“Hey, this isn’t fair! One of you switch with me—”

Dizzy. You’re feeling dizzy. Your head is spinning and you’re suffocating from the heat emanating from your very face. Whatever they’re arguing about isn’t even reaching your ears anymore. You’re getting lightheaded and your sweaty hands start slipping out from the two’s weirdly tender hold on your hands because your body is physically breaking down.

“Shut up! Oh my god, my head—”

Your vision actually starts spinning for a second so you quickly bring the bottom of your palms to your temples, elbows on the table to balance yourself, only to be wobbled and shaken because the three suddenly jolted off their seats in panic.

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, just please—for the love of god— sit down and shut up.”

They sit down and shut up. You massage your temples in silence. You remove your hands from your face and, after sucking in a deep breath and releasing it thereafter, feel your heartbeat settling into a normal rate. As normal as it can get in this situation.

“Whew. Okay. I think I’m ready. Let’s get down to business.” Finally, you’re the one steering the conversation. You give each of them a once over as quickly as possible because now you know that prolonged eye contact will only hurt you. You settle with looking at the gaps between each of them. That’s fine. You’re fine. “Choi Soobin, Choi Yeonjun, Choi Beomgyu.”

It’s like three bulbs just lit up in succession. Your brain is starting to hurt.

“A—as I was saying, you three are some of South Korea’s biggest celebrities and although I am, in fact, a big fan of all three of you—” Why is Choi Soobin growing pink. Why the fuck is he blushing. “—that— that does not make me fail to recognize the amount of weird shit that’s been happening lately, and I think I need answers.”

They are still sitting down and shutting up. They listen to instructions well, at the very least.

“First, how the fuck did all three of you know my name without any prior introduction. Second—”

The words get clamped in your throat. It’s lodged in there very tightly because you make the mistake of looking one of them in the eye, only to notice that all three of them are looking at you with the same expression. An expression you can only describe as longing.

And your face starts burning.

“Se— second, why…why do you all keep looking at me like I’m an ex you want to get back together with…?”

Maybe you asked the wrong question.

Because for some reason they all look sad now. Really sad. Really fucking sad and it’s making your stomach clench and nerves all numb and funky because making three big celebrities all sad simultaneously is a bragging right at one end of the spectrum, and a national crime at the other.

It’s Choi Soobin who cracks the silence. “I…I had a feeling when I saw you again for the first time at the store.” Again? “Do you not remember me?”

Your face furrows. “No…? Did we ever meet before you became an actor?”

Hurt. The look of sadness has now spiraled into hurt and one might think you just stabbed and twisted a knife into his fucking gut. “How—how about me?” Your attention turns to Choi Yeonjun who isn’t looking any better. It’s like his entire world view was just proven to be wrong and why does it feel like you’re the one to blame.

What else can you do but shake your head in denial? Now he looks like he’d just been told he’s adopted!

“You’re…you’re joking,” he tries to laugh it off, but it only comes off as strained and shaky, then, in one fell swoop— desperate. “R—right…?”

“Great!”

Before you start feeling even shittier, Choi Beomgyu finally decides to join in.

“And here I thought her forgetting about me was the worst case scenario.” His tone is bitter. There’s a snap in his words. “I didn’t think there’d be other bastards in the same situation as me. God fucking damn it.”

There’s a moment of silence. You watch as realization hits the other while you’re still left in the dark. Choi Yeonjun juts his seat closer. Choi Soobin tries to reach a hesitant arm to your direction, but you’re tugged to the other side by Choi Beomgyu, who’s suddenly a little too, too close.

“Hey.”

Your hands are clamped together.

“I meant it when I said I love you. I do. I have loved you four hundred years ago and I still love you now, and if whatever god or deity decides to make you meet you for the third time, I’ll still love you then.”

Beomgyu’s holding both of them in between his in a firm grip.

“Second life is about you. Blue Spring is about you. You’re the person I’ve been waiting for from the beginning of this life until the last.”

Now, if this situation wasn’t crazy, your heart would be skipping a beat right now.

But it is crazy. This is fucking insane. And you look around to see that there’s a weird look of sympathy and understanding in the other Choi’s eyes, clearly not recognizing the visceral insanity of this situation, which fills you with a swallowing lump of existential dread. You pry your hands out of Beomgyu’s grasp (you swear you can hear glass breaking), and slowly turn to Choi Yeonjun and say, with a very hesitant, very cautious, “Y...you too…?”

The look on his face says it all. And then you swivel over to Choi Soobin.

“And you?”

“I’ve lo—”

“No!” you snap. “Don’t finish that sentence. Please. Oh my god.”

You see Seokmin popping his head out from the corner, mouthing an are you okay? and you shakily bring up a weak thumbs up. “Well, isn’t this interesting,” you hear Choi Yeonjun say, which feels like a slap in the face because what exactly is interesting about this. “Here I thought I was special.”

“Get off your high horse,” retorts Choi Soobin, a sneer in his voice. You double take. Choi Soobin is supposed to be sweet and gentle and kind. Who is this man? “Whatever kind of past you had with her doesn’t mean anything. I met her first. I met her at the end of King Danjong’s rule.”

“Ha!” Choi Yeonjun starts. “We got married under King Taejong. I’ve loved her before any of you did.”

Now, what the fuck?

Choi Soobin’s face pales and he chokes over his words. “M—married?”

There’s a smug grin on Choi Yeonjun’s face. He leans back against the chair with his arms crossed in victory. “You heard that correctly. Married. Pack up your bags. Unless you want me to tell you everything we did on our we—”

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t want to hear it!”

Marriage. King Danjong. King Taejong. Second life. The gears are churning inside your head. You don’t like the direction where the gears are pointing.

“What about you?”

Choi Yeonjun raises the question and the attention is now on Choi Beomgyu. He’s been quiet. The other two wait for him to say his piece— a feigned air of disdain and arrogance but there’s an unconcealable undertone of nervousness underneath it all. Your iced teas have been left untouched. Choi Beomgyu simply scoffs and presses his crossed arms against his chest.

“I have no reason to tell you any of that. This is between me and her.”

And at your mention, you receive the undivided attention of three pairs of eyes once more. Your heart rattles. God fucking damn it. Listen, you’re an avid consumer of the entertainment industry. You’ve watched a good amount of dramas and have read a good amount of manhwas to surmise a conclusion with the bits and pieces of stray information being tossed back and forth between the three. And it’s all ridiculous. But you have nothing else to work with unless they come spilling their guts themselves.

“So,” you clear your throat. “Are you three, like…a couple…hundred years old…?”

They all look offended.

“No!”

Well, maybe you’re wrong about that part. But after a very long, convoluted discussion, the “facts” (if you can even call it that), are finally laid down on your feet.

They say you’ve all met before. Separately, in three separate lifetimes, with this one allegedly being your fourth unless there were lives in between that they can’t remember. One thing for certain is that the three of them remember the life they had while loving you— and they loved you very much apparently because those feelings and memories got carried over even after they got reborn into the present day.

The problem is, you don’t have the same symptoms. You don’t remember anything about your past lives. Hell, you can’t even remember anything in this life before you hit two years old.

You slump in your seat. The table rattles. They get up from their chairs and come circling around you in concern.

“Are— are you okay, do you need to lie down? You could rest in my van for a while and—”

You swat Choi Yeonjun’s hand away before it could land on your shoulder. You’ve now got your hands on your face in stress, and peeking through you see Choi Soobin on your right, crouching down and looking up at you with furrowed brows and big, sad eyes. On your left is Choi Beomgyu, half-seated on the chair. You let out a very long, very anguished and muffled groan. This is too much. “If— if what you guys are saying is true,” you say. “What does it matter?”

There’s a tense pause in the air.

“What do you mean…?”

You spring up from your seat and turn around, Choi Yeonjun in front of you.

“I mean what does it all matter? King Sejeong, Joseon era, or whatever— I don’t care about all of that. We’re in the twenty-first century right now. I’m neither your lover nor your wife. I’m just a fan of your dramas and music and performances and that's it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t really want to see their faces right now. You let a huff of air slip past your lips, turning back around to collect the untouched glasses of drinks on the table.

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet me and explain. I hope it’s all settled. Thanks for clearing everything up today. You can now all leave.”

It’s Choi Yeonjun who races after you when you make your firm and quick strides to the counter. He cuts off your path. “I—I don’t understand,” he chokes out. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze and see the threat of tears glazing his eyes. “What—what do you mean?”

Admittedly, that hurled a giant pang against your ribcage, knocking the air out of your chest, but you move forward. You brush past him, setting the glasses back on the counter, and— after a moment’s pause— you turn around, a heavy weight on your shoulders. It’s like gravity is trying to suck you deep into the mantle. “What I’m trying to say is we should all just get over what happened all those hundreds of years ago and live our lives in the present. I mean, I don’t know any of you. Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to keep clinging onto the past, especially when you guys are nothing but strangers to me in this life?”

Dead silence. You don’t dare look at any of them in the face. You try and retreat to the break room as quickly as you can, hands fumbling to untie your apron along the way, but you stumble over your steps, screeching to a halt the moment you hear someone say—

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

You could hear your heart in your eardrums.

It takes all the strength in your body for you to look back, to see the pained expression on Choi Beomgyu’s face standing the farthest away from you out of the three. “Do you think I put my name out there so that it’d be easier for you to find me, wrote all those songs about you in the hopes that I could see you again if you’re someone I can just easily forget?”

Your throat tightens. It’s like you’re swallowing a boulder.

“If you wanted me to forget about you, you shouldn’t have died right in front of me then. You shouldn’t have told me you loved me right before you went cold in my arms if you wanted me to fucking forget.”

Oh.

Oh, god.

Choi Yeonjun and Choi Soobin don’t look any better. It hits you that you might have been more than a little bit unfair.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know your history. You don’t know what the fuck happened between you and them throughout those years that made them feel so strongly about you. But it must be harder for those who remember than for those who forgot.

It’s not like they chose to live in the present with half of their souls stuck in the past, either. You’ve been acting awfully unfair.

“I was being insensitive. I’m so sorry,” you exhale. Your knees feel like they’re about to buckle. Your head is spinning in circles. “But to be honest, this is all still very overwhelming, and I’m having a hard time comprehending and making sense of everything. It doesn’t feel real.” You try to take a step closer, but your legs give in. Choi Yeonjun quickly rushes to balance you back on your feet.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says, softly. You can’t look at him. God, these guys really know how to bring your guilt all the way home.

“Thanks, um, anyway—” You breathe in. Shit, you can’t believe you’re considering this. “Again, I really can’t and won’t be able to understand the magnitude of your— well, uh— feelings, since I really don’t remember anything. But how about…I spend some time with each of you individually, and maybe…maybe it can help in jogging back my memories?”

The atmosphere shifts. Ah. This feels like a fucking trap.

“You— you mean it?”

To be honest, you’d much rather just not deal with any of this, just stay at home and continue living your life with these three men as persons you only know behind the screen. But those looks in their eyes— hopeful and melancholic— make you feel your organs are being rearranged every five seconds, and you’d feel bad leaving them with the pain of this conversation especially after they poured out their hearts to you.

You can’t deny the joy and escape they’ve given you for the past couple of years you’ve spent as their fan. Maybe entertaining this unreality is the least you can do.

“I mean, well,” you start, clearing your throat. “Choi Beomgyu, you still need to pay for my phone. Choi Soobin, your manager wanted me to talk to you about something, and Choi Yeonjun—”

You look at the guy who still has one arm pressed against your back, two hands in a firm grip on your shoulders. He’s looking at you and batting his eyes expectantly. You let out a sigh and set yourself loose.

“I need to discuss something with you soon, too.” As in, please stop vaguely mentioning me in your live streams because I fear I might find an angry mob in front of my house. “I think I have all your contact information anyway.”

There aren’t any more reactions coming from them. This seems like the best possible solution for all of you. You sigh again. This has been an emotionally draining evening. You can’t wait to get some fucking rest.

“I’ll be in touch with you or your managers soon. For now, let’s call it a day.”

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

#tomorrow x together x reader #txt x reader #choi yeonjun x reader #choi soobin x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenarios #txt x you #tomorror x together x you #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt fanfic #choi soobin x you #choi beomgyu x you #choi yeonjun x you

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jungkookschin · 15 days

Text

older pt 2

think i need someone older, just a little bit colder, take the weight off your shoulders

synopsis: jungkook, the older family friend you've been in love with for yearss confesses his love for you on a beach, and you reject him.

word count: 11k

pairing: older!jungkook x afab reader

genre: age gap au (seven years), SMUT, social media au!!!, childhood acquaintance au, fluff, comedy, angsty, outta pocket, alludes to sexual innuendoes warnings: character death (not jk or y/n), cursing, nudity,

author's note: jungkook is definitely colder in this 😄 yall... i dont think ur gonna like this one 😭✋ idk if there is any redeeming their relationship after this one lmao fkfoskd

PART 1 | PART 2 |

Jungkook feels his heart sink as he watches your silhouette disappear into the distance. He immediately lifts his gaze to the stars, its cheerful twinkling almost mocking the way he has to physically clench his hand over his heart to assuage the aching pain in his chest. He releases a deep sigh and scrunches his facial features, desperately trying to halt the tears accumulating in his pretty eyes.

It’s not that Jungkook can’t handle rejection. He can. His life experiences surmount yours greatly and he’s been rejected by potential employers, sports teams, his dream school. His masculinity isn’t tarnished by your rejection because he knows love isn’t something to be ashamed of. A love as pure, innocent, and unconditional as his? Expressing that would never be something he would ever regret.

Rather, he regrets putting it off for so long, dragging you on a string instead of explicitly letting you know how deep his feelings run. He had his reasons, though. You were emotionally vulnerable and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. The thought makes him want to roll his eyes into his skull because the situation is difficult and there’s never a correct answer. There's nothing he can do.

Head empty, he thinks he watches the waves crash onto the shore for hours, a cigarette between his fingers and smoke filling his lungs as he attempts to calm his erratic cardiac palpitations. The cold breeze of the night engulfs him completely, and he loses himself under the moonlit sky.

After some time, he doesn’t know how long, Jungkook walks towards the villa. His large figure is only in an oversized black tee and gray sweatshorts, and for some reason he hasn’t felt the way his temperature dropped significantly to mirror the cool breeze. He almost decides to go inside, but his body pulls back and he opts to sit on a lounge chair while he continues to draw the cigarette to his lips.

He doesn’t hear the sliding door open, and he doesn’t sense your presence until you stand before him. He cranes his head to the left and sees you- black mini nightgown on and hair damp from the shower. You’re standing uneasily, left hand rubbing your right elbow as your eyes gaze down at him.

“Can I try?”

Immediately, he scoffs, throwing his cigarette on the ground before he smothers it with his foot.

Expressionless, he looks back at you, fully perceiving your essence and soaking it all in.

Sometimes he can’t believe how utterly beautiful you are. With the moonlight shining down on you, you’re biting your lip anxiously, and he just wants to smother himself in every crevice of your body.

He opens his arms for you.

You gracefully fall into his arms, your bottom resting on the space between his manspread legs, and both your legs resting on his left thigh. He holds your entire body weight with a single arm around your waist.

Regardless of how much you irritate him, or whether you reciprocate the intensity of his love, he’ll always open his arms for you. He’ll let you take him any way you want him. You’re still his best friend, even when you don’t see him or need him the way he sees and needs you.

You bring a palm up to his cheek, his skin texture keratinized but still soft. “You’re freezing,” you mumble, a concerned expression engulfing your features. He says nothing. Instead he sneaks another arm around the circumference of your stomach and rests his forehead against yours.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you hold Jungkook’s face with both your hands. You study his facial features deeply- his large boba eyes, his straight nose, his pouty lips- you love this man.

You close your eyes and press your lips against his. Jungkook reciprocates the kiss with more fervor than you could have ever imagined.

He immediately takes control, and your hands drop to your sides while his large hands cup your cheeks, attempting to devour you wholly. His tongue slides into your mouth, and yours into his, mouths fusing together as you infinitely intertwine your desires. Jungkook sucks your tongue into his mouth, leaving you to mewl and moan into his mouth as he quite literally leaves you breathless. You don’t realize how he subtly maneuvers you so that you’re lying underneath him until he brings both arms above your head and secures both of your wrists with his hand. His other hand creeps underneath your nightgown, gently kneading and squeezing the fat around your waist. You mewl out, panting underneath him and Jungkook takes this as an opportunity to rub his tongue against yours as he continues playing with your body.

“Wait- Jungkook- '' you moan out, “your hands are cold.”

Jungkook draws back, inhaling deeply as he restrains himself from you. Licking his lips, he peers down at you and feels his heart stop.

You’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen.

The moonlight dimly illuminates your features and body, and your silhouette leaves the faint shadow of your perfect body. Hair perfectly splayed against the lounge chair, you squirm against the lounge chair, chest heaving up and down, all hot and bothered. Your chest pokes against the thin fabric of your nightgown, and your nightgown slides up against the expanse of your thighs, white lace panties revealing themselves.

Sometimes he wants to lock you up in his room forever, keeping you to himself so no other person has the privilege of laying their eyes on you.

Licking his lips, he bends over to pick you up, bridal style, before he stumbles into your shared room in the villa. You find yourself on top of him, straddling his mid region while his hands gently massage the fat on your waist, rub up and down your thighs, kneading the flesh of your bottom. Your lips are magnetized, moving in tandem as his tongue languidly explores your mouth.

The way Jungkook kisses is consuming, intense as he devours you completely. You feel that you are incapable of keeping up with him, his strong arms maneuvering you against his body as he overwhelms you with the way his mouth consumes yours. His tongue explores the inside of your mouth, and you have half the mind to reflect on how dirty it is- the way he has no qualms about burying himself in the impure parts of your body.

Simultaneously, you have no qualms about bearing the impure parts of your body to him. You want him to see you in every disgusting and nasty way possible. You’ve never been with anyone as skillful and passionate as him. The way his large hands run up and down your body make you feel so safe and secure. It’s like he’s a water-deprived man wandering the desert and you’re the mirage of an island paradise, except you’re real and he can touch you, feel you. Your body feels so soft against his rough hands and he’s bathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo.

He draws back momentarily to admire you. Your pretty features, the way you’re left breathless, and the way he can see himself in your gorgeous eyes. “Baby, you’re so beautiful,” he utters.

Baby. That stupid nickname he always uses. That stupid nickname that pissed you off because it meant that he only saw you as a kid, as a child. You always wanted him to see you as a woman.

Now, he says it differently and it makes your chest tighten.

He drops his head and presses kisses to the sensitive spot on your neck that sends shivers throughout your whole body.

“Your breath smells good,” you mutter, trying to distract yourself from the overstimulating sensation of Jungkook sucking hickeys on your neck. Jungkook is pretty uptight about his hygiene. You can tell about the countless skincare, oralcare, and beauty products on the vanity of your shared bathroom.

“Even though I smoked?” he asks teasingly, pulling back to gaze at you.

“I don’t mind. I wanna smoke with you but you’d never let me” you sheepishly respond.

Jungkook looks right at you stoically, shaking his head. “You’re too precious. Don’t want anything to happen to your cute little princess lungs.” He gently holds your face and draws your lips towards his, like he’s trying to drown you in his love. Your eyes flutter and shirt and you attempt to mimic his passion.

He pulls back. “But you can do anything you want. You’re a grown woman.”

You shake your head. “I would never do anything to upset you.”

He playfully scoffs at that. “My ass.”

You raise a brow at him, “I’m serious. Anything for you. Any time and anywhere.” Your fingertips trace down his body, down his chest, the hard ridges of his abs, and towards the bulge painfully straining against his pants.

He sighs like Atlas, holding up the weight of the world to restrain himself from succumbing to the desires running through his mind.

“We don’t have to do anything- whatever you’re comfortable with. ” he mutters and you shudder at the sensation of his hot breath.

“I always dreamed of being with you,” is all you respond with. His eyes trace down your pretty features to your lips, pink, pretty, swollen, and coated in his saliva. His heart skips a beat.

You become more relaxed when his fingers carefully brush the strands from your face, “It has to be you. Please. I’m good at this. I’ll make you feel so good. Let me show you. Please,” you plead.

Tattooed fingers rise to squeeze your cheeks so your lips cutely pucker out. He feels like that’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, but the way you’re begging, pleading for him sends a chilling sensation running through his body. “Don’t worry about that baby. I’m going to do all the work. I’m gonna take care of you- all you have to do is feel good.”

And feel good you did. Seven hours later, you abruptly wake from your brief one hour nap. Jungkook’s strong arms are still tightly wrapped around your waist. His body is hot like a furnace considering how his chest burns against your back. He’s latched around you so tightly that you’re unable to remove yourself from his embrace.

“Where you going baby?” he mumbles, morning voice deep and husky.

“I didn’t take a piss yet,” you respond, rubbing your eyes.

“You did. I carried you to the bathroom and made you pee, so stay with me longer.”

Jungkook ignores your scandalous gasp and pulls you closer so you’re lying chest to chest. “My body is sore,” you murmur into his neck.

“I know baby,” Jungkook responds against your forehead, eyes still fluttered shut. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I’ll give you a massage later.”

“How am I gonna hide my hickeys?” you innocently question further, suddenly recalling the details of last night’s events.

Jungkook was so mind-numbingly sweet and gentle, whispering sweet everythings into your hair while he filled you with mind-numbing pleasure.

“You’re so gorgeous, beautiful.”

“Wanna do this with you forever and ever.”

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”

You sink further into the mattress and nuzzle closer to Jungkook.

“I’ll give you my hoodie, baby,” he mumbles in response, “Don’t want the guys to know,” he turns on his back and stretches his arms while yawning, “They shouldn’t even perceive you as this way,” he shrugs, regaining his normal voice.

“Okay,” you mumble, allowing the tranquil of quietness to wash over you both.

“Wanna shower together?” he suddenly perks up, smiling at you crazily with a combination of love and lust in his eyes.

You don’t grace him with a response, shooting up and walking to the shower, knowing fully that Jungkook was admiring your bare backside.

Your back rests against the chilly surface of the bathtub, a direct juxtaposition to how the sizzling water filling up the tub begins to warm your aching body. Jungkook on the other side of the tub has your foot in his hand, admiring you while sweetly kneading and pressing into the tender muscles in your foot.

“Did I go too hard on you baby?” he asks sweetly, lips churning up as he admires you from the opposing side of the tub.

You playfully scoff and sink further into the tub, mouth blowing bubbles into the water. You could only take so much. Your eyes run up and down his body, Jungkook smirking at the way you shamelessly check him out. His chest and abs are on display, beads of water scattered around his body. He looks like a statue, hair faintly damp from the water.

“‘m sore, but that’s on me. You were very gentle. Thank you baby,” you say tenderly, to which Jungkook responds by pressing a soft kiss on the top of your foot, cheekily smiling at the use of your own nickname against him.

“Foot fetish,” you giggle, to which Jungkook responds by lifting your foot towards his mouth and pressing a kiss to your big toe.

“Only for yours. They’re cute, all painted and shit,” he says with a mouth full of toe.

“You’re such a barbarian,” you tease.

“You like it,” he responds sneakily.

You draw your foot back and throw yourself onto him, your chests rubbing against each other before your lips mold with his. He closes his eyes and holds you close to his body, his large hand wrapping around the circumference of your thigh and pulling you so that your legs wrap around his large torso. He moans into your mouth and kisses you as messily and hungrily as he did last night.

You pull back breathlessly. “I do. I like everything you do.”

“Here you go Tae,” you say before handing Taehyung a plate of eggs and bacon. All the guys are sitting on the sofas around the large TV, engrossed watching a livestream of the summer Olympics.

“Thanks,” Taehyung mindlessly responds, taking the plate with his eyes glued to the TV.

You can imagine Jungkook’s confusion when he watches you serve each and every one of his friends their own customized breakfast platters while leaving him with nothing but the occasional uncomfortable glance.

All his friends are entirely engrossed with athlete An-San shooting in the finals of the women’s archery competition, and though he’s extremely prideful in his country, he’s unable to focus because he’s scrutinizing the way you fidget in the loveseat.

You’re wearing his hoodie to hide the lovemarks Jungkook scattered on your body- the same body that was pressed against his mere minutes ago. But for some reason, you can’t even meet his gaze.

Jungkook tries not to overanalyze the situation because he realizes how overwhelming this all can be for you. Both of you are aware that there’s no going back after last night and he hopes your strange behavior is only because it’s taking a little bit to process everything.

A sudden gasp from your lips pulls everyone’s attention away from the screen.

“I have an assignment due in an hour! Mingyu oppa, can you help me? It’s a coding assignment,” you express with urgency shooting up from your seat.

Mingyu’s eyes dart towards Jungkook, the literal Computer Science expert of the group, but Mingyu wouldn’t turn you down so he stands up and wipes his palms on his jeans. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something but it never comes out.

“Yea sure,” Mingyu agrees, timidly following you into your room, looking back at Jungkook once.

After returning from the villa, he was almost sure that you would start dating after a questionable awkward phase. When he recalls the night spent with you, he feels chills all over his body. There was no way you didn’t feel the same. There was no way you wouldn’t come back to him.

He would wait for you to graduate before he proposed. Your wedding would be intimate, celebrated exclusively with your loved ones but still luxurious. He had the money for it, after all. Jungkook’s income greatly exceeds the needs of a single man in his twenties and he had more than enough money and was eager to splurge on you. Pretty dresses, designer purses, Dior lip gloss, pilates classes, he would assuredly take care of you for the rest of your life.

If you wanted to pursue higher education and get your master’s degree, he would finance it completely. If you wanted to move to a different city, he would take you there and find a nice place for you both- anywhere you wanted, he could make it happen. If you wanted to have kids, he would ensure that you had the most healthy and comfortable pregnancy. He would take care of everything. You didn’t even need to lift a finger.

How can you pretend you don’t want him when you begged for him, when you said you would do anything to please him? When you claimed to love him for years?

You avoid him like he is the bubonic plague. On the way back from the villa, you rode with Taehyung instead of Jungkook. And when you reached home, you went straight to Yunjin’s place and haven’t returned for a week straight.

Jungkook’s texts remained unanswered, and he’s upset beyond belief. He doesn’t want to paint you in a negative light so he keeps everything to himself. The only thing he can do is go to the gym and immerse himself in physical pain to distract himself from the mental pain.

“I’m moving out,” you bluntly announce, catching Jungkook completely off guard. After a week, you finally return to Jungkook’s apartment, not even gracing him with a greeting before bursting through his doors and dropping this bomb on him.

Jungkook scoffs, throwing his gaming controller to the side, shutting off the TV before turning to you. He sways his head to the side to swoop his bangs out of his face and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Is that all you have to say to me? Sit down,” he chastises, pointing to the recliner.

You cross your arms and frown at him, but nonetheless acquiesce, sitting on the recliner next to Jungkook’s sofa.

Jungkook, who always reciprocates your fervor and passion, glares at you with more disappointment than you could ever shoot at him, ignoring the cute pout on your lips and your clumsy attempt at appearing intimidating.

“Are you going to ignore me forever? Have I ever made you feel like you can’t talk to me about things? Don’t I always listen to you? Care for you?” His emotions spill out, perhaps more harsh than he intended. He almost feels like he has to clutch his heart to assuage the raging pain in his chest because Jungkook just loves you so much. He always put you above others, even when things were strictly platonic.

“Yes you do, and that’s the point!” you retort, shooting up and gesturing dramatically with your hands, “It’s suffocating to always have you here! I feel so useless and stupid when I’m around you.”

Jungkook tongues his cheek against the inside of his mouth, impatiently tapping his foot while he squints his eyes and processes everything you’re saying. “So you feel like I suffocate you?”

“I didn’t say that. I said that it’s suffocating, not that you’re suffocating me,” you huff.

Jungkook laughs to himself, completely invalidating your emotions. His eyes settle on you, and his eyes turn cold. It’s like Jungkook’s presence has full reign over the room’s disposition, because the room turns cold too.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes uncomfortably flick towards every corner of the room. “Umm.. yea?”

“What’s the name of your health insurance provider?”

A wave of silence washes over the room and you immediately crimson. You have no fucking clue. Yea, you see what he’s getting at, and you wish you could physically wipe the smug look on his face. Jungkook can scarcely perceive the tears pricking your lash line.

“You’re such a dick,” you mumble, letting yourself sink into the leather of the seat.

He ignores you and bitterly nods his head. “Okay fine. Move out. Where are you gonna get the money to pay rent, Ms. Unemployed?” The sarcasm laced in his voice hits you like an arrow.

You huff once again, inflating with anger before you explode, “If you didn’t know, fucking asshole, my parents died in a car accident and left me a lot of fucking money!” you scream.

He blinks back at you, completely unimpressed, making you feel stupid for blowing up at him.

You practically weaponized your parents’ death to gain sympathy from him and he’s clearly as apathetic as ever, “So where’s the money at? I’ve been here this whole time and I haven’t seen any money,” he points out, “If I knew you were loaded I would have charged you for rent since you wanna be little Ms. Independent,” he mocks.

Your jaw drops again at the rashness of his words. You bring your knees to your chest and twiddle with a strand of hair. “You’re being mean,” you mumble into your knees.

“And you’re being selfish,” he bluntly responds.

“Whatever. Fuck you. I just came to get my shit,” you shoot up and march into your room, beginning to throw your clothes into your abnormally large suitcase.

“Yea?” you hear Jungkook’s voice echo from the living room, “And who’s gonna help you carry your shit down the stairs?”

“Fuck you!” you yell back, face turning red with anger.

Jungkook leans against the doorframe of your win, watching you haphazardly throw everything into your suitcase, reveling in the way tears are flowing down your cheeks and how your chest heaves up and down.

“Is Yunjin going to be your roommate?”

“Yes,” you angrily mutter, sniffling and wiping your nose. No matter how angry you are, you have the compulsion to answer any and every question he asks.

“Just her?” he continues his interrogation and you continue to respond.

“No. Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Soobin, Sunghoon, Heeseung.”

“Who the fuck is that?” his words come out more harsh than intended.

“Sunghoon is just a boy in one of my classes and Heeseung is his best friend. Heeseung is also one of Beomgyu’s childhood best friends so it’s fine,” you say, as if Jungkook is your guardian and you’re trying to rationalize your impulsive actions.

“Is he the boy you were facetiming at the villa?”Jungkook questions, not missing the way you pause momentarily.

“Yes. He’s just a friend,” you express, opening the dresser drawer to pull out your intimates. Mostly granny panties but Jungkook raises a brow at the black and red lingerie you try to crumple in your hands.

“That for me?”

You raise your head to look at him, red face with anger before you chuck the lingerie at his face. Jungkook remains stoic and unphased when the lace fabric hits his chest and lands on the floor.

You end up leaving his place in tears, pushing him to the side while you clumsily drag your heavy suitcase from his place. Jungkook almost steps forward to carry your bag for you, but he denies his impulse and simply watches you leave. When your car disappears in the distance, he goes straight to your room and lies down on the mattress, falling asleep while your scent is still fresh.

“What happened with you and Y/N?” The casualty of Mingyu’s words punctures Jungkook’s heart like an arrow. He immediately deflates at the mention of your name, glancing downwards and stirring his beer with his straw.

Taehyung and Mingyu shoot each other knowing glances from each side of the restaurant booth.

Taehyung steadily redirects his attention towards his best friend. “She moved out, right?” An uncomfortable pause washes over, “Did you guys fight?”

Jungkook shakes his head, using his chopsticks to turn the meat sizzling on the tabletop grill. “She just… wants to be more independent,” he says, purposely condensing the situation in seven words, with care, so as to not antagonize you in front of his friends.

Tutting his tongue, Mingyu shakes his head empathetically, “I’m genuinely sorry to hear that…” he momentarily trails off, “Are you okay?”

Before Jungkook can respond, Taehyung shoves a piece of meat in Jungkook’s mouth with his chopsticks. “Hey. Remember who you are. Don’t let a girl fuck with your self respect.”

Jungkook, resembling a bunny with a mouth full of carrots, swallows and looks directly into his friend’s eyes. “You know she’s not just a girl to me.”

“I know,” Taehyung quickly responds, meeting his friend’s gaze with corresponding gravity, “I love Y/N too. But that doesn’t mean you let her actions dictate the quality of your life.”

Jungkook squints his eyes at Taehyung and sets his chopsticks on the table, sighing deeply, “You know I actually said some pretty childish shit to her.”

“Like what? It couldn’t have been that bad,” Mingyu reasons.

“I’d rather not repeat it,” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing the nape of his neck, “She said she wanted to move out, that she felt suffocated by me. Shit pissed me off so I was harsh on her and she hasn’t spoken to me in like a month.”

It took Jungkook a good 24 hours to realize that you weren’t on the same page as him. It was horribly presumptuous to assume so in the first place. Perhaps Jungkook mistook your devotion towards him as love, and not what it actually was: hedonistic infatuation. You yourself most likely mistook your obsession for love, because he knows you’re too kind hearted to purposely mislead him. After that night, you were probably filled with a whirlwind of confusion- maybe because actually being with Jungkook didn’t feel as good as fantasizing about it did.

In other words, you were obsessed with the chase and not with him.

Well, that probably meant you both are fucked because you already slept together and now there was no going back.

“I mean…” Mingyu begins, “Y/N’s like what? 20? She probably doesn’t want to be tied down to anything.”

Jungkook bitterly shakes his head and shuts his eyes, “I should have figured.”

“Sleeping around, doing drugs, partying, getting drunk,” Mingyu lists, counting off with his fingers, “She probably shouldn’t be doing those things, but isn’t that what we did when we were in college?”

“That’s true,” Taehyung concurs, side-eyeing Jungkook’s reaction, “We did do all that when we were 20.”

Jungkook visibly winces.

“And I know you love her,” Mingyu continues, “but right now she clearly isn’t in the headspace to healthily engage romantically with you, so live your own life and let her live hers.”

Jungkook sighs and slaps both hands over his face, hoping that the skin of his palms absorbs the tears prickling his waterline. “I just love her, you know? And the thought of her going through a hoe phase or getting with another guy just hurts,” he explains, allowing his hands to fall back on the table, “I think I’d kill him. I really would.”

“When I’m with her, when we’re together- I don’t know how to explain it- I would do anything for her. Haven’t I done anything for her? I would give her everything if she’d let me,” he unloads, “She just makes me so happy- never even thought I could feel this way- and being without her just sucks so bad.”

“You have done everything for her Koo,” Taehyung comforts, “but you do it because you love her, right? Not because you want anything in return.”

“I want her to at least talk to me, or acknowledge me…” Jungkook mutters, grimacing when a random thought appears in his mind, “Should I just enlist?”

It’s meant light heartedly- he’s half-joking, partially serious. He can’t fathom not having you after getting a taste. He’d rather put himself through the physical anguish of boot camp and military training. It was mandatory for all Korean men anyways.

“You’re going to leave your life behind for a year and a half because Y/N is ignoring you?” Mingyu articulates, making Jungkook realize how ridiculous the assertion is.

“Hey hey, that’s not a bad idea,” Taehyung opposes, “Go serve our country and get your mind off a few things. You have to enlist anyway.”

“Look. Go if you want. But don’t just go because of Y/N. C’mon. You’re better than that,” Mingyu rationalizes.

“I don’t know. It’s just an idea,” Jungkook murmurs, banging his head onto the table.

Silence washes over as the three simply enjoy their meal, not allowing dialogue to intrude on the delicious, savory, and expensive meat entering their mouths.

Taehyung pulls out his phone, and a few moments later his eyes widen, “Oh shit,” Taehyung utters

“What?” Jungkook and Mingyu question simultaneously.

Taehyung turns his phone around and shows them a random instagram story.

The image posted on Yunjun's story shows a man and a woman in bed, with the caption "Ewwwwwwww"

Sure enough, it was your glasses on the bedside table, your blanket draped over the sheets, and your clothes scattered across the floor. His eyebrows furrow thoroughly as he scrutinizes the screen.

Jungkook begins the enlistment process that night.

You’ve settled into your new home and have been living there comfortably for a few weeks. One perk to having six roommates is that you’re never bored. Yunjin will drop by every other night to indulge in overly meticulous, and probably more harmful, skincare routines. The boys occasionally call you to the living room to play board games or video games, which usually end in drunk laughter and the production of a chaotic, happy memory.

One of those nights is right now. Truth or drink is a stupid game- super childish, only really played in Wattpad fanfictions and movie adaptations of those same fanfics- but Heeseung suggested it and who really gives a fuck? Right now is the era of recklessness, chaos, and living with full abandonments of regret.

The seven of you sit in a circle with a bottle of vodka and seven shot glasses in the middle. Yunjin is right next to you, as usual, giggling with no thoughts on her mind since she has refused to answer any of the questions. The girl seriously lives a life of secrecy.

Amidst the giggles and laughter of your friends, you begin to smile too. Beomgyu admits that he caught feelings for a one night stand. Yeonjun admits that he catfished a frat boy as a Discord kitten. Heeseung admits that he already snuck someone into the house. But really, it’s not as fun when you’re being interrogated.

“Y/N,” Heeseung blatantly calls you out. You smile haughtily at him, your brows raising like you’re daring him to ask a question.

“Hmmm, okay, I’ll go easy on you,” he teases, “When was the last time you kissed someone?” he asks, and your smile drops.

You gasp and it’s like you’re sucked into a whirlpool of memories. Memories of Jungkook holding you like he would never see you again, whispering the sweetest, mind-chilling things in your ear while you bore the most intimate and vulnerable parts of yourself to him.

You haven’t disclosed that part of your life to anyone, because it was so intimate and you hold it so dearly to your heart.

Yunjin nudges you, “Hey, you okay?”

You shake your head. This is supposed to be fun. Everybody here is revealing their dark secrets and a kiss isn’t even a big deal. You have to play your part too.

You shake your head. “I’m fine,” you smile, “It was probably like, a month ago? I wanna say?�� you ponder aloud, making everyone erupt into ooh’s and ahh’s.

Yunjin gasps scandalously. “You kissed someone and didn’t tell me? You whore!”

You giggle and nudge her back. “You literally have not answered a single question asked!”

And supposedly, you two are so immersed in banter between each other, you don’t notice the other tension zapping around the room. Uncomfortable glances flicker around the room, and Sunghoon grimaces, willingly taking a shot of vodka.

“Was it Jungkook? Did you finally pull him?” Yeonjun blurts out, rising to his feet.

You playfully stand up and push him. “Hey! It’s not your turn to ask a fucking question!” you slur, “It’s my turn!”

“If Y/N kissed him, we would’ve definitely heard about it,” Beomgyu mumbles. A lightbulb shows up above his head. “Wait- was it Mingyu?” he questions further.

“Mingyu is so hot,” Soobin productively inserts into the conversation.

“It’s not your guys’ turn!” you whine, before clearing your throat and composing yourself, “Sunghoon!” you call out, pointing at him for the dramatic effect, “Is there a girl you’ve got on your mind right now?” the question spills out and Yunjin is the only one who claps in anticipation.

Sunghoon shifts uncomfortably in his seat, pouring a shot into the glass and downing it nearly immediately.

You scandalously gasp, a light bulb appearing above your head as you put the puzzle pieces together. “No way- do you- are you- are you into Yunjin?” you beseech and Yunjin mirrors your scandalous gasp.

“No way!” she drunkenly slurs, “Sorry Sunghoon- I just- I just don’t see you like that, but you are a really handsome, and there’s no doubt that you’ll find a girl soon,” she slurs, soliciting a laugh from some of the other guys and a playful scoff from Sunghoon, who just throws a pillow at her.

A few rounds later, you find yourself becoming more intoxicated with the amounts of shots you’ve taken, mostly because you refuse to answer any juicy questions about your sex life. You learned some pretty nasty details about your friends that had you squealing and hiding behind the throw pillows.

Eventually, Soobin throws another question at you. “Y/N!” He points at you, a shot glass in his hand, “Do you think you’ll ever get over Jungkook?”

Yeonjun spits out his drink, prompting Yunjin to pull out her phone to show Heeseung and Sunghoon Jungkook’s instagram. Photos of him and his friends litter the screen, some of him shirtless at the gym, some with his friends, and some with you. One at your high school graduation with your diploma in hand and your cap on Jungkook’s head. Another photo at the beach, with you in the middle and his friends evenly dispersed on both of your sides.

“Good question Soobin!” Beomgyu exclaims, clapping his hands in agreement. Sunghoon lifts his eyes uncomfortably from the screen to gauge your expression.

What he didn’t expect was you to hold up the vodka bottle and chug.

All you want to do is chug your feelings away. Chug your thoughts away.

You want your head to be empty so you can’t possibly think about Jungkook and how you hurt him, so you don’t think about the dozens of texts he’s sent and how they’ve all been left on Read. You can’t even fathom the possibility of losing him, and you think you’re treading along that path.

You’re horrible.

“Holy shit Y/N, stop!” Beomgyu screeches, practically tackling you and swiping the bottle from your hands.

“She’s finally lost her shit!” Yeonjun exclaims, like he’s been expecting this to happen for years (?)

Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange glances, and it fills Sunghoon with the faintest sense of apprehension.

Obviously, Sunghoon is into you. You’re too stupid, dense, and probably selfish to realize but Sunghoon is really into you, and everybody knows it except for you and your equally dumb friend Yunjin.

After moving in, it didn’t take a while for the guys in the house to catch on. Sunghoon remembers the… odd confrontation quite vividly.

Beomgyu, Soobin, and Yeonjun cornered Sunghoon against the kitchen wall when he returned home from university, bombarding him with invasive questions.

“Did you only agree to move in because you wanna fuck Y/N?” Beomgyu, in his typical unhinged manner, spat at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon's brows furrowed in bewilderment as the words bounced around his mind. "Wait, what?" he echoed, his features contorted in pure confusion.

Yeonjun couldn't help but facepalm at Beomgyu's straightforwardness before nudging him with his whole frame. "Okay, listen," Yeonjun interjected, "what Beomgyu is trying to ask is, do you have feelings for Y/N?"

Without hesitation, Sunghoon affirmed, "Yes, I do. I really like her."

Caught off guard by Sunghoon's quick response, Yeonjun and Soobin exchanged suspicious glances, prompting Sunghoon to offer further clarification. "But it's not what you guys think," he hurriedly explained. "It's a genuine, innocent “like”... I just want to treat her right. I'm not looking to pursue anything physical."

Soobin, Yeonjun, and Beomgyu visibly relaxed, exchanging nods of understanding among themselves..

"Got it, man," Soobin reassured Sunghoon with a pat on the back. "We're rooting for you. Let us know if anything develops."

Sunghoon snaps back to the present amidst the chaotic screams, witnessing you and Beomgyu wrestle over the bottle of vodka. You slur your words, “Fucking asshole! Give it back!”

Sensing a pertinent gaze upon him, he locks eyes with Yeonjun, who subtly motions towards you.

Immediately, Sunghoon gets the message.

Yeonjun clears his throat, “Beomgyu, just take it easy. Let’s all calm down for a moment.” His voice is compelling, and you loosen your grip on the bottle just for Beomgyu to snatch it from your hand and spill it to the floor.

You scream.

“How could you do that?!” you slur, “Beomgyu! M-my alcohol! I’m nothing without my alchohol-”

Soobin lets out an exasperated sigh and rises to intervene, gently guiding Beomgyu away from the chaotic scene before motioning for Sunghoon to attend to your intoxicated state. Meanwhile, Heeseung leads Yunjin to her room.

That evening, Sunghoon assumes the role of caretaker, tending to you with unwavering patience and kindness eerily similar to Jungkook’s. Too bad that you weren’t in the proper state of mind to even realize what’s happening.

He carefully carries you to your room, ensuring you're comfortable before tenderly tucking you into bed.

If anybody else saw him, they’d think he’s pathetic. Taking care of a girl who’s drunk over another man is nearly unfathomable- but he’s doing it because he wants it all. He wants the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, if it means that he’s doing it with you.

One downside to having six roommates (especially ones that like to party) is that it’s really fucking loud all the time.

It’s not that you don’t like to party. You were always the first to buy tickets to a rave or a music festival.

But these days, it feels like you’ve aged one hundred years because you’d rather spend Friday nights cuddled up with your plushies instead of around people. You like to joke that Sunghoon is your twin because he often locks himself in his room when your roommate’s throw parties.

You think you’ll visit him this time, so you wrap a blanket around your frame and knock on his door. “It’s me!” you yell through the wood, and you hear the swivel of a gaming chair, footsteps, and the door unlocking before it swings open. “Hey,” he smiles at you, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the beauty marks littering his face.

“Hey,” you take a step in, and Sunghoon closes the door behind you and locks it. “Wanna hang?” you ask sweetly.

He laughs, plopping back on his gaming chair. “Not joining the party?”

You plop on his bed, using your blanket to cover your body so you don’t ruin the perfect sheeting on his bed. Sunghoon’s room can be described in one word: clean. His bed is always pristinely made, PC desk and school desk always acutely organized, and clothes folded neatly in his closet. His gaming setup is quite intricate, two PC’s he built himself with wires and hardware looping intricately through his desk and the computers. He has a flat screen TV hung on the wall in front of his bed and a mini fridge in the corner filled with Diet cokes and ice cream sandwiches.

Completely different from Heeseung’s room.

“I’m exhausted from last night. Aren’t you? I don’t remember anything” you explain, grabbing the remote on his nightstand so you can turn the TV on.

Sunghoon laughs at that, typing away on his light up keyboard while his mouse swivels around the mousepad, playing some FPS game. “You’re a lightweight, Y/N. I remember everything.”

You wave your hand nonchalantly. “Not at all. Not at all. I can handle my liquor better than all of you combined.”

“Uh-huh.” He stands up and walks over to his mini fridge, taking out a Diet coke for himself. “Want an ice cream sandwich?-”

You gasp and immediately nod your head vigorously, slightly resembling a puppy panting for water. Sunghoon thinks you’re adorable. You don’t know that he’s never cared for ice cream sandwiches. He buys them solely for you and saves them for whenever you unexpectedly drop by.

He throws one at you and smiles when you enthusiastically breathe it in. He plops down by you on the gaming chair, putting his feet up on the bed. You put on Ninjago and you both share on the screen, occasionally sharing stupid memes between episode breaks.

After finishing up Season 5, the music seems louder than ever, and you groan into his pillows. “Oops sorry, I got some makeup on your pillow-”

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Sunghoon suddenly articulates, and you cock your head in curiosity.

“Don’t get mad at me about the pillow, though,”

“It’s fine,” Sunghoon laughs, “but I just- I just feel like I gotta tell you this.”

“Okay,” you implore, tugging on the loose strings of his sheets, “Go on.”

“Y/N, I like you.”

Oh.

“And last night, when we were doing Truth or Drink, I felt like the guys made that evidently clear, but you’re into you didn’t realize, did you? You were too wasted.”

Sunghoon's confession hangs in the air, his words heavy with vulnerability. Your heart skips a beat as you process the unexpected declaration.

You nod in concurrence, “I had no idea.”

But before the moment can fully settle, Sunghoon's expression shifts, his features clouded with uncertainty. "Are you into that old guy… Jungkook?" he asks hesitantly, his voice laced with a tinge of sadness.

Your heart sinks as you realize the direction of the conversation. Memories of Jungkook flood your mind, the warmth of his smile and the depth of your connection weighing heavily on your conscience.

"Yeah," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I am."

Sunghoon's smile fades, replaced by a somber acceptance. "I figured as much," he murmurs, a hint of resignation in his tone.

Silence envelops the room, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering between you. Despite this, there is a mutual understanding: Sunghoon never had a chance.

After a moment of heavy silence, you clear your throat, your gaze shifting to the floor, “I should go.”

Sunghoon nods, unable to find the right words to ease the tension. "Yeah, okay," he replies softly.

As you make your way to the door, Sunghoon pauses, hesitating for a moment before speaking up. "I hope things work out for you and Jungkook," he says, a small, wistful smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Thank you, Sunghoon," you murmur, a lump forming in your throat.

And that’s the end of that. Clearly, there is no chemistry between you and Sunghoon and it just never was going to ever work out. 😀

Despite how you convince yourself that you don’t want him- your heart will never be able to deny him. Your very soul yearns for him and to deprive yourself of him is to deprive yourself of your greatest longing.

Jungkook feels the same way, and you’re not ready for him.

You want to disappear.

A glance into everything makes you look like the crazy bitch, and you’re very self aware of that. You had the man you’ve been in love with your whole life wrapped around your fingers, and you let go of that.

Granted, you are a crazy bitch, but you certainly have your reasons for behaving the way you do.

The very sudden death of both your parents lead you to the crippling realization that everything is temporary. You find yourself dreaming of being enfolded in Jungkook’s warmth, his strong arms your protection against the scary, cold world. Then, like he was never there in the first place, he disappears, leaving you to be sucked into the violent, dark void.

You know how difficult, unhinged, crazy you can be at times, and while Jungkook knows you like no other, you don’t think he’s completely perceived the disarray engulfing your life. You doubt that he’d stick around for the long run once he discovers who you truly are. He’s taken care of you up to now, and you have no intention of relying- no- burdening him for the rest of your life.

You want to stop being so damn soft, so incapable of controlling your emotions all the time. You want to be someone who can handle herself.

Then again, Jungkook is the greatest temptation in your life. The way he protects you, the way he becomes so gentle with you- you crave him desperately.

But the only way to truly have him, to be truly deserving of him is, in other words: to grow the fuck up and be a woman deserving of him. How will you do that? You don’t know.

After your parents passed away, you’ve been a mess. Your GPA went to shit, and it took months for you to find the will to brush your teeth and shower everyday. That’s disgusting. If anything, you were more of Jungkook’s charity case than Jungkook’s girlfriend.

You’re really trying- but if you aren’t even capable of taking care of yourself, how will you be capable of taking care of someone as perfect and capable as him? It makes you want to curl into a fetal position and die.

However, given the intimate bond of your family connections, you understand that Jungkook will forever remain a significant presence in your life. Despite your efforts to ignore him, to pretend like he doesn’t exist- he’ll always be there like a pillar unless he gets struck by lightning and dies which MAY be possible considering that your parents also died unexpectedly (😀).

The next time you see Jungkook is at his parents’ anniversary party. His parents consider you their first daughter, which may or may not be strange considering that means that Jungkook could technically be your brother- but nonetheless the notion is intrinsically sweet and it makes you feel like you’ll always have a second family.

No matter where you stand with Jungkook, you’ll always show up for his parents (and for him), which is why you’re all dolled up for the party.

Usually, you’d bring Yunjin as your plus one, but she’s got another family engagement so you bring your next best man Yeonjun.

You've yet to divulge the personal intricacies of what transpired between you and Jungkook to your friends, but you reckon that Yeonjun will catch on simply by observing your dynamic at the party.

Jungkook’s parents like to keep it simple; they opt for hosting a barbeque party at their house, and of course, their handsome son is responsible for grilling the meat.

You sport a casual look: sneakers and a black sundress while Yeonjun wears a black button up and jorts. In a sense, you kind of resemble a couple, but you don’t even realize that you’re matching until Jungkook’s aunt makes an incriminating comment.

“My my!” Jungkook’s aunt exclaims, pulling you in for a hug. She always reminds you of Winnie the Pooh; she’s so soft and cuddly. “Y/N! You look so gorgeous!” She does a double take after catching a glimpse of Yeonjun, “and is this your boyfriend? He’s so handsome!”

You’d expect Yeonjun to gag, but he keeps it professional, “Oh not at all auntie,” Yeonjun clarifies, waving his hands, “We’re just friends.”

Jungkook’s aunt shoots Yeonjun a playfully suspicious look, “Ayee~ No need to keep it PG. Y/N’s all grown up! She should be with a handsome boy like you!”

Yeonjun continues to try to explain that things are strictly platonic, but Jungkook’s aunt doesn’t relent so he just goes along with it.

In a strange, fourth dimension-type way, you do understand why Yeonjun is popular amongst the ladies. Yes, you’ll reluctantly admit that he isn’t the most hideous, and that he does have the height, charisma, and chivalry any girl would love- so you aren’t appalled by the idea- until Jungkook’s aunt says “You two would make such cute babies!”

“Hey Jungkook! You’re burning the meat!”

Jungkook’s father yelling his son grabs your attention, and you whip your head towards the grill.

As always, you were vaguely aware of Jungkook’s presence in the room, but you can’t help but stare when you actually see him. Again, it’s a barbecue pool party so Jungkook’s wearing an open Hawaiian shirt and swim shorts, meaning that his abs were on display.

You haven’t seen him in months, and you dare to think that he’s gotten bigger? Yes he looks hot and sexy and amazing, like he always does, but what bothers you is that he seems that he’s doing just fine, and maybe even better without you.

Jungkook hurriedly flips the meat over with the tongs and hastily throws them onto a nearby plastic plate. “My bad, dad,” he apologizes, rubbing the nape of his neck, before turning his head to look directly at you.

You stare at each other for a second before you look down, biting your lip in apprehension. Yeonjun, however, is clueless to this.

“Aye! Jungkook hyung!” he exclaims, running over to Jungkook to dap him up.

Jungkook gives Yeonjun a brotherly smile. “Hey man. How’s school?”

“Ah, it’s going,” Yeonjun responds with a giggle. Sometimes you think that Yeonjun has a bigger crush on Jungkook than you because this man is literally giggling like a middle schooler. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Wow hyung! Your abs look amazing! Like a statue!” Yeonjun immediately pistol whips his head towards you, “Y/N! Did you see? Jungkook is here? Come say hi!” he beckons you like your mother would: “Sweetie, say hi to Jungkook! Don’t be rude!”, and it makes you purse your lips.

Jungkook looks at you, and the only word to describe how he looks is piercing. He looks right at you, right into your soul. No matter where you stand, this man will look right at you and make it mortifyingly clear that he is perceiving you and that you better start perceiving him.

What can you do when he looks at you like that?

Reluctantly, you saunter over, your arms crossed.

“Hey,” you murmur, immediately turning your head to look at the pool.

“What the- what the fuck is wrong with you?” Yeonjun chastises, nudging you with his elbow, “It’s Jungkook! Your favorite person.. Well he’s my favorite person too…” Yeonjun blushes.

Ignoring Yeonjun, Jungkook leans against the grill. “Want some meat, baby? You look… emaciated.”

My oh my, the things you would do to strangle this man. Firstly, it’s the nickname again. The last time he called you baby, he certainly didn’t mean it how he means it now. He’s doing that thing where he treats you like a little kid again and you hate it. Secondly, it’s the comment about you looking emaciated. You know damn well that you’ve actually gained an extra ten pounds since you’ve seen him- and Jungkook knows your body so you wonder if he’s taking a low blow.

“Yea, just give me like two ribs,” you mumble, pupils fluttering up at him before returning to the ground.

Jungkook scoffs in amusement. You can’t even look at him. He places the ribs on the plastic plate, purposely choosing the ones without fat because he knows you find it disgusting.

‘So,” Jungkook starts, motioning between you and Yeonjun, “Was this on purpose? The matching?”

“Oh not at all,” Yeonjun immediately answers, “In fact, did you know that, on average, 30% of the population wears something black each day? That’s a pretty huge percentage considering that..”

Jungkook nods along, pretending like he’s listening to whatever Yeonjun is saying but his eyes are on you, like they always are. He tongues the inside of his cheek looking at you because you won’t even look at him, you just continuously shift your gaze between the ground and the pool.

Ridiculous.

Another thing to note about the Jeon family is that Jungkook isn’t the only Jeon who is madly in love with you. His nephew is too. Well, little four-year old Jacob is as “madly in love” with you as a four-year old can be.

When little Jacob catches heed of you, he immediately waddles into your arms, and you pick him up and throw him up before catching him. Little Jacob is one of the cutest babies you’ve ever seen- he’s like a little Jungkook, looks just like Jungkook’s baby pictures.

“Y/N!” he squeals, nuzzling his face into your neck and squeezing you.

“Hi baby!” you coo, pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheek.

“I mithed you!” Jacob pouts, before the poor kid literally bursts into tears. “I mithed you so much, and you didn’t even vithit me!”

With a swift motion, Jungkook gently takes his cousin from your embrace, using just one hand to lift him up. "Hey," Jungkook's voice carries a hint of seriousness, "Remember what I told you? Do big kids cry over something that doesn't need to be cried over?"

Jacob pouts, wiping a tear. “N-no, but Y/N didn’t vithit me!”

“Y/N didn’t visit me either, but I’m not crying about it, right? Us Jeon boys don’t cry over those things, alright? Now come swim with your uncle, we can play mermaids.” With that, he whisks his nephew away and throws him into the pool.

Yeonjun sends you a look of suspicion.

The car ride back to your place is painful. Yeonjun interrogates you over what really happened between you and Jungkook and you have no choice but to divulge every detail.

At the end, you burst into tears, and Yeonjun has to buy you an Oreo McFlurry from McDonalds to calm you down.

Three months.

You haven’t spoken to him or acknowledged his existence for three months.

Jungkook knows he was harsh on you the last time you spoke, but he didn’t feel like his behavior warranted such indifference from you. At the party, he knows he was being snarky, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in pain.

He almost falls over when he sees your friends at the grocery store. Yeonjun and Soobin greet him politely, and Jungkook keeps things simple, just engaging in the typical “Hey, how’s school” chat.

These days, Jungkook doesn’t frequent many social outings. For the whole week he’s worked from home and he’s only left to go to the gym and to get food.

Jungkook hates walking past that stupid, balled up, pile of lingerie mocking him from his hallway floor. He hasn’t found it in him to just pick it up and throw it away, or at least kick it away from his line of sight.

It’s just there. Laughing in his fucking face because Jungkook wonders what he would think of that lingerie had you two not fallen out.

Perhaps you would surprise him after a long day of work- a day he only makes it through because he knows he’s coming back to you. Jungkook thinks the red set is cute, but black is undeniably his favorite color- sophisticated, timeless, and alluring- he knows he would prefer the black set.

He would like the red set on Valentine’s day, the color against your skin as ablaze as his love for you. He would cherish you, hold you tight to him while he gently ravishes you and shows you how good you make him feel, pleasuring you until you begin to push him away. That was the most corny thing he’s ever conceived in his life and that makes him feel even worse.

A notification lights up the dim room, and Jungkook’s tattooed hand immediately reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

It was his crazy ex that gifted you a Snorlax keychain and threatened to key his car.

Jungkook laughs to himself because he realizes this is the universe’s karma for continuously ditching women who were “too into it”.

He was clearly the one who was too into it now because his stupid ass was already thinking about marriage and children while you were still in college. He runs his hands over his face and smiles at the bitter irony of the situation.

Weeks pass and Jungkook learns to accept his circumstances. It wasn’t really about moving on, because he accepted that he wouldn’t- not easily, at least. It was about moving forward.

He finds joy in the mundane, waking up early to go to the gym, sitting at his office desk and admiring the city view, occasionally meeting up with his friends and getting drunk. Jungkook reckons he can sustain this lifestyle for the rest of his life but knows that he’ll fold if you ever decide to run back to him, which is why he’s enlisting in a few weeks, to seek normalcy, peace, and stability.

He bids his final goodbyes to his family, friends, and coworkers. The last thing he needs to say goodbye to is his hair.

He inhales deeply, standing on the expanse of his balcony, gazing at the illuminating cityscape and twinkling lights. He holds a barber’s mirror in his left hand and a razor in his right. The chilly breeze blows against his bare upper body and he feels the urge to sloppily do the job to return to the comfort of his cozy bed. He raises the razor towards his head, taking another deep breath while he brings it towards his hairline until-

The sliding door glides open with a whoosh. He hears your voice breathless and pressing, “You’re going to the army?”

He briefly considers jumping from the balcony.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” you repeat.

He presses his lips together tightly, then pivots to meet your gaze, his expression a mix of utter astonishment. It's been four months since you last spoke to him, and now you're running back? The night before he enlists?

Your eyebrows furrow deeply, you continue yapping, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jungkook allows his eyes to rest on you. He realizes you’ve cut your hair shoulder length and momentarily, he thinks that you look beautiful with your hair at any length- but that’s not the point. He’s angry- beyond livid, beyond heartbroken, and you think that you can suddenly waltz back into his life after months of ignoring him?

He tongues his cheek against the inside of his mouth. “You need to leave.”

“I am not leaving,” you enunciate, “We need to talk before you go.”

You casually stride into his place like it's your own, stubbornly marching into the balcony and plopping yourself down on Jungkook's chair, and Jungkook can’t fathom the audacity.

He scoffs, “Seriously? I’m not enlisting to get your attention,” he bites his tongue, “You seriously don’t have to be here.”

“I know you’re not,” you reason, tucking your hair behind your ear, looking him right in the eye, “But we have to talk. Haven’t you been the one who’s been wanting to talk this whole time?”

Jungkook

Jungkook pauses, leaning against the railing while he squints his eyes.“Not everything is about you, Y/N.”

Your lips automatically form into a straight line, expressing your embarrassment at his blunt statement. “I know,” you respond, “I just thought, you know, since your text messages and stuff..”

Jungkook blankly stares at you, shaking his head, disbelief written across his features. “You had months to talk,” he recalls, voice laced with bitterness, “You chose to ignore me.”

You hesitate, “Well I’m not ignoring you anymore, so can’t we talk?”

Jungkook’s gaze hardens, and he shakes his head, not believing the words coming from your mouth, “You’re so fucking selfish-”

“Hey! Do not say that about me!” you shout, your jaw trembling.

“Yea? So what are you?” Jungkook barks back, “Selfless?” he laughs at that, “Are you happy knowing that I’m going away for two years? Wanna finally get this over with?”

“No Jungkook. I’m not fucking happy to hear that.” you spit back right, fists balling up to your sides, “I don’t give you what you want and suddenly you start acting like a fucking asshole!” you seethe in return.

“Me? The asshole? Maybe I’ve said some hurtful things to you, but you know that I love you. You know that I care for you. You completely gave up. You gave up on us.”Jungkook scoffs to himself, staring at you incredulously. “Relationships are built on trust and communication,” he states frankly, “and you broke that. I don’t owe you anything anymore.” When the words leave his lips, his mouth becomes dry.

You pause, features scrunching in contemplation before you lick your lips and nod. “That’s fair,” you shrug, “Do you at least want to hear what I have to say before you go? For closure?”

Jungkook's expression darkens. Closure?

Despite his resolve to move forward, he has always subconsciously intended to hold onto his feelings for you. He understands that his reluctance to let you go would linger, but it stings to realize that you were willing to accept that so readily.

He inhales deeply, “I’m listening.”

“Um. Ok,” you uncomfortably glance around, the way his handsome obsidian eyes boring into your soul becoming too much for you.

“You can’t even look at me.”

“I can!” you immediately counter, redirecting your focus solely on him. “It’s just- fuck- I don’t know how to say it” you mumble, fingers twiddling with the strands of hair that frame your face.

“You’re a big girl. Use your words,” he states plainly.

“Okay! I can- just- can you stop making that face?”

“What face?”

“Stop looking at me like you hate me or something!” you pout, “It’s making me uneasy- I just want to talk to you like before.”

Jungkook’s expression softens at that, and he runs his fingers through his hair. No matter how cold or detached you become, you'll always be a baby, and he'll always have a soft spot for you. “Go ahead,” he offers.

“I don’t know,” you begin, running your fingers through your hair, “After we- you know we,” you start to whisper, “slept together,”

Jungkook sighs.

You blink at him momentarily before beginning your digression “I realized we were moving too fast, and I began worrying about shit like how I would contribute financially to our wedding, if I would be a good mom to our kids, how people would view us as a couple,” you explain, arms instinctively crossing while you struggle to maintain eye contact, not missing the way Jungkook’s expression contorts.

“And it wasn’t that I was super concerned about people’s opinions,” you explain, “I’m worried about being too childish for you. I want to be a girl that you’re proud to be with- super educated, successful, and pretty. That’s the type of girl you should be with. Not a girl who refuses to shower and smells her vagina juices in front of you,” you reason, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I’m not even trying to imply that these are traits you specifically care about. I know you love and accept me for me, but I’m not okay with it. I want to be good enough to be your girl, and the whole thing just made me feel so shitty about myself that I couldn’t take it anymore- and- and- and you know our age difference!” you wipe the snot running from your nose, maybe from the chilly weather or the emotions running through your system, “I said I don’t care about people’s opinions, but I don’t want anyone to think you’re a predator or something! Or that you took advantage of me after my parents’ died!”

You conclude your rant with a sigh, your entire body deflating despite the way you scrutinize the tiny shifts in his facial expressions. His lips twitch up slightly, then he grimaces, then he frowns, but his final expression is one of indifference.

“Okay,” he says candidly, offering you a small smile, “Thanks for letting me know.”

You stare at him owlishly, and he returns your impassive expression.

“Umm, is that all you have to say?”

“Is there anything to say? I appreciate you letting me know, but I don’t know what to say either,” he reasons, “If you don’t feel comfortable about coming to me about your feelings, should we really be together? Maybe this was for the better.”

An uncomfortable silence washes over the both of you until Jungkook decides to speak up, a lot less angry and defensive from his demeanor towards the conversation. “You weren’t ready, and I get that. I would have waited for you, y’know.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook nods understandingly, picking up the hoodie he haphazardly threw on the balcony table before approaching you and draping it over your shoulders. “Thanks for coming over. You should get home now. It’s late.”

At his words, your heart plummets to your ass.

So it really is over.

You guys talked things out cordially. He would be gone for two years. There was no hope for either of you. You don’t realize that you’ve stopped breathing, and you inhale sharply, feeling as if oxygen has been depleted from your system.

You don’t say anything, and you allow him to walk you to the front of his door. He takes a few steps back, still shirtless and hands in the pockets of his baggy basketball shorts. He motions his head towards the door, waiting for you to leave.

You stand idle, blinking at him and scrutinizing him while he blinks at you.

Your left hand adjusts the long glittery purse straps that sit on your shoulder.

“Okay. Bye. Good luck in the military.”

He gives you an awkward smile. “Thanks. You know I’ll be okay.”

“Yea.”

“Get home safely. There’s traffic on the freeway from the lantern festival so take the streets home.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

You approach the door, looking back at Jungkook as you begin twisting the doorknob. “Okay.”

Jungkook shoots you a close lipped smile and nods.

“Yup.”

“Yea.”

Jungkook watches you with an expression of indifference, shifting his weight between both of his legs. He’s not going to do anything, and he doesn’t think you’re going to do anything either.

“Okay,” he announces, slightly impatient, “Bye Y/N. Drive safely.”

You stubbornly shake your head. You can’t let it end this way. You stride towards him, your lips latching onto his passionately, kissing him deeply and romantically. He’s a bit taken aback, but nonetheless uses his large hand to grab you by the neck as he moans into your mouth. He kisses you back, groaning into your lips as he allows you to take the lead.

You pull back to yank your oversized tee over your head, letting yourself feel his bare skin against yours. “Take me to the bedroom. Please,” you oblige. Jungkook looks at you, eyebrows furrowing deeply as if he’s angry but you know he’s not. He always makes that angry look when he feels conflicted. You run your thumb over his arched eyebrows to soothe him.

Nonetheless, he grunts, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the restroom.

You wake up the next morning, Jungkook’s body pressed up against yours like a furnace. He holds you close to him, skin against skin, his chest against your bare back. You squirm within the confines of his tight embrace, eliciting a deep groan from Jungook’s chest.

You wrap your smaller palm around the circumference of Jungkook’s wrist and tug. “Kook, wake up. You’re enlisting today,” you murmur sleepily. He grunts and squeezes you tighter, signalling you to shut the fuck up. You open one of his palms and put it right over your face before your lick his entire palm. Jungkook does nothing in response, just wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you so you’re lying on top of him.

You hit him with your palms. “Kook, let me go!” He secures his arms around your waist and arms, trapping you on top of him.

He ignores your wriggling and squirming, and just suction cups his lips onto your sensitive neck and sucks. You feel the sensation of his tongue running against your skin, and it tickles, but it feels good, and Jungkook isn’t letting you go.

After a good few minutes of leaving hickeys along your neck, he flicks his head back onto the pillow and sighs deeply. “Okay,” he breathes out, seemingly refreshed.

His gaze fixes on the ceiling, tracing the slow rotations of the fan's wings as they circle endlessly.

You nudge him, “Jungkook? Want to get ready?”

He says nothing, just stares at the ceiling and you sit up, tucking your hair behind your ear as you gaze falls onto the stoicism enveloping his features. “Jungkook?”

His eyes dart towards you, and it’s like everything changes. He finally comes to his senses. “Y/N, get the fuck out of my apartment.”

#jungkook fanfic

217 notes · View notes

wintersera · 10 months

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g!p lesserafim and their friend (thoughts)

g!p le sserafim x f!reader non idol au

notes: wanted to make a g!p le sserafim au as well. it’s connected to the aespa one too :)) reader is le sserafims friend in this au

cw: SMUT, g!p idols, cockwarming, degredation, oral (giving), somnophilia, brat chaewon, choking? mentions of not breathing, exhibitionism, voyeurism?, shibari, use of toys (vibrator), overstimulation

word count 1.8k words

WOAH so now your aespa roommates’ friends have cocks as well?? is your college heaven or something?

kkura has a decently sized cock 6.5 inches, plus its really cute and pretty. a complete virgin loser PLUS she games making her more of a loser. usually is stuck in her room because of her coursework, and if she has the free time she’s playing her games, making you the one who initiated the first move. loves getting head from you but is too embarrassed to ask so she hints at it, sometimes you have to demand for her to use her words. not coming out of her room for hours and hours you grow worried about her, sliding yourself into her room you witness her sound asleep at her desk, BUT OHHH whats that you see? you decide to close some background tabs on her pc to lessen your guys’ electricity bill but ohhh is that porn on her screen??? looking back down to her hunched over figure you squint your eyes noticing her completely obvious boner 😭😭. an avid porn watcher tbh, she’s always stressed out with her coursework the only way of relieving her stress is through ejaculation. wanting to de-stress the eldest bc youre so kind :> subtly kneeling down and sucking her off while she’s asleep? PERFECT FOR HER. is so into somnophilia because she’s too busy all day so she doesn't have time for you during the day. start hopping on her dick at like 3am in the morning and she’s whining your name whilst she’s passed out asleep. doesn’t admit it, but loves when she wakes up to you on top of her seeing you straddling her. first time you ever tried out somno with her she was so shocked, waking up gasping at the sight of you bobbing your head under her desk. didn’t know what to do :(( so she starts squirming in her chair holding your hair asking you to stop, obviously she doesn’t want you to stop but she doesn’t want to say that out loud. loves cockwarming as well <33 sometimes she’s just too busy doing whatever and you’re just equally as horny as she is busy. sitting in her lap whilst she plays games??? whenever she gets mad, dies or loses in one of her games she instinctively moves around in her chair in a fit of rage, pushing her cock further into you accidentally. you’re not really complaining though it feels great for the both of you. highkey into shibari on her end. i think the sensation of being unable to do anything under your control kinda puts her mind at ease. so worked up about her college work it frees up her mind. loves using pink lace whenever you do decide to tie her up. use a vibrator on her tip while she’s tied up she cums extra hard at that <3

chaewon isn’t really that big either but she’s pretty girthy which makes up for it 🤭 everyone on here can agree that she’s a complete brat and they’re not wrong. will start arguments with you just so you can prove her wrong and top her in bed. is all smug when she’s initiating things but is complete mush when you start pumping her dick in your hands. gets so overwhelmed when you're wrapping your tongue around her length, drools maybe i think she’d feel so good to the point where she loses most of her motor skills. head pusher for sure will keep your head still so she can start fucking your mouth, not really giving a fuck if you can breath. will do anything and i mean ANYTHING to cum. ask her to get on her knees and beg for it? she’s already kneeling. will endure endless amounts of edging even if it makes her tear up, would literally start crying if she doesn’t cum in the next hour. loves being overstimulated and it makes her cum harddd. has so many good reactions as well, whining, screaming, shaking, ehem drooling she’s genuinely feeling every single drop of pleasure in her body her body is literally on fire. i feel like she’d be the type to record sex tapes as well posting videos of you bouncing on her dick on twitter (of course both of your faces are blurred imagine your college finding this out 😨) very big on exhibitionism, likes recording, or just having general sex outside of the dorm. tease her by rubbing her dick through her pants in public and she’ll be suggesting that you should fuck right here on the table😭 she knows she’s hot so she doesnt really gaf if someone sees you and her fucking outside, given that it turns her on more if someone catches you two in the act. is a self proclaimed switch, but you rarely see the dom side of her. only when she gets jealous or mad is when she starts pulling that scary dom chaewon demeanour out. degrades you when she’s mad <33 ugghh just imagining her calling you a ‘slut’ or a ‘whore’ whenever some person she’s jealous of hits on you. yes i know its not your fault that some random guy hit on you but she’s so jealous that she doesn’t know what to do. starts leaving hickeys literally everywhere after that, on your back, neck, shoulders, arms, thighs ykyk EVERYWHERE. after a while she’ll feel kinda bad about behaving like that and to make up for it she still fucks you good but she’s more caring about it telling you that she’s sorry while shes pounding into your cunt, kissing your forehead and everywhere else that she left her marks 😭.

yunjin my favourite american. knows you from aeri (aeri bragging abt how she’s ur roommate and not her lmaoo) oh definitely has a massive cock and is really cocky about it, pun not intended. really vulgar about it too like? always saying to you how you love her big dick (she’s not wrong) while you’re having sex. wearing grey sweats on purpose around the dorm to ,not so subtly, show you the outline of her dick. is such a loud moaner honestly she could wake up the entire dorm bc of how loud she is 😭 AND SHE HASSS. sometimes you would catch sakura knocking at the door telling her to stfu. high ass fucking libido, is fucking you everywhere she cannot wait to go home she’ll most likely drag you to the nearest empty bathroom stall or in an empty alleyway and will definitely ask you to give her head. or maybe you just came back after your classes and she’s dragging you to her bedroom just to pound into you. doesn’t care if any of her roommates are home, i mean if she’s hard she’s hard and she needs you badly calling you as soon as her classes are done or maybe even at 1am asking and begging for you to come over to the dorm. NOT only is her libido high but her stamina is quite literally terrifying, she could go on for hours and hours- night till day and day till night. obviously you ending really sore at the end of each session but you still go back to her anyways. has fucked with the door open before 😨 got really really horny one day and she forgot to close the door, dragging you inside already taking your clothes off. yes you did get caught by the others but it ended up with you going around the entire dorm that night… FUN. is open to many positions but her favourite is you sitting on her lap whilst you two are watching netflix or something. a GOD when it comes to hitting the right spots literally making you cum so easily its insane. her stroke game is too good always hitting your gspot seconds into the act. definitely has a curated sex playlist i’m not kidding, taking her shirt off and realising that she hasn’t put on her playlist so she’s frantically looking for both her speaker and her phone while her boobs are out lmaoo okay jennifer huh. i can just imagine her being silly like that, loudly saying “awh fuck wheres the speaker? y/n have you seen it anywhere?”. service top fr fr will never catch her bottoming… well maybe you will but that’s not often, on the rare occasion she bottoms she’s so smitten, staring into your eyes with adoration. the cutest smiles while you’re on her. really really clingy as well, she needs to hold onto you somewhere be it your arms, your legs, YOUR NECK etc etc :>

zuha my love so shy, so cute, but can be so dom out of thin air. i dont know who, but this one creator on here who made this omegaverse kazuha au went hammm and i agree wholeheartedly on their characterisation of her. she’s built, and works, like a machine. but anyways around a little smaller than yunjin but wowww her cocks pretty veiny. ERMMM A PERVERRTTT. sorry but the pervert kazuha agenda is plaguing my mind. i love the contrast of someone so calm being an utter pervert behind the scenes. steals some of your clothes whilst you're outside and jacks off to the lingering scent of youuuu <33 she hopes you catch her in the act but she also really doesn’t, she doesn't want you thinking she’s a massive perv 🤭. she’s really hot but she doesn’t know how it effects you badly, usually walking around the dorm with croptops (HER ABS?!?!?) and grey sweats when you’re hanging out in their dorm. can get really desperate, she wants to have your hands around her shaft so bad but she’s too embarrassed to ask for your help. kinda forces herself to go and ask you because she’s that needy for you to jack her off. saying that it’s not gonna be good unless it’s you. lets out the cutest mewls once you touch her dick, continuous whimpers being let out from her pretty lips. usually holds her moans back because she doesn’t want anyone to hear her moan out loud, you tell her not to but she’s still adamant on not letting any slip out. however as soon as you drop onto her dick she lets out a really loud guttural moan, wrapping her arms around you saying that your insides are so warm. doesn’t usually swear but does when she’s close, or actually, cumming. letting herself relax, letting out various of swears you would never think she’d say, ever- is really strong, she could treat you like a doll but she chooses not to :(( she’s just really caring like that. can pick you up and carry you when you’re actually having sex, pins you up against the wall and fucks you while you’re legs are wrapped around her waist. has been lost in pleasure many times before forgetting that you’re there, so in love with the way your pussy feels around her cock she’s in an aroused haze, thrusting hard into you when you’ve already came multiple times. clearly she’s pussy drunk on you. crazy stamina and agility as well?? doesn’t get tired at all even if she’s slamming into you roughly.

DAMN i need g!p brat chaewon asap

#wintersera #le sserafim smut #girl group smut #le sserafim x reader #fem! reader #g!p #gg x reader #g!p le sserafim #le sserafim kazuha smut #le sserafim sakura smut #le sserafim yunjin smut #le sserafim chaewon smut #kpop smut

1K notes · View notes

savnofilter · 2 months

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Fight For It | dabi/t. touya

Fantasy AU!Dabi x Bounty Hunter![FEM]Reader

WARNING(S): sexual content, dragon hybrid!dabi, reader’s intentions for “hunting” is nothing but dubious, ego friendly fire, predator vs. prey trope, power play, barely any plot (pwp), anal, double penetration, spanking, corruption kink (?), outdoors sex, strangers -> ?.

COUNT: 4.6k words (40 mins.)

READ MORE: masterlist + [adults masterlists]

A/N: this was originally supposed to be for another character but it very much suited Dabi instead. if you can guess who this was originally for, i'll write you sum neet. 🌚 anywhom, i loveddd writing this. i had to do a lot of work shops as this has been in the vault for years, so hopefully it's readable now LOL. 😭 hope you guys enjoy!

You check your sides and pockets ensuring that everything is ready for your travel.

This time around, dragon shifters were out and about looking for mates which meant this was the perfect time to capture one. You let out an excited breath as you pull on your boots and make your way outside of your home.

As you pass by the people in your town, you are frequently greeted due to your known status in the town. Most people jumped at the chance to have a conversation with you as there was no guarantee the next time they could. However as you got closer to the edge of the woods, the greetings slowed to a halt as the count of people started to wither out, most people avoiding the edges of the village near the forest-filled mountains. You adjust the final strap on your bag as the destination you were looking for comes into view.

Keeping an eye out for any signs of dragon shifter life, you look around the sparse but large trees that decorate the place. Many bushes, trees, and even small ponds adorned the scenery. If you happen to look close enough you could find flowers almost everywhere accompanying the organisms. Dirt and soil were also as common to come across, more so than grass in the dense part of the forest. Despite that, you continue on your quest to obtain your own little dragon. Your eyes light up as you near the bottom of the mountains and see a bigger-than-usual footstep on the floor. As if you are in no rush, you pause for a moment to squat down and pinch the dirt, fingers thumbing the soil between your forefinger and thumb before dusting it off on your pants.

One is near.

The footprint imprinted into the ground was still very fresh, the consistency too easy to grab and toy with. Surveying the scene your eyes try to find any change within the area, the need for staying on your p’s and q’s is greater than ever. You were trying to gauge what your next move should be and your indecisiveness slowing you down. You chew the inside of your lip as you start to survey the scene one last time before choosing to continue on your journey for the beast you were searching for.

Thankfully, the hybrid you were trying to find had left its footprints freely, but his marking already too cocky for your liking. Amid your busy thinking, you hear scurrying in the distance, the sound quick and heavy. You immediately whip your head around to the sound of the commotion, your hand hovering on the tip of your sword’s handle as you brace yourself for any imminent conflict. As you inch closer to the ominous spot behind the dense trees, the same noise happens in the opposite direction to the right of you. You swiftly unwield your sword and dart it towards the rapid movement, the sharp blade releasing a sharp and heavy, ‘THUNK’ as it sinks its metal into the wood.

Birds rapidly fly away in fear and other smaller animals in hiding run away in the opposite direction hoping to avoid the building tension within the vicinity. The sight of tiny strands of fur and a red liquid left swiftly in the breeze makes you wince in sympathy; accidentally hurting an unattended target was certainly not on your to-do list today. Your body is still on high alert--chest heaving as small beads of sweat accumulate on your temples, your nerves keeping you in a tense state. But unlike your anxious mood irritating you, your target was the complete opposite.

A low rumble of laughter that turns into a boisterous level prompts you to turn around and narrow your eyes at the location of the sound, eyes catching a white-haired male. You were gearing up to tell the male to fuck off before the realization hits you. The sharp teeth, horns, broad back, wild clothes -- this was the dragon you were trying to find. You watched him cautiously, keeping your eye on him as you retrieved your weapon, keeping on guard.

He lets out a few more chuckles, putting his hands up in mock surrender as he watches you point your sword toward him. “Hey no need to get defensive,” he pauses, his grin turning from playful to sly. “You humans aren’t the best at catching us most of the time.”

His words make you huff, your other hand locking on the rope that was on your hip. The white-haired male blows out a whistle, watching as your arm flexes with strong muscles and places his hands on his hips as he scans your body. You raise your brow, sheathing your sword away and revealing a grin of your own. You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head to the side lean forward interest for the conceited specimen.

“I always catch my prey. What makes you think I won’t this time?” You respond, your words cocky, a little too much for his liking at that. His nose flares at you, back straightening before his irises narrow before he scoffs lightly.

The male’s cerulean eyes dim as they watch you intently, unashamedly checking out your frame. Your nostrils flare in anger and slowly draw your sword as a warning, a playful whistle following your threatening posture. The white-haired dragon-man takes a step closer to you, his gaze not missing you step back and cower only just slightly in your stance.

He huffs, “You could barely kill that bunny.”

“I could if I wanted to,” You’re quick to retort, your body now trying to regain its firm stance, chin raising as you openly detested him. “Just like I could have your head by tomorrow if needed.”

The same laugh that first gained your attention makes a comeback, his sharp teeth on proud display as he takes this exchange as nothing more than some flirtatious banter. “How about the next time we meet, you can attempt to catch me -- and if you do, I’ll do whatever you want. Vice versa.” He holds his hand out for you to take as a sign of agreement.

You watch his large hand out stretch itself to you, a taunting offer that a part of you couldn’t proudly admit that you wanted to take. His palm is upturned in a way that teased innocent compliance, the callous on his skin showing he isn't as playful as one would think and there's no missing the sharp nails that peek from under fingertips. With a small huff, your hand relaxes from the top of the sword and you close the distance between you two, shaking his hand firmly.

“The name’s Dabi by the way.” A surprised yelp escapes your lips as he tugs you much closer than needed, you two chest-to-chest as he stares intently into your E/C eyes. “Don’t be too disappointed when you lose, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen as he says your name, the action doing its job spooking you. You rip your hand away from his with a bit of a fight, not sure what you just have gotten yourself into. You snarl as you step back to regain the space between you two, except you made no move to be on the offense.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t hold back.” Dabi taunts, his grin matching his arrogant expression.

“Don’t plan on it.” You snort giving him one last look over as he retreats from the trees, your gaze never leaving that spot until you’re sure he’s gone. You turn around and pursue your way back to town, unbeknownst to you the pair of cerulean eyes that continued to watch your body retreat in pure animalistic hunger for you.

— ✮ ★ ☆ —

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you tirelessly think about the interaction with the arrogant male from last afternoon.

Despite being one of the most known bounty catchers in the world, the way that he—Dabi as he preferred to be called—carried himself, was in a way that left curiosity and a bit of attraction on your end. You hated the way that your chest races with excitement but then glower at the thought of him. Too many conflicting emotions plagued your psyche and you needed to end this once and for all.

The air was crisp whilst the white clouds in the sky rivaled the short puffs of air you breathed out every once in a while if you held your breath in for too long. Climbing back up the same mountain wasn’t as easy as it was yesterday with the added titillation making it feel as though your heart was about to burst out of your chest. At this point, you were starting to wonder what you truly wanted from this outcome.

‘victory. this isn’t the first attractive specimen you’ll find, and it won’t be your last.’

You thought to yourself and sigh with indignation. The designated spot was already in eyeshot and you needed to get into gear if you wanted to walk out of this with your proper title over him as his owner. Absentmindedly your hand skims over the healing wound of the tree you had accidentally sliced when you had gotten startled yester-yonder, the heavy and big footprints in the soil showing that he as well made his way over not long before you.

Movement just shy to your left has you turning in its direction, this only meaning one thing: Dabi was here.

Dabi sat minding his business, humming as he watched his surroundings and toyed with the dirt in front of him mindlessly. You unsheath your sword, adrenaline making your hands lightly tremble in excitement. You adjust the sword easily in your hand moving to swing for the kill. Subtle movement catches the corner of your eyes, the focus of your target just slipping. Before it could happen, you reel back and lunge your sword towards the correct target only to softly gasp as he's gone.

You pull your sword back with the rope that’s attached to the handle, the weapon tight in your grip as you look around closely as you make eye contact with his now familiar cerulean-blue eyes making you attack once again. It wasn’t until your second failed attempt that he started laughing at you. Just like the first time you met. You growl out in frustration, trying to find him again. You try following the laugh as you messily turn around, the uncoordinated movement making you trip over your own feet but you quickly catch yourself.

‘i bet he’s just scared! he knows that you’d just capture him and make him yours.’ you completely lie to yourself to help soothe your nerves. Even you didn't believe it and now you were starting to get more than anxious.

“Damn it! Come out and stop playing!” You yell out, rage starting to finally consume you. You kept your sword up, turning sharply at the sound of crunching behind you and was met with him not too far away from you.

His handsome face was serious, arms crossed as he watched down at you unimpressed and unmoving. You feel yourself wanting to shy away from his intimidating gaze, but remember to hold up your guard. Never had you experienced a dragon that fought back like this and it honestly had you on edge.

“You’re off your game,” The dragon grins as he steps closer towards you. You tilt your chin down as you cowardly gulp in defiance, your feet taking a step back as you try to gain more distance between you two. Unfortunately for you, fighting in the woods meant you would be caged in, just like now as he closed in on you as your back hit the large oak tree behind you.

“I can still kill you if I please.” You sneer, holding up the sharp tip of your sword to his chest, eyes boring into his. Even with your strong stance and unwavering eyes, there was no denying the slight waver in your voice as you said it.

Shit.

The dragon laughs at your pathetic threat, his body language as genuine as his prideful body language. He offers you no answer as he finds no reason to entertain it. Anger shoots through your body at his arrogance, your body shifting as much as it can to pull your arm back to aim straight for his heart, wanting nothing else but to draw blood from him right in this instant.

Your sense of urgency is what fumbles your opportunity, your attack seized as though he had seen it a mile away.

With a piercing grip, he snatches your hand as you attempt to stab him in the chest, his deft fingers squeezing your wrist in a painful grip. A cry leaves your lips as you try to keep steady, your other hand grabbing him to let go as if his life wasn’t on the line.

“Let go!” You yell at him, stubborn tears now starting to prick at your eyes. It was pitiful in the way you resorted to this as your backup plan, your behavior a clear indication that you had no idea what to do. You had walked into this duel with nothing but adrenaline, curiosity, arousal, and arrogance. Instead of conducting yourself as a seasoned veteran, you were presenting yourself as a spoiled brat. Dabi ignores your plea as he takes your fighting hand and pins it firmly against the rough tree bark behind you, the rough texture digging into your clothes and skin. You bite your lip harshly to at least spare yourself some dignity, not wanting to let the smallest amount of pain get to you.

Your hand twitches in his hold as your other goes towards the direction of your thigh and grab a small knife from its holster before promptly slicing his arm. Dabi looks down at you and scoffs as he barely observes the wound before easily gripping your free wrist once again. You let out a silent cry of protest as now both hands are caught in his stronghold.

“You think that was enough to stop me? You’ve already failed, human.” He leans down to speak in your ear, his strong voice rattling through your body making you shiver. He maneuvers his hold on your wrists so that they are caught in one hand, the other moving to grip your side before running lower and rounding your back.

You glare at him and start to struggle against his hold, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you wanted him to touch more of you. He chuckles at your sounds of distaste, promising that you’d be dead if he moved any further. He bites down on the exposed part of your neck making you moan in pain and a deep blush adorn your cheeks. His slivering hand finally grabs your ass and pulls your body closer to his. He pulls away from your neck to give himself enough room to lick up the blood that was dripping from his bite. “You’re all mine.”

Without much fight from you, he leans in and presses a harsh kiss against your lips, an all-engulfing force that has you reeling in need. You groan as your head is pushed back against the tree, your pair of lips fighting against his in an attempt to gain back the confidence you had from when you two first met. The mix of the coppery taste of your blood on your tongue adds a toxic aphrodisiac you can't place your finger on, wanting to taste more of yourself on his tongue in other ways. Your eyes lid as you two maintain eye contact through the kiss, the heat between you two ramping up as both of you have something to prove.

“Still tryna win, human? Are you gonna do whatever I tell you to?” Dabi ridicules you once he pulls away and tightly grips your jaw. The force makes your cheeks squish while your bruised lips pout. He leans in to press his lips against yours again as an open mouth kiss, his tongue invading your hot cavern and playing with your tongue. You moan into his handling, your wet muscle barely managing to put up a fight. You helplessly try to chase his lips when he pulls away, the action making him chuckle. “Turn around.”

He lets go of your hands as he allows you to move and notes the way that you slightly flinch from the harsh pressure suddenly being released. Though you quickly shrug it off, more than willing to turn around like the slut that you are. Grinning at your desperation he steps away from you to allow room to turn you around, and seizes your hands in his hold except this time behind your back when you’ve assumed the position. Dabi bends you over some and admires your curves finally up close and freely gropes at your ass. It’s shameful in the way that feeling his calloused hand grope and rub at your globes has you pressing against him, your needy action eliciting a spank from him. You whine out his name as he pulls down your pants, your juices darkening the material between your legs.

“Do you normally act this needy when you lose, hm?”

SMACK, another spank was delivered to your bum. Your eyes roll back when he gives you another and a harsher one to follow until you respond.

Your eyes prick as he taunts you, your legs trembling in need. Contrary to your own knowledge, Dabi was perfectly aware of your track record with beasts. To humans and other “dainty” species, you were known for your combat and prowess but amongst the more gritty creatures have shared more than a few whispers about your sexual endeavors. You turn your head and glare at him, tears and all as blood rushes to the skin of your bruising ass and flustered skin. Just as you were one not to lie, you deflect the implications of your winning and losing rate. “Do you normally take this long to fuck?”

SMACK.

Instead of his hand holding your hands above your head, he lets them go and lets you catch yourself against the uncomfortable tree. With one hand now placed on the side of your head, he holds you in place as he tugged down your underwear, no longer wanting to toy with what he desperately needed to claim as his. “I’m the one who won, remember?” Dabi growls as he grows impatient with your bitching, his hot hand reaching down to cup our sex and letting his two fingers rub at the sensitive nub at the top of your cunt.

The smell of your arousal was taunting him heavily. Dabi had never considered a human as his first option to fuck but you were bringing out a new side to him. The sickening thought alone made him grow impatient as he was more than ready to defile your cute body. Most humans don't fuck back, but you certainly looked like the type and that thought alone was riling him up. Evidently just from the way you were acting, you couldn't help yourself grinding back against him like that. At first glance you seemed like some brute snob, untouched and pompish. But here you were already gong-ho over some dragon dick you have yet to experience; acting so desperate and needy for him. His lips curve into a devilish grin as he marvels at the way your back arches as the arousal gets to you.

“Fuck, Dabi please.” You plead shamelessly as he slips his fingers up and down your folds to collect your slick, helping lube up your opening for his cock. He spits on his fingers to make it more slippery, not wanting to rush the prep as much as he'd love to have your pussy engulf his cock. He shushes you as he leaves his grip on your head to grab your jaw, making you look at him as he rubs at your cunt.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and let me prep you, pet.” He emphasizes his point by teasing at your opening with the tip of his finger then sinking his middle finger into your cunt. His cock twitches at the sensation of your gummy walls squeezing around the digit as strokes the inside of your kitty carefully. He groans and leans back to look at your pussy enveloping his finger, eyes happily drinking in what he’s seeing. “Knew this pussy was hungry for this.”

Your pants are heavy, pussy clenching tightly around his fingers as he continues to work it in and out of your dripping cunt. Dabi made sure to keep his hold on your jaw tight while his other got to work which allows you to brace your hands against the trunk of the tree with your hands now free. His thrusting stops to rub the outside of your lips, spreading your natural juices as lubricant and periodically brushing against your clit before his fingers are fucking themselves into you again. Your face was covered in bruises to some degree as you couldn’t help but keep your face against the tree bark -- not that you could care less, though. A wanton whimper leaves your lips feeling his hand completely leave your opening, making way to release himself from his pants.

He uses the slick from your wet cunt to help lubricate his lengths. He prods the first against your opening and groans lowly from how different the fit of your human pussy compared to other dragons. You felt your eyes burn with tears, his size bigger than you’re used to. You squirm against him only for him to command you to calm down. He spits another time as he works his hips into yours to open you up better, the action working as you produce more slick and loosen up as the moments pass. You feel his finger mix the spit and slick on your asshole, not shying away from playing with your chocolate starfish. He slips in his thumb to tease your opening, the play not phasing you one bit. It wasn't until you feel his finger enter you followed by experimental strokes is when you notice what's up. You suck in your breath, tensing up completely when his finger exits only to feel another head prod at your asshole.

You gasp from the intrusion of his second cock entering you. Your nails dig into the tree and you're consequently returned the favor as your hands sting from gripping onto it for dear life. You had never taken anything of his size in that entrance and you could tell he was enjoying the squeeze by how much he was throbbing in you. He breathes out curses into your neck, reminding you of your place and how tight you wrapped around him. Never had Dabi contemplated wanting to mate a human until now, the feeling like nothing he had felt before.

“You’re taking me so well, fuck.” Heavy and sloppy thrusts are met against your ass. The way of his thrusting signifies the animalistic side of him, the easing of his cock into you was nothing short of barbaric and drowning in pure pleasure. As he worked his hips better into yours.

It felt as though he was already accustomed to you and you loved it. The length and girth of his cock was filling a void you didn’t know you needed, and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to come back from it.

“How’s it feel to be fucked by a dragon, heh,” The dragon huffs out and works more of his length into your battered pussy and ass. Your sopping cunt and tight ass was starting to take his cock easier and easier the more he fucked you. His hands bored from only holding you in place soon move to tug up your shirt and grope at your tits, hands roughly fondling your mounds as if he had no rhyme or reason.

“Da… Dabi..!” You moan out, ass and pussy still clenching tight around him. He moans enjoying how you say his name before HISSing at the fact you were almost squeezing him too tight. Dabi refused to take his eyes off the area where your bodies joined, deeply engrossed by the way his cocks disappears to the hilt as he fucked your tight holes.

“Fuck you’re squeezing me so tight little pet!” He exclaims excitedly, teeth to mark up your neck once again. Dabi hums in delight, hands roughly kneading your breasts. He tugs on your nipples craving the thought of wanting to know what your nipples would taste like against his tongue. Or even if he did so choose to breed you, how full, plump and ready you’d look -- all just for him.

Your vision blurs as the only thing on your mind is to relish in the pleasure you were receiving, hips riding back against his as you chase your climax. You were nothing but a vessel for your pleasure, not giving shit about him either. The all-consuming experience was successfully eating you up and you loved every second of it. If it meant being “his” pet, then so be it.

When he hits a certain angle in your holes, you shake as ecstasy shoots through our body. Your already breathier sighs and moans from your stolen breath now deepens into loud and sluttier sounds, your orgasm finally imminent. You start to babble not wanting nothing more than to finish on this dragon’s cocks.

“Please, please, Dabi-” You mewl. “Cum, need it.” You whine as you feel the familiar coil in your stomach tighten, the slick running down your thighs aiding in the ability of letting him thrust within you.

Dabi shushes you as he grabs both of your elbows and holds you up himself. He uses you like a pussy pocket as he starts to chase his release as well, needing to finish inside you just as much as you wanted to finish on his cocks. “Gonna breed you, s’that what you want, pet? Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck I need you to cum in me..!” You moan out, feeling your stomach coil to signify the impending orgasm that is about to hit you. Without needing any further excuse he grips your arms impossibly tight as he pummels into you, his hips bruising your backside as he drives you over the edge.

With a final thrust, he bottoms out inside you, relishing in the feeling of emptying his semen. A deep growl reverberates in Dabi’s chest as he finishes, his muscles only relaxing when he starts to empty. He holds you in place as you have no other choice but to take his stuffing, the amount so copious it starts to spill from your openings.

Dabi slowly lets you go as he pulls out, cocks flaccid and messy. He bends you over to look at your creampied holes, hands spreading your cheeks to get an unobstructed view of it. He gives your pained cheek an appreciative smack, snorting when you groan in pain at the feeling. The dragon stands back up and yanks at your hair, the unnecessary action making you whip your head around to glare at him, only to be met with a proud grin with his sharp teeth on display.

“You’re mine now, pet.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki smut #dragon hybrid!dabi #bnha imagines #mha imagines #n/sfw #sav's sinning

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skitskatdacat63 · 6 months

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— Emperor Charles VI's diary entry on Count Althann's death

[text: "My only heart, my comfort, my most faithful servant, my soulmate, who loved me dearly as I did him for 19 years, [we] had a true friendship, we were one heart and one soul, and we never concealed anything from one another. He will always be in my heart, [my] beloved friend..I. have lost everything."]

#this is like. incredibly niche.#but also hopefully a quote one can look at without context and still feel emotional damage about #idk. i think about this quote probably at least once a week and then have to stare at it and cry a bit #its just GOD. yknow??????#theres this one paper(which i linked) that i originally read as research for the AU #but i go back to it probably twice a month to reread it bcs im so !!!! abt it #i think its cause charles vi is just not that relevant but is relevant to me so to have this paper abt his personal relationships is very !#its both nice as ref for the au but also very interesting to hear about historical queer relationships/dynamics #the sections about him and his wife are very endearing as well #but god like him and count althann. im literally so invested in this 300 year old relationship #this is obviously from his death which is incredibly depressing and heart wrenching to me #but the other things he wrote about althann in his diary are very sweet to me #they were inseparable to the point of often sleeping in the same bed and charles called him his 'eternal love'#AND ON ALTHANN'S DE WIKIPEDIA PAGE IT LITERALLY CALLS HIM THE EMPEROR'S FAVORITE #anyways literally every part of this quote absolutely destroys me but especially how he refers to althann and then the ending #and its interesting to me bcs apparently his diary entries were usually pretty to the point #but when various people in his as althann died he would write these extremely emotional entries that are so </3 #if you have any questions abt their dynamic pls i will talk abt them 🥰🥰 i find it fascinating #theres a book about his diary but its in german and 500 pages and kinda hard to get hold in but maybe one day!!!#also in AU contexts: althann and charles vi would be mark and seb so take that as you will 🤭😭#as i said this is great for ref but also made me sooooo fucking invested in him #i have no idea how to tag this #historical #holy roman empire #emperor charles vi #catie.rambling.txt #historical quotes #habsburg #habsburg monarchy #ah wow if only my german prof could see me now. fucking...habsburg posting. why am i like this

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

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𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

DAY SIX OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft dark fic, horror, murder mystery

summary: bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

word count: 10k (i don't know what happened)

warnings: dubcon at the end, knife kink, descriptive canon typical violence, blood & mild gore, grief and death, an unpleasant guy hitting on you, murder, face-sitting, throat-fucking, mutual oral sex (69), dirty talk, possessive!joel, exhibitionism (tommy watches very briefly, he also kisses you in a platonic way), sex in the woods, piv, Joel is actually quite nice if you exclude the murders, mild breeding kink, size kink, little bit of blood kink

a/n: the owl mask joel wears in this to hide who he is is inspired by @softlyspector's post about the tawny owl mug joel uses in tlou part 2 which I still get sad if I think about it for too long 😭

Bodies have been dropping dead all around you long before the outbreak.

Maybe not in the everyone-you-know-is-getting-infected-and-killing-people type of way, but more so in a death-never-felt-like-a-stranger-to-you sort of way. Yet, you still don’t know how to deal with death. Your grief is as violent as a butterfly flapping its wings; the strength of it non-existent but you never know where, or when, it’ll cause a storm.

First, it was your grade school teacher. You didn’t have a particularly strong bond with her but you did like her. You still remember how your friend's voice quaked as she gave you the news on a landline. You couldn’t believe it and had to accuse her of making a joke, even though you knew she would never joke about something like this. Then your dad took the phone from you and you just assumed your friend's mom did the same. The next week, when you went back to school and the funeral was now behind all the children in the classroom, the custodian cut the last tablecloth your teacher had used for her desk and gave a piece to each and every one of you. It was a vibrant orange cloth with daisies scattered around – ugly, but you still cherished it.

Then it was your pets, grandparents – there was also the time when your pet-crazed neighbor adopted another smaller dog while she still had two untrained, over-energized dogs, and the two twins ripped the other dog apart. You had seen the carnage. By some miracle, that small, fluffy dog named Sugar was still breathing, alive. You had held a blood bag over the dog's head, hoping that the small animal wouldn't die.

She didn’t die that day, but it sure as hell left a scar on you.

As a kid, you never seemed to quite grasp the ways of grieving. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t cry. You just. . thought about it. However, the emotions came differently when you became an adult. Now when someone close to you died, you felt it more violently, oddly enough you still fought against the tears and only cried when you were alone.

On Outbreak Day, you lost everything.

Your family, your friends—your life, now it was all about survival, but survival towards what, you didn’t know. You killed for it, fought for it. Yet every move you made felt automatic like you were wired to at least try and survive — to wait it out and not be left behind when civilization rebuilt itself once more.

You made some friends along the way and lost some friends too. You locked their faces and their memories in your heart, only unlocking the box when you were truly and utterly alone.

Then you found Jackson.

And you met Joel and Tommy Miller.

Your official title is scavenger but you much prefer to label yourself as an explorer instead.

You’ve adapted to your quite well life at Jackson. You go beyond the borders, sometimes alone and sometimes with other fellow explorers, and gather supplies or try to pinpoint other locations threats might be lurking in. You’re about to go on another trip, this one shorter than your regular one to two-week expeditions, but before heading out you decide to stop by the only bakery in Jackson named The Last Crumb—previously named The Cordyceps Crumb but Maria decided it was in bad taste. You, on the other hand, had found it funny and topical.

As you patiently wait in line, your camping bag waiting for you outside the bakery, someone bumps into you from behind, then never moves back.

You turn with a raised eyebrow, not enjoying the close proximity, “Excuse you,” you snap. The man looks at you with a hint of mischief in his eyes, you roll your eyes when you recognize the face. “Move back a beat Tucker, I’m not in the mood this morning.”

“Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep,” he grins but moves away regardless. “Want me to come with you this time? Sweet thing like you alone out there? It’s ain’t right.”

“You can barely aim. Why would I want someone that’s most likely to get me killed around me?”

“I think you’ll find my company to be plenty entertaining.”

You’re about to gag when the bell of the bakery chimes, the sharp sound echoing through the wooden walls. Your face must've shown immense signs of relief because Tucker turns around to see who you're looking at. His instant frown makes you want to laugh and chuck him between the two men you’d describe as a wolf den.

“Well, if it ain’t the Miller brothers,” Tucker tuts, attempting to give one of them a friendly pat on the shoulder. He stops midway when Joel’s gaze flits between you and him, his glare hard enough to cut diamonds.

So he ends up slapping Tommy’s shoulder instead, which isn’t the best thing since you know the younger Miller hates Tucker. But among the brothers, he’s probably the one with less probability of getting your hand bitten off.

“Mornin’ Tucker,” Tommy answers, forcing a smile.

Joel is less friendly, his words directed at you, “Is this dumbass botherin’ you again?”

“I wouldn't exactly call a greeting among friends “botherin’,” Tucker says. “We’re just catchin’ up, no need to get your panties in a bunch Miller.”

“God, you’re one word away from ruining my morning,” you hiss, glaring at the unpleasant man. “And we’re not friends.”

His brows furrow, eyes going hard with an ugly snarl accompanying them, you feel braver when Tommy and Joel are around so you hold his gaze, not flinching away.

Tommy is the one to ease the tension. He lays a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing the man’s attention away from you. “I’ll get you what you want a’right Tucker? It’s on me. Just go wait outside.”

“But—”

“Outside, Tuck,” Tommy repeats and you shudder at his tone.

Tucker’s shoulders drop, defeated, “Fine, get me a raisin bagel.”

He doesn’t wait for Tommy’s response and heads out the bakery. You finally release the breath you’ve been holding, your muscles relaxing along with the exhaled breath. Joel is by your side in the blink of an eye, his broad shoulder brushing yours providing comfort.

“You sure you’re a’right?” he asks, gently curling fingers under your chin. “The prick didn’t do anythin’?”

“Nah, nothing. He’s all bark but no bite. He asked if he wanted to join me today as if that buffoon wouldn’t get me killed.” you shrug, men being assholes was nothing new to you. You’re just glad that in Jackson it seems that there are more good apples than rotten ones. “Too bad even paradise comes with drawbacks.”

Joel snorts as Tommy cuts in, “Maria would be thrilled if she heard you calling it paradise.”

“What are you smiling at? You think you can find anywhere better?” You playfully nudge Joel with your elbow. “You know there’s nothing but hell out there.”

“I do, I just think callin’ here a paradise is a bit of a stretch is all.”

The line moves and the three of you are finally at the counter, “You’re just a grump,” you tease Joel before turning your gaze to Poppy, the barista who knows everything about everyone. “Hey there, Poppy, the usual please.”

“And a damn raisin bagel,” Tommy adds.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite trio,” Poppy grins. “I’ll get all that ready for you in a second,” she locks her blue eyes on you and leans closer, you mimic her by instinct. “By the way have you heard of Ian? He wound up dead right outside the chopping block, an axe right through his chest.”

You frown, “Good morning to you too, Poppy. Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll confess I didn’t love the guy but isn’t it worrying that there’s a killer among us?” she murmurs while stuffing the goodies in paper bags. “Be careful out there.”

“Well, if the culprit is here I think I might be safer out there,” you say and turn to Tommy. “Does Maria know?”

“Of course, she does,” when you part your lips to say more, he lifts a finger and shoots you a crooked smile. “It’s confidential.”

“Aw man, can’t you just tell us who she thinks it is?” Poppy asks, Tommy shakes his head and she lets out a dramatic sigh, “I miss my murder mystery books.”

“I’ll try to find you something while I’m out,” you say, ignoring the way your heart began to race. Jackson is still a small town, it’s jarring to think someone might be out there, looking for their next target. “Though I think we could all do with a little less murder.”

You hadn’t expected your voice to crack but your tone had betrayed you. Poppy extends you the bag of goods and a latte, as you reach out you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. His lips touch your ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure whoever it is is only goin’ after those who deserve it.”

You lock your eyes with him, blinking heavily at the weight of his words. His voice had dropped, nothing but gravel as he whispered the words into your ear. A cold sensation slithers down your spine, chilling you to your core and making your throat tighten.

His hand never leaves your waist as the three of you head out, and after a while, that chill slowly dissolves into a pleasurable warmth.

You find solace in the woods. You love Jackson, but being in the woods away from everyone and everything makes you feel comforted. The first time you went scavenging, there was a slight fear in your movements; no matter how good your aim was, any kind of infected was difficult to kill.

But now you walk with ease. There isn’t an ounce of worry in your bones. The trees rustle happily and the smell of flowers and pine fills your nostrils. You can feel your lungs rejuvenating with every breath. Trickles of orange sunlight pour from the gaps of the trees. The sun sets, meaning you need to set up camp soon.

While unpacking, you think of this morning. How Joel and Tommy stepped in when Tucker started bothering you. Honestly, you didn’t need their protection; Tucker is just one of those men who think they might have a shot if they bother you enough times. Still, it was nice to be claimed in a way, to be accepted into a family and cared for.

Your breath hitches slightly. Tommy, you see as a close friend, a brother perhaps, but Joel... Joel is another thing. Just thinking about him is enough to start a wildfire between your legs. You wish you were brave enough to do something about it, though. Whenever you two patrol together or stay awake late at night drinking, you always chicken out in the end. It doesn’t matter how his hands linger on your thighs or his eyes drop to your lips; you're just never convinced that the Joel Miller would be interested in you beyond a friend.

An unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach. As the air grows colder with the approaching night, your skin prickles and you feel the phantom sensation of claws dragging down your back. You set the tent as quickly as you can, your eyes darting around the depths of the forest. Briefly, you bend over to adjust the ropes.

A breath warm and damp ghosts the back of your neck and you jump, gun in hand as you turn around only to find—

Nothing.

And no one.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline pumping in your veins, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. You've never had a trigger finger, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to just shoot every shadow you see.

“Dammit Poppy,” you mutter, annoyed that she gave you the brutal knowledge of Ian’s death right before you were heading out. Guilt stings at your heart. Ian was an asshole for sure, and you don’t exactly feel bad that he’s gone, but still, it was an eerie thought that someone had murdered him so violently. It had to be personal.

Some part of you wishes Joel was here, or even Tucker, just another human being to tell you you’re just seeing things.

You take a deep inhale and follow it up with a long exhale. You’re fine. There’s no one here.

You give your surroundings one last suspicious look before going back to setting the tent.

No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you amongst the shadows.

Joel hears crickets and owls. The night had always been his friend since the outbreak. He had become a violent man with an equally violent heart. He waits in the shadows, watching. Laughter and playful shouts echo from the bar, and soon the door swings open; the man he's been waiting for crawls out of the establishment, shit-faced. The drunk man shouts his farewells and staggers toward his home.

Joel follows, his mask heating up the skin that lays underneath. His fingers itch with the need to wring that asshole's neck. One by one, he had been cleaning Jackson for the better. His tendencies subdued while also doing some good. Ian was one of those people who deserved it and Joel had enjoyed the chase, the pleas, he especially enjoyed the way he tripped and cried right before he sunk the blade of the axe through Ian’s chest.

Tucker trips, making Joel want to laugh. The idiot might not even realize he’s being hunted. Joel looks around, they are far enough for the chase to begin. Tucker continues to slip and fall as he attempts to get up. Taking the opportunity, Joel walks towards him with quick steps, making sure the first thing the asshole sees is his mask.

Tucker notices him before he gets up, his hands bracing the ground, his eyes go wide, “What the fuck?”

Joel only tilts his head. He sees the trembles rolling down the other man’s body, he relishes in his fear.

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, whoever the fuck you are so. . . scram.”

Joel’s eyes dart to his hand on the dirt, without a second thought he lifts his foot and curb stomps Tucker’s hand. Then he kicks the side of his face, an audible crunch echoing before his scream could. The man whimpers and falls back in his attempt to crawl away. He holds his jaw, blood streaming down his broken nose.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

He steps closer and watches as Tucker’s eyes bug out. He’s too drunk to properly run away or even scream. Such an easy target. He grips the other’s hair and lifts him to his feet, he can feel the strands starting to rip from his scalp one by one, Tucker’s face twisting in pain. “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel answers eerily calm. It doesn’t matter if Tucker recognizes him. He’d be dead soon enough anyway.

“P-Please,” he begs, realizing the same thing. “I’ll do whatever you want promise. I don’t want to die.”

Joel grunts, not dignifying his pleas with an answer. Lifting his other hand, his knuckles connect to Tucker’s face with a loud crunch, body flying to the ground headfirst.

He pulls out his knife and drops down, ignoring the ache in his knees, he grabs Tucker’s arm and aligns the sharp blade against his wrist. Tucker notices, his face going pale as a ghost. “D-Don’t—”

Joel doesn’t bat an eye as blood spurts violently over his clothes and the dirt. Drops of crimson seeping into the fabric. The knife cuts through the flesh like butter, severing hand from bone. His hand clamps over Tucker’s mouth. Joel smiles as his screams bounce off of the palm of his hand.

You come back to Jackson hand empty and earlier than intended. You were too much at unease, and being so jarred wasn’t the best while scavenging for supplies alone. During your trip, you did end up scribbling something for Poppy. It wasn’t finished but you hoped she would enjoy the first draft of the first chapter. It was mostly descriptions of what you felt, a cat-and-mouse game between two people who had bumped into each other accidentally.

While heading into Jackson, you notice a crowd in the distance. You promptly get off your horse and walk with haste. You recognize Joel and Tommy easily, both brothers standing on each end of the crowd like gates keeping a herd of sheep in check. Ellie is standing right next to Joel, lifting herself on her toes to see; Joel is holding her back by gripping the cap of her hood.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Joel turns to you, his eyebrows raising when notices it’s you and not some random person he has to ignore, “You’re back,” he says. A statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling that well,” you shrug him off. “So what happened?”

His eyes turn to steel, his jaw locking in place. Before you can ask again, he gestures for you to move up the crowd with a tilt of his head.

“Lucky,” you hear Ellie murmur as you walk ahead, gently pushing those who were looking at the sight with concern. With every step you take, the murmur of the crowd fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise. Maria is addressing the crowd, you think, though you're not entirely sure. The scent of blood is thick in the air, disorienting you as you get closer.

Your eyes go wide, the earth slips from beneath you but your expression remains emotionless.

It’s Tucker.

You feel as if you’re standing alone. As if you’re the only one taking in the sight of absolute horror and gore. Tucker is lying in a pile of his own blood face first, his eyes are open and lifeless, his one hand is outstretched like he’s about to crawl away.

His right hand, however, is chopped off.

It’s not even a clean-cut. The edges of his flesh are jagged and crooked, his blood-caked where his hand should be. Whoever did this cut it so it would hurt, so he would suffer tremendously.

You can’t help but gasp, covering your mouth with your right hand. You begin to shake, confusion churning in your stomach as bile coats your tongue. He’s dead. Just like Ian.

When Maria’s eyes find your own, she narrows her gaze, a small warning for you to keep it together. You can’t though. How could you? Tucker was alive and kicking a couple of days ago, just being his annoying self around Jackson.

“Calm down,” you hear Joel mutter into your ear. You shiver at the brush of his lips. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. You want to laugh. You don’t even know what that word means anymore.

Joel’s mouth moves over the shell of your ear, “He was a nuisance. Don’t feel bad now that he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” you hiss back. “And knowing there’s a serial killer out there doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.”

Despite your half-angry tone, you find yourself leaning into Joel’s presence. Your shoulder presses into his broad chest, and without missing a beat he wraps his arms around your shaking frame. Relief comes in the form of warmth spreading along your chest, tingles forming at the tips of your fingers and toes. The voices of the crowd gradually come back but you only hear one of the many questions.

“What do you think the message means?”

Confusion crosses your face, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of it. Joel makes a choked-out sound that could’ve easily been taken as an amused chuckle.

Then your eyes drop to Tucker’s outstretched hand and his dying message written in blood.

O W L

A week had passed since Tucker’s death.

You've been thinking about both murders relentlessly, trying to piece together everything that you know so far. During this time, you're grateful for Poppy, who comes by almost every night to help you try to solve the case. That's been your sole focus for the past few weeks; you haven't been scavenging since you spooked yourself so badly that you returned early, only to find Tucker dead.

Some part of you thinks that the eeriness you felt that day was a sign of what was about to happen. It's also an odd coincidence that he ended up dead the same night he harassed you in the morning. However, there are no forensic investigators in Jackson, so it’s almost impossible to determine the exact time of death. That fact alone makes you anxious. It only means that whoever is killing everyone has nothing to worry about because even if they leave traces, who’s going to know?

In order to keep your nerves in check you end up writing a lot. You haven’t shown any of it to Poppy yet but you’re excited. You never thought writing a thriller would be the perfect way to escape the horrors of your actual life. At least in your stories, you have control.

You also visit Joel and vice versa.

Something had shifted the day he held you as you both gazed upon Tucker’s lifeless body. Maybe it was just you who felt bolder since death was once again right around the corner — or maybe Joel just felt more protective now, wanting to check on you as much as he could.

“You’re really writin’ a whole ass novel?” he asks, pouring you a glass of scotch. You still can’t get over the fact that it nearly tasted identical to the actual stuff. Jackson is truly a miracle; at least when bodies aren’t dropping left and write.

Ellie’s at a sleepover, which means you and Joel have the whole house to yourselves. With everything going on you’d expect your libido to diminish a bit but it’s as strong as ever, ready to go.

You smile as he places the glass in front of you, “Yeah,” you say, picking up the glass and heading toward the living room. “I couldn’t find Poppy anything to read and it helps me relax.”

“Relax, how?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. The couch dips with his weight, and heat crawls up from your chest to your neck when his knee brushes against yours.

“Well, it’s a horror thing. Horror slash mystery? I don’t know—whatever it is, it’s nice to have an outlet to escape what’s been happening lately.”

“So to escape brutal murders you write more brutal murders?”

You chuckle at the way his eyebrows raise, eyes going wide, “I don’t really focus that much on the gore. It’s more psychological, my sweet brute. Things don’t need to have blood to be scary.”

His grin is wide and instant, dark eyes lighting up with amusement, “What did you just call me?”

“I. . .” Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly realizing what you’d said.

“What cat got your tongue?” he teases. Joel leans closer, fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulder. You can feel the gravel in his voice. “You just called me yours, sweetheart. Does that jog your memory?”

“I also called you brute,” you quip back immediately, cheeks aflame. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t it?” his palm now presses fully into your shoulder, keeping you in place in case you might run. Joel tilts his head slightly, the plush of his lips only an inch away. “I like you callin’ me that,” the pink of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“S-Say what?”

A small chuckle parts his lips, oddly enough it almost feels like his patience is wearing thin. He comes closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “That I’m yours,” he clarifies. “Been waitin’ to hear those words come from your mouth since I met you.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper against his lips, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. With the confession, you feel the brush of Joel’s lips on yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth. You part for him with a moan, and taking the opportunity, he slides inside, tasting every inch of you.

His lips taste and feel like the forests you wander off to; it soothes you, calms your nerves, and has the taste of home. They’re chapped from the sun, yet soft. You can’t have enough of him, if he’d offered, you’d gladly kiss him forever.

Joel parts with a shaky breath, his chest heaving, “And you’re mine,” he groans, his eyes dark with arousal. It’s an involuntary action but your eyes drop to the front of his pants where you see the thick outline of his cock.

Your mouth goes dry, yet you manage to speak anyway, “Are words all you’ve been waiting for?” It’s bold, you’re highly aware, but you can’t help it when he’s this close. His scent suffocating, pulling you to him like a moth to a flame.

He stares at you silently. His thumb touches your bottom lip, slightly tugging it down. He’s not smiling anymore, only observing.

“No,” Joel answers slowly. He leans towards your ears, the thick hairs above his lips tickling your skin. “I’ve also been waitin’ to feel that velvet tongue on my cock, honey. And to feel how tight your throat gets when you take every inch of me.”

Joel blows a puff of air, it caresses your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brings your hand to the front of his pants, dragging your palm up and down his length. You shudder. The heat of it seeps into your palm despite the thick fabric of his jeans, you lick your lips absentmindedly. “This is all for you sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Joel. . .” your eyes roll back when he kisses your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid upon your skin like a gift. Your nipples tighten and if you look down right now, you know you’ll see them peeking through your shirt.

He reads your thoughts, eyes moving down before meeting your gaze again. “Didn’t know you walked around without a bra, sunshine.”

“I only go braless when I’m comfortable,” you answer. Joel cups your breasts roughly, kneading the flesh, he simultaneously sucks on your neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Oh god,” the fabric of your panties grows damp and you clench your thighs together.

“Not god,” he says sharply, sinking his teeth into you. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you moan and arch your back, filling more of yourself into his palm. You squeeze his cock, relishing in the way he makes a strangled sound. “I want to suck you off, Joel.”

“Be my guest.”

You push him until he’s lying on the couch. You’re about to unbutton his jeans but he stops you.

“Turn around,” he says.

“What?”

His wide grin nearly stops your heart, “Want to taste that sweet pussy, sunshine. Strip down and take a seat.”

“On—On your face?”

“Where else?”

You’re too embarrassed to speak, tongue suddenly too big in your mouth. Quickly, and a bit clumsily, you strip down and turn before straddling his chest. You don’t need to touch yourself to know that you’re soaked.

You swallow, “I’ve never done this before.”

His hands come up to cradle your hips, urging you to move back towards his face. You feel the blunt sting of his nails.

“That’s alright,” he mutters. “I won’t let you fall if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m more worried about how I’m gonna move, or accidentally suffocating you.”

“What a noble way it would be to go.”

“Joel!” you laugh, playfully smacking his thigh. He answers by giving your hips another squeeze, you surrender and move back until you’re hovering over his face. Your hand planted firmly over his hip bones, you lower yourself. You shudder as his tongue licks a stripe between your folds. He moans into your cunt, pulling you flush against his face.

Meanwhile, you finally unzip his pants and pull his cock out, the heft of it bumping against your nose and lips. You drip at the smell of him and swear he smiles as he sucks on your aching clit, short-circuiting your brain with arousal. His cock throbs in your palm, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Your mouth watering, you lean forward and clean him off. Another groan echoes within his chest and he thrusts forward, the tip of his cock kissing your lips.

Eyes fluttering closed, you suck on the bulbous head and force yourself to go down until he hits the back of your throat. You wrap a hand around the base, stroking where you can’t fit, and hallow your cheeks.

“Come on, sunshine. You can take me,” he rasps. “You’re mine, aren’t you? That mouth is meant to take me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Joel pushes his tongue inside, your walls clenching around the wet muscle—you let out a loud gasp and grind down, then you feel the sting of his palm against your ass, pain blossoming from where he smacked.

Your throat rattles with a moan and Joel takes the opportunity to drive forward, your eyes go wide as you feel the length of him sliding down your throat, cutting the air from your lungs.

“Oh, fuck—” he moans unabashedly, the sounds sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine despite the strain on your throat. “That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, fuck—”

Your throat tightens around him, your lungs starting to burn. His hand caresses both sides of your ass, the abrupt pain of the smack from before subduing, “Relax,” he says, swirling his tongue around your clit. “Breathe through your nose. Just a bit more. . .”

Your nails bite into his thighs as you attempt to follow instructions. You relax your throat and slowly begin to breathe from your nose. It’s still difficult, but your lungs rejoice in the minimal amount of air that comes through. You make a mess of him. Saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth and down his length.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat now and make this pussy come, understood?”

Eyes tearing up, you nod. From the way your stomach convulses, you know that you’re close, your skin tight over your trembling muscles. The nod is all that Joel needs from you. Holding you in place, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely down your throat while flicking his tongue against your clit. You scream around him, eyes rolling back as he continues to devour you and take you apart at the same time. He licks you with fat strokes of his tongue, a hint of teeth scraping your folds here and there as he fucks your throat with shallow thrusts.

You’re limp against his broad body, allowing him to use you as he pleases while all you can do is hang on for the ride. Pleasure licks the base of your spine, a searing heat caressing your skin while Joel continues to build you up only for you to fall spectacularly. Your lips start to ache, your throat squeezing around him whenever he snaps his hips forward—

And all hell finally breaks loose.

You come undone with a devastating cry only for it to be muffled by his cock going down your throat. You gush around his tongue, soaking his facial hair and mouth, Joel is underrated, licking and sucking until you’re shaking above him, every bit of tension draining from your body.

Joel comes shortly after, his hand slides from your waist and he manages to reach out in order to hold your head down. You don’t have a choice but to swallow as he spills down your throat, thick spurts of come going down while he shudders and pushes even deeper.

There’s so much of it, cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth until your mouth sucks him dry. You’re lightheaded from the lack of air; you find that it adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing in your veins, your cunt still pulsing with the heft of him still buried in your lips.

He pulls out with a satisfied groan and you manage to scoot down so you’re straddling his chest instead of head. Joel caresses your back, the gentle repeated motion sending tingles down your spine.

“That’s was fuckin’ amazin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer sounding meek. “I think I need some water though.”

You get off, legs still shaking, but he grabs your hand, halting your movement. “Let me get it for you,” he says, sitting up.

“I’m already up,” you smile as his brows furrow with worry, the expression warming your heart. You quickly bend down to kiss him and he’s quick to lick himself into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

You have no idea how you’re standing while feeling like jello but you manage to get yourself all the way to the fridge. You smile at the coolness touching your warmed skin when you open the door. Scanning the interior, you thoughtlessly rub at your throat in an attempt to soothe the ache a little. You grab the pitcher of cold water and notice a bit of apple pie left over.

“Hey, Joel?” you call out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have a slice of pie?”

His humored chuckle follows through, “You can eat the whole damn thing after what you’ve done,” you smile and take the desert out. “Can you bring me a slice too?” he adds.

You smile and place the pie on the counter. The leftover is already two slices give or take so you decide to just take two forks with you instead of dirting a plate. Looking through the drawers, you try to remember which one is the cutlery drawer.

On your second try you find something else.

Something that makes your eyes go wide and heart throb painfully.

Your hands shaking, you pick up the owl mask from the drawer. The surface is smooth, and the color of it a light shade of brown just like a tawny owl. All the pleasant tingles fade away, the buzz of pleasure in your veins replaced by fear and adrenaline.

Heading back to the living room, you show the mask to Joel.

“What’s this?” you ask, your voice betraying your sudden outburst of fear.

Joel looks up, eyes flitting between you and the owl mask. He raises a brow, his confusion evident across his face. “It’s a mask, sweetheart.”

“No no, I know it’s a mask,” you answer, breathless. “But why do you have it?”

“It’s Ellie’s,” he stands up, his pants still unbuttoned but pulled up. You fight the urge to step away, fight the urge to flinch when he touches your cheek. “They were makin’ Halloween masks last year in school. I didn’t even realize we still had it.”

“Really?” you ask and he nods.

“Really,” Joel claims your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb stroking lines up and down your cheek. His hand slithers down your arm to your wrist and when he squeezes, you drop the mask. “Why?” he breathes into you. “Is this about the damn thing Tucker wrote down?”

You remain silent and he pulls away, dark eyes boring into yours.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Why don’t you just allow yourself to enjoy this? You deserve to be happy.”

Your eyes widen with surprise, his words crashing into you, “I. . . Do I do that? Really?”

“It’s normal, darlin’,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure we all have survivor’s guilt.”

You let out a shaky exhale. He’s right. You were just feeling guilty of being alive when so many had died. Joel smiles back and traces the curve of yours with his fingers. “There’s that smile that I adore,” he guides you towards the kitchen. “Now let’s go eat some pie.”

No matter what though, you can’t help but turn back to look at the owl mask one last time as it lays lifelessly on the floor.

“So, tell me about this book you’re writin’?”

You let out a low laugh, “I already told you about it. What more do you wanna know?”

You stare at Joel’s back as he takes the lead, he’d decided to join you in your explorations ever since you told him how nervous you had gotten the last time. You had appreciated the gesture but still felt a tad anxious around him ever since you found that damn owl mask—

A branch snaps into two under your steps and he turns, extending his hand to you. With a smile you allow him to lace his fingers within yours, your stomach jumping a little as he tugs you close so the two of you are walking side by side instead.

“If memory serves me right we got distracted when you told me about it,” he says with that southern drawl of his. “So tell me again what it’s about.”

“Okay okay,” you smile, squeezing his hand twice. “It’s all a big mess now but the premise is that there’s this guy obsessed with this woman and he stalks her and no matter what she does, she always feels like there’s someone watching.”

Joel looks ahead, “Sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you felt last time you were out here?”

“Yeah, and it’s when I started writing it.”

“So do these two people know each other?” his tone drops, his fingers suddenly feeling like barbed wire within your hand. You swallow. “I mean in their regular lives, does the woman know that he’s the one stalkin’ her?”

You roll your shoulders, a weak attempt to shrug off the eeriness that you feel.

“Exactly. I think that just makes the whole thing creepier. He’s just a normal guy, even a friend, but he’s also the one among the shadows.”

“Interestin’,” he murmurs. “You think that’s happenin’ to you?”

“I don’t think there’s someone stalking me, if that’s what you’re asking,” you utter every word hastily, your pulse quickening under your skin.

His lips curl in a half smile, “That’s good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be laying awake thinking about what might lingerin’ on the other side of the window.”

“I think I’m more likely to stay awake thinking about infected,” you say with a soft laugh. “But yeah, it’s all fiction. That day I probably just got scared because of what Poppy said about Ian.”

“Probably,” Joel trails off, his steps slowing. “How do you think it’s gonna end?”

“W-What?”

He stops and so does your heart. At least you think it does.

Joel faces you fully, his presence towering, he grips your shoulders and pushes you back until the air is knocked from your lungs by a tree right behind you. Your eyes go wide. He leans in, breath tickling your lips.

“How do you think your book is gonna end, sweetheart?” he asks again, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Is the guy gonna get the girl?”

“I—I don’t know.”

All you can think about is the owl mask and how it would perfectly fit his face. He cocks his head and taking a step closer, he slips a leg between your thighs. Slick gathers at your underwear—he feels the fabric dampening on his leg and grins.

“Fear turns you on doesn’t it?” he purrs. “Wicked thing.”

Relief drowns your senses. So that’s why he got all weird suddenly, he’s just teasing you. With a laugh, your head falls back against the tree trunk, “Jesus Joel, you scared the shit out of me.”

“It ain’t my fault,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re easy to scare.”

“Well, two brutal unsolvable murders will do that to a girl.”

Joel lets go and pulls away, smiling as he shakes his head, “What’s it gonna take for you to believe I had nothin’ to do with those? Even in death, Tucker causes nothin’ but fuckin’ trouble for me.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m sorry,” you pull him back, relishing in the way his strong arms wrap around your frame. “I’ll stop being such a chicken, promise. I’m still a bit jittery that’s all.”

“I forgive you,” he says against your lips, kissing you quickly before pulling you away from the thick trunk of the tree. “Now let’s find a place to settle down for the night.”

When you two return to Jackson three days later, the first thing you notice is the crowd. Your stomach drops at the familiar sight and instinctively you reach out to Joel, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes your hand two times.

The last thing you should be feeling is relief that now it’s not possible for Joel to be the one killing all those people but alas, that’s all you feel. Relief and love.

The trade fair sprawls before you. Stalls with makeshift awnings, tattered banners, and worn tarps create a patchwork quilt of colors, beneath which a diverse array of goods is proudly displayed. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the tang of cured leather, and the earthy aroma of herbs. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional clinking of metal form a lively symphony, a chorus of life that drowns out the ever-present background hum of death and infection.

You’ve always enjoyed the time of the trade fair. People move like busy ants, weaving between the stalls. Children, their cheeks dusted with earth, dart through the crowd, their carefree laughter that should be comforting doing the opposite. Since Tina’s death— she was one of the council members— you had been sleeping at Joel’s. Neither he nor Ellie seemed to mind you staying there.

The purpose of the fair is to exchange goods – to exchange, to connect, to share stories of survival.

Your eyes scan the crowd for Joel's familiar silhouette. He and Ellie had headed out before you since you wanted a change of clothes. Just as your gaze begins to falter, a voice reaches your ears. "Hey!" It's Poppy, she waves you over.

You navigate your way through the bustling stalls until you stand before Poppy. She's leaning against a rough-hewn post, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“Hey, Poppy,” you greet her with a smile. “I’m looking for Joel, or Ellie, have you seen either of them?”

“Well, Ellie is with Dina, hanging out,” She points to the forest that skirts the settlement. "I saw him heading that way not too long ago."

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later then,” Waving her off, you head after Joel.

The trees are a bit more scarce here, there’s more room between them. The forest opens up, revealing a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's a stark contrast to the dense woods you often travel to, where the trees stand like guardians, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of shadow and light. Here, the gaps between the trees create pockets of sunlight that dapple the forest floor.

However, the expanses between trees can be deceiving, and without the markers and familiarity of the well-trodden paths closer to home, it's easy to lose your way.

For some reason instead of calling out for Joel, you decide to wander aimlessly. You’re not sure why. You don’t come to this side of Jackson often enough to feel comfortable with your surroundings and shouting his name would definitely be easier than walking without aim.

Soon enough you hear faint murmuring beckoning you deeper into the forest.

Survival instincts kicking in, you slow down your steps, making sure to step onto clear dirt instead of gravel or fallen branches. Hiding behind a rather large tree trunk, you stare ahead. In the distance, you see two men: one with his back against the tree, while the other holds him by the neck, the sharp blade of his knife catching the sunlight and reflecting it directly into your eyes.

You hold your breath and your eyes go wide. You hear the thrum of your heart. It’s the killer. It has to be.

You can’t quite hear them but you can decipher the tone of begging for one's life. The man holding the knife tilts his head slightly, your mouth waters at the prospect of finally seeing the murderer's face—

It’s the mask.

The same mask you found in Joel’s home in the shape of an owl. Your stomach churns violently, bile raising to your throat as you watch on. You rub at your eyes, take deep breaths—anything you can think of that would erase the image before you.

Goosebumps raising across your skin, you shake your head. It can’t be Joel. He was with you the day Tina died and no matter how competent he was not even he could be at two places at once.

A muffled scream echoes within the forest and your eyes snap to the two men, the owl had driven his knife into the flesh and bone. He pulls it out, and the body falls. You recognize who it is; Jacob. You heard his name a couple of days ago from Ellie, he was bothering both her and Dina because they were hanging out.

He’s still alive when the killer stomps his head in, blood splattering across the leys.

You’re frozen in place. Your throat dry and tongue motionless. The killer kicks Jacob one last time for good measure and finally stops. You observe the way his shoulders drop as if a great weight had been lifted off of them, then he looks up into the sky, the golden sun highlighting his mask.

Very slowly, he lifts his hand and takes it off.

Every feeling comes rushing back, too fast and too soon. Your tongue is alive again and so is your body, the world is suddenly vibrant with life and horror. The sun continues to caress the countenance of the unmasked killer’s face, his sunkissed skin the perfect canvas to soak up the light.

Joel.

You take a step back, every thought of precaution dropping from your mind. The forest starts to spin. It spins and spins and spins until the ground slips from beneath your feet. You catch yourself at the very last second.

When you look up you see his gaze staring directly into yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss out, quickly staggering up. The last thing you see before you start running is his extended hand as he tries to reach out for you.

“Wait!”

You don’t. You do the exact opposite of that. You run. You run for your life and those in Jackson at the fair.

You run with memories loud in your mind. How Joel had listened to you, comforted you, fucked you—

Tears sting your eyes. Every part of this feels like a nightmare that you hope to wake up from anytime soon. But as the wind hits your skin, you know that every part of this is very much real. Your chest burns from how fast you’re going, your legs starting to falter underneath you.

Before you can react, an unexpected force slams into you. The impact sends shockwaves through your body as you collide with something—or is it someone?—their presence as jarring as the jolt itself. Your momentum falters, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to slow as you stumble, desperately trying to regain your balance.

Two arms grab at you and without even seeing who it is, you start to push the person away, fighting against it like a wild animal.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Hey hey hey,” you hear a familiar voice repeat. “It’s me, you’re okay,” you’re shaking all around, only when you feel his hands cradle your cheeks do you open your eyes. He smiles when he sees your eyes flicker in recognition.

“Tommy?” you whisper. He nods and without a thought you jump him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. His arms coil around you in response, promising to not let go. “Oh, thank fuck it’s you.”

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I—I am okay but—Joel—It’s Joel, Tommy he’s been the one behind all those murders. We need to warn everyone, we need to tell Maria!”

You grab his arm and tug him along toward what you assume is the right way out of the forest. He remains still. Turning around, you shoot him a confused glance. 'Tommy, we need to tell people.'

“Can’t let you do that sugar, sorry.”

“Why. . . Why not?” you let go and slowly step back, heart pounding. “Is it because he’s your brother?”

You wish that was his excuse. Some moral obligation towards Joel because he’s his brother, that you can relate to. Your heart still pounds for Joel and in your brain, you’re still desperately seeking an explanation.

But Tommy allows the silence to linger, your fear and worry quickly turning into anger.

“Fine, I’ll tell them. It’s wrong.”

It only takes a blink of an eye; you feel Tommy’s iron grip around your wrist, yanking you back into his chest. He holds you. Oddly tender for someone who had made your arm nearly fall out of its socket. You thrash within his arms, pulling and hitting his chest.

“We’re doing good,” he grunts. “You gotta see that.”

You refuse to listen, your ear narrowing on the sound of your own blood rush instead of his words. By some miracle, you manage to slip your arm out and punch him square in the chin. It was a weak punch but strong enough to startle Tommy.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, calm the fuck down—” he tucks your arm back against your body and turns you around so your back is flush against his chest. You’re breathing raggedly, chest rising with every deep gulp of air. His lips touch your ear, his tone menacing, “I really wish you would’ve not done that.”

“Why?” you gasp. “You’re gonna kill me too?”

Silence follows, and with every passing moment sweat beads on your forehead, “It was you wasn’t it?” you continue. “You killed Tina. Joel only came along with me to calm my suspicions.”

Before Tommy can confirm your suspicions, you notice movement within the forest and your eyes are immediately drawn to the shadow coming forth.

“Smart girl,” Joel remarks with a half smile as he emerges from between the trees. There’s a splatter of red over his shirt but the knife seems to be tucked away. For now. “But you’re only half right, darlin’. I came along because I like spendin’ time with you.”

“Is that supposed to make me ignore the fact that Jacob’s body isn’t even cold yet?”

Joel curls two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze while Tommy continues to hold you back. You shudder against him, a soft sound parts the younger Miller’s lips.

“He was a piece of shit,” Joel grunts. “He was botherin’ Ellie, callin’ her names, he deserved what he was gettin’.”

“So what, you guys are just playing hero? Killing everyone who’s causing trouble in town? There’s a system for that.”

“Honey,” he tuts, an involuntary warmth spreading within your abdomen. “The system didn’t work before the outbreak, it ain’t gonna work now either.”

“We protect our own,” Tommy says from behind you, breath fanning your neck. “We take care of it before it escalates. You have to understand that.”

“And why the hell would I understand?” you hiss, looking directly into Joel’s eyes while addressing Tommy.

Joel smiles, his lips curling slowly, “Because you’re one of us. And you like it when we protect.”

Your lips part with an exhale. He’s right, not that you still agree with them killing people, but you had enjoyed that primal protection coming from the Millers. It made you feel powerful, loved, cared for. All the things you craved deeply.

You ignore Joel and his words entirely, averting your eyes with embarrassment and shame.

“I just don’t understand why you did it, Tommy” you murmur. Tommy tenses behind you, his arms tightening around your frame, drawing the remaining oxygen from your lungs. “I understand the other’s to an extent but Tina didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel looks towards Tommy, it was his kill after all and the older Miller had nothing to say about it.

“She was wrecking what Maria is tryin’ so hard to build,” he answers. “She’s pregnant, stress ain’t good for her or the baby.”

“Does. . . Does Maria—”

Tommy cuts you off, “No.”

Joel leans closer, mouth an inch away from yours as he parts his lips. “I killed for you,” You hate the way your body reacts to him, wanting to close the distance between you two despite how unsettled you feel. “Ian was a piece of shit, so was Tucker and Jacob. They don’t deserve your empathy, honey. And you can’t deny that you��re glad they’re gone.”

His hair is a delightful mess. Soft locks going in every direction. All you want to do is thread your fingers within and forget about all of this. Joel’s gaze is observant, dark eyes darting all over your face. You don’t know what he sees but whatever it is, he nods to Tommy for him to let you go and he does. Legs lifeless and shaking, he catches you, his warmth welcoming. He’s still tender with you. Hands delicate as they move over your arms, shifting you so you'll be facing Tommy.

Joel’s hand curls around your neck and holds your chin so you can’t look away. You can’t read Tommy’s expression. You’re not sure what he’s feeling. However, you think he looks almost relieved that you’re not fighting anymore.

You shudder as Joel drags his lips down your neck, taking deep breaths of your fear-induced scent. His hands slip under your shirt and cup both breaths, making you squeal. Your objection is short-lived when he brushes his thumbs over both nipples, awakening them with slow strokes.

Tommy’s gaze drops to your chest.

“He’s been watching you, you know,” Joel says. “When I had things to settle in town it was him who looked after you,” his voice drops, eyes observing his brother. “I think he deserves a bit of a show, don’t you think?”

The whimper you let out is enough for Tommy to meet your gaze curiously. Joel smiles into your skin and your eyes widen as he pulls out a knife—a different one from the one he used on Jacob, you realize with relief.

Your breath hitches as he slides the knife under your shirt and cuts your shirt clean from the middle, exposing you completely to his younger brother’s eyes. Sudden arousal pools between your legs and you clamp them together suddenly, the movement not unnoticed by either of them.

“You like it when my brother watches?” he asks loud enough for Tommy to hear. “You got a little crush on him too, sweetheart, hmm? Don’t worry, he’s always goin’ to be lookin’ out for you. That’s what family does after all.”

Your neck strains as Joel tilts your head suddenly, claiming your lips in a violent kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to part your lips for him and pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking the surprised sounds of pleasure right from your mouth. Your heart skips a beat. He presses the flat side of the knife against your warmed skin, the chill of metal settling in your bones.

When he parts away, a string of saliva connects you still. “You’re mine aren’t you?” Joel groans, lips moving over yours.

You nod in a daze and he smiles, “And I’m yours too,” he says.

Your eyes meet Tommy momentarily, the younger Miller’s lips twitch in a half smile. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the distance.

Tommy cradles your face tenderly, urging you to come close as he envelopes your lips with his own, taking you by surprise.

The kiss lacks the intensity compared to Joel’s. Tommy caresses your cheeks with both thumbs. You don’t even feel his tongue, it’s just a gradual movement of lips, a type of affirmation and comfort.

“You’re one of us now,” he says pressing his forehead against yours. You don’t know how to react or what to say and you end up just nodding, your hands fisting his shirt. Him, parting away from you almost feels painful but you’re not sure why. Tommy gives you a smile and Joel a nod before he leaves.

You and Joel stand like that for a while, in complete silence, bodies flushed together, knife still resting over your stomach.

“I only did what was right,” he breaks the silence. His tone isn’t one of asking for forgiveness or understanding. His arms tighten around you. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispers into your ear, the thick hairs above his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You don’t answer him.

“You don’t need to be,” he continues. He allows you to move within his arms, you want to see his face, you need to see him to not fear for your life. You ignore the knife grazing your skin as you turn around, your bare front snug against his chest. “I’ll never hurt you. And you’re the only person in this whole damn town that can say that. You and Ellie.”

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy’s priorities lay elsewhere.”

He doesn’t allow you to inquire further about what he means by that. All you can detect is a hint of anger that quickly dissipates when he claims your lips once more.

You’re lost in him. His tongue captures you in a way that makes you forget the blood on his clothes—on his hands. His tongue slides against your own, pressing until you’re moaning into his mouth, your knees faltering at the knife smoothing down your skin.

Before pushing you down to the ground, he takes off the shirt he cut in half completely off of you, your bra following the pile on the grass. Your breath hitches as he takes his place between your legs, his mouth devouring your neck, “Joel. . .” you moan, fisting his shirt and grinding up to feel at least a bit of friction.

A silent laugh seeps into your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine, “Do you still feel bad for them?” he teases, laying a wet kiss between your breasts.

You don’t think much as you answer, “No.”

And as a reward, Joel closes his lips over a nipple, sucking hard until your breathing goes ragged.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, moving towards the other pebbled flesh. “You’re too good, too kind, but they don’t deserve that sweetheart.”

He hooks his fingers into your belt loops and tugs down your jeans, laving you with soft, ticklish kisses as he moves lower and lower. When you’re completely bare to him, you have the urge to cover yourself, the grass tickles your back and the wind feels colder now. Joel smiles and pulls your arms away. He lays the knife right above your stomach and your breath hitches.

“I want to taste you,” Joel says. “But not in the way you think, darlin’,” he kisses the sensitive skin right adobe your belly button, and brings the sharp edge of the knife to your skin. “I want to taste the life that pumps through your veins.”

Your eyes widen as he nicks you. It’s a small cut and blood beads at the wound instantly. He doesn’t allow it to gather enough so that’ll trickle down, he quickly presses his lips against it, your essence coating his tongue as he gives it a tender suck. You can the blood leaving your veins, a pleasant tingle echoing from the wound and spreading throughout your body. Your eyes flutter, a moan escaping your lips as he flattens his tongue against the cut and licks with board strokes.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he rasps, pushing two fingers into you with ease. You gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching into his touch. “So darn wet—All this for me, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, grinding down. “Joel, please—”

You hear the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, his breath heavy in your ear, “Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’m obliged.”

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your eyes close in anticipation and you whimper as he slowly slides inside you inch by inch. You can feel it, that intense fullness that can only come from him, taking his time to make sure it feels good. His size is intimidating but you feel yourself melting around him, eager and willing.

“That’s it. . . you’re takin’ me so well, such a tight little hole for me. Fuckin’ amazin’.”

He presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before thrusting, sending a wave of pleasure that makes your toes curl. You cling onto him for support as he pumps deeper and faster, hitting all the right spots. It takes neither of you long to climb the edge, ready to fall. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and his grip tightens on your hips. His pace quickens as the intensity builds, and you clench around him as he groans your name.

“Gonna come inside,” he slurs his words. “Gonna fill you up—shit—”

You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, his hard length contracting. As he pushes deeper into you, your insides flutter, squeezing around him. Your orgasm is ripped from you, shattering and mind-numbing. Your head spins and you cling to him, afraid that the world underneath you might slip entirely. His hot come warms you from the inside out, spilling from where his cock stretches you.

Joel remains inside until he starts to soften. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling a longing ache deep within your core. You shudder as his come trickles down your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, entranced, as he gathers himself over his fingers and pushes it back inside you. “Try to keep as much as you can inside.” To emphasize his want for it, he slides your underwear up your legs.

You’re tied to him now. And even though you shouldn’t, you enjoy being the one near the beast. Joel helps you dress, at least helps you with what remains, and gives you his leather jacket to wear since your shirt is in ruins. Neither of you says a word as you walk back to where Jacob’s body rests. You help him bury the body, not feeling a single thing; no grief, no remorse, no sadness.

You always did have a complicated relationship with death after all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown

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myoddessy · 1 year

Text

wake up and shake up | cl16 social media au!

summary —the new bi-monthly rumor about you and charles has finally made its appearance

yourusername just posted !

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe, zendaya, and 1,235,624 others

yourusername certified lover girl for now & for always 💞 AAAAAND I'm over the moon to announce that my directorial debut is finally ready for release!! its been a long few months but Little Women hits theaters on February 16th, see you then 😉💘

lilymhe are u cheating on me babe?

yourusername never, sweets, youre my one and only 😘

charles_leclerc oh!

alex_albon oh!

violetsforroses THANK GOD YOU PUT THOSE RUMORS TO REST QUEEN WE CAN ALWAYS COUNT ON YOU

ynslover ohmygod my icon and my fav novel this is a dream come true

saoirseronan it was an honor to work with you, angel!

landonorris omg unpost this!! seeing you happy makes me physically ill!! 😍😍

yourusername just because you came out of the womb with no game...

landonorris die.

yourusername can't soz im too busy having a sexy bf and a successful career xx

landosbff stop I love them sm 😭

f1 congrats y/n! can't wait to have you back on the paddock!!

florencepugh cuties!! miss u both so so much, sending kisses and love ❤❤💋💋 I loved working with you so much (still geeking out over it I think 😆)

yourusername Flo!! we miss you too (charles misses your food more) and STOP OHMYGOSH working with you was a dream

charles_leclerc just posted an intstagram story !

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #formular 1 social media au #formula 1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #social media au #celebrity!reader #famous!reader

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violetsiren90 · 2 months

Text

Evergreen | Bang Chan/Reader

Pairing: wolf hybrid!Bang Chan x human!f!Reader

(A Nothing But You universe fic)

Genre: hybrid AU; one-shot; established relationship; domestic fluff; slice of life; mountain living; pregnancy

Word Count: 1689

Summary: Seasons change, life moves on - but some things stay the same.

Content Warning: PG-13 for themes but my page and all its content are 18+ (minors, dni); wolf hybrid rut; mentions of knotting and marking; mentions of rut symptoms that include insomnia and lack of appetite; deep emotions; the use of "your" and "belonging" in the sense of committed love NOT ownership; pregnancy; mentions of different states of undress; domesticity and shared domestic responsibility; homesteading; Chris being the sweetest and most caring 😭💕; Chris chopping wood 😳; mentions of food and eating; implications of sexual intimacy, parenthood

Author's Note: I guess I went and fell in love with these two. This is a companion one-shot to Nothing But You. This one-shot is a different flavor, not as soft and cozy all the way through - there are more notes here, I think. Some sweeter, some sharper, but in the end, it's still them. I wanted to peek into their lives and see how they lived and loved. 🥰

If no one has told you yet today, please know that you are so loved, and so worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

~January~

Snow burdens the branches of the pines, the bitter North wind whistling between the trees, through the darkness, and over the blanket of fresh powder shrouding the forest floor. The mountains are sleeping, but your wolf is awake.

He nearly collapses, sinking to his knees as he shuts the cabin door. You spring up from your place by the fire to rush to him, but he holds up a hand, a growl rumbling low in his chest. You freeze. Panting, he slowly raises his face. Snowflakes cling to his lashes and dust over his head and shoulders. The dusky circles under his brown eyes speak of weariness, yet their expression is dark and wild. His nose is flushed from the chill. Beads of sweat quiver on his brow.

The fever still hasn't broken.

It appeared two days ago, with other sudden changes. Christopher has grown restless and short-tempered, and won't sleep in your bed. He smells intoxicatingly of cedar wood and amber.

You've been through it all before, his annual rut at the end of winter - four days of watching him endure the throes of primal agony. He would steal away at night, to hunt, your proximity far too overwhelming for his heightened senses and desires. Unchecked he would fail to stop himself. He would take you, mark you, knot you.

He hadn't in the four years you'd shared a bed and the comfort of the other's flesh. You'd spoken of the mating rites, but he always held off, afraid to break you. So protective of you always, and without a second a thought to himself.

You respected his space, his wishes, attempting to help him navigate the torment of his natural longings as best you could.

But this year it had taken him like a wild fire. The fever wouldn't break. He wouldn't sleep or eat. And now, here he was, half frozen and shivering on the floor.

No more.

You slowly cross to pull him up against his weak protesting. You peel away his frost-damp clothes and drag his heavy frame to rest upon the bed. With his last strength he tries to push you away, but you slip under the blankets beside him, pulling him into your arms.

His eyes flutter shut as he curls against you and nuzzles into your neck, whimpering that when he wakes it will be too hard for him to hold back.

You tell him not to try.

You tell him that you need him, want him - all of him. This part too, with all the others. You assure him softly that you're not afraid, nor should he fear to make you his...you already belong to one another, after all.

You whisper that you love him.

Christopher exhales, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with the sweat and melted snow. You hold him to your breast, brushing soft kisses into his hair.

Cedar wood and amber.

~April~

You shake out a flannel shirt, crinkled and bunched from wringing to hang it on the line that stretches from the side of the cabin to a young yellow birch within the clearing. You smile as you fasten it with clips. He had worn it on the first day he visited the diner. It was faded then, and it has grown more timeworn still. But the fabric is thick, the seams hand-sewn, and if the dye has begun to abandon the thread it is only ever the softer.

Strong and soft, like him.

The warblers are singing in the branches of the white pines as they busily fashion their nests. You stroke a hand down over the little bump of your belly, musing over the nesting that has started to change the trappings of your own little home. There's still plenty of time, but Christopher's excitement has poured forth in the form of hard work, and you're certain that when your time comes he'll have stored by enough for the next three winters yet.

You hear the rumbling of his truck a ways off. He left in the wee hours, the bed loaded down with wares to sell to suppliers in town. By the time you've strung up the last piece of washing he's already at the mouth of the trail, his arms laden with flowers and parcels wrapped in brown paper. The light wash of his denim shirt brings out the early kisses of the spring sunshine on his honeyed skin.

You follow him into the house where he puts your wildflowers into a vase and insists that you sit while he tends to lunch. Unwrapping the brown paper packages you find a set of pretty maternity pajamas, a box of chocolates, and the goat's milk soap you like.

He's already eaten half his sandwich when he sets yours down, and you tug his wrist, pulling him into a chair to prevent him from setting out to work yet again.

When the dishes are cleared you won't let him leave. He'd work every second of every day and well into many nights if you let him. But today you want him to rest. It's a mild and lovely afternoon and the chores are done. Other things can wait.

You sit across his lap on the porch swing he built two summers before. Your arms encircle one of his as you rest your head on his shoulder.

His lips brush your forehead as his thumb caresses the little curved scar where the slope of your shoulder meets your neck. The one that means you belong to him and no one else.

The birds sing and the swing creaks. 

~July~

He calls you from around the other side of the house. You draw an arm over your dripping brow and struggle up from where you're crouched to spread a batch of plump, ripe blackberries between the screens of the drying rack. There are still so many. Some you'll turn into jam. Christopher will eat the rest. He loves them. You rest the colander still half-full with berries against the full swell of your belly, wrapping an arm about the rim to keep it in place.

You're hot and uncomfortable these days. But, when the morning's work is through, you'll go down to the lake together to shed the day's heat in the cool, still waters. You'd been every afternoon that week. Christopher was a strong swimmer, and would stay in far longer while you sat on the shady bank with a book. When he finally quit the water yesterday, he'd never found his clothes - instead he'd pressed you back into the lush green grass and made you sigh his name.

As you round the far side of the cabin your eyes catch his form. He stands under the sweltering sun, stripped down to pair of fitted khaki work pants and thick suede boots. His muscular chest is slicked with sweat and he stands, panting, with his weight pressed into his right hip. He holds an axe in his hand.

His mouth pulls up at the corner and his tail swishes at the site of you. You tuck yourself against him wrapping your free arm around his damp waist. Oh how you want to swim. To hold his strong body in the dark water.

He gestures with the axe at what he's fitted together with stripped pieces of soft pine. A little cradle. He nudges it with his foot, setting it to rock. You bring a blackberry to his lips and he accepts it.

You kiss him.

Salty skin and summer fruit. 

~October~

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of little cries. You sit up and stretch, blinking in the softness of the early autumn light.

You inhale deeply. Cinnamon and hickory smoke.

Outside the air is growing crisp and the leaves of the deciduous trees are blushing and abandoning their hosts, covering the floor of the wood in their pageantry. Fruit and game have begun to grow scarce as the forest prepares to enter the long slumber of the colder months. Nights require fires more often than not.

There is a small fire crackling now. A little black cauldron hangs over the flames, and you can smell the porridge simmering within. The man you love sits in a rocking chair near the warmth, a little bundle in his arms. He looks up at you as you rise and he smiles. He's been all smiles lately. In fact, you don't think the little dimple has left his cheek since he met the tiny she-wolf in his arms two weeks ago.

He says she looks like you, but all you see in her beautiful little features is Christopher. She has two tiny fuzzy ears and a darling little tale.

You reach down to stroke her fat cheek and your heart aches.

It aches from love, so much of it.

When the doctor placed her in your arms a part of your heart that you hadn't known existed burst to beating. You thought you loved the man who had knitted her inside you as much as you were able, but you had been ignorant in that respect as well. When he took your daughter in his arms and looked down on her face you thought that there wasn't room in your chest for things so vast, so deep.

You named her Hannah, for the sister her father had lost. It meant "grace".

So fitting, you think.

You move your fingers into Christopher's curls and he looks up at you. His brown eyes are soft and warm. The lovely eyes you saw that first day at the general store - the same through every changing season.

The maple and the birch will wax and wane, but not the cedar, not the pine.

Some things will remain.

And he is evergreen. 

-Fin-

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hollowdeath · 4 months

Note

Oh hello, I just wanted to tell you that what you wrote is amazing! I read it over and over and couldn't stop reading. You are soooo amazing! *((Ugly crying😭❤️))*

And umm.. I would like to share about the imagination in my head about Dark Harry Potter. He joins the Lord Voldemort and betrayed all his friends. When the war ended, the Lord's side Voldemort wins. Everything is in chaos but Harry ignores it all because he only cares about the reader, his old girlfriend. (Harry still loves the reader even though the reader hates Harry.) He might have requested that the Lord Voldemort gave the reader as a reward to him after the war. Something like that, and ummm, a drama that is both bitter and sad and angry at the same time full of longing for each other? A rough and sad lovemaking? 🥺

hi! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy!

pairing: dark!harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: harry's all-consuming anger successfully tempts him to join voldemort in the war, sending you, his girlfriend, away in an attempt to keep you safe. years later he asks for your return, and is met with bitterness and rage as you struggle to navigate your feelings for each other in a post-war world.

c/w: smut!!! angst!! slow burn! mentions/threats of weapons, violence, abuse, and death/murder. smut is all the way at the end (grinding, oral, penetration, submissive!harry & dominant!reader) lightly edited, not book/movie/canon accurate

word count: 12.6k

a/n: this is giving me manacled x star wars and i love it lol, so so so much fun to write. i tried to make the reader more angst-y and dominant than normal, so if you like this please let me know! sorry if the plot doesn't make much sense. i also started school this week so please be patient with me! going to try and start posting shorter blurbs/headcanons between requests <3

harry was standing at a window in the lord's manor, watching the street below him as people sulked aimlessly by. it was a typical, gloomy day, the clouds gathering heavily above. it had been raining for weeks, maybe even months at this point, and it was beginning to cast a permanent gray shadow across the city. not even the weather could escape the tragedies of the war.

though harry chose to not dwell on the war, he felt its lingering effects. even from his lofty spot in the comfort of the lord's castle, which he barely left anymore. its walls had become harry's second skin. so long as he had everything delivered to him whenever he desired, it was disgusting to him to even think of stepping outside.

yet still, harry could see the abandoned and damaged shops just outside the lord's gates lining the courtyard along the cobblestone streets. the burnt remains of what once was. the sunken-in faces of the remaining people in the city. the lack of light, the lack of life, the lack of magic.

there's a part of harry, a weak cry from deep inside his repressed past, that feels bad. he was once a young wizard with bright eyes walking the streets of these same shops. he once enjoyed the sounds of shared happiness, and found solace in the fact that despite his lack of, there would always be joy in the world around him.

however, as harry grew older, and the circumstances around him shifted, he found himself getting angrier more often. not just on a weekly basis over small interactions or mistakes, but all the time, from the moment he was awoken by his nightmares to the moment he fell back into them. harry simply had no room inside of him left for anything else. it was just anger. pure, unbridled anger that only caused annoyance at first, then small outbursts of irritation after a while, and, eventually, he couldn't look at anyone or anything without wanting to physically destroy it for no reason other than he was just angry.

harry was angry at the world for having magic in it in the first place. he hated the divide it caused between muggles and non-muggles, pure bloods and half bloods. he was angry that divide is what took his parents from him before he could even properly know them. he was angry he had to grow up in abuse and neglect under the guise of 'safety'. he was angry he never received an apology, an admittance of guilt, not even a hint of closure for the past that was still controlling his present.

the boy who used to risk his life to save hogwarts and the students inside of it would eventually be the same one to let them fall.

when voldemort came back, and harry's anger was at its worst, he knew there was a connection. he didn't know about horcruxes yet and he certainly didn't know he was one. and yet he knew, somewhere deep inside him again, that it wasn't a coincidence. there was a reason his anger was consuming him, and the reason was voldemort.

after cedric's death, harry had begun to spiral. the nightmares were worse than before, he felt deathly paranoid constantly, and couldn't escape the intruding memories of the graveyard. though harry had managed well enough afterwards, still suppressing his rage, he couldn't hide the change in his personality from those closest to him. ron and hermione were the first to bring it up, but, of course, harry had snapped and told them to mind the business that pays them. despite his resistance, they tried until the very end to help their best friend see through his anger, to remember what was right and wrong.

however, once sirius was dead, it was all over.

harry had simply lost any hope that was left within him. watching sirius fall through the veil, his eyes lifeless and cold, was like watching harry himself die. he didn't think he could get any lower, and then he watched the only family he had left be cursed just within his reach.

harry was never the same after that. when he sat in bed late at night staring at the marauders map in his lap, he thought about how much he hated this life that's been made for him. the boy who lived, the scape goat, the hero, our only hope. it was crushing. harry was just a boy. he wanted to live a normal life.

but he knew he never could. not after tom riddle, not after cedric, not after sirius. even if everything went away tomorrow and harry could just attend his classes and be with his friends, nothing would change. he would still be alone, he would still be angry, and he would still suffer from his traumas. what was the point in fighting for good or living to see the end when you would always end up alone?

except, harry wasn't alone, really. he had you.

if there was one thing in this lifetime, one thing throughout this entire war that could have saved harry, it was you.

you and harry had been classmates for a year or so before really getting to know each other, and started dating not long after. when you were around, harry knew there was something worth fighting for. though he may feel angry and everything and everyone and everything everyone said, harry could never truly be mad with you. it's like when you looked at him the anger was muted, numb, deep inside him, and as soon as someone would interrupt it was bubbling at the surface again.

you were worried about harry, of course, and saw the effects his anger had on his relationships with everyone else around him. besides you.

he remembers you clearly, still to this day, and just how upset you were anytime he lashed out. if he'd felt anything other than anger at that time, it would've been guilt. guilt for hurting you, for scaring you. guilt, but not guilty enough to stop.

the anger was stronger.

even when you asked him, begged him, please, harry, please stop letting your anger win, and even when he promised, swore on his own grave, that he would try harder to stop for you, he never did.

harry was beyond angry. he was spiteful. all he had ever been was kind, a pushover who gave everyone the respect he was never graced with. he's saved strangers who wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire. he's lost his family in their sacrifice for the greater good that now rested upon harry's 16 year old shoulders.

he was beginning to think the fight wasn't worth it.

not only did the fight for good no longer seem worthy to harry, the fight against it only seemed to become more enticing. why should harry continue to risk his life and sanity when there would always be fights of blood purity? why should he be the hero everyone else has always wanted him to be?

for a long time, the answer was you. you were reason enough for harry to keep fighting, to keep his anger under control. when he looked at you things made sense for just a moment, his suffering was worth it to see you alive and well. until it wasn't.

everyone has a breaking point, and harry felt like he had finally reached his. as the war had geared up to a point of no return, harry had to make a decision. he had always assumed his decision was already made for him since birth, but he soon realized he never actually had to follow this path set for him in the first place. he was free to do as he pleased. he wasn't dumbledore, he wasn't his parents, he wasn't even the hero everyone thought he was. he was angry. he was spiteful.

worse than that, harry was vengeful.

so, when he met voldemort in the woods during the battle of hogwarts to accept his death, harry instead offered him a proposal the dark lord simply couldn't refuse. harry potter, his living horcrux, would become his successor upon his death. harry would fight with and for voldemort, training to become the most powerful dark wizard in history, and to finally let tom riddle rest well knowing the world was in just as dark, evil hands as his own.

though voldemort was skeptical at first, naturally, as harry expected him to be, he could eventually see the darkness within harry nearly consuming him whole. he was as serious as death itself. he no longer had the desire within him to continue fighting for, what he saw as, a lost cause. voldemort was rather pleased with this news, though never expected harry to come around like he did. he hadn't even considered it, really. but who was he to deny his own successor?

upon harry's return to hogwarts with voldemort and his death eaters in tow, every single person who watched was stunned into silence. even mcgonagall, who had been instructing and encouraging the students all night in their fight, had become speechless and teary eyed at the sight. ron had to catch hermione, who nearly fell to the floor.

but nobody was as upset as you were.

you had already been sobbing watching harry walk off into the woods towards his own death thinking you would never see him alive again. only to watch him emerge from the same treeline with the enemy by his side. it's like you got kicked in the gut. you would've almost rather never seen harry again.

"harry!" you had screamed in a broken voice as he crossed the bridge, voldemort's snake slithering at his feet. you were running to him, breaking through the multiple arms that tried to hold you back.

voldemort tried to raise his wand to you, but harry had stopped him, telling him to let him handle it. he was suspicious at first, still not fully trusting harry's intentions just yet, but was reassured by the sinister look in his eyes.

harry looked at you. he remembers feeling a twinge of that same guilt from before, the tiniest spark of hope deep within his rage. he really did love you, at least at some point he did. you would've made all of this worth it, you would've been the reason to keep going. but not even you were reason enough anymore. for so long he had been ready to take his revenge on the world that failed him.

"harry, what are you doing?" you had asked him, voice shaking. you were almost whispering, your eyes nervously glancing towards voldemort every other second in fear for your safety. harry grabbed your hands but you pulled them back, a look of disgust coming across your face.

"come with me." harry had told you. your look of disgusted transformed into shock, anger, confusion, and guilt. there were mumblings coming from the crowd of students behind you. "what?" you had asked, nearly breathless at this point, your eyes searching him for answers.

"come with me, [y/n]. i want you by my side as i become the most powerful dark lord in the world." harry explained, taking steps towards you with an excited grin on his face, his eyes still dark with corruption. you were still in shock when he grabbed for your hands. he kissed your knuckles softly with a quiet, "i love you,"

he had meant it, but not like he used to.

it took a few moments of silence and some tense eye contact before you pulled your hands away, letting the tears fall again as you attempted to gather your words. "you can't do this, harry. i will never join the dark lord. you know this isn't right, why are you doing this? why? why?" you're practically begging for an answer as harry looked away, an irritated expression on his face, clenching his jaw together. your hands reached for his shirt and jacket, trying to shake some sense into him as you grasped them tightly and pulled him closer.

"don't you love me?" you had asked him in the most heartbreaking, soul crushing voice. your words were weak, but your sentiment was palpable. you were bloody, dirty, covered in scars from fighting, holding harry close to you as you begged him with wide eyes. not too much earlier in the year he would've folded immediately looking at you, so innocent and desperate, his last bit of hope in the world.

but it was already far too late.

"take her to azkaban," harry had announced, angling his head back to the deatheaters behind him, keeping his eyes locked with yours. your grip on his clothes loosened and shocked gasps came from the crowd. harry looked at voldemort, who was a bit puzzled by the situation, but backed up harry's real nonetheless. "you heard the boy," he snapped towards the men behind him.

the deatheaters walked towards you as you stepped away from harry. "no, no, no, stop!" you were screaming, trying to back away from them, but they had grabbed your arms aggressively and began dragging you towards the bridge. "[y/n]!" a few students had shouted, running towards you before their attempts were blocked by a wave of voldemort's wand. the students fell to the ground, watching helplessly as you continued to fight your way out of the deatheaters' grasps. harry stood still, emotionless, completely stoic as he heard your desperate wails and calls for his name disappear into the woods behind him.

the rest of that night or day or whatever it was has since been completely blocked out of harry's mind, forever. his rage had reached a level he didn't know was possible. all he could recall anymore is the blood, the screaming, the running, and the light of his wand in his hand. many students and professors died during that battle at his hand, along with voldemort's and the deatheaters'. the castle was then burned to the ground, signifying the end of the battle. hogwarts had never stood a chance.

and, now, harry stands in the dark lord's manor, staring at the abandoned buildings lining his street, and he's thinking of you.

he often wondered how life would have been if you had joined him that day. though his years since have been packed with death, fights, destruction, and chaos, there were moments alone or in peril where you crossed his mind like a gentle breeze. a simpler part of his past, a light in his darkness. your soft, kind eyes, wide with shock as you back away from him, fixated on the deatheaters coming to collect you. your sweet, melodic voice screaming and breaking as you were dragged away, fighting for your freedom. harry could remember the moment perfectly despite everything else in his life being a blur.

he wonders how you would have filled the role as his partner in crime after choosing him. two dark lords unstoppable against the forces of the wizarding world, fighting 'good' and spreading evil just as he had been this whole time. would you have succumbed easily to the temptation? would you be as dark as harry was? could you maybe even be darker?

but harry knew it was a fruitless endeavor from the beginning. he had wanted to ask you anyways, to at least give you a chance to make the decision to be with him, even if he already knew what your response would be. harry was a bit let down at first, hoping maybe there was enough love between you to push morals aside, but he knew he would never be that lucky. part of why he fell in love with you way before his anger began was your commitment and dedication to what you believed was right. that same trait would be the driving force behind his decision to lock you away.

harry knew you. and he knew you wouldn't stop fighting until your body gave out, and maybe even after that. he may have lost you by sending you to azkaban for the foreseeable future of the war, but he'd rather know you were safe somewhere solitary than spend his years wondering where your dead body had been rotting into the dirt all this time. though azkaban was desolate, dark, isolated, and torturous, it allowed harry to sleep at night thinking of your still-beating heart resting safely behind those impenetrable walls.

lately his nights had become more restless, though, as the thought of you still residing in azkaban began to sit with him. he didn't feel guilt, really, he knew it was what was ultimately best for you. but he did miss you.

after the war had died down and voldemort took his place as the rightful dark lord of the world, harry's anger began to subside for the first time in years. rather than rage fueling his insatiable desire to destroy, he felt incredibly numb and disengaged with everything around him. the desolate streets and grim sky and abandoned city outside the windows began to fit his mental state more and more. for the first time since he was a teenager, harry could see past the anger.

and all he wanted was you.

so, harry had reached out to the dark lord, who spent most of his time at his new ministry castle across the country from the old manor he let harry watch over. they communicated every so often, checking in on business and social matters, but otherwise never had to meet in person.

harry sent him a letter asking for your release and direct delivery to his household, barring from reason. he felt after the war he had lead with and for voldemort, he owed harry a singular favor all these years later.

it only took 2 days for a confirmation letter to be sent back to harry, signed by voldemort himself, dating your arrival for the next day.

harry had his house elf, jinx, make up your room, asking her to be sure it was comfortable and clean before your delivery tomorrow afternoon, and to also provide plenty of options for dinner.

harry spent all night thinking about you, wondering what you'd look like after all this time. how similar or different you would be from what he remembers. how you'd react to seeing him. he knew you well enough to know you wouldn't react well, likely needing an extended period of alone time to adjust being here before he'd ever get a civil moment with you. but he was up for the challenge, otherwise he'd never ask for your return in the first place. he was releasing his anger, and instead building his patience, if not just to hold you one more time.

there was a delicious smell filling the mansion as the clock drew nearer to your arrival. harry was dressed better than he had been in years, and had jinx make the usually desolate looking building feel warm and inviting. fireplaces roaring, warm lamps flooding the hallways, and the grand dining table set to perfection for 2 particular guests.

harry didn't want to make it too obvious, but it was hard for him to hide how excited he was to see you again. even if you were different, even if you hated him, all he wanted was to see you in person, his eyes locking with yours for the first time since the day you were dragged away at his command.

once the hour was upon him, harry could hear footsteps and voices on the second floor. his heart leaped, setting down his glass of wine before heading for the stairs.

"let go of me, let go of me," a strained voice was crying down the hall, the sounds of a struggle coming from harry's left. he saw two house elves, rather squat and bulky, holding onto the arms of a frail body covered in a simple striped prison dress.

one elf turned to harry and gave him a devilish grin, "ah, there's the man himself!" he growled, his partner turning as well. "sorry we were late, mr. potter, someone here wasn't too keen on leaving azkaban, for some reason," he apologizes, pulling at the arm he's holding.

you slowly turn your head and stop struggling, your eyes wide with fear and mouth dropped open. "harry?" you whispered to yourself, your knees nearly giving out beneath you before the elves aggressively pulled you back up.

the first elf groans, rolling his eyes at you. "where can we put her, huh?" he asks, his tone impatient. harry pulls a few gold coins out of his pocket and hands them over to both of the elves. "right here is just fine. thank you, boys," he tells them.

the elves happily accept the tips and drop you to the ground, quickly disappearing in a flash.

you're left heavily breathing on the floor of the hall, sniffling and groaning in pain before diverting your attention to harry. your eyes were still wide, your eyebrows creased in confusion as you tried to move yourself further away from him on your hands and knees.

harry gave you your space, but watched intently as you nervously increased the distance between both of you. your hair was long, tangled, greasy, and falling around you like a curtain. you were smaller than he remembered, your eyes sunken in and cheeks more hollowed than before. you were pale, and visibly dirty. the soles of your feet were nearly black.

harry felt a pain in his stomach, his blood pressure rising imagining how you lived inside the walls of the prison. he couldn't identify the feeling. it was different from anger, but it wasn't far off.

as you continued to back up, your eyes shifted to a widow on your right. you slowly gained the energy to lift yourself and reach for the window, throwing it open before attempting to stick your hand out.

your hand hit the open window like you had never moved the glass barrier. you continued trying to stick your hand and head out, hitting at the invisible barrier with all your strength, making frustrated sounds.

"there's a spell on the house, love. you can't leave, just for now, until we can work things out," harry tried to explain gently as you continued trying to escape. he took a step towards you and you stepped away, leaning on the wall for support as you began to cry harder.

"get away from me, get away, what the fuck, what the fuck is happening," you tried to shout at him, your faced turned away and other arm putting distance between you and harry. you were gasping for air, your voice stressed and broken, shaking your head as you tried to continue backing up into the wall.

harry still attempted to give you your space. he hated to see you like this. you were so defensive and scared of everything going on around you. he wanted to give you time to calm down, but felt you needed to know what was going on.

"[y/n]," harry said, causing your head to snap towards him with curious eyes. your arm lowered slightly, your knees still weak beneath you. "listen to me, okay? just for a second," harry tried to ask kindly. he hadn't realized just how long it had been since he talked to someone this gently.

you continued to stand defensively, your eyes scanning harry up and down nervously as your breathing slowly started to still.

harry sighed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before turning his attention to you again. "i know this is a lot, and i know it's confusing," he starts, his voice unexpectedly shaky. "but i asked voldemort, and i had you released from azkaban. i figured you may like a warm place to stay, so i had you brought here,"

you still looked confused for a moment before you narrowed your eyes, your arm coming up once again to defend yourself. "what are you talking about? where are we?" you asked harry suspiciously, still scanning him from head to toe.

"my manor. well, the lord's manor, but, essentially mine," harry says a bit awkwardly. you gave him a look of disgust, leaning further into the wall for support. "why would i want to be here? with you?" you practically spat at him with hatred in your eyes. harry was unaffected.

"i know you don't. but there's nowhere else to go. i promise." harry tells you solemnly. your eyes widen a bit again, a flash of fear coming across your face, but the anger quickly returns.

"i'd rather live in rubble than prop my feet up in the dark lord's manor," you say sharply, taking a step towards him in attempt to intimidate him. though you weren't much shorter than harry, you were weak, and tired, and he wasn't necessarily afraid of your threats.

he took a step back anyways, giving you more space. "look," he says, his eyes turning to the floor before he can steady his breathing and reply. "it's just for now. if you really don't want to stay, i won't make you." he says softly before returning his eyes to yours. they're not as bright as he remembers them in his dreams about you.

"but," he says, causing your jaw to clench. "you will stay until you're well again. and it's not up for debate." harry tells you firmly, his tone not as gentle as before.

you swallow harshly, your stomach growling audibly as the smell of the food downstairs begins to settle into your senses.

harry notices this and smirks to himself before quickly returning to a neutral state. "now," he announces, straightening out his blazer. "until the food is ready, there's a room made up for you just down this hall and to your left. it has a bathroom, and clothes. take all the time you need." he says before promptly turning on his heels and heading downstairs, his heart still racing from his encounter with you.

sitting in the living room watching the fireplace in front of him, harry eventually hears the door of your new bedroom click open and swiftly close. not long after he can hear the plumbing rumble as you take your first shower. he smiles at the fact that you're finally in his life once more, even if the circumstances were completely unusual.

harry's nearly concerned and wanting to send jinx to check on you after 2 hours of running water before it stops, the sound of the bathroom fan taking its place. harry's relieved.

"jinx, could tell our guest the foods ready," harry tells the elf as she brings the last tray from the kitchen to the dining room. she nods to herself, shuffling up the stairs sluggishly.

harry's pouring another glass of wine in the kitchen and decides to pour you one as well. on his way into the dining room, he sees you standing in the entryway. you're dressed in a large jumper, oversized pajamas bottoms, and your hair is still rather wet plopped into a bun on top of your head. your skin is rubbed raw, your cheeks still flushed pink as you analyze the table full of food in front of you.

harry smiles at your shocked gaze, your stomach growling again as he tries to hand you your glass of wine. you turn your nose at him, taking a step back. he smiles curtly and heads to his seat, setting your glass with his.

"figured you might be hungry," harry says as he sits down, his plate made for him already. he looks at you, arms still crossed, nose turned away, but eyes peeking at the endless food at your disposal. he can tell you're trying to keep your guard up, but your stomach hasn't stopped rumbling since you came downstairs.

he gestures to your chair just across from him, a plate made for you as well. you look at him, your eyes curious but expression still tight. you carefully take a step closer to the table, but you're still weary.

harry gives you a sympathetic smile. "after tonight you can have any meal you want in your solitude. i just thought i'd be nice and host my guest for the first night," he tells you, catching your gaze.

your curious look quickly turns to one of anger. "i'm not your guest. i'm practically a prisoner again." you hiss, your eyes boring into his with contempt. harry can sense the rage building inside of you. he's familiar with the feeling.

though you were different in so many ways, your dull eyes and lifeless voice, you were also similar in your determined attitude. you had always been the type to stand up and take charge, which harry completely admired and was impressed by. he found your beauty to be most potent in your strong will and cunning mind.

he admired you for just a moment, looking down at him with enough hatred to send shivers over his body. you looked so young, your skin supple and smooth under the light of the candles and fireplace, your hair falling loosely to frame your furrowed brow. you were just as pretty as he remembered, even if your expression always contained a hint of sadness and fear around him.

harry simply smiles softly, sitting back in his chair. "i prefer guest," he says teasingly. you suddenly snap at him, grabbing for his steak knife and pushing your arm to his neck against the back of the chair, holding the point of the knife to the side of his neck.

if looks could kill, the knife would've been unnecessary. your eyes were nearly black as you shakily push against harry's throat. "let me out of here now or i swear, harry," your voice cracks saying his name. "i swear i'll fucking kill you," you spit, leaning further into your grasp him on, your jaw clenched tightly.

harry, to your surprise, just chuckles to himself, not even struggling to breathe as he looks up at you deviously. your eyes widen just before you feel your arms start to move for you, as well as your legs. your neck is strained as well, an invisible force pushing you away from harry as the knife drops from your hand.

you're suddenly released from the mysterious grasp, and you choke out a breath, looking back at harry. he's smirking, but trying not to let you see as his pointed hand lowers from you. he fixes his shirt and chair, gesturing again to your seat across from him. "as thrilling as that was, love, not yet. i'd like you to stay here for at least a month before i consider placing you elsewhere." harry states, picking his knife back up to place on the table.

you stare at harry incredulously. "a month?" you ask, your face turning red again. you take another step towards him but you falter in fear of him using the same force as before to stop you. you stumble as your mind races to gather your thoughts. "how…you…i'm not staying here for a month! this is insanity! how could you send me away like that and just bring me back like it was nothing? a shower and a plate of food and suddenly those 5 years in azkaban never happened?"

you're now shouting at harry with a broken voice, your emotions on high as the tears threaten to fall again. harry watches you, just watches, and simply gestures to your chair again. "just join me," he insists.

you go to yell again, but harry sternly interrupts. "we can discuss this another time. please. sit down." he commands from you.

your mask drops for a moment, a look of fear crossing your face before diverting your eyes away completely to your chair. your stomach growls again, your hand covering it to hide the sound.

it takes a few moments until you slowly make your way to sit down, glancing at harry before taking your seat. harry begins eating silently, and, not long after, you're digging into your first real plate of food in years.

harry can't help but smile to himself subtly watching you indulge yourself for a moment, the mask slipping again as you gratefully shovel spoonfuls of food into your mouth with a sigh of relief. he was glad you were eating, even if he had to put up a bit of a fight to convince you.

as harry finishes up, you're still making your way through your second plate. he stands, grabbing your attention and making you curl back into your seat. "jinx," he calls out before sipping the last of his wine. jinx comes to the table and grabs harry's glass and plate, turning to take them to the kitchen.

"[y/n], this is jinx," harry motions to the elf, who gives you a warm smile. you return the smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't be afraid to ask her. she lives to serve," harry tells you proudly, earning a slight look of disgust from you before returning a smile at jinx.

"this was a lovely dinner, ms. jinx, thank you so much, truly," you thank her honestly. she bows to you slightly before continuing her way through the doors to the kitchen.

you shoot harry a glare. "the harry i knew would've never kept a house elf," you say, your words dripping with disdain. harry ignores your statement, turning to the stairs before ascending them.

he leaves you alone at the dining table, closing himself off in the master bedroom for the night. just as he's finishing up brushing his teeth, he hears your door click shut. that night he fell asleep feeling more reassured than he had in years knowing the pretty girl he couldn't keep his mind off of was asleep just down the hall from him.

it had been a few weeks since harry moved you in, and he rarely ended up seeing you in the mansion. you were often locked away in your room, or taking showers, and harry only ever saw you when you were finishing up a meal with jinx.

you had become quite close with her, it seems, which harry found sweet. he was worried at first that you may be using jinx as a way to find an escape from the house, but after a while without incident, harry realized how silly the idea was. you truly could connect with anyone.

one of the only other times he saw you, though, was when he passed by the open library one night. harry had been restless, thinking about his past in depth, feeling emotions he couldn't place, and decided to watch the sunrise to clear his head. he took a quick glance through the doors before spotting you curled up on one of the couches, a book in hand, fast asleep beside a warm lamp.

harry stopped, taking a moment to admire you from afar. you had gained some weight back being here, which harry loved to see. your cheeks were full and rounded, your hands not as frail, and the color was coming back to your skin. your hair looked impossibly soft under the light, sprawled everywhere around your angelic, sleeping face. harry couldn't help the cheesy smile that overcame his face. he was just happy that you were okay.

outside of that, harry spent most of his time alone, thinking about you. you hadn't reached out to him yet, which he expected, but was surprised when a month came and went and you still didn't confront him. he hadn't made his decision just yet, so he didn't have an answer for you even if you had asked him. he saw you were doing better, but still wasn't confident in letting you go. not just for selfish reasons, of course, but he wanted to be sure you were equipped enough to live on your own.

but, harry had to admit, his heart raced when he heard your soft footsteps pass his door to the stairs. his mind went blank seeing your figure standing in the dining room with jinx, chatting over a plate of snacks together. his blood ran cold when he heard your soft giggle from somewhere in the mansion. like a beautiful ghost haunting his past.

harry knew even before he sent his letter to voldemort that his feelings for you had never truly gone away. deep under his rage, his unforgiving heart, his cold blooded nature, his love for you had always remained. but he was learning to accept your departure if you chose to do so. a final goodbye to the most beautiful part of his unsightly life. harry wasn't sure he could handle the idea.

he was struggling with his thoughts, the constant back and forth he was feeling about you. at first harry was sleeping better with you there knowing you were safe, but now he stayed up late worrying himself sick over the decisions he had to make now that you were actually there.

sitting in bed, staring at the rising sun through his window, harry's mind was exhausting him. he hadn't slept all night and could feel the effects setting in. slowly, he stood from the bed and slipped on his house shoes along with his robe. he quietly leaves his room to not disturb you so early just down the hall.

he walks to the opposite end of the hall towards the balcony, and takes his usual seat facing the sunrise.

harry contemplates here most mornings, but never comes to any radical conclusions. he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what's best for you anymore. he knows he selfishly wants you all to himself still, but also knows you deserve to live the life you want no matter what his opinion is. it's the same conversation with himself every time, and it leaves him confused and upset for keeping you here like he is. even if his heart is in the right place.

his thoughts are interrupted by jinx, who offers harry a cup of tea. he thanks her, but quickly calls her back to ask a question. "jinx, um…[y/n], how is she doing?" he asks.

jinx, a quiet house elf, gives harry a smile, and pats his shoulder. her smile is warm and reassuring, as well as her hand. as she walks off, harry smiles to himself a bit. he's not completely satisfied with the answer, but he takes what he can get.

finishing his cup of tea with the sun shining over the horizon, harry turns to head inside before being met with the sight of you standing at the open doorway of the balcony.

you're dressed in a simple long sleeve pajama shirt along with comfortable pants, your arms crossed as the morning chill sets into the air. harry's a bit startled at first, but gives you a polite smile, diverting his eyes and walking around you to leave you be.

"harry," you said softly, turning to him.

harry's heart dropped, but turned to you promptly with eager eyes. the way you said his name, your soft voice, he was already so captivated by you.

"can we talk?"

now harry was worried. this is what he's been afraid of since you got here. he's not ready to answer you. he doesn't know what he's going to say when you desperately ask him to leave and never come back.

"of course," he says calmly, gesturing to the balcony so you could sit together.

once you've joined him in watching the sun, you two fall into a somewhat comfortable silence as the soft wind whistles past.

"i never thanked you," you said quietly after a while, almost a whisper in the wind. harry looked at you, looking at the sunrise. your face was radiant. you were brilliant in the light of the sun, your hair still impossibly soft and beautiful, falling around you, following the flow of the air. harry was overwhelmed with the beauty your presence held in this moment. "you never had to."

you glanced at harry, studying his expression, before turning back to the sun. "it's also been a month." you state coldly. harry's gaze drops, sighing. "57 days, technically," he mumbles.

a few moments of silence pass again, leaving harry an anxious mess in his seat. he tried to think of a gentle way to let you know he still needed time to decide what to do. a way to tell you without putting his life at risk to your anger.

"well, as much as i hate to say this, you were right," you say, still watching the sunrise in deep thought. harry was shocked by your words, immediately sitting up in his seat to get a better look at your face.

you were stoic, your eyes fixated on the scene out beyond your reach. "what?" harry asked, not believing his own ears. a small smile crept to your lips, the first one he's managed to see himself since you've been here. his heart aches at just the hint of seeing it again.

"don't make me say it again, potter," you try to say threateningly with that small smile, your eyes falling to your lap.

harry is stunned into silence, watching you with careful eyes. "but, you were right. i needed time to be healthy again." you said to him, your back still turned. harry stayed quiet, allowing you to continue. "i was angry with you. i still am. i don't think it'll ever stop," you inform him, the coldness returning to your voice. "but," he was preparing himself for the rejection, the questions, the begging.

"i'd like to stay, if you'll have me," you offer in a slightly embarrassed tone, your face turned the other way.

to say harry was shocked at your request is an understatement. he was expecting you to have a plan to take him out if he had rejected your request to leave yet. he never considered the idea that you might actually want to stay with him.

"i'll have you forever, if you let me," harry responds, a small smile on his face as well. you shoot him a warning look. "not forever. just until i feel well again." you tell him, your voice cold once more. you turn back to the sun, now completely over the horizon. "figured you owe me that much," you say in an accusatory voice.

harry just smirks to himself. you could never be soft for long when he was around. but he appreciated that you felt you could ask him to stay, though you never had to in the first place. harry really would have had you forever, if you'd let him.

"stay as long as you need to." he says.

you glance back at him again, your eyes softer this time. you're analyzing him for a moment before turning to him a bit. "it took me a long time to understand why you sent me to azkaban," you tell him, your voice steady and emotionless. harry just watches you, admiring the light surrounding you.

"you would've never stood a chance in destroying the world had i been free," you state, your eyes still examining him. harry offers you another small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes the same way. "you knew you were weak," you say.

harry's now analyzing your expression, your words swimming around in his mind. "i did," he admitted to you. "it was just easier if i knew where you were all this time," he says breathlessly.

your eyes narrow at him once more, the anger returning to your body language. "easier for you. i would've never done the same if the roles were reversed." you snapped at him harshly. harry believed you. he thought about it a lot in his nightly battles with his own mind.

"you're right," harry stated, still admiring you in your anger. you were upset, but gave harry a questioning look. your eyes softened only a bit. "i think about it all the time," he admits to you gently.

you're a bit puzzled by his admittance of guilt, but don't let it stop you. "i hope it haunts you at night the way it haunts me," you say sharply, your eyes dark.

"always has," harry says to himself, only making you more angry. "you poor thing. must've been so tough relaxing in this mansion knowing i was rotting away in solitary confinement." your voice is strong, powerful, a contrast to the broken words you gave harry your first day here.

"it was," harry says simply, sensing your rising impatience with him. you stood from your seat, towering over him as he continued watching you in wonder. "you evil little rat. you're just lucky my magic is restricted by this spell. i would've killed you in your sleep that first night." you threaten him, gesturing to the protection spell around the castle and balcony.

harry wants to stop himself, but can't keep the smirk off his face. this only angers you more, pulling your arm back and slapping harry square across his face.

he doesn't react, instead allowing himself to stay facing away from you. "i hate you," you state weakly, your hands balled at your side. harry looks at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. "i know," he says softly.

you frustratedly sit back down, turning to look back at the sunrise once more.

a long silence settles over you two, listening to the sounds of the city as it awakens around you. eventually, you stand, turning to leave harry alone on the balcony. you pause before you leave.

"i still never thanked you, harry." you speak softly, your back turned to him. he looks over at you, your curves glowing in the morning light. "you never had to," he replies, and you're off down the dark hallway.

for the next few months, you and harry live together amicably. he sees you around more often as you start to leave the confines of your room. of course the library was a place of solace for you, but he started to see you more in the living room, on the balcony, or in the dining room enjoying jinx's company. for a while you two exchanged polite greetings, simple glances and acknowledgements, before asking about each other's days, or commenting on the weather. it was agonizingly slow for harry, but he was breaking through your walls one way or another.

one day not long after you'd slapped him on the balcony, you sat in the living room with harry, across from his seat on the couch. he was surprised by your presence, but gave you a small smile over his book anyway. "jinx tells me you've been acting different," you'd stated bluntly, watching his face for a reaction.

harry put down the book he was reading, giving you his attention. "have i?" he asks. you were always examining him, your eyes critical but curious at the same time. "she says your anger used to be terrible. even worse than i remember." you lead him on.

harry bit his lip thinking about the years where his rage was at its worst. he tried not to dwell on them, and instead tried to focus on the newfound emotions consuming his life. but he couldn't deny the path of destruction he'd left while seeing red.

harry eventually nodded, his eyes distant. "it was," he admits, his voice just as lost in thought. you shifted in your seat. "you let it ruin everything, harry." you said softly, leaving him looking at the floor in disappointment. "i know," he admitted.

the silence between you was palpable. harry felt the weight of it on his shoulders before you spoke again. "i would hear about the things you did while in azkaban. the guard would tell me even after i asked him to stop." you inform him. harry can still feel your eyes shooting daggers at him.

"for so long i fantasized about being the one to kill you, to finally put an end to voldemort." you said wistfully. harry glanced at you, seeing a longing look on your face. "how brave of [y/n] to put her love aside to kill the dark lord's apprentice." you said in a mocking tone, leaning back in your seat.

harry watched you, imagining you in azkaban, dreaming of putting an end to his life, while he dreamed of freeing you. it was a fair trade, he thought, and not one he would argue against at this point. and it didn't go unnoticed that you mentioned your love for him, either.

"you still can," harry says, causing you to snap your eyes back at him. "excuse me?" you ask with a sneer. harry puts his book to the side and sits up, his feet planted on the ground. "kill me, that is. it's not impossible." he tells you with intrigue.

you're staring at him incredulously, your eyes always searching him. "you're…you're kidding, right? i mean, you took my magic while yours seems to be highly skilled. you really think i'd stand a chance?" you ask with a sarcastic laugh.

harry stands from his seat, taking achingly slow steps around the coffee table towards you. "yes, while your magic is weak, you are not, [y/n]. i've gone out of my way to keep the knives, fire pokers, swords, and hundreds of books on potions and charms out for your use, at any time, have i not?" harry questions you, getting closer now. though you would normally pull back from him, you stay seated, trying to process his words.

standing just before you, harry admires the curves of your face against the light of the fire. "with your nimble step and cunning wit," harry lifts his hand to gently put his fingers to your chin. the first physical contact he's had with you. unless you count the time you held that knife to his throat. "you could gut me like a pig before i even have the chance to squeal," harry's voice is soft but dark, your breathing caught in your throat at the contact.

as he backed away, harry could see the physical effect he had on you. your nervous blinking, your jaw tightening, hands trembling; he found it sweet he could still do that to you, even if you claimed to hate him.

after that day, harry felt less tension between you two. maybe being vulnerable around you made you realize he was never a threat to begin with. he didn't want anything from you, and he didn't care if you never wanted anything from him. as long as you were safe, that was all he cared about. he hoped you were starting to understand that.

though conversations between you were still tense and cryptic, there was a sense of unspoken comradery that felt nostalgic to you both. your serious, brooding angst matched with harry's calm, collected coldness made for an interesting match. it was never the same as before, you were both fairly aware it wasn't ever going to be, but there was an undoubted chemistry that still lingered from your teenage years together.

however, something else that always lingered during your interactions is your distaste for harry's actions. at any chance you can, you poke and prod at his past, partly to understand, he assumes, but also to test his limits. you were always cautious and suspicious of his submissive behavior when it came to this kind of confrontation; how could someone who was, at least at one point, so evil, so cruel and heartless, become so nonchalant about their past? who wipes out entire cities just to 'not dwell on it'?

this was always a point of contention between you, even if everything else until that point had been somewhat playful. it never so much upset harry as it riled you up, bringing strong emotions to the forefront, causing you to lash out at him. though he always stayed calm, he also always seemed to listen. he never disagreed with your feelings or sentiments, if anything he agreed with your hatred for himself. it's like that day in the living room when he tempted you with his death, and yet you never took the bait.

harry rather enjoyed watching you work yourself up, and admired how quick you were to defend yourself. he never wanted to upset you, of course, but sometimes he couldn't help his cheeky responses knowing it would get a look out of you that made his heart jump. it might not be the most gentlemanly thing he does, but something about your anger excited him. it was nothing like his vengeful rage from the past, but it had its own potency that ran a chill down his spine. harry was so used to everyone cowering away from him in fear of his power that he relished your open aggression towards him. it was thrilling, and it was exactly what he needed.

harry tried to remain respectful of his guest, but having such a beautiful mind and body occupy his space with him was hard to ignore sometimes. his eyes would wander, as well as his thoughts, and he had caught himself fantasizing about you a few too many times to admit. you were stunning, of course, you always had been, but there was something about you now that elevated your beauty in harry's eyes. maybe it was the dark, unforgiving coldness of your eyes, or the strong scowl that your expression rested in, or the underlying anger that was ready to bubble over at any point, but harry was completely infatuated with who you had become.

he knew how hypocritical it was for him to admire the parts of you that were forced out in your desperation to survive the decision he made for you all those years ago. though you seldom mentioned your years in azkaban, harry could see and feel the effects it continued to have on you. they weighed on him heavily, and though harry wasn't one to regret what's happened in the past, he wished he could've figured out another way to protect you at the time. a way that didn't dim the light inside of you the way that it has been.

but still, that light was there. when you smiled to yourself at your own quips, when you admired the food jinx prepares you, when you lost yourself in your books, harry could physically feel the light radiating within you. it was familiar, like an old hug from a friend, and was unmistakably beautiful.

sometimes he felt like a teenager again, discovering the parts of you that made him fall in love in the first place. your natural charm, your captivating eyes, the innate draw he felt to you simply by being in your presence. it was unlike anything he's felt for another person, before or since meeting you. but rather than two teenagers flirting over study dates, you were now two closed off adults with a complicated history and 'break up', if you could even call it that. it was nothing like the past, yet it was entirely too similar.

you and harry had been sitting in silence together in the living room, reading your respective books, enjoying each other's company. it was one of harry's favorite things to do with you now, and one of the only ways you two could be together without it ending in tension. neither of you talked, neither of you made noise outside of the occasional chuckle or gasp at your readings; it was a peaceful excuse for harry to be near you, and sometimes admire you from over the pages.

this night, however, you broke the traditional silence by asking harry a question you'd been keeping to yourself. "harry," you started. he loved the sound of his name in your voice, it was invigorating to listen to.

harry turned his head to you, his book still in his lap, noticing you've long since placed yours on the table beside you. "[y/n]," he responded with his typical smirk, returning his eyes to his book.

you cleared your throat a bit, your ankles crossing in front of you. "how often did you think of me," it was more of a statement than a question, your tone not as cold and questioning as it typically was.

harry knew what you meant, of course, and waited a moment before answering you. "i'd never stopped," he said simply. it was true, and it still is.

you turned to look at the fireplace, your knees bouncing out of the corner of harry's eye as he pretends to continue reading. "but you never came back for me," you stated. harry's eyebrows furrowed, glancing at you again before looking away to leave you with your words. "you left me there to die," you said, that familiar coldness returning to your tone.

harry let out a sharp breath. "that was never my intention, and you know that." he says without a reaction. you become visibly irritated, your jaw clenching with your fists. "you never thought about me," you insisted, your words heavy with contempt.

harry shut his book and threw it beside him, leaning towards you. you turned to glare at him, your nostrils flared. "i was lucky to sleep one full night in the last 5 years without a singular dream of you." he tells you, his voice as steady as his eye contact. "you haunt me like a ghost, [y/n]. you always will."

you're looking at him questionably as you stand from your seat across from him, now making your way towards him. "good. i hope you never forget about what you did to me. i won't." you hiss at him, your cheeks turning red. harry's mind races with you towering over him, leaning back in his seat to fully enjoy the view.

"how could i forget about you?" he quips, that same damn smirk making you grit your teeth. you take another, heavier step towards him, your fists trembling at your sides. "stop fucking doing that," you spit threateningly.

harry cocks his head to the side, looking you up and down. he likes seeing you like this, even if it scares him a bit. "what?" he asks, pushing you even further.

you step between his legs and lean into his face, only leaving a few inches between you. "that, you fucking creep. is this funny to you?" your voice is raised now, the anger finally starting to boil over again. "not at all," harry says, still smirking at your reaction.

"then wipe the smirk off your face and stop doing this to me, harry." you instruct him, leaning back to cross your arms in front of you. harry's biting his lip, not able to resist the lustful thoughts he's having of you in this situation. "doing what, exactly?" he asks, curious what you mean.

"this, all of this, harry. you look at me like a starving animal. you watch me around the house like a stalker. you say you think of me all the time and yet you've only so much as touched my chin." you rattle off, clearly frustrated with these thoughts you've kept inside. "you bring me back here and have me live like a princess when there's people outside who live like animals because of you and what you've done," you continue to raise your voice at him, now getting yourself completely worked up.

harry just watches you, like always, not disagreeing with any of your sentiments. as he normally doesn't, he knows you're a smart girl.

"and you're still fucking looking at me like that," you growl, your arm coming across his neck once more, like the first night you were here, holding him against the cushions of the couch.

harry doesn't stop you, as he never does, and instead enjoys the feeling of you kneeling between his legs in an attempt to further choke him. "i swear on my own life i'll still kill you, potter. what the fuck do you want from me?" you interrogate him, your dark eyes searching him for answers.

the smirk on harry's face only grows, causing you to push further into his throat. it's ironic how much he wants from you right now that would only further put his life at risk in your hands.

"i…never wanted…anything…" harry chokes out. he knows he's stronger than you and could easily escape your grasp, but he enjoys the feeling of letting you have control over the moment, and over him.

"that's a fucking lie," you say through gritted teeth, getting nose to nose with harry. "tell me what you want." you insist.

harry's heart is racing, his mind going blank from the lack of oxygen, and an inconvenient erection growing through his trousers. he could tell you so many things he wants, how many nights he's spent imagining you on top of him like this once again. he knows it would only anger you more, and he was almost tempted by that thought alone.

after a few moments of harry struggling to keep his eyes focused on you, you could feel something against your thigh that caught your attention. glancing down, your weight on harry's throat lessened enough for him to breathe slightly. you looked back up at his eyes with a look of confusion and shock before quickly returning to anger.

"seriously? are you fucking turned on right now as i'm threatening your life?" you ask him with disgust, slightly pulling away. harry's cheeks flush as he tries to catch his breath, your arm still resting across this collarbone. he stays quiet, his eyes glancing between you and his lap.

you scoff at him. "you're so pathetic, potter. how you were ever a leader of anything is a mystery to me." you ridicule him, an amused smirk coming across your own face.

your condescending attitude only fuels harry's excitement more, trying not to let his expression expose how much he's enjoying this.

"it's almost like you want me to kill you," your voice is quiet but dangerously cold, giving harry goosebumps as your breath falls across his blushing face. he tries to stop it but his body can't resist a low whine being forced from his throat.

your eyes fall to his lips for just a moment before you lean into them, surprising harry with a hungry kiss as you relax your weight onto his body. more moans escape harry's mouth as you roughly force your tongue past his lips. his hand naturally finds your waist, but you slap it away harshly with your free hand. "no touching." you warn him, your lips brushing against his.

"yes ma'am," harry responds.

you give him a look, your other leg kneeling beside his as you straddle his thigh, your skirt falling perfectly over his knee. "i still hate you," you growl, choking him against the couch once more. "i know," harry says breathlessly, staring at you like a helpless puppy.

forcing him into a suffocating kiss, you eventually let harry breathe as your lips find his neck, your teeth sinking into his skin and hands grasping his shoulders tightly. he groans at the pain, earning a slight roll of your hips on his leg. harry wants nothing more than to touch you right now, guiding your hips into his body, pleasuring you like he's wanted to for so long. but for now, he's just glad you're kissing him, and enjoys the feeling of your breath against his bruised skin.

"shirt off." you command, sitting back to observe the puddle harry's become in your grasp. he wastes no time taking off his sweater, throwing it behind him as your eyes trace over his scarred torso. your cold gaze softens at the sight, your fingers tracing the healed wounds carefully.

for a moment, when you glance at harry through your eyelashes, he feels that same love you shared as kids. the soft, innocent admiration that came with inexperience. for just one moment, nothing was complicated, and there was no history. you were discovering harry all over again, like he had been with you.

the moment didn't last for long as your gaze hardened once more looking at him. you stood from your straddling position, much to his disappointment. he was ready for you to end the moment and leave, but you didn't.

"on your knees." you instructed him. again, harry wasted no time as he sunk to his knees in front of the couch, eye level with the hem of your skirt. he looked up at you eagerly, hardly believing the privilege he had to see you above him like this.

harry's heart was racing as you lifted your skirt to expose your panties to him. his eyes never left yours, his breathing hitching at the beauty just in front of his face. his hands were patiently folded in his lap, aching to grab every part of you.

you slowly lifted one thigh onto harry's shoulder, reaching down to take the glasses off his face for him, setting them to the side. "now," you told him, your voice seductive as you lean your weight into him once more. harry holds his shoulders steady, his mouth close enough to your soaked pantines to nearly taste you already.

"let me ride your face," you coo, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as he continues staring at you with hungry eyes. "it's the least you can do for me," you smirk, your voice still chillingly cold and cryptic.

harry lets out a sigh of relief and desperation, eyes glancing at your panties before returning to your gaze. you slowly push his open mouth onto you, not able to hold back a sound of relief yourself.

harry's eyes flutter shut as your hips roll onto his face, losing himself in your smell and taste. your fingers tangle into his hair to keep him in place, soft, breathy gasps falling from your lips as you watch from above.

after a minute you become too desperate and pull your panties aside, instructing harry to hold them as you force his mouth onto your dripping pussy. harry listens like a good boy and holds the fabric, his hand also taking the chance to grip your inner thigh. a deep moan escapes your throat at the feeling.

harry's tongue quickly works its way across your arousal, enjoying every part of you as he pushes himself further into your pussy. your hands try to pull his hair back to relieve some of the overwhelming feeling, but harry doesn't let you control him for once. he's desperate to please you, his hunger growing the more of you he's allowed to have.

harry's other hand grabs for your skirt to hold it above his head, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. your face is twisted in pleasure, lips bitten, eyes glazed over as you watch harry disappear between your legs.

harry moans at the sight of you, sending shivers across your skin. you moan, biting your lips closed, your hips stuttering against his mouth. "fuck," you mumble, earning another moan from harry as his tongue circles your sensitive clit.

a hand rushed to your mouth as you attempt to hide your filthy noises, the feeling making your eyes roll back. you're trying to mask your pleasure, but harry can see right through you.

you finally successfully pull his mouth off of you, lips swollen and wet as his head rests in your grip. "good," you say breathlessly. your voice falters a bit. you take your thigh off harry's shoulder, again, much to his disappointment.

"sit," you tell him, gesturing to the couch once more. harry complies, returning to his spot on the couch behind him. you reach forward and unbutton his pants, pulling them down a bit with his assistance. you can see his erection through his briefs, causing you to smirk a bit before returning to your neutral expression.

"no touching," you remind harry as you position yourself to straddle his hips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. harry's sure you can hear his heartbeat racing under your control.

you start grinding your soaking wet panties against harry's clothed cock, your mouth falling open with his at the sensation. the light of the fire behind you leaves harry with the beautiful sight of you glowing in his lap, your warm skin pressed against his as your breathy moans fall into his neck.

harry can hardly take the teasing any longer, his moans becoming needier the harder he gets under you. "fuck, [y/n]," his voice is deep with desire, his head rolling back once your roll your hips into him harshly. you moan at the sound of your own name, your hands returning to his shoulders as your nails dig deep into his skin.

"that's right, say my name," you smirk, grinding into harry at a faster pace. "so pathetic," you remind him.

harry continuously lets your name fall from his lips as you watch him, a helpless, desperate mess beneath you. he loves the feeling of letting you use him any way you want to.

soon you can't wait much longer, and you pull out harry's cock from his briefs. the feeling of your hand grasping his shift makes harry's hips buck up involuntarily, silently asking for more.

you can't help but chuckle at just how eager he is. you're more than enjoying the control and effect you have over him.

"now," you say again, causing harry to look back at you with needy eyes. "you're gonna let me use you until i cum," you tell him, teasing yourself with the feeling of him against your wet pussy. harry's eyes nearly roll back again as he nods for you, his lips parted with uneven breaths.

you slide harry inside of you, adjusting to the feeling as harry's head falls back once again in pleasure. "so fucking wet," harry sighs softly, nearly whining. once your hips lower completely onto his length, you start to ride harry slowly, still adjusting to him. he's a full blown whining mess beneath you, his chest flushed and heaving as your pussy tightens around him.

you take in the sight of him, your eyes exploring every sweaty part of his body as you continue riding at a slow pace. you unwrap your arms from his shoulders, leaning back into your hips. "take my shirt off," you tell harry.

his eyes open again, looking at you eagerly. his hands nervously begin lifting your shirt, holding the fabric carefully between his fingers, and savors the sight and feeling of pulling it off of you, his eyes glancing at your chest before locking with yours again.

"so beautiful," he tells you, your skin looking deliciously soft in the warm lowlight. "i know, now be quiet," you shut him up, picking up the pace of your hips.

harry's eyes narrow at you, the intoxicating feeling of you wrapped around his cock only making him hungrier for your pleasure. the sight of you bouncing in his lap, your breasts just in front of his face as you lean your hands next to his head on the back of the couch.

"open," you tell harry.

he doesn't have to be told twice before his lips part, his tongue eagerly waiting for you. you guide your nipple into his mouth, your hips rolling onto harry's cock in circles. his teeth and tongue tease the sensitive skin, your pussy gripping harry even more and earning a low growl from his chest. his hands remained at his sides, but he wanted nothing more than to feel you everywhere on top of him.

you start riding harry once more, his teeth still gripping your nipple making you whine at the feeling. "fuck," you let the word slip out, your own teeth sinking into your bottom lip. harry's more than aroused at your reaction to him, his cock aching inside of you to release.

you pull harry's head back by his hair, forcing him to look up at you. you reach for his glasses that you sat down earlier, returning them to his face delicately. harry appreciates the gesture and can better see the pleasure in your eyes, a soft smile falling across his lips.

"so pretty," he whispers. he can see the blush you try to hide, looking away from his eyes and down at your hips.

you start groaning in frustration, your grip on his hair tightening, causing harry to wince. "you're gonna make me cum," you tell him through broken moans, your thrusts becoming uneven. harry can feel you tightening around him again. he groans at the feeling, your name slipping from his mouth again and again. this only makes you fall apart more, high pitched whimpers coming from you as you chase your high.

you soon sink into harry's neck, your cries of pain and pleasure falling across his skin as your legs start to shake. you can't even form words as your body feels the waves of intense pleasure from each thrust onto harry's cock. your hands move to his shoulders again, holding onto him for stability as you continue to ride out your climax.

harry grows impatient at the feeling of your orgasm and watching you break down into him. he finally grabs for you, moving your hips to the couch beside him, staying inside you while you gasp at his movement. he kicks off his pants and adjusts himself between your legs.

"harry," you try to protest, your voice weak and shaky. "just let me do this, darling," he growls, his hips becoming flush against yours as he pushes his cock completely inside of you. you let out a gasp, your hand slapping over your lips once more.

harry hungrily digs his cock deeper inside of you with each slow thrust, his hands holding himself up above you as he watches his cock easily slide in and out of your soaking wet pussy. he folds your legs back as he sinks even deeper into you.

"holy fuck," he groans, his breathing heavy, hands gripping the back of your thighs to keep himself steady. "so beautiful, [y/n]," harry tells you again, his droopy eyes focused on your face twisted in pleasure.

you look at him, your eyes full of lust, but still cold as ice. "i…hate you," you remind him through strained breaths, struggling to take his entire length, still glaring at him.

this pushes harry over the edge, his hips quickening until he feels himself start to unravel. he pulls out of your warm pussy and cums on your stomach, groaning at the sight of you below him.

you gasp at the feeling, looking at harry with shock. "did you just cum from me saying i hate you?" you ask, your tone mocking his desperation. harry nods, still stroking his cock slowly, his other hand remaining on your thigh as his moans quiet down.

"you're disgusting," you tell him coldly, but harry can see the smirk on your face and the lust in your eyes. he watches you below him, smirking in return.

"and you love it."

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