#just something small that’s been in my notebook for a lil bit. thought maybe some of u would like it

[seravph]

I THINK I AM GOING TO CUT MY HAIR

#me #my poetry #poetry #poem #original poem #poets on tumblr #poets community #poetscommunity #spilled ink #litblr #writeblr #poetblr #just something small that’s been in my notebook for a lil bit. thought maybe some of u would like it

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.  WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide  RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif  of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all. 

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms. 

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization. 

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him? 

You’re not so sure. 

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows. 

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed. 

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did. 

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?” 

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that. 

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you. 

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes. 

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise. 

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well. 

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows. 

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments. 

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary. 

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight. 

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise. 

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s. 

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face. 

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.  

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth. 

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self. 

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups. 

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features. 

Oh, you loved this man. 

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane. 

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway. 

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. 

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself? 

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on. 

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.” 

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car. 

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant. 

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you. 

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass. 

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass. 

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit. 

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe. 

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear. 

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck. 

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush. 

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river. 

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river. 

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!” 

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is. 

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.” 

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song. 

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off. 

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign. 

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device. 

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line. 

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?” 

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?” 

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred? 

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend? 

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell. 

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird! 

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at. 

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?” 

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words. 

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?” 

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.” 

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut. 

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead. 

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again. 

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account. 

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?” 

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now. 

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook. 

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“ 

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” 

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms. 

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing. 

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes. 

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.” 

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat. 

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment. 

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river. 

“I thought he was cool before.” 

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you. 

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor. 

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?” 

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?” 

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own. 

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.” 

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.” 

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling. 

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen. 

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud. 

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief. 

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship. 

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man. 

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot. 

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim. 

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either. 

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.” 

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”) 

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes. 

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.” 

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement. 

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.” 

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes. 

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself. 

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone. 

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura. 

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.” 

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end. 

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.” 

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly. 

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is. 

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead. 

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them. 

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.” 

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.” 

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet. 

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again. 

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue. 

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey. 

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see. 

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck. 

Of course. 

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss. 

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it. 

And you’re all too ready to act on it. 

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy. 

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw. 

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare. 

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him. 

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds. 

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair. 

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips. 

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders. 

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you. 

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around. 

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you. 

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up. 

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view. 

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings. 

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you. 

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely. 

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth. 

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness. 

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest. 

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor. 

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes. 

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air. 

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead. 

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions. 

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table. 

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again. 

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs. 

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true. 

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low. 

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you. 

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you. 

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix. 

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin. 

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction. 

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper. 

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust. 

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly. 

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface. 

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy. 

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why. 

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home. 

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you. 

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad. 

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying. 

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses. 

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes. 

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside. 

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds. 

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly. 

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?” 

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder. 

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you. 

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you. 

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different. 

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap. 

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out. 

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds. 

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.” 

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly. 

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic. 

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom. 

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet. 

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums. 

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?” 

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you. 

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house. 

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors. 

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.” 

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag. 

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

[opalwhisker]

I’ve done it, I’ve recks!au-ified my little imp sona lmao (Recks!au belongs to the lovely wonderful talented @wasyago whom i will always be impressed by because wtf designing a robot that is appealing and simple but also complicated is HARD and they do such a good job) 

ANYWAYS I’ve thought about this little robot maybe a bit too much so here have the Lore(tm):

You know those little robot cameras scientists disguise as animals to get cameras up close enough to film certain kinds of animal behavior? That’s what this bot is designed to do. She was designed to have lots of interchangeable body parts to match whatever animal they might be studying. Her general body type is ‘small-medium sized mammal’, though. She was uploaded with a huge database of animal behaviors, sounds, facts, etc to better mimic the animals she was studying. She found it to be quite boring though, honestly. She was much more curious about the one animal she didn’t have any information on; humans.

 So one day she “went rogue” and stole a bunch of different body parts to use and ran off to study humans instead. She took rodent/rat arms for the added dexterity (its like they got lil hands), goat legs for the climbing/jumping capabilities, and a utility tail. The tail isn’t based on any one animal, it was just something that got use occasionally if she had to get difficult footage of animals up in trees or other tall places. The mouth isn’t animal-specific either, she took it as a self defense mechanism (don’t want to pick up a robot that might bite your finger off). She had last been used to study rabbits, so she honestly forgot to change the ears.

She has a little bag she found in the trash that she patched up and uses to store her observation notebook and other human trinkets she collects. For some reason, she always has a LOT of cash. Nobody knows where she gets it, and she doesnt really understand what it is, she just knows that humans really like it when she gives it to them so she keeps it to hand out to humans she likes. In her studies of humans, she runs across the hermits and starts watching these exceptionally peculiar humans and taking notes on their behaviors. One day Impulse spots her watching them and approaches her, and thinks she looks a little bit like a tiny demon, just missing the horns. He picks her up, sets her down and glues a headband with some horns on it to her head. She liked them so much she handed him a wad of cash before walking off. and impulse is just... SITTING there, staring at the money in his hands because holy shit did that little robot just hand him enough money to cover his share of this month’s rent?! She likes watching the hermits’ antics though, and can sometimes be seen nearby scribbling notes in her notebook. 

#recks au #recks!oc #Recks!sona #wasyago

[yourmcu]

dagligvarer

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

summary:

some redhead comes by your store on a humid day. she's pretty cute.

warnings: [minor] BLACK WIDOW SPOILERS, steve mention, other than that, none :)

a/n: probably the fastest thing i wrote lmao, figured we all need a lil break from the pain so here's a normal fluff fic. lmk if i get any mistakes specially the norwegian stuff

(gif mine)

the streets outside your corner store are clean and had no vehicle in sight like most days around this time. you still wait around an hour or two before closing, sometimes a bit longer considering you just live upstairs.

you get comfortable behind the counter, slip your earphones on listening to the local radio on your phone while scribbling away on your notebook. soon, a car pulls up outside. you don't mind it at first, not until the person comes through the door.

she is not one of your regulars, that's for sure. your stare lingers for a moment only looking away when she meets your eyes. natasha returns to her own business, grabbing a small basket.

she's roaming around for some time now when you thought she'd go straight to the counter to pick out a pack of cigarettes or something. instead she is still inside an aisle browsing for hair dye. you made sure to appear like you're approachable for help like a store owner should.

that just meant you were checking her out, really. the way she's silent than average and for some reason how she checks the labels of everything she gets makes your head tilt. not to mention you found her adorable with her braids, the way her red hair frames her face perfectly. you hadn't even notice her getting up after picking a box and walk over your coffee machine.

"unnskyld meg (excuse me)," she speaks with no hostility in her voice or expression. "er kaffemaskinen din ødelagt? (is your coffee machine broken?)"

you get up to help your customer. "nei, la meg hjelpe (no, let me help)."

natasha shifts aside to let you operate the machine. it only poured out the coffee, she's going to have to add cream or sugar or whatever manually.

having you pressing buttons and grabbing a cup, natasha turns around to place her basket on the counter. she catches a glance of your open notebook that seemed to have english sentences.

she hums, "so, do you live here?"

her smooth, sultry voice catches you off guard but you recover quickly. you gently place her cup of coffee on the counter and you move back behind it to scan her stuff. "four years and counting. my, uh... my norwegian isn't that good for how long i've been here."

"it's good. almost fooled me." she replies with a half smile.

her words leave you a blushing mess that you completely forgot what you were supposed to do. "oh, i - sorry," you cautiously grab the things out of the basket and scanned them one by one, the beeping being the only sound filling the hopefully-not-too awkward silence.

some food, couple beers, the hair dye to which you glance up at her for a split second after you scanned it. maybe she wanted a new look, or maybe it wasn't for her. if she asked you, you'd say her hair already looks nice as it is.

"you think so?" you do a double take and yes she's looking at you with amusement. you wanted nothing more than to punch yourself for absentmindedly saying that aloud in front of the cute stranger.

"i mean, well, yeah - but i'm sorry for being a creep."

"that's okay," natasha chuckles, subtly twirling a strand of her hair in the process while you still looked bashful bagging her groceries up.

she rests her lower back on the counter, sipping her coffee while looking around. "cozy," she nods towards the door that had a staircase leading up. "you live here?"

you purse your lips and nod. "for now, anyway. i plan on moving out when my dad comes back and takes over," you swallow a lump in your throat and muster up all your courage. "sorry, i don't think i caught your name,"

usually natasha would blurt out a random name, considering she was still a fugitive and you might call the authorities on her that you found the black widow.

in fact she had no direct answer to why she gave you her real name.

"natasha."

"i'm y/n."

"sounds about right," natasha's eyes trail up from your nametag to your eyes. you let out a little laugh, handing her the plastic bags after she paid the exact amount for them. "thanks, y/n."

"no problem."

and she starts walking away with bags on one hand and one shoved in the pocket of her white jacket. you could've wrote down your number on the back of her receipt, but she didn't ask. you didn't want to assume.

natasha would've asked for it if she still had her phone (now lost at sea) and wasn't on the run.

"feel free to come back if you need anything else," you call after her.

"i'll keep that in mind." with a final smirk, she leaves.

you let out a sigh as you watch her drive off. you toyed with your phone and accidentally switch from the music station to the news station.

"after the sokovia accords, the hunt is on for the remaining avengers..." your ears perk up at that, with you not really being up to date about anything you wondered what that meant. "...steve rogers and natasha romanoff are currently on the run."

now you definitely wondered what that meant. considering you just met a natasha five minutes ago.

you shake your head to yourself, that's just a coincidence. she couldn't be the one they're looking for.

#black widow spoilers #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagines #marvel #mcu imagines #black widow imagines #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fluff

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

she plays songs i’ve never heard || h. styles

warnings: references to sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol, harry gets a lil pervy (pls don’t watch your neighbours get dressed), kissing, not proofread properly

word count: 1.8k

summary: when you get a new neighbour and his dog breaks into your garden, it sets off a chain reaction of events that might change your life...

The day he moved into the house next door seemed like a normal day for you. Sure, the sound of him actually moving in had woken you up early. The furniture being moved in through the small front door and the busy workers he’d hired banging about as if it wasn’t 8 in the morning. Begrudgingly, you had pulled yourself out of bed, poured yourself a glass of orange juice and buttered some crisp toast. Toast in hand, you watched from your kitchen window as grumpy Mr Bennet from across the road came out to shout at the new man and the workers. You’d managed to make out something about ‘too early on a weekend to be making that kind of noise’. Rolling your eyes, you went back upstairs to get dressed. 

And that was that. You’d ordered a pizza for lunch and your mother had rung you during the afternoon to catch up. You told her about your new neighbour. And that was that. 

It was, in fact, the day that the tattooed man’s dog broke into your back garden that your life seemed to change. You had been sat in your living room, watching The Sound of Music - a personal favourite of yours. Just as you were preparing to invest three hours of your life into the lives of the von Trapps, there was a loud bang on your door. Huffing quietly to yourself, you climbed off the sofa and left to open the door. And there, on the other side, was the tattooed neighbour. However, his tattoos were covered by a black hoodie but you could see a couple poking out beneath the hoodie’s cuffs. He was wearing shorts, exposing you to the tiny doodles of ink along his legs. His brown curls were hidden beneath a baseball cap. His features were hidden almost entirely in the shadows as it was dark outside and his cap sheltered him from whatever light there was. “Hi?” you said awkwardly. 

“I’m so sorry, but my dog got into your backyard. Do you think you can go and get him for me?” he asked.

You were almost taken aback. Though not entirely sure what you’d expected when being confronted with your tattooed neighbour outside your house, you definitely didn’t expect him to be searching for his dog. You didn’t even know he had a dog. 

You nodded slowly, “Sure. Come in, if you want.”

He thanked you, stepping in before you closed the door behind him. He shuffled awkwardly into the hallway, knocking your coat off the rack. It landed in a heap on the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he said quickly, bending down to pick it up. “Fuck! Sorry for swearing!”

“It’s okay, we’re both adults,” you smiled softly. You moved forward through the house, unlocking the back door. And there, chasing a wasp around the garden, was a small black dog. He wiggled in your arms as you picked him up carefully. You carried him into your house and back to Harry, who you found in the living room. 

The dog licked your face before you place him in his owner’s arms. “Thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience - I know it’s late. I’m Harry by the way.”

He extended his hand for you to shake. “Y/N,” you replied, smiling up at him. 

His grip on your hand was strong and firm. While you’d been away finding his little treasure, Gabriel (named after Peter Gabriel), he’d had a chance to explore your living room. The first time Harry saw you was when he happened to catch a glance of you reading in your back garden in your green shorts and sweater. It had been a hot day and you had a pair of sunglasses pushed up over your head. You looked ethereal with the sun highlighting your skin. From then, he’d tried to time his dog walks perfectly so he’d ‘accidentally’ bump into you on the way out. But, his attempts had come with little success. It was rather fortunate that Gabriel had escaped into your garden. 

He’d actually jumped at the opportunity to come round and meet you in person. After all, he only knew your name because his other neighbour, Edna, had told him a bit about you after he asked. And when you’d invited him in, he was ecstatic. He couldn’t help but wander into your living room. He noticed The Sound of Music paused on your tv, wondering if he’d get to watch it with you one day. Maybe you’d exchange favourites -  he’d watch The Sound of Music and you’d watch The Notebook. He then noticed a stack of books on the coffee table, with everything from Cervantes’ Don Quixote to Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. Your current read, Sally Rooney’s Normal People, was being held open by the tv remote. He wanted to ask what you thought of Norwegian Wood, after all, it was one of his favourites. But he refrained. 

There was a glass of wine on a coaster, a half-eaten bowl of cheese pasta beside it. The room was littered with lovely plants -  some were hanging down from shelves and others were standing up high beside the sofa. The walls were a soft grey, but they were drowned out by the green of the plants and the subtle pink tones littered throughout the room. “What’s this little guy’s name?” you asked, tickling behind the dog’s ear. 

“His name’s Gabriel.”

“As in Peter?” you asked.

“Yep. You a fan?”

“Who isn’t?” you grinned in response. He knew you were a fan of Peter Gabriel. He’d seen your rack of records in the corner and he’d been gardening a few weeks ago and heard you listening to one of his albums in your own backyard. Upon examining your record collection, he’d noticed some Beatles albums, a bit of Lionel Richie, some Taylor Swift, a few ABBA albums, a sprinkle of Bee Gees and a plethora of Elton John albums. Relatively mainstream, but a mixture nonetheless. 

“Exactly,” he agreed, before gesturing to the wine. “Special night?”

“Huh?” you’d replied.

“The wine?” he responded. 

“Oh,” you laughed, “that’s cranberry juice.”

He flushed bright red as you laughed quietly. You placed a comforting hand on his arm, guiding him out of the room. “I think you’re a bit tired. I guess I’ll see you around then?” you offered a hopeful smile. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, holding Gabriel at arm’s length as the dog tried licking his cheek. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” you smiled, closing the door. “What an odd man.”

You couldn’t help grin to yourself. He was strange, yes, but very kind. You resumed your position on your sofa, taking a sip of cranberry juice, and pressing play on The Sound of Music. What a bizarre evening… 

Come a few days later, Harry found himself busying himself in his bedroom. Gabriel was sat on his bed, barking at Harry as he worked away at his computer, sending emails back and forth to his boss. It was only when he saw your own bedroom light flick on in the corner of his eye. You wandered in, throwing your phone down onto your bed. A white towel was wrapped tightly around your body and your hair was wet and your skin glistening. 

He knew he shouldn’t look. He knew he shouldn’t stare. But he couldn’t help it. He watched as you pulled a silky pyjama set from your dresser. You seemed to examine it briefly before deciding it was good enough. And when you dropped the towel, he knew he was wrong for staring. He knew you’d never speak to him again if you caught his gaze on your naked body. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

You sighed as you stepped into your silk shorts and slipped on the matching shirt. As you finished doing up the buttons, you happened to glance up and catch Harry’s gaze. He’d been staring. Once he realised you’d caught him, he went bright red; redder than when he’d mistaken cranberry juice for wine. You smirked, challenging him to look away. 

When he didn’t avert his gaze, you leaned over to grab your notebook from your desk. Embracing your 2009 Taylor Swift moment, you scribbled down: wanna come over? You laughed as you watched him scramble away from the window and out of his room. 

It was thirty seconds later that you heard his knocking on your door. You dashed down to open it. There he was. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him into your house and up the stairs. And there you were, standing in your bedroom with your tattooed neighbour. “That was super pervy, you know?” you whispered, your faces inches apart. 

“But you’re so beautiful,” he choked out, revelling in the feeling of your hands dancing up his arms. 

“What if I told you I did it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Yeah, what if I left the light on so you could see me? What if I wanted you to stare?”

He couldn’t resist you any longer. He pressed his mouth to your own, pushing your wet hair out of your face. He slipped his attractively large hands under your thighs, lifting you into his arms, only to drop you down onto your bed. You squealed as you hit the soft mattress, laughing as he buried his face in your neck, his fingers fiddling to undo your buttons. And that was that. 

Before you knew it, you were lying beside his naked figure, panting loudly. Both of your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat. “That was amazing,” he whispered, rolling over to face you. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled, kissing his nose, “Thanks. I think you’ll find you’re pretty sensational too. I need another shower now, though… wanna join?”

It was just after 11 when Harry left. The night had spiralled in the most perfect way. You switched off your bedroom light, slipping under your soft bedsheets. You were excited for the day to come - you’d asked him if he wanted to come over for a date. He agreed ecstatically. 

The following morning, you woke up as you usually did. You were groggy, unexcited for the uneventful day to come. That was until you remembered your date that night with your tattooed neighbour. Up until 7, you had nothing to do but wait. You watched some episodes of a drama your mother had been raving about. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch. But finally, 6.30 rolled around and you peeled yourself off the sofa to get ready. At 7.02, Harry arrived. He knocked on your door and when you answered, his smile was bright and his eyes were alive with excitement. “Hello,” you grinned until you noticed something behind his back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

He held out a bouquet of roses, “I got you some flowers… and I brought round a bottle of cranberry juice.”

#harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles oneshot #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry oneshot

[bluecookies02]

Teacher!Aizawa x Student!Reader -Feathery mess/NSFW/-

warnings: teacher/student relationship(the student is of legal age).

quirk: angel wings

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been squirming in your seat like crazy for the past 30 minutes, your thighs rubbing together as you watched the man lazily write stuff on the board, his sleeves raised up to his shoulders and his hair tied in a messy bun.

You've been eying the man for years, always too afraid to step up or say anything (for obvious reasons), and even now as you're nearing the end of your education, there's this annoying feeling in your tummy that's making you all giddy and impatient.

It's the last class of the day, all of the students tired and just wanting to go back to their dorms while you're here, dreaming about being stuffed by the black-haired man's cock.

Your wings puffed in your seat as you chewed on your pencil.

You didn't exactly care about anything he was saying, the only thought as you looked at his moving mouth was the fantasy of it lapping at your cunt.

Such sinful thoughts shouldn't cloud the mind of someone so seemingly innocent and pure.

Your feathers ruffled up as you placed your head in your arms, alerting some of the students and obviously motivating Bakugou to ~quietly~ shout you out.

You paid no mind, still staring at the man in a haze...He must've felt something...

He was always so gentle and caring, offering to rub and clean your feathers on countless occasions after training, always checking up on you or coming to your table if you needed help with anything.

While he might've done that to everybody, you felt like he had a particular fondness of you. Maybe it was just your imagination...

Your wings fluffed back down, slumping against your back as they curled around your tiny form.

You spent your years in this school pinning for someone you might never have, instead of going out to parties and meeting new people. And the biggest problem was, you weren't only painfully attracted to him, but you also caught yourself falling in love with the man.

Maybe if you were a bit older? What if he already had someone and it was impossible from the start? You didn't want to know...it would crush you completely.

The bell seemed to have rung a few moments ago, all of the students already having their bags packed and on their back, leaving through the door one by one.

You stuffed your notebook in messily, crumbling it as you pulled the zipper. You stared at the floor as you made your way in-between desks, just wanting to take a long warm bath and cry.

"Y/N, everything alright?" your eyes darted to the voice, your mouth suddenly drying up as you just gave a weak nod.

Before stepping anywhere further, the door was pushed closed in front of you, the tall man hovering over you as he looked at you with warm eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, I want to help..." he trailed off, reaching for your hand as you hopelessly gave it to him.

He sat you down on his chair, him leaning against the table.

"I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa...I don't think there's anything you can do to help me in this situation."

Your wings felt heavy on your back, actually, your own bones felt heavy too.

He reached out to pet your head comfortingly, noticing the way your cheeks flushed and your feathers straightened.

"Can you look at me real quick, please" you raised your head a bit, looking at the man with scared eyes.

Your wings betraying you as they gave a small twitch.

"Y/N, please correct me if I'm wrong because I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way" you nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Is it a crush problem?" you nodded again, eyes falling down to your lap.

"Is that person in our class?" he questioned, his shoulders stiff.

"Theoretically..." you mumble, your form shaking a bit as you took in a deep breath.

"And theoretically...I personally...am actually capable of helping you out?" you clutched at the chair for a second before trying to will your legs to move and get you out of here.

His fingers hooked your chin up gently, your teary eyes closing and squinting shut.

"So you literally gave yourself a heartache for nothing angel" he mumbled softly, pulling you up in front of his face.

"Can I kiss you sweetheart?" you stared at him in shock, brainstorming through what's about to happen, your heart skipping beats as his breath ghosted over your lips.

"Pleasee" your needy voice filled his ear before he smashed your lips together, his arms snaking around your back and under your wings, pulling your body flush against his, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss.

Your wings fluffed back, full and strong, flexing as they tried to look pretty and inviting.

He chuckled into the kiss, dragging his dull nails across the junction of your wings, kneading at the soft feathers.

You hummed in his mouth, pressing harder against him as you tangled your hand through his hair.

Once the two of you stopped to breathe, you were pushed onto the desk, your legs spreading to let him come back closer.

"It's my turn to lock all of the doors on this floor, no one will come here" he mumbled, gently kissing at your neck.

"Please...don't make me wait...I'll beg if I have to" you whined, fisting the fabric of his thin shirt.

"No need sweetheart, we'll have time to take things slow some other occasion." his long fingers slipped beneath your skirt, rubbing over your panties as he felt the soaked patch of cotton.

"Dirty little feather...were you thinking about me during class today? Do you even know what the subject was?" he grinned, pushing the fabric aside as he slipped a finger into your heat.

"I...maybe?" you whispered tilting your head back as he pumped the digit carefully, working you open before slipping in another one.

His lips swallowed up your moans, his free hand creeping under your shirt and rubbing at your flush skin. His fingers curled up, pushing snuggly against your spots making you gasp into his mouth.

"I'm gonna make you feel so full angel, is that what you want? For me to take good care of you?"

Your hands reached for his pants, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper, slipping both his pants and boxers down.

Your wings shook a bit, your mouth watering at the sight of his cock. It looked painfully hard and heavy, twitching each time you clenched around his fingers, his tip oozing out pearly liquid.

You still couldn't fully believe everything, but the fact that he was willing to risk his job for you had to count for something.

"Hey princess, you think you could take it now?"

His forehead pressed against yours, breathing in deeply as he pushed another finger in.

"Fuck...Please, I'll go mad if you don't" you cried out, tugging at his cock as you slicked it up with his precum.

He groaned, his flush tip now rubbing over your clit and your puffy lips, hissing once he began to sink you down on his length.

You gasped at the feeling of being so stretched out, the countless times you had you pussy full with your toys couldn't compare to this.

Both of his hands found purchase on your hips, slowly guiding you against his cock, slipping out and sinking back in, his small groans coming out after each thrust.

You clung to his broad shoulders, keeping yourself steady as his pace picked up, the filthy sound of his dick plowing in and out of your soppy cunt filling the classroom.

"I'm gonna take you to my house after this princess, make you cum again and again, make you all nice and cozy and abuse your little hole...you kept me waiting for so long, kept this dirty little pussy all to yourself." His voice always sent shocks of pleasure through your cunt, the raspy hum his words held always making your thighs clench together.

"Oh baby you're just swallowing it all up, such a greedy little student I have...oh...look at you...you're gonna cum on my cock? I can see you shaking princess" your hand reached for your puffy clit, flicking it with the tips of your fingers in a hurry.

Your wings were violently flapping everywhere, sprawling around before wrapping around Aizawa as you came with a soft cry, clenching down on his length as he continues to push past your spasming walls, pounding you through your high as he struggled not to cum. You were gushing around his shaft, creaming over his cock and ruining his desk.

Once he couldn't hold out any longer, he pulled out, giving a few rough pumps with his fist, warm waves hitting your skin and coating your clit, dripping past your folds and sliding past your hole, your wings holding onto him tightly.

He rubbed his seed in possessively, gliding his cock along your sex before pulling your panties back in place, finally calming himself down.

He holds you by your hips for a while, kissing at your clothed shoulder and whispering praises into your ear, talking about wanting you for so long, dreaming about you, touching himself at the thought of you, praying to everything out there for a chance to hold you like this.

"Hey...didn't you say something about locking doors?" you mumbled tiredly, nuzzling your head against his cheek.

"Yeah maybe in a minute" he muttered out, kissing your forehead gently.

Thank your quirk for making you so obvious. Or maybe it was his devotion to you that made it easy for him to read you so well...

this lil commission was by @sinclairsamess, they r the sweetest little thing to exist 🥺. thank you for pointing out that I don't actual have a filthy chapter for my favourite teacher, shame on me! So as an apology I offer this soft little thingy🦋

Requests:closed

commission:open (1 slot)

Ko-fi link is in my bio💕

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa fluff #aizawa x reader lemon #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #eraserhead #eraserhead x reader

[host-club-hq]

Not So Bitter Days (Honey x Fem!Reader)

pairing: honey x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff! as much fluff as I could think of

notes: honey is flustered! That’s never happened before!

gif isn’t mine!

what to expect: “Wow, I’ve never seen Senpai so flustered before.” “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” *cue host club groaning at Kyoya*

Requested! Thanks for the request this was in my drafts :)

As you trudge from your classroom to the Host Club's abandoned music room, the bell signaling the end of school ringing in your ears, you notice something odd; your favorite host, moping about the club room with a cloth tied from his chin to his head, holding his adorably swollen cheek in a painful way. His pale blonde bangs hung over his adorable brown eyes, dimming the light they once brought to the club.

Of course, you're nothing but an admirer from afar. Honey is always surrounded by his multitude of guests and they're always too loud for you. From afar, you can experience his presence without having to experience the presence of his guests.

But today... his request rate seems oddly low. You've been hovering around for a few moments now, and Honey hasn't spoken to... anyone? Usa-Chan dangles loosely from his grip and his ears drag slightly on the floor as he walks, looking dejected about something. What did you miss? You don't attend the Host Club for one day and suddenly the most cheerful third-year you know no longer has his light about him. 

You walk timidly up to Kyoya and he takes slight note of your presence. 

"Ah, Miss (L/N), who might you be here to see today? I noticed you were absent yesterday." Kyoya acknowledges your absence as if you were required to attend each day... but you can't help but take note that he seems much more cheerful than usual. 

Has he... switched bodies with Honey? That's ridiculous, you've watched enough movies to know that it only happens in movies.

Then, Kyoya smiles brightly down at you, and you're not so sure that it only happens in movies...You cock your eyebrow slightly at him, but nonetheless continue on as if nothing is out of place or unusual. The abnormal cheerful disposition that he's radiating somehow makes him even more intimidating... you shiver at the thought of him being like this forever. You much prefer your monotoned Kyoya. But, you have other concerns at the moment.

"I was wondering if Honey was free...?" Your voice trails off as your eyes follow Honey, slowly dragging himself to a sofa and then throwing himself onto it with an exaggerated sigh. Kyoya, however, catches your words as he's used to the timid voice you use and the shy demeanor you've always had. 

"Why, of course he's free at the moment. May I add, you would do well to not offer him any sweets or treats. You see, he's given himself a cavity and he's forbidden to consume any treats with sugar of any kind." Kyoya explains to you with exceptional detail. You hum in acknowledgement as Kyoya leads you to an empty table, sitting with a vase of freshly picked pink roses, and you can smell them from your seat if you focus hard enough. Honey appears moments later, seemingly elated to finally have a guest that seems to not know what's going on.

"Hi, there! I don't think I've met you before, what's your name, pretty lady?" Honey giggles as he seats himself across from you, a bright smile despite his swollen cheeks. You're finally coming face to face with the host that you remember, and you're grateful for that.

Nonetheless, finally talking to him is nerve wracking... watching from afar, you never have to think about something that you could do to embarrass yourself. A pink tint dusts the apples of your cheeks as you tuck a strand of hair behind you ear and avoid direct eye contact. Although your movements are subtle, Honey seems to notice intently as his smiles slightly falters, but that's not something that you notice. 

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N)." Your voice is small, but Honey smiles. He giggles and stands on his knees atop the chair to reach your height. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)-chan!" He smiles brightly at you. You feel your lips tug up in a smile and you stare down at his hand. You slowly reach out and shake his small, outstretched hand. 

"Wow, (Y/N)-chan! Your hands are really soft!" Honey pulls your hand across the table and causes you to lurch forward with a surprised yelp, gripping onto the table with a newfound strength, your knuckles turning white. You watch as Honey traces your fingers with his own and places his palm against yours, sparks flying when-

His face flushes a bright red and lets you go immediately and you fall back into your seat as you weren't expecting him to let go of you that way. "Sorry, (Y/N)-chan..." He turns and seems to take sudden interest in the wall next to him. You don't think you've ever seen him flustered before. Something must be terribly wrong for his behavior to be displayed as such. 

"Um... it's alright, I don't mind." you take a moment to glance at your hand, wiggling your fingers slightly; are your hands really that soft?

There's a long beat of silence and you hear a hushed whisper, "Senpai." You turn to where you heard the whisper, finding Tamaki and the twins crouched behind a sofa nearly on the opposite side the room, observing you. They gasp and duck out of sight, but it's already too late, you've seen them. You turn back to Honey, who hasn't seemed to notice their observing, so you definitively decide to say nothing about it. 

"If you want to, you can have some cake, (Y/N)-chan... I can't have any, but that shouldn't mean that you can't." Honey drags his fingers in different designs across the clean, polished table top with a prominent frown. Your eyebrows raise as you watch him glance between you and his finger, a typical sign for wanting to get a reaction from someone. 

"It's okay, Honey-Senpai... I won't eat cake if you can't." Your voice is soft and comforting as you reach across the table and place your hand over his, effectively resulting in his hand stilling and his eyes boring down into your connected hands. 

Rather than his usual remarks, Honey says nothing. He only glances from where your hands are connected and then back up to your eyes. You can't help but become captivated by his wide, innocent eyes, glistening in the filtered light from the large window next to your table as if he's unable to move his eyes from yours. There's something there that you've never felt before, some sort of connection you feel by just being in his presence. 

"Wow, I've never seen Senpai so flustered... isn't that the girl that usually watches him?" Hikaru whispers to Tamaki quietly from their eavesdropping positions on the sofa. Tamaki grumbles,"It doesn't make any sense."

"It's not that bizarre." Haruhi speaks from beside them, standing in full sight of you and Honey as she peers down at Tamaki and the twins' ridiculous antics. 

"Maybe... he really likes her." Haruhi watches Honey interact with you, and it's safe to say that in all the time she's know him, she, too, has never seen him act like this in front of anyone, not even their prettiest guests- and you are, most definitely, one of those. 

"Could just be the cavity." Kaoru shrugs next to Hikaru, who nods. Tamaki sighs and his mischievous expression is replaced with a solemn one. "No, I know that look." The Host Club turn one by one at his assertion, most in confusion, some in agreement. 

"Honey-Senpai doesn't look like he's in pain... he looks like he's in love." a small grin tugs at Tamaki's lips at the familiarity of the feeling of being love-sick. Everyone turns to observe Honey, and indeed, he stares at you with the upmost admiration that anyone's seen from him. The two of you aren't talking, but you don't have to be. The comfortable silence is there- and comfortable silence is rare with Honey. 

"I can practically see the hearts floating above his head." Haruhi chuckles from where she stands. Mori hums a monotoned, "Yeah" from where he stands, but this resonance has a bit more of a solemn tone to his voice than usual. 

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised." Kyoya sighs. The Host Club groans, expecting nothing less from him. 

"Every day that she's not here, Honey is asking where she is. He might've not known her name, but he knows she's always here." Kyoya scribbles in his notebook as he speaks and the club glances at him briefly. 

"Why are we not surprised that you know that?" Tamaki glares in Kyoya's direction. 

"I am a little bit surprised that Honey-Senpai could get so flustered around someone." Hikaru mumbles as he diverts his attention back to you and Honey, both love struck. 

As Honey stares at you, he feels a grin tug at his lips despite the pain it might cause his swollen cheeks. "(Y/N)-chan? Will you come back tomorrow? I want to see you again!" Honey's cheerful disposition has returned and couldn't be more so. You smile for that.

"Of course, I will. Hopefully next time, we can share some cake." Your disposition, as a result of being in Honey's presence, has improved significantly and you can feel yourself becoming more confident with each passing minute.

"Thank you for seeing me, (Y/N)-chan!" Honey waves enthusiastically as you make your exit, turning over your shoulder to give a small wave before you disappear through the doorway. 

Mori materializes at Honey's side, though Honey isn't phased in the least. Mori hums to gain Honey's attention, but it does little to distract him from staring off to where you disappeared. 

"Like her?" Mori inquires simply. Honey hums. "Mm. Just a lil, bit. Promise." He puts his chin to rest on his hands, and it wouldn't take an expert to observe him and conclude the puppy-love expression gracing his features. 

In fact, he couldn't promise that it was just a 'lil bit.’ Mori smiles for that. 

thank you for the request! i had this written in my drafts for a while now and i’m glad to have it out here. check my masterlist for more like this and feel free to request anything you want!

#honey x reader #honey #mitsukuni x reader #mitsukuni haninozuka #ohshc #tamaki suoh #tamaki #takashi morinozuka #mori #kaoru hitachiin #kaoru #hikaru hitachiin #hikaru #haruhi #haruhi fujioka #kyoya #kyoya ootori #fluff #honey fluff #imagine #oneshot #drafts #draft #this was in my drafts #ouran academy #ouran host club #ouran #ouran honey #reader insert #fem!reader

[binniesthighs]

hi!! i rly liked your first writing it was so cute and you described jisung so well too! can i request a friends to lovers with han? kinda slow burn like they're really good friends but jisung gets jealous of her close friend and reader secretly likes him too but she doesnt wanna ruin the things between them so... one day they get into a fight and they end up making out😳 bc shes like "wtf we're friends" smut is ok but just a make out would be fine too the details r up to u💗

why yes you can! Thank you for requesting hehe you are my first ask ever  ♡ I hope that you like it, here’s some best friend ‘sungie for ya :)   

all yours | reader x jisung |

Paring: self-insert, female reader x han jisung

Genre: fluff ‘n a lil bit of smut & angst  

Tags: student!reader, bestfriend!jisung, lab partner!felix (haha), friends to lovers, mutual pining, best friend au, college au, jealousy, slow-ish burn, mentions of exams, some yelling, reader is secretly whipped for jisung (and jisung for the reader), explicit language, marking, that good good makin’ out

Word count: 2.4k

“Hey!”

The little ball of paper that you had crinkled up bounced off Jisung’s arm with a soft pat.

“What happened to studying together? You said that you were gonna quiz me.”

Jisung’s eyes popped up from his phone screen looking a little bewildered. “Sorry, I just...got a little distracted.

“Distracted? Looking at what?”

“Oh, nothing.” He placed his phone down, clicking it off.

“Is “nothing” code for some girl’s Instagram?” You dished him out a teasing smirk. “I think you forget that I know you better than you know yourself sometimes.”

Jisung shuffled the papers in front of him pretending like he had something to do. “Psh. I was not.”

“--Does she go to school here?”

“I told you, I said no.” He furrowed his brow trying to look as serious as possible, but that was nearly impossible for someone as naturally adorable as him. “Why are you drilling me? Aren’t you supposed to be doing some work right now?”

“~So are you~” You teasingly sang back to him, giving him a kick under the table just for good measure.

Jisung threw your balled up paper ball back to you. “Let’s just get back to what we were doing so we can leave. I don’t wanna end up like him.”

He nodded over to the end of your table where a student had fallen asleep mid-chapter. His nose twitched and he snorted a little bit. You knew exactly what Jisung meant, you didn’t want to be at the library at 11pm on a Tuesday either; it was your better judgement that told you.

“Can we get food after this?” Jisung asked after approximately five minutes of “working.”

“Sounds good to me.” You quipped, barely allowing your eyes to leave your computer screen. You found that you always had to try you best to let him not distract you. He was really good at that.

You slid a stack of index cards in front of him. “Ask me these? I’m having a hard time getting the Latin names down...if you’re not busy?”

“Nope!” He piped, and shoved his notebook away.

“Okay!” He said with determination and a little bounce. He fixed his oversized hoodie before starting, looking adorably lost in the fabric.

He asked you the first question, but it barely met your ears. There you were, getting distracted by him again.

screw you Han Jisung, you thought to yourself.

☆。*。☆。

“I just don’t understand how you make sense of all that crap, I could never be a science major like you are.”

“--And I could never understand production like you do.”

“And this is why we work.” Jisung grinned with smiling eyes while he opened the library door for you. “I’m starving, I can’t stop thinking about--”

“--Y/n??” A voice called from behind the two of you.

The two of you whipped your heads back to see a loveable looking blonde and freckled boy bounding to catch up with you. It was Felix, your lab partner from zoology. The two of you were nothing more than classroom friends, but his friendly kindness was always something that brightened up your terrible 9 am lab.

“Felix!” You beamed, holding the door so it wouldn’t close on him. “Are you here studying for the exam as well?”

“Oh yeah, I just...my brain couldn’t take it any more,” He sarcastically mimed his head pains, “I just need to get some sleep now.”

“I just don’t get how they expect us to know all of those phyla like its nothing.”

“I know right?’ He chuckled.

Next to you, Jisung silently poked at the elevator button to go down.

“Is it alright if I head down with you guys?”

“Of course!” You motioned him in.

Once the doors had closed, the three of you found a different corner of the small box to plant yourselves in.

“shit-sorry, Felix, I didn’t introduce you, this is Jisung.”

“Hi!” Felix shone, and Jisung gave him a curt nod back.

Felix waved to two of you goodbye, leaving you in the nighttime snow. You noticed that as Felix walked away he had a little bounce to his step; and you couldn’t help but crack a little smile.

“Our usual?” Jisung asked you with a little edge to his voice.

You linked your arm around his, letting out a little shrill sound when the fabric of your two coat sleeves met. “Sounds good to me!” You nuzzled up into him while both of your bodies’ heat intermingled.

The two of you walked on under the streetlights which illuminated the falling flakes in streams of light. You never loosened your grip, as had become your habit lately when the two of you walked around. Jisung never seemed to mind; the two of you had been mistaken for a couple more than enough times thanks to it. When it did happen, it didn’t phase you at all. Being close to Jisung was like second nature to you.

The whole walk over Jisung never uttered a word, which was uncharacteristic of his usual boisterous self.

“Is everything okay?”

He sniffled, “Yeah, I think I just got kinda tired out of nowhere.”

“Ah.” You mouthed, and squeezed his arm a little harder.

After a moment’s silence, he somberly announced, “If you’re in the same class as him, maybe you should study with him.”

“Huh.” You tsked. “Yeah, I mean I never thought about that before...I guess that could do me some good.”

You looked slightly up to him: a product of him being slightly taller than you. His brown eyes remained stoic, and you couldn’t figure out why. You hated it when he wouldn’t tell you what was wrong, but he was also stubborn at letting up.

“But thank you for helping me tonight! You know that I reeealy appreciate it.” You turned your tone as cutesy as you could--Jisung hated it, but you knew that it could bring a smile to his face.

His gaze softened a bit. “Anytime. You’d do the same for me.”

☆。*。☆。

Jisung rested his head on your shoulder on the bus ride home with his phone weakly held in his hand. One more bump in the road and you knew that it would go flying so you carefully took it into your own lap where it would be safe. You wouldn’t dare moving an inch because you had a feeling that he had closed his eyes. Time had slipped past 1am, and you had to keep fighting yawns yourself. The bus driver had been blasting the heat, so it wasn’t hard at all for you to feel cozy.

You glanced down at his open hand in his lap. It looked exactly like he was beckoning for you to scoop it up in your own. You wondered what what happen if you did. What would he think of it? Would he think anything of it? You had held hands before, but every time you had it had been under purely platonic pretenses. If you just grabbed it now, what would the pretenses be then? The two of you cozied up on a bus: that was something that couples did.

You shut your eyes closed tightly and tried your best to banish all the thoughts clouding your head.

Jisung’s hand twitched, looking even more inviting.

screw you Han Jisung.

☆。*。☆。

[7:14pm]

jisung: you want to come over? Changbin is cooking and i don’t wanna eat whatever he’s making alone

[7:31pm]

me: sorry, I’m studying with Felix at the library, I think that we are gonna be here late. It’s all the Latin, I’m drowning in the Latin, Sung.

I’m sorry.

see you Friday once I’m out of this hell?

[7:34pm]

jisung: see you friday.

☆。*。☆。

You pounded on the door to Jisung’s apartment with your phone in hand, the white screen showing you the number that you had worked so hard for.

“Open the door!” You called giddily. “Jisung! I know that you’re in here, we need to celebrate! ~I can treat youuu~”

Just as you were about to knock again, the door swung open, revealing a wet haired Jisung in his grey sweats and tee. His brown strands of hair were scattered around his head while he rubbed at them with a towel.

“Shit! Can’t I shower?” He jested.

It took all your will power not to ogle him more. He looked devastatingly handsome, but you swallowed down how utterly flustered he had made you.

You cleared your throat, “Uh...sorry...” then remembered your phone in your hand. “I got a 96! Can you believe it! I’m even surprised too, when I was taking the test I just got so nervous...”

“All that studying paid off huh?” He cockily rose an eyebrow. “You can go ahead and thank me now, without my help...” He shrugged with a grin.

You invited yourself in and threw your bag down at the door like you usually did.

“Thank youuu” You sung. “Oh! And studying with Felix really paid off too.” You took off your shoes, thinking of how nice it had been to finally study with someone who knew your class topics. Not that Jisung wasn’t helpful, but you and Felix were on the same page. “He knew it all way more than I did, so he was super helpful. I forgot to text him--”

Jisung closed the door behind you with a slam that made you jump. He moved away from you, not meeting your eyes. The air around the two of you suddenly became thick with something that did not feel as excited as you just were.

“...do you wanna maybe watch a movie?” You moved closer. “Or we could get some deliv--”

“--Why even bother coming over here?” Jisung suddenly huffed.

“What?”

Jisung’s words flew out of his mouth sharply, “If he was so helpful? What are you doing here, huh?”

“Jisung, I don’t understand...” Your heartbeat quickened in your chest and you felt anxiety swell there as well. Jisung never spoke to you like this. He never sounded like this.

He growled out a little sound in frustration. “I-I just...can’t believe you--”

“--Me? Jisung, what did I do?” You threw your arms up, genuinely confused.

He ran his fingertips over his temples and let out a deep exhale. “Y/n, don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your temper started to become seething and you felt your ears get hot. “Tell me Jisung. Tell me what I did. And while you’re at it, what has been up with you these past few days? Being short with me, and distant, yeah-I’ve noticed...what are you doing??”

Jisung heaved breaths in and out of his chest, then ran a hand through his hair. He still couldn’t meet your eyes.

For a moment, a flash of panic surged in your head, making your heart ache with an unexpected pain. You truly didn’t know what he had meant, and if you had made a mistake, you knew it could mean loosing him. God, that was the last thing in the world you wanted. It always was.

“If I did something wrong tell me because clearly I don’t know!!” You yelled back at him, straining your throat.

He walked up to you, then grabbed your shoulders with a firm grip. Finally, you saw his eyes, brown and soft, holding a type of pain that you hadn’t seen in him before.

screw you, Han Jisung.

“Jisung, I--”

You were shoved by the shoulders in milliseconds to the door behind you, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of you. You gasped in your surprise, but your mouth was immediately shut by Jisung ramming his lips into yours. His hands needily took your face into his palms with his mouth blazing with hunger for you.

It took you a moment to realize what had just happened and steady yourself after being so startled. His lips were so soft and warm, your brain had a hard time recognizing that he was really doing this. His haste made no indication of stopping so you let yourself do what you had wanted to do for years: you kissed him back with everything that you had.

As soon as you did so, he let out little desperate moans between your lips in response. You let your arms wrap around his back and he fell into them just right. Naturally you took one of your hands to the back of his head and tangled up your fingers in his hair. God, it all felt so good. Jisung snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you into him with force, crashing your hips together.

The two of you clumsily made your way to the couch where he threw you down and crawled over top of you just as fast. He moved to your neck then traversed around your skin, sending shivers all through your body. Your hands eagerly found his back where you dug into him, wanting to be impossibly close. To your side, he carefully took your hand in his, weaving all of your fingers together.

Jisung pressed down into you and began to suck at your neck without holding himself back. It was such an intense feeling that couldn’t help but moan out something you didn’t know you could. You felt his mouth turn into a grin on your skin while he continued. It stung a little when he removed his lips, but he gently kissed each mark as if he was soothing it once he was done. He stopped to admire the little array of purple bruises he had made.  

“I want you all to myself.”  Jisung’s voice was hoarse, but still honey-covered in desire.

“What are we doing?” You asked him in breathless disbelief.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He whispered, and appeared to calm his breaths. “I don’t care.”

"You don’t?”

“Why should I?” He cocked his head and used his free hand to caress your face.

“--That this could change things between us?”

“You don’t want it too?” He looked a little confused.

You felt a warmth rush to your cheeks.  “--No! I do, I do...trust me.”

“Then can I kiss you some more?” Jisung grinned down at you as loving as he always had, but this time it meant something slightly different.

“...please.”

He lowered back onto you, connecting your lips once more. Jisung’s tongue languidly smoothed onto yours and you already felt intoxicated by the feeling. You tightened your fingers around his.

I’ve always been yours.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #jisung x reader #jisung x y/n #han smut #han jisung smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids drabble #kpop smut #kpop imagine #kpop drabble #best friend jisung #college au #friends to lovers #my first ask post hehe #this drabble made me want to make out with han jisung so terribly what a world #requested #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

[oliviayamaoka]

The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

#dbd x reader #ghostface x reader #the ghostface #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #jed olsen #danny johnson #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight

[slowpoke-fics]

The Run | The Good Doctor pt 3

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader slow burn

Summary: You had a bit more responsibility than you'd expected, not to say you didn't know what you were doing

Warnings: none really, cussing, ooc Negan, slow burn, it's cute, I miss some and am not perfect, read at your own risk

A/N: This is part three to the Good Doctor Part 3! Thank you for being patient and I hope to have part four up much quicker. I liked this even though it's just some logistical stuff and insight, here is part two!

Maybe he thinks he can fix me, sucks for him, I'm broken beyond repair.

When you woke up, Negan had his hand on your shoulder, you immediately grabbed the gun under your pillow, holding it under his chin. He immediately grabbed the gun and twisted it out of your hands, your eyes now fully open and awake. You didn't realize he was eye level with you, how hot it was for him to control your gun like that, how hot he was staring into your eyes, waiting for your next move. You were frozen, you're not sure he equated it with anything but sleep, but he was captivating.

He laughed, hands up, "Damn, doll, just trying to fuckin' wake you up without fuckin' scaring you, see that was fuckin' pointless," his eyebrows raised as he shook the gun by the barrel at you, "you want it back or not?" You shook your head in disbelief as you took your gun and put it down, shocked that you held a gun to someone for just trying to wake you up. "I-I'm sorry, I guess it was just-" Negan laughed, "No worries, doll, at least I know you can take care of yourself."

You smiled, throwing the blanket off of you and swinging your legs over the couch, “So,” you stood up and began folding the blanket, “what’s the plan?” He watched you fold the blanket, not trying to hide the fact that his eyes roamed your body. Taking in the battered bluejeans that hugged your body, the scratched and slightly torn tank top, your hair shining against the sun, really popping the color out. “We’re going to drive a little longer than I’d hoped but,” he huffed, “the towns supposed to have some more supplies left than we’d originally thought, we should be back by dark.” You shrugged, “Should be fun, are we ready to leave now?”

Negan leaned against the desk, you took all of him in. He was wearing his classic leather jacket over the tattered t-shirt and blue jeans that laid over his steel toe boots. He watched as you put your hair into a pony tail, shirt playing peekaboo with the skin on your torso, “Right after breakfast doll. You ready?” You nodded at him, heading to the door with him following close behind.

Once you had sat down for breakfast Negan started shoveling food down, a full plate compared to your half rations. You didn’t really have much of an appetite, worried about everything that could happen with Negan today. He didn’t seem to notice, and by the time you’d finished your small plate, he was already done eating too. He grabbed your plate so he could return it with his own. You picked up the bags and followed suit, following him out the door and to his truck.

The truck was huge. Had to have been able to fit half of Alexanndria's storage. You’d wondered how much he was planning to come back with. It started to make a little more sense when a small portion of his crew jumped into the back, probably for protection. You climbed into the truck after Negan opened the door for you, closing it once he’d known your feet were out of the way. Then proceeding to climb in his own side.

Negan started the truck, taking you in before he started rolling. Your legs crossed, fingers interlocked at the top of your thighs, thumbs picking at each other, ankle continuously moving. You watched the trucks behind you, following close, at least three others. Did all of them have people in the back? How big was this run?

You were clearly nervous and he hated that, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of non stop thought through his head, he had to say something. "God damn doll," Negan bellowed, "you're gonna roll the damn truck if you don't stop shaking so much," Negan lightly rubbed your forearm, a foreign thing to you, "what're ya so fuckin' nervous about anyway princess?"

You shrugged, a look of uneasiness resting on your face at his nickname for you that didn't go unnoticed, "Just don't know how to act with your group, what're your run rules? Where do I not be in the way? Will I distract you and your men? I'm used to going solo, or with one or two people. There's so-" Negan had to stop your monologue, knowing you've asked these questions twenty times since yesterday. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," Negan smiled, "I made sure this was gonna be fun for you." Your eyebrows curled, needing him to explain.

Negan blushed? No way, you thought and left it alone. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, "You'll see, won't you doll?" You huffed, "Well that just makes me more nervous." Negan let out a hearty laugh, "Damn girl, pull at this old assholes strings huh?" He shook his head, "I'm your personal companion today," he giggled at your slap to his arm. "I don't need a baby sitter!" He raised he hands very quickly to show defense, "No! But, wherever you go, I do. Whatever you fuckin' say, that's law. Everyone else goes at your direction too," he paused, looking at you, "but you don't leave my fuckin' sight," his eyes bore into you, demanding confirmation. "Yeah, okay," you smiled lightly.

"So," Negan's fingers drilled the steering wheel as he hummed at you to continue, "what's in this place?" Negan shifted, "It's a little town, the rest is a surprise." He looked genuinely excited, and you wondered how this apocalypse had changed him as a man. He couldn't have always been this heartless. "Do I get any hints?" Negan hummed again, this time searching for something to give you, "You'll fuckin' like it." You shrugged, "Maybe." He glanced to your bag where you keep your notebook, a gentle reminder of his broken trust. "Oh," you cleared your throat, "hopefully." He beamed at you, "Come on lil' fuckin' firecracker," he pressed the gas a couple more times, gently swerving the car to play with you, "be more fuckin' excited! I'm fuckin' kidding!"

The rest of the way you could believe how different Negan was being. He was intently talking to you about the grid of the town, what his crew already know about, how his crew has already been briefed that you're running it, explained the teams to you and that you're header, leading the team leaders, and he's told you that he's confident you have this ability. You were shocked about him being completely different man that with other people. You were sure that you could be with the man sitting in the truck with you, and you were sure that you couldn't be with the man who murdered someone you considered to be your brother. You were torn between seeing his good and never forgiving him for killing Glenn, how could he do something so vile? You shook your head, drawing attention back to the road and off of your thoughts.

When you arrived, Negan placed his hand on your thigh, just barely touching you. "There is one rule," he smiled, "stay here." Negan was gone for no more than two minutes. He finally came to your door, opening it and revealing his many men standing behind him, "Make sure you're safe." He reached for your hand, dropping you down to the same man who stole from you in your clinic, you glared him hiding behind Negan.

Negan stepped out of the way, the man looking guilty, "Hello, Doctor Y/n," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for stealing from an honorable woman." He handed you a gum pack, missing a few pieces, and a small pack of skittles, "I couldn't find gum to replace what I'd stolen, so I hoped that the skittles would excuse my poor manners." You smiled hatefully at him, taking what was in his hand, "Apology accepted..." you waited for him to say his name, but Negan chimed in. "Brady," and he slapped the other man on the shoulder eliciting a smile, "and Simon." You smiled, reaching your hand out to shake Simon's hand, "I've heard." Negan smiled at you, "Good we're all fuckin' aquatinted," he roughly slapped Brady's shoulder, you didn't miss the wince he tried to hide, "these two travel with us period. So, Y/n," a bright smile, "what's the fucking plan?"

With that you noticed the other men had cleared a path for you, letting you view the town. At this point you took in the town, looking at the tiny shops and small streets. Negan wasn't kidding, it's a small town, surely the four trucks you bought could fit everything. You thought for a second, and it hit you, how much work he had put into this. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he wanted to make this go smoothly for you, hence the perfect amount of trucks, a grid, briefed men.

You walked a little behind you, looking at the different streets, looking at Negan, he smiled, giving you some confidence. "You said that you'd already separated these men by trucks? With their usual teams?" You whispered to Negan, "Yes ma'am, they're with their usual team leaders and already armored, just need you to tell them where to go n what to do."

"Okay, so here's my plan-" Negan put his hand up, gesturing to the men when you realized you should be talking to them. You cleared your throat, "Okay, so here's the plan," Negan's body was just barely pressing against you, standing behind you on your left side, his hands in his pockets, watching his men intently listen to you. How hard did he work on this for you?

"If you came in Negan's truck, you're with us on main," you motioned with your hand to have them move to the side, "Truck two-or rather-team two, you're going to our left, Combs Street, when you get to the library, we're looking for education books, if we have time and space after you've gotten everything else essential on the street, comb the library taking the fun books, that's a good part of life now." Negan nodded, liking your plan for education first, noting that the houses on the street might hold value, but acknowledging that we still need distractions like 'fun books' if circumstances allowed.

"Truck three, hit the residential area, on Langley Street," you continued when the men nodded their heads, "Truck four, hit the shops to our right on second street," everyone started moving and you shouted, "wait!" You cleared your throat once again, "Team leaders, I need you and your right hand man, everyone else stay put."

You pulled out the grid as the men surrounded you, "So you've got the left and right sides on your street, split in half, half on Side A, the left, half on side B, the right, this will increase the time we can spend in the houses and avoid stepping on each others feet. Every time you clear a house you call it in, for example, team four A, you would say 'Team Four, A1 clear, moving to A2,' or 'Team Four A Trapped, requesting Four B at A3.' I need you to do this so I can designate resources and men, keep up with the lives and walkers. No need for needless death, check in." Everyone nodded, you smiled, "Anybody have questions, comments or concerns?" The men shook their heads and you turned back towards the crowd, "Alright, everyone knows what you're doing, no-one goes anywhere alone or unarmed. Take everything useful. Do not let your guard down and watch your backs. Dismissed." At that the men dissipated, going on their own assignments.

"Was that okay?" You looked to Negan, the need for approval swimming through your eyes, Negan nodded, "I think it was great, Simon what about you?" Simon chirped up, "Oh yeah, couldn't have done it better myself, I don't make them check in that much but that's okay." You smiled at Simon, wondering how he could not worry about his men that much. You watched as Team One had already started moving toward the first building, them the first check-ins started.

"Team One, heading to A1," a pause, "Team One, heading to B1," another pause, "Team Two, heading to A1." You listened to the team list off their locations, smiling as everyone checked in. "Alright, doll," Negan leaned against the truck, "Where to first?"

#twd negan #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #negan x y/n #negan angst #negan fluff #negan x you #negan imagine #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Jdm fanfic

[weelittleweasley]

Amortentia | Draco x Reader

Prompt: After having a large crush on Draco for two years, you decide to move on for your own sake. But what happens when you are in potions class and what you smell is not that of your current boyfriend, but of an old flame?

Warnings: angst, a lil fluff at the end

Requests status: Open and ready for some requests

A/N: New fandom, same old writer hehe. I thought I’d come back after a long hiatus and write a little something. Quarantine/the pandemic has me back in my teenage self. In this, we go through year 4 to year 6, so GoF to HBP :)

The bellows of the professor at the front of the classroom fall into muffled murmurs as you go in and out of daydreams, fiddling with the quill in your writing hand. As you draw nonsense pictures in the margins in your notebook, you fantasize scenarios in your head of the boy you’ve had your eye on since the beginning of year four at Hogwarts. In your head, it all made sense. The two of you were pure blood Slytherins, competitive and ballsy, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. That’s what you adored so much about the blonde boy. He may have his moments, but he always seemed to be ready for whatever. 

The corners of your mouth twirl upwards into a smile as you think about being able to wear his jumper, smelling his cologne on the collar. You think about his hands on your hip bones, squeezing them lightly as he peppers small, soft kisses on your neck and collarbones. Yearning to lace your fingers with his as he dips down his head to place a tender kiss to your l-

“Miss (Y/L/N), do you have anything to add?” Professor Moody snaps you from your daydream as you sit straight up, feet planted on the foot, picking your quill up back in writing position. You clear your throat and shake your head back and forth. “If you have nothing to add, I’d recommend you quit daydreaming and focus on what is going on at the front of the classroom.”

You breathe out a small, “Yessir,” before returning your attention back to your work. Small giggles are let out across the classroom, relishing in your embarrassment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you try to make yourself smaller by sinking into your chair a little and ducking your head downward. Peering up through your eyelashes, you try to sneak a look a Draco who is seated only two tables ahead and to the left of you. As you do so, you see that he was looking at you the whole time, him chuckling with Blaise Zabini before returning their focus to the blackboard. Embarrassment washes over you yet again, caught in the act of looking at the boy you fancied. 

Within the hour, Moody dismisses class and you gather your things swiftly, trying to leave class without Moody stopping you to ask why your mind was elsewhere today. As you fling your satchel across your body and tuck your notebook under your arm, you scurry out the door only to be stopped by Blaise. 

“Would you move it, Zabini? I have to get to astronomy,” you push Blaises large chest with your hand, before booking it in the opposite direction. You can’t escape him, or so it seems, because he walks beside you now down the corridor to your next class. “Are you obsessed with me or something? What’s your deal?”

Blaise laughs, “I didn’t know that you get so distracted during class, doodling and dreaming, (Y/N). What’s more interesting than a class with Moody?” He nudges his shoulder into you, making you stumble a little bit as you walk.

Now getting really annoyed since he brought up what happened in class, you stop in your tracks and hit him with your notebook. “Leave. Me. Alone. You. Arse,” you speak in between slaps and Blaise just laughs as you swat him. Before you can walk away from him, he quickly snatches your notebook from your hands and your eyes grow wide. If he flipped through the pages just right, he could see all of your Draco doodles. “Hey, give that back! That’s private!”

You jump for your notebook, but with no avail since Blaise was significantly taller than you. He carelessly flips through pages, “Now what does Miss (Y/L/N) write about in class? Taking diligent notes?” With one final shove, your notebook falls onto the ground, wide open to the page where you have written Draco Malfoy in script in the margins of your notebook, so much so that it creates a border around your note in the center of the page. Blaise lets out a deep chuckle, “Ho-ho! That’s where little Miss (Y/L/N)’s thoughts have been! The Slytherin Prince!” 

Before Blaise can torment you anymore, you grab your notebook off the floor and slam it shut. Your heart is racing, Blaise is in Draco’s inner circle and if Blaise knew about your crush, that meant Draco was bound to find out. Your anxiety swells and your chest tightens. Your grip becomes iron on your notebook now, unwilling to surrender it if someone dares to snatch it away from you again. You look up at Blaise and if you look up any longer at the shit-eating grin he has on his face, you’ll start crying. As if this day could not get any worse. Blaise immediately recognizes your facial expression as a girl who has just been hurt and he instantly retaliates, regretting what he just did. “I told you that was private,” you manage to speak out before walking away briskly.

The sound of quickened footsteps follow you and Blaise voice says, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just thought we were having fun, that’s all!” he attempts to rationalize. You ignore his feeble attempt at an apology. “I won’t tell Malfoy. It’ll just inflate his ego,” he attempts to humor you.

“I would hope not. That would be the most human thing to do,” you spit at him. “Just leave me alone, okay? I think you’ve done enough damage for today.”

“(Y/N)!” Blaise calls out before you turn around to enter your next class. “Please. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it.”

You look at him and by the look on his face, you can tell he means it, which is surprising. You sigh, “I believe you. Just...don’t do it again. And please, don’t tell...” you don’t want to say his name in fear if you say it, he’ll come right around the corner. “...him.”

Blaise offers you a warm smile. “Your secret is safe with me.” You let go of your held breath, some tension releasing from your shoulders. “Can I just ask? What is the fascination of him? Is it his hair?” he asks, making you laugh lightly. There were many reasons you liked Draco; his personality, his smile, his drive, the cool blue gray color of his eyes, the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. There was so much to like. Blaise notices your pregnant pause and smiles, “Never mind me asking. I have a feeling it will take too long to get your response.”

“Goodbye, Zabini,” you trail off, trying to slip into your class before he stops you yet again.

“Wait! Um,” Blaise stutters. “So, the Yule Ball is coming up soon. And I know maybe you were hoping to get asked by a certain...someone else,” he winks as you roll your eyes, “but I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?” he delivers the last part confidently, like he was giving you a sales pitch. 

You quickly thought about it. Although the chances of Draco asking you were slim to none, you still were holding out that maybe he noticed you and wanted to take you to the Yule Ball. But the proposition with Blaise sounded like fun. Blaise knew how to have a good time and you rather go with another Slytherin than with some half-blood from another house. And as selfish as it was to say, you would probably be invited to get ready with the other Slytherin girls like Pansy which meant more time to see Draco. Offering him a sweet smile you reply, “I’d like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go to class, Zabini.”

Blaise smiles and lightly blushes, but turns away, hoping you would not catch it. But you did before you slipped into your astronomy class before the professor started.

Soon enough, the Yule Ball rolled around and like you had previously thought, you found yourself in Pansy’s room, getting ready for the ball. You lightly tugged the rollers out of Pansy’s hair, helping her finish getting ready as she rambles on and on to Daphne Greengrass about their magical creatures class. A small smile tugs on your lips as you remain bystander to the conversation, enjoying the ridiculousness of the conversation. Your thoughts are disturbed when Pansy says, “Oh, wow, (Y/N). When you said you could do hair, you meant it!” She shakes her head side to side, causing her loose curls to shimmy across her shoulders. You had to admit she looked beautiful. 

You shrug, “Don’t mention it. Could you zip up the back of my dress?” You turn around, feeling the zipper close, the dress fitting around your figure tighter. When you turn around, you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Iridescent green fabric clung to your body fabulously, a deep v plunging down to your chest, your dècolletage shimmering in the light. It was a stunning dress; your mom had sent it over from London. It was her dress when she went to the Yule Ball at your age. 

“You look radiant,” Daphne tells you, placing her hands on your shoulders. “Blaise is going to be drooling.” Pansy and Daphne giggle, hoping you would join in. But you just offer them a small smile in return, secretly wishing there was another boy who would be gawking over how radiant you looked. “Something wrong?” Daphne asks.

Pansy looks at your face, “Do you not wanna go to the ball anymore?”

“No!” you exclaim. “I do! I do want to go!” You calm down both the girls as they dramatically sigh. “I just did not picture myself going to the ball with Blaise,” you confess. 

The girls exchange confused expressions before looking back at you. “What do you mean? Do you not fancy Blaise?” Pansy asks.

“No! I like Blaise! He’s a charming boy, don’t get me wrong. And he’s very handsome.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Pansy asks. 

He’s not Draco, you think to yourself. But instead of that you say, “I just fancy someone else.” That was probably too much information to give to the girls, you know they would take and spread some sort of rumor, but you give them the benefit of the doubt. “This does not leave this room,” you say sternly. You extend both of your pinky fingers to Daphne and Pansy, making them pinky promise and kiss their thumbs: your ritual for making promises. 

“So...” Daphne starts. “Can we know who you do fancy then?”

Your anxiety peaks again. If you even murmured that you liked Draco, Pansy would probably loose her mind. Pansy basically called dibs on Draco when you stepped foot at Hogwarts. In all seriousness, Pansy has fancied Draco longer than you, so it just seemed inconsiderate and rude to tell her that you had feelings for the same platinum haired boy. “You’ll find out later. Besides, we should get going now,” you change the subject.

You make your way down the stairs and the winding halls of Hogwarts before arriving at a tall staircase leading to the Ball’s entrance. Your arms are linked with both Daphne and Pansy’s as you descend the staircase. Your eyes roam the floor, looking for a certain blonde haired Slytherin and you almost immediately find him. And to your surprise, his eyes have found you. Your pair of eyes burns into his, creating a tunnel vision. The orchestra that plays in the other room becomes white noise and everyone else seems to disappear. It is just you and him now. He look absolutely dashing. His suit fits him excellently and his hair is perfectly swept back. His eyes are open in wonder as he watches you descent the staircase, looking absolutely regal. This moment feels like forever and you never wanted it to end. But it sadly does when you both realize you haven’t looked at either of your actual dates to the ball. Your eyes drift away from his blue ones and they meet Blaise’s brown ones instead. He is smiling big at you which makes you laugh. When you make it down the stairs, he meets you at the bottom and grabs your hand like an absolute gentleman. “You are unearthly, (Y/L/N),” he whispers before kissing the back of your hand. 

Smiling at the compliment, you thank him. “You are not too bad yourself, Zabini.” He did look great. His suit was tailored perfectly to his tall, muscular figure and his shoes were shined so bright that you could practically see your reflection in them. 

“Shall we head in there?” he asks, offering his arm to you to hold. You smile and take his arm. But not before taking one look at Draco. He kisses Pansy’s hand gently, but as he does this, his gaze is on you the whole time and only breaks when he comes back up to look at Pansy and give her a smile.

This was going to be a long night. 

Since that night, your relationship with Blaise grew. You went from friends, to something more than friends, to boyfriend and girlfriend. You didn’t expect to end up dating Zabini after the Yule Ball, but you decided that maybe pursing something with him was more realistic than chasing after Draco. He obviously had a thing for Pansy and Pansy for him and who were you to ruin that? So you let yourself use Blaise as a distraction or someone else to focus on rather than pining over Draco. However, it did drive you mad when you would all be in Slytherin common room and you sat on the floor next to Blaise and Pansy would sit on Draco’s lap when there was plenty of room on the couch. You also did not feel bad when Blaise would make fun on Pansy having an obvious crush on him. You would hide your laugh as Blaise pulled you closer to him. 

That being said, as you got closer with Blaise, you got closer with his friends. Which meant having to face Draco and swallow your feelings. You always felt like such a poser when you were with Blaise. You knew it was wrong to date someone who genuinely liked you and you liked someone else. But you just crossed your fingers and hoped that your feelings for Malfoy would melt away and your feelings for Blaise would grow. Of course, with your luck, nothing happened. Your feelings for Draco were just solidified if anything. He was cheeky and smart mouthed, which you just loved. He kept you on your toes. Blaise wasn’t like that; he was predictable. Draco would make jokes that only you two would hear and you would laugh until your ribs shook. Blaise has never done that. But it wasn’t right to compare Blaise to Draco; it was an unfair competition. 

Regardless, you stayed with Blaise. Too afraid to break up with him and too afraid to tell Draco how you felt, you stayed in a relationship where you lied not only to yourself but to another person every day. A good person at that. Blaise was a great guy and every day you held his hand, shared a kiss, cuddled up together, you felt guilty. You were hurting him more and more with everyday. And you were hurting yourself by being in this relationship for so long. But you stayed. 

Back in a classroom, this time Slughorn’s potions class, you stood next to Pansy waiting for the class to begin. You looked across the room to see your boyfriend toss you a wink as you lightly smiled. “I love you,” he mouthed as you sighed. 

You did love Blaise. So much. But not in the way he wanted. And yet, here you were, mouthing an “I love you too” back to him, causing him to smile wide. You turn to Pansy, “So what are we supposed to be doing today? If it’s boring, I’m going to use the washroom.” Using the washroom was always code for going back to your room. 

Pansy giggled, “Today’s class should be good. I heard Slughorn has Amortentia today.” Your heart sank. Amortentia: the most powerful love potion in the world. People say that it smells different for everyone according to what they are most attracted to. “Your should be easy. Smells just like Zabini I bet,” she nudges your side as you offer a convincing smile and girlish giggle. “I’m sure I know what mine smells of...” she trails off before looking over to Draco who was too involved talking to Zabini to notice her gaze. 

Slughorn starts class, reciting off lists of potions to which Granger completes his every question without fail. You roll your eyes, “Some people are just such show offs,” you whisper to Pansy, making her laugh. You join her, causing Draco to look your way, more interested in what you were laughing at rather than the lesson Slughorn was giving. You look away from Draco and focus back on the lesson, hoping it would distract you from those familiar gray eyes. 

Hermoine talks more about Amortentia before prompting Slughorn to ask your classmates to come up at random and speak what they smell. Granger goes first and describes a horrific combination of mowed grass and spearmint toothpaste. Others go after and then Blaise volunteers to go next. “Mr. Zabini, please, go head,” Slughorn says before Blaise steps up to the small caldron and take a whiff.

“I smell...morning rain...vanilla...and jasmine,” he smiles as he finishes his sentence, looking right at you. Your heart sinks. Blaise had smelt your perfume and everyone in the class knew it. Those who were friends with him laughed as Pansy let out an ooooh. You told her to shut up with a jab to the side as she continued to tease you. 

“Miss (Y/L/N), you’ve been awfully quiet this class. How about you come up and smell?” Slughorn proposes.

You freeze. Absolutely not. There was no way you were going to get up there and smell the Amortentia. You knew exactly what you were going to smell and you were not prepared to tell the class and your boyfriend that what you were smelling was Draco Malfoy. 

“I’m fine, actually.”

“That was less of a question and more of a demand, Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn rephrases, earning a few laughs from Gryffindors to which you shoot them a dirty look, causing them to stop. “Well?”

You look at Slughorn and gulp. He offers you a gentle smile and you can’t deny the man any further. You sigh and slowly walk up to the caldron. You are a foot away and already the scent slaps you in the face. It almost makes you cough from how strong it is. Right next to the pot, you look down at the bubbling liquid with pink fumes evaporating from it. Closing your eyes and iInhaling deeply, you get chills. The scent makes you forget where you are. What time it is. Who is watching. It’s euphoric. It’s perfect. It’s him. The smell of musky cologne, leather polish, and green apples dance around your nose and your stomach erupts with butterflies. 

“What do you smell?” Slughorn asks, snapping you out of your daydream.

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“What do you smell?” he repeats. 

Suddenly, you remember that you have to tell the class what you are smelling. Or who you are smelling. Once you said what you smelled, everyone would know who you were talking about. Pansy would know. Blaise would know. Draco would know. You try to think. What in the world does Blaise smell like? Can you lie about this stuff? For Merlin’s sake, what does Blaise smell like?! “Um...” you try to concoct your way out of this situation. You try to think of what your boyfriend smells like, but the scent of Malfoy is clogging every single sense. 

“Say it then,” Slughorn urges you.

“Cologne, leather polish, and green apples,” you blurt, confessing what you were most afraid of to the class. You slowly open your eyes and see the smile that was once on Blaise face quickly fall. His eyes pang with hurt and pain and your heart drops into your stomach. You wanna run over to him and tell him how sorry you were and how much you loved him, but this thing with the Slytherin prince was unshakeable. Too hurt to look at Blaise anymore, you glance at Pansy, who is just enraged. Her ears are bright red, eye locked onto you, unwavering. Her eyes dig into your soul and you can hear her saying in your head, “You’re bloody joking, right?” You don’t dare look at Draco, but in the periphery you see him just staring at you, lips parted, breathing softly, eyes burning into the back of your head. 

Slughorn notices the tension and attempts to diffuse the situation. “Alright, everyone take your seats,” he dismisses. You walk quickly to Pansy who swiftly moves away to you and toward Blaise who sits with Draco, taking up a whole table with no room for you like usual. Instead, you find yourself sitting with random Ravenclaws for the rest of class, unable to think straight about what just happened. The look on Blaise’s face was enough to have you in tears and the look of betrayal on Pansy’s face drove you mad. You spent the whole class thinking, what have I done? 

As soon as class is dismissed, you watch Blaise’s movements, wanting to catch him or Pansy after class. Pansy leaps off her chair and to the door and you quickly follow suit. “Pansy!” you call after her. “Pans, please! Please can we talk about this? Please do not shut me out!”

“Why not?” she yells back. “You lied to me! You could have told me how you felt! You knew how i felt and yet you still lied to me!” 

“I know, but I thought what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. But I just ended up hurting you anyway and I am sorry, Pansy. I am so sorry,” you attempt to reconcile with your best friend as she fumes. 

Pansy shakes her head. “I just need space. Away from you. Can you at least respect that?” she sarcastically says. “There’s someone else you owe a bigger apology to,” she tells you before trotting away down the hall back to the Slytherin common room. 

You turn around and there stands Blaise, stoic and tall. His eyes are soft and full of so much pain. You could cry. You start to cry. “Blaise,” you croak out. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Please know that is the last thing I wanted to do. When you asked me to the Yule Ball, I thought that it would be a good way to get over Draco, but I-I don’t know what happened? Nothing happened, I guess. I value you and your friendship so much. Blaise, I love you, I’m so sorry. I thought not tell you how I really, truly felt would protect you.”

Blaise sighs, “(Y/N), I know you didn’t mean to. For Merlin’s sake, I’m not a git. I knew you still liked Malfoy.” Your eyes widen. Huh? Before you could ask every single question that flurried into your brain, Blaise stops you and says, “From that moment in the hallway during year four until now, I knew. I thought that the longer I stayed with you, I could convince you that I could love you more than he could. But I don’t think that’s true...(Y/N), I love you. What either of us did was not right and I think we just need space from each other right now.”

You shake your head. You couldn’t lose Pansy and Blaise. That would be too much. “No, I can’t lose you, Blaise. I need you,” you beg, holding onto his forearms. 

“It isn’t for forever, darling. Just for a little. I think we both a need a little space from each other right now,” he holds your face in one of his hands and you lean into his touch, soothing you almost instantly like it has done so many times before. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” You nod, him wiping away your tears before replacing it with a gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek. “Besides, I think you have to talk to someone else,” he whispers in your ear, before walking away, revealing Draco standing behind him.

Your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes burn into yours just like that night at the Yule Ball. A small smile on his lips dances as a last tear strolls down your cheek. He takes a few steps towards you and you instinctively take a few steps back. Draco looks a little hurt that you moved away from him so quickly. You gulp, not knowing what to say, what to do. Who would in a situation like this? Lightly sniffling, you wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your robe, not breaking eye contact with him. Draco opens up his mouth to say something, but then chooses not to. He closes his mouth, pressing his lips into a line, thinking of what to say. You watch him think, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he finds the right words to say. 

“Uh,” he starts. “How lo-”

“Year four,” you answer, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

He lightly laughs at how prepared you were to answer him. He nods. “I thought,” he lightly speaks, looking at you with a small smile. He is trying so hard to get you to open up to him. Or even crack a small smile at him. But that seemed really impossible right now. The two people who you cared about more than anything just told you they needed time away from you. You felt like an awful person. Although you should be in Draco’s arm right now, stroking his hair, kissing his lips, telling him how happy you were, you were standing four feet away from him, a shaking mess, tears still flowing from your eyes. “Here,” he reaches into his pocket and offers you a handkerchief. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, accepting his token, blotting your eyes with the green silky cloth. You blow your nose into it, loudly. You look at him, watching his reaction, wondering if you should return a snotty handkerchief. “I...I can wash it for you.”

He chuckles, “Don’t worry about it. Keep it if you need it.” You smile and tug it away in your bag. Silence falls over you two again. “Can I stand next to you?” he asks permission, knowing how fragile you are right now. You nod and he slowly makes his way towards you, stopping about three inches away from you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you look up and see the proximity of your faces from each other. “May I hold you hand?” he asks, you shaking your head yes slowly. With that, he grabs your left hand in his large hand, pressing yours flat against his before intertwining the fingers. It makes you smile softly which makes his heart flutter at your excitement. Draco so desperately wants to hug you, squeeze you, kiss you. But he knows he needs tread lightly. “I wanted to take you to the Yule Ball,” he confesses as he looks at your hands intertwined.

Your head shoots up and your eyebrows furrow. “You did?” you ask, not believing him. He shakes his head yes. You pause. This made no sense. “Then why didn’t you ask me?” you ask.

Draco sighs. “I didn’t know you well. Zabini said he wanted to ask you. I stepped back.” So much has happened today you cannot wrap your brain around what has just been said. “But now...I know you better. And now that you and Zabini are no longer...” he trails off, looking up at you with those chilling blue eyes that make your knees weak and heart putty. 

You want to scream yes. Wrap your arms around him. Kiss him. Hard. Breath in his scent that has haunted you for nights on end. Finally, he was yours. You were his. But that would not be right. It wouldn’t be fair to Blaise. Or Pansy. Or you. Or Draco. You needed time. “Draco...” you say, breathily.

“Yes?” he asks, eyes so bright and shimmering with so much hope and longing. Merlin’s beard, he wanted to kiss your tear stained cheeks and hold you close, bodies becoming one. “Is something wrong?” he asks, worry creeping into his words, his free hand that isn’t holding your hand, cups your cheek. “Please tell me. I don’t want to wait any longer. I can’t wait any longer.” 

His words make your heart break, knowing that you needed to wait longer. Just a little bit longer. “Draco...” you repeat, the tears welling back up in your eyes, slowly dripping own your cheek, but Draco is quick to wipe them away. “I...” you start, but your voice fails you. 

“Take your time,” he breathes. Oh, how he was so right. 

“I need time,” you repeat after him. 

“Yes, take your time. Breathe,” he says, thinking that what you are saying is applying to just now. 

“No, Draco,” you tell him, reaching up to his wrist, pushing his hand away from your face. “I need time. To process this. Blaise, Pansy...us...I need time.”

His eyes fall and the once happy expression on his face is fading fast. But he knows that you were right. It would be too fast. Too much for the both of you. You both needed time to think, recover, and come back to each other.

“And I will wait for you,” he reassures you, both of his hands cupping your small ones. “If I waited this long already, I can wait a little while longer.”

It’s like he knew exactly what to say. His words make you smile softly and you feel just a little bit better. Your smile makes me him smile. So you just stand there, your hand in his two large ones, smiling at each other. He places a tender kiss on your knuckles and then another to your forehead. His actions make your heart flutter, knowing that if this is what a relationship with Draco was like right now, you were in for a treat. You whisper a weak thank you and he shakes his head, laughing that you would thank him for something like this.

“Now go get some rest, darling,” he presses his forehead against yours and you flutter your eyes closed, loving the feeling of him being so close to you. It felt so good to finally have him next to you. You pull away, give him a gentle smile, and start to walk back to the Slytherin common room. 

Draco watches you walk away, down the hall. In his head, he thought to himself, I can wait a little longer. Because you are worth waiting for.  

#draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x female reader #draco x you #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco oneshot #draco malfoy oneshot #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanficiton #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagine #potter imagine #draco x blaise #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader

[xpeachesncream]

perfectly wrong | seven

summary: there were rules that had to be followed: no one could know about you two, there was no ‘getting to know each other,’ and there was absolutely no emotional attachment allowed. if this could be done, there should be no complications. but somehow, the rules always get bended.

pairing: reader x fuckboy!kth

genre: college au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 1.8k

chapter warnings: cussing, mentions of sex, yoongi being a good bestfriend, nothing too crazy cause the next chapter gets a lil crazy lol

notes: shit is about to go down, so please stick with me :) so grateful for each and every one of you showing love to this fanfic!!! it means the world to me 🥺

tags: @soulstaes​ @apollukee​ @imluckybitches​ @btsis7okay​ @ppangiiroo​ @gee-nee​ @enchantaeduniverse​ @miinoongi​ @thedarkwinterrose​ (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

> series masterlist <

You continued to paint on the huge canvas posted up on the easel in the corner of your living room while Yoongi sat on your couch, scribbling things in his notebook for class. He decided to chill at your place because his roommate was getting on his last nerve and you offered for him to stay the night if he wanted to.

You and Taehyung hadn't seen each other as often as you used to, and you're wondering if it's because of the way you've responded to him the past times you've seen him. Could he handle it? Was he truly upset about Jungkook? You don't know, and it kind of sucks you haven't seen him, but you aren't going to mope around over someone who wasn't yours. Part of you was starting to become put off and not in the mood.

"So." Yoongi breaks the silence as he continues to scribble in his notebook.

"Uh oh, this will be good." You chuckle.

"I'm sure it will be." He turns to look at you. "Wanna tell me what's going on with you and Taehyung?" You damn near choke on your own saliva hearing both of your names together in one sentence, especially coming from Yoongi.

"Come again?" He shows his huge gummy smile before laughing at how flustered you look.

"The other two might not have a clue, but I've been onto you. What was up at the cafe?"

"Nothing? Just two people formally meeting for the first time."

"Y/N, please don't try and play me, okay? That was not the first time."

"What are you trying to say, Yoongi?" You put down your brush and give him your utmost attention.

"That you and Taehyung have something going on."

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about." Is all you can say because Yoongi is smart and he's very observant. If there is one person you'll have trouble hiding from - it's Min Yoongi.

"Look, you know I don't come with any judgments, that's not me. But I know you've been seeing him and you don't have to lie to me to cover it up." You sigh and tilt your head upwards before looking back at him.

"I really do hate you sometimes, you know?"

"I'll take it as love." He chuckles. "So, when did this start?"

"It's been a few months already. Wait - how did you even know about this?"

"I see and observe things, duh." He laughed. "Nah but really, it's Taehyung. His name gets around like crazy, along with whoever he's onto."

"Please don't say it like that."

"Why do you want me to sugarcoat it, Y/N? Out of all people, you'd definitely know it's true firsthand."

"Whatever." You shake your head.

"The word nowadays is that he's been dropping his line of girls cause he's trying to go for a specific chick. They're all mad he just upped and ghosted for whoever this chick is."

"Please, he's playing the same fucking game he always does. You really believe that?"

"Then why are you sticking around if you know how he is? I know it's you he's going for. It was so obvious at the cafe. That fool probably doesn't know one thing about getting a cafe up and ready. He's probably only doing it to show off and get closer to you. Jimin for sure had him on that one."

"I don't know, okay? I really don't. I guess it's just been the thrill and the attention from him that's been hard to stay away from. I don't know what else I can tell you."

"Yeah, I get that, trust me. But if you know he's ultimately going to hurt you, then wouldn't that be enough for you to walk away?"

"I wish it was." You fiddle with your fingers. "Part of me is really holding onto this thin thread of hope that he'll be different or that he'll change because of me. But, I know it's impossible to think that way cause once a fuckboy, always a fuckboy? Plus, who am I to think that?" You tilt your head in frustration. "It was never supposed to get this complicated. We said we'd keep it lowkey. No complications, no getting to know each other, nothing."

"I'm going to play devil's advocate and say no, I don't think it's impossible for him to change especially if he's found the right girl that he deems is worth the change. I mean, it's been going on for a few months right? No matter what you guys said in the beginning, you're going to have some kind of emotional attachment to each other after a period of time."

"Yeah, I know."

"Jin hyung doesn't know, does he?"

"Hell no, and right now, I plan on keeping it that way because I'd hate to disappoint him. He's always known me to be someone who could stand their ground. He taught me that. But it all goes out the window with this stupid boy."

"You have a soft spot for Taehyung." Yoongi smirked.

"No, don't start."

"Hey, I'm just calling it like it is. He apparently does for you, too."

"Well, I'm not falling for that shit. I've barely seen him this past week and I know he's probably going back to his usual ways."

"Look, you know I love you right? I'll ride or die for you any day. But this is definitely your battle and you need to keep being smart. Don't let him hurt you, I know you know better than that. I'd hate to see you crying over someone like him because you deserve all the good things in this world for how great of a person you are. If he can't appreciate you, then that's on him for passing on a good woman."

"I know, Yoongs. Thank you." You smile softly at him. The one thing you really loved about your friends was the fact that they wouldn't hesitate to protect you and let you know how much you meant to them.

"No I love you back?"

"I love you, too." You groaned. "God, all three of you are so needy."

"Aiyyyyyyy! Don't be mean. You know you'd be lost without us."

"That's a bold statement." He chucks a crumpled piece of paper at you, making you laugh.

"Are you gonna tell Hoseok and Jungkookie?" You shook your head.

"Not right now."

"But what if they find out before you can tell them?"

"Let's hope they don't. I just have too much on my plate right now to be talking about my late nights with the campus fuckboy."

"When you left Hoseok's, you went to Taehyung's didn't you?"

"Why ask when you already know, Min Yoongi?"

"I just like to hear it so I can tease you." He laughed loudly. "Can you please just tell them before it gets out of hand?"

"I will, I will." You say, hoping he'll leave it alone at this point. Which, he does get the hint by silently nodding.

"Mind if I start cooking us dinner?" He asks as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab the groceries he brought from out of the fridge.

"Go for it." You continue to paint while Yoongi is whipping up something good as always. Once dinner was cooked, you two eat dinner in front of the tv, watching the remaining episodes of The Last Dance on Netflix. No matter how invested you were in the series, you couldn't help but check your phone every once in awhile to see if his name would pop up on your lock screen. And even later at night, when you and Yoongi are sprawled out on opposite ends of your couch, his name doesn't come up. You can't help but admit that Yoongi was right; Not only were you getting attached to Taehyung, but you were also getting attached to the possibility of you two actually becoming something beyond this. You were getting attached to that idea, that thread you've been holding onto.

Little did you know that Taehyung had been feeling that way too. The big difference between you and him though, was that he was trying to suppress it as much as possible because he was afraid. He wasn't sure if he wanted these feelings to linger or not, and he was also afraid of what you could do to him. He was just scared, and he couldn't let his pride down.

That's why you two barely see each other, and that's why you're getting no messages from him.

Taehyung's sitting in his apartment, wondering if he even made the right decision. These past few days have bruised him and his ego quite a bit, with the way that you were playing your own game and doing a good fucking job of it. Usually, the girls he's used to are submissive. It sounds bad as fuck, but he's used to getting what he wants, barely batting an eyelash. With you, it's a whole new territory. He's tried to break down your walls, but they're built out of metal and he has no idea how to do this shit. He's not a fucking metal bender. He's tried to do things different, he's tried to bend the rules for you, but he hasn't gotten anywhere and he wants to give up so bad. Call him a quitter all you want, but this was hard for him. And not only was this difficult, but he was also starting to feel real jealous over your relationship with Jungkook. Even though Jungkook probably doesn't know about your late night adventures with him, Taehyung knows Jungkook protects you with his life. He saw the way Jungkook eyed him at the cafe.

He hates that feeling and it reminds him as to why he never fucked with relationships in the first place. This shit was never worth it to Taehyung, and he thought he could finally get past that when it came to you. You made him want to try.

Guess not? Maybe he was never fit to be in relationships.

There's a small knock at his door and he throws his hood over his head to answer the door. He smiles down at the girl standing in front of him and lets her in. He had met her a couple of days when him and Jimin went to the bar for a couple of drinks. She couldn't stop eyeing the fuck out of him, and that's exactly what he needed to boost his ego back up.

"Hey." She says, setting her bag down. Taehyung looks at her up and down, licking his bottom lip at how she's standing in his apartment in some booty shorts and a crop hoodie. She wasn't you, but he was gonna have fun tonight to get his mind off of you.

"Glad you found the place okay." She smiled.

"Yeah." She giggled. "So Taehyung, what do you have up your sleeve?"

"What do you mean, love?"

"I mean, I think we both know what we want right?" He nods.

"How bad do you want it, Aiko?"

"I'll show you." She tugs on his shirt lightly. "We're both grown, right?"

#bts #bts fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #kth x reader #kth series #writing #perfectly wrong

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||  chapter 3  ||  chapter 5  ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh. 

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean  

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them. 

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

 One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop. 

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.) 

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine. 

He paid you a visit in the early morning. 

 The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.  

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop. 

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way. 

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time. 

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured. 

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’. 

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do. 

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly. 

 Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

 You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink. 

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt. 

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor. 

 You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

 It was your only self-imposed criteria. 

 You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

 Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

 You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible. 

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent. 

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day. 

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool. 

 “Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice. 

You caught it but said nothing. 

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

 What.

What the fuck.

 Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat. 

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body. 

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong. 

 It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp. 

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup. 

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

 It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea. 

It was you. 

 The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip. 

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours. 

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

 “It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.” 

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink��s inspiration?” 

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.” 

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak. 

He didn’t.

 Keigo stared down at the drink, then you. 

Holy fuck.

This was ambient? 

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you. 

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

 “What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

 Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

 Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

 “Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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 Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it. 

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it. 

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand. 

 During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach. 

 Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing. 

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

 He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday. 

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

  Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation 

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality. 

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.  

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli. 

Quirk potential: 

 Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

 The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

 Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused. 

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it. 

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind. 

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

 You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut. 

 By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon. 

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

 [birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

 Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

 [birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this 

 You snorted. 

 [birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

 You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching. 

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early. 

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

 It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks. 

 Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting. 

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later. 

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups. 

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction. 

 Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand. 

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

 You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms. 

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you. 

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough. 

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass. 

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you. 

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz. 

You just had to keep moving. 

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh. 

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

 You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits. 

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative. 

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know. 

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

 Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics. 

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel. 

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war. 

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you. 

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training. 

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.  

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight. 

 Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window. 

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway. 

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak. 

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

 You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again. 

Something was seriously fucked up.

 Then Hawks called your name. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse. 

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you. 

 Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious. 

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass. 

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him. 

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass. 

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

 You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms. 

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop. 

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind. 

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

 Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

 “(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely. 

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest. 

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.  

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body. 

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression. 

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly. 

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage. 

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee. 

 With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more. 

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.  

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out. 

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds. 

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals. 

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation. 

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths. 

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat. 

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

 You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain. 

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red. 

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile. 

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg. 

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag. 

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement. 

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations. 

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

 “(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass. 

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely. 

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking. 

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort. 

 “There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid. 

 Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises. 

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg. 

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side. 

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble. 

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together. 

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did. 

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife. 

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather. 

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you. 

 “Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue. 

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

 Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

 So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk. 

 “Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg. 

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream. 

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of. 

 (Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

 “We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs. 

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends. 

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears. 

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

 The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state). 

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

 From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him. 

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay. 

You were friends, right?

 Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch. 

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil. 

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.  

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity. 

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat. 

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more. 

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot. 

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.  

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

[bubbleteaa]

Fragile as a cherry blossom petal [ushijima wakatoshi x reader]

Fragile as a cherry blossom petal; pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader warnings: Tons of feelings, like, a lot; some angst, just a lil bit. words: 5233 uwu

Summary: When he saw you, you seemed so fragile, just like the cherry blossom petals that fell around you; little he knew, that the fragile petal was him.

*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

The cool April wind hit his face as he ran. His mind was blank, his legs moved automatically. Ushijima could feel the droplets of sweat slipping down his jaw. He turned, decided to change his rhythm and began to slow down, his eyes peeled off the way to observe the cherry blossoms dancing to the rhythm of the wind, he breathed deeply, usually did not pay attention to him around when exercising. Everything was a routine, warmed up, ran, returned to Shiratorizawa and practiced with the rest of the club. But, for a moment, his routine was affected by observing the beautiful pink petals.

Then he stopped. He stopped running and kept watching. For some reason, no matter how many times he saw the same petals, his breath was always stolen. They looked so fragile. Maybe, just maybe that's what motivated him to see them. Their delicacy.

He heard a rather low, almost faint sneeze, he turned almost instantly. On one of the benches, he observed a girl sitting with a notebook in his hands, watching Wakatoshi curiously, but only with that. Ushijima's face didn't express anything.

"Bless you" he caught the way to say, his words slipped through his mouth very gently, but he sounded harshly anyway. He looked at her again. She was writing something on his cell phone.

'That's kind of rude,' he thought. She hadn't thanked him, he didn't care much, really; but, she was still rude. Just before taking his gaze off the girl's figure, she raised her cell phone towards him and smiled genuinely at him.

"Thank you, sorry to take me a while to respond. I'm mute."

Oh.

"You don't have to apologize" he replied. Internally he felt ashamed, never thought the girl in front of him did not have the ability to speak.

She wrote again, Wakatoshi was just watching her. He looked at the other objects that were near her, a backpack, a pen and a coat. He noticed the coat for several seconds, trying to see which academy he belonged to.

Not recognizing the name, he turned his sight to the young woman. She didn't stop smiling at any point. Why was she smiling so much? Did he have something on his face?

"My name is Y/N. What yours?"

"Ushijima Wakatoshi" he responded by looking her in the eye. They were shiny, they kept showing him that kindness, that softness, that fragility.

Her smile gradually disappeared and then she got up. Ushijima stared at her. Maybe it was time to go, maybe it was a little rude to just stared at her, perhaps his tone of voice and the way he watched her was intimidating.

But again she smiled at him. She wasn't near him, but she wasn't far. Her body was small, dwarf in front of him. And she looked so small, so fragile.

He watched her write something on her cell phone and looked back at her figure. Fragile. Everything in her yelled fragility at her. Weakness. Delicacy. He blinked and it was the longest blink he had ever taken. When he opened his eyes, he could read what had been written.

"I'm sorry if this seems very strange, Ushijima-kun. Can I draw you? I need to draw someone for an art project. It doesn't matter if you don't want to, I'll understand. I know you think I'm weird, " the last sentence gets stuck in his head. Had she done anything to give her that perception?

He didn't know what to answer. He had already wasted a lot of time in his distractions; but he didn't want to leave because if he did, immediately the girl in front of his eyes would think that his words are made, when they don't come close to reality.

The ace looked for a second at the cherry trees and then directed his gaze to Y/n.

"Sure."

.· ´¸.·*´¨) ¸.·*¨) (¸.·´ (¸.·’* ⛧

"Wakatoshi-kun, you were a little late today", Tendou's voice drew him from his thoughts. Blinked a couple of times as I drank water "Did you get distracted?"

"I was with a girl."

"WHAT?!" they all turned his head at the same time towards Ushijima, he continued to drink water with great peace of mind. His gaze remained static even as Tendou began to question him about this supposed female figure who had caused it to arrive an hour and a half late to practice.

Yes, he had been with Y/n. And surprisingly, he didn't want to go back to the practice because the young woman's presence was addictive. He was not a person of many words and she could not speak, but, the silence was comfortable, she was kind and quite interesting. Her smile was still drawn in his mind delicately, a beautiful smile. Such a delicate smile, so fragile.

He remembered when she showed her the final result of the drawing and Wakatoshi could not help but smile. She was talented and she knew she was. She looked so happy, so euphoric when she began to thank him for allowing her to draw him. He also noticed that the young woman liked to talk quite a bit. He ended up telling her that he was the captain of Shiratorizawa's Volleyball team and that at the same time he was the ace. He immediately noticed that the girl with e/c colored eyes did not know what she was talking about, so he explained to her.

And she ended up stopping at that point to smile at him. Ushijima swore that he felt that his world stopped when she saw her tiptoe to caress her hair. Didn't you think it was disgusting? He was a little sweaty and that definitely wasn't the behavior anyone would have with him. Ushijima was intimidating, he's intimidating.

"Do I have something in my hair?"

"No, I'm just trying to say you're doing a good job. Toshi-kun" It didn't take long to write those words to him, but Ushijima could feel his heart start beating uncontrollably by the nickname.

Toshi.

Even after the break was over, the smile, the scent, the figure, everything Y/n kept cornering him in his thoughts.

He didn't want to leave because he wanted to keep seeing her smile in contrast to the sakura flowers falling near her. She looked very beautiful, well, and Y/n is beautiful, he had noticed that the moment she smiled at him for the first time. That's why when she gave him her cell phone and asked him to give him his number, he found it strange. Shouldn't he take the first step? But he wasn't upset or uncomfortable, because he wanted to get to know her more, no matter what barriers there might be due to her condition.

How could I deny her anything?

When he was finished, Tendou continued to ask him. He kept it going to finish answering because he was already asking something else. After he finished changing, he checked his cell phone and his eyes revealed a little glow full of emotion as he read Y/n's message.

His companions watched him and couldn't believe what they saw.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was smiling while writing something on his cell phone.

"Oh" Ushijima did not react to the redhead's words. He pressed to send and then raised his sight. The third-year-olds watched him with his eyes wide open, trying to observe what he had written "Do you like someone, Wakatoshi-kun?~"

When Ushijima looked up, he immediately felt his cell phone vibrate.

"One second, Tendou"

"You definitely like her"

"She's a pretty interesting person," he replied. He kept walking until he stopped, observing Shiratorizawa's entrance.

"Aren't you afraid to get in trouble, Wakatoshi-kun?~"

He hadn't told Y/n that they had dorms, so she thought they'd walk home together. He couldn't let her go alone at that time of night.

L/N had told him that she also belonged to a club, specifically the art club; Ushijima was unaware of many things besides volleyball, so when the girl started telling him about the national performances, the boy was clueless. She took her time to explain, and he understood immediately. Her dream was to be able to be known for what she liked, and that her disability would not stop her. She told him that sometimes no words were needed to show her feelings, that she learned it in the roughest way, but that she did not imagine what her life would be like with the ability to speak. A lot of things would be easier, and a lot of things wouldn't have crossed his mind, maybe he wouldn't have had a chance to meet him.

That's why she was working on extra hours and creating new pieces of art to be able to have an outstanding place. Hours and overtime. Although, he couldn't criticize her. I'd be hypocritical.

But... always go alone at this time of night at home?

What if someone hurt him?

Or did something happen and you disappeared?

What if it rained at night?

No. He wasn't going to let any of that happen, he would never allow that something bad happened to her.

"It won't be more than 20 minutes," he observed Tendou and he showed him one of his most playful smiles.

"I’ll cover you, Wakatoshi-kun~"

.· ´¸.·*´¨) ¸.·*¨) (¸.·´ (¸.·’* ⛧

Six months later.

"Y/N" Ushijima turned to look at her and smiled delicately at her "Would you like to come to practice today?"

Her face conveyed so much joy, so much emotion, so much affection. She nodded quickly and lunged down so he could hug him. Oh, oh, oh. Wakatoshi's heart began to tremble inside his chest, it was too much for him. Having her so close, her scent covering her clothes, her smile and eyes shrinking by the size of her smile. Anything that had to do with her made him fragile.

Yes, Wakatoshi had taken the steps after Y/N. But he had managed to ask her out on different occasions and finally declare his feelings for her.

The confession by the h/c-haired girl had been written in a letter with cherry blossom petals adorning her. Wakatoshi's heart was so moved by his words and by the little drawing of him she had made.

How could he not reciprocate her feelings, if he was already more than in love with her?

"Uhm... yes, I think we should walk to Shiratorizawa, " he mentioned a while later and the e/c-eyed girl separated from him and took his hand without thinking about it. Oh. He watched her and smiled again, catching his fingers with hers and began to walk.

They had become very close. Too close. L/N brought out the sweetest and most delicate of the giant Ushijima. His serious and intimidating shell was softened by the girl's displays of affection. Next to her, he became so fragile, so sensitive.

And Y/N was so sweet, so beautiful. Feeling her hand against his, damn. She was so small. L/N looked at him and kissed his cheek. Ushijima slowed to process the situation and began to blush slowly, turning his gaze away as the young woman laughed. Her laughter was so soft, so precious. The first time he heard her laugh, he was impressed, but soon the girl had told her that it was normal to articulate sounds, but that talking was impossible for her. Deep down he was grateful for the fact that he could hear her laugh. The memory was attached to his memory and he could not help but smile before looking at her again.

"It doesn't matter that you can't talk. It's the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard" Wakatoshi's words came out instantly, sincerely, transparently. The girl's eyes opened with surprise and she began to turn into a crimson red who immediately worried the third-year young man "Are you okay, Y/N? Do you feel bad? Do you have a fever?"

He was so damn clueless sometimes.

However, he hadn't introduced Y/N to the team yet, was it right if he did it today? He hadn't warned anyone and they were in front of the gym entrance.

"Y/N," he looked at her and brought her face a little closer to his "if you feel uncomfortable or is too much for yourself, just tell me. Sometimes... Tendou is very noisy." The young woman smiled at him and nodded softly, before pressing his lips against his in a very short kiss. Ushijima didn't get used to sudden displays of affection, but he loved them. He smiled and kissed the crown of his head before entering the gym against her.

The sounds of the balls hitting the ground on the finishers and the sound of the sneakers sliding down the wooden floor filled Y/N with curiosity. She was still holding her boyfriend's hand as she inspected the place with her gaze. Here, the person that trained day and night. She smiled watching Ushijima, yes, he was special.

Then, before she knew it, Wakatoshi blocked one of the balls that may have hit his girl. And Y/N blinked several times, had not noticed, she was so focused on admiring around her and Toshi. He observed Ushijima's countenance, his frown was slightly frowned upon. He looked upset. He was upset.

"Wakatoshi-kun~" And Y/N turned to where she heard the voice, he was a tall, red-haired boy with a peculiar smile. His eyes remained closed as he called Ushijima "I thought you'd never make it~”.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Everyone stopped.

Immediately, Y/N felt like all eyes were positioned on top of her. Ushijima kept watching Tendou with a frown. The boy was blinking as he looked at Y/N, he began to circle around them, looking at his uniform and also his appearance. Tendou looked at Wakatoshi and smiled.

"Oooh, Wakatoshi-kun~, you didn't tell us that today you would bring Y/N-chan" the confused young lady and looked at her boyfriend.

"I didn't plan on it."

"Uhm, Y/N-chan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, I'm Tendou Satori" Satori reached out her hand and Y/N smiled at it. Ushijima observed how one of his hands was still intertwined with L/N's and the other was being caressed by Tendou's.

He didn't like to see that.

"Tendou" called him, he let go of Y/N's hand after several friendly squeezes "They almost hit Y/N while practicing."

"I apologize for that, Y/N-chan" the redhead leaned in apology way and then smiled at the girl "But Waka Waka was there to protect you, didn't he?” The young woman smiled and nodded. Tendou looked at her curiously "Hey, Y/N-chan, wouldn't you like to meet the rest of the team? Waka Waka looks a little... possessive"

Ushijima only cast a short look at him as he gently squeezed his partner's hand. She blinked a couple of times in confusion and then watched everyone else. He noticed an older gentleman trying not to scream as he rubbed his sien with his hands.

"I remember telling you that, if you were going to be distracted, that you were going to be for a girl..., BUT I DIDN'T MEAN TO BRING HER TO DISTRACT OTHERS!"

"I apologize" Ushijima bowed his head "This is L/N Y/N" observed all members of the club "My girlfriend".

Oh. Now this was interesting.

They tried not to corner the young woman with many questions, but Ushijima had forgotten to tell them that Y/N had a special condition and that she did not speak. At first no one understood until the girl pulled out her cell phone and started explaining that she was actually mute. That caused much more curiosity in all the team members, even the coach. Wakatoshi had managed to approach someone who did not speak being a person of few words.

How ironic love was.

After several questions, mostly how they met as Wakatoshi was very secretive and had not gone into much detail - and had not informed anyone that officially Y/N was his girlfriend - L/N sat next to the coach to watch them practice.

Ushijima was on top of his 100%.

He wanted to show you how good he was, he wanted her to be proud of being her partner. Wakatoshi was completely in love with the girl and wanted to give the young woman plenty of reasons for not leaving him. And Y/N looked at him and clapped every time he managed to score. She was delighted at how her boyfriend looked like a fish in the water while playing. She couldn't help but smile for the rest of the set, he looked so calm, so passionate, so happy.

She couldn't help it and took a picture just as he jumped to score, the sound that formed when he hit the ball was intimidating. Her smile grew more. She will draw it later.

"L/N" turned his head towards the "Ushijima has a lot of future" the coach said “He's one of the best" he looked at her "He's showing the best he's got because you're here" the girl looked at Wakatoshi and smiled "But, he gets distracted sometimes at practice" his voice got a little harsh towards the girl "And it also takes a long time to get to the club. I have been struck several times by the times he arrives late to the dorms" And Y/N looked at it surprised. Wakatoshi hadn't told him anything about this, "You may be his motivation, but at the same time you're a distraction that, unfortunately, may be taking him away from his dream."

There was no more conversation after that.

For some reason, Y/N felt a knot in his throat, she couldn't say anything, of course, of course she couldn't. She looked down at the screen of his cell phone, looking at the photo he had just taken of the boy.

His dream.

He may lose his dream.

Was she really hurting Toshi's future that much?

Then it all began to reproduce in her head. The days when Wakatoshi sought her in her academy, they sat on the bench where they met and stayed like this, smiling at each other. Or the times when he told her that he needed to go back to the club and that she would do the same. And the times when he left the club late and went to the park so he could take her home which was 15 minutes from Shiratorizawa. He was wasting valuable time for her.

Ushijima was wasting time for her.

It was her fault.

She felt the tears form in his eyes. Her jaw began to tremble. No, she couldn't cry. Wakatoshi was happy, and if Wakatoshi was happy, she should be happy. It doesn't matter that she had to step away little by little so she can encourage him to get his dream.

Practice ended an hour later and Y/N didn't know how she didn't cry when Ushijima approached her to hug her and tell her he was happy that she could watch him play.

"Very well" said the coach "But it could be better. How about two more hours?"

"I will take Y/N home and return to practice," Ushiwaka declared, the others looked at him and smiled lightly. The coach looked through the corner of the young woman's eye.

Maybe it's taking him away from his dream.

She said goodbye to everyone with a friendly smile. Ushijima hadn't stopped smiling, he was sure L/N had seen how good she was, he was sure the young lady was proud, that she was impressed. He was sure he had shown him that he was not at all fragile.

"See you later" Ushijima looked at Tendou and the others.

The young woman remembered the coach's words and looked at Ushijima, quickly wrote on her cell phone and spread it to her.

Ushijima shook his head.

"It's a little late, " he looked at her, there was some concern in his eyes. The girl's heart started to hurt "I won't let you go alone."

"I'll be fine, Toshi. It's not dark yet, I promise when I get home, I'll send you a message! :)" Wakatoshi sighed and looked at her again.

Ushijima swore for a second to see the girl's eyes begin to drown in tears, but she was quickly said to lower her gaze to pick up her things.

"Okay”.

Ushijima read the message several times. Trying to process what the girl was trying to say. He felt a pain in his chest that he had never experienced before. He began to write very slowly:

"What do you mean, why did you call me Ushijima? And Y/N we can solve this. We can do it. Yesterday, was it too much for you? Please--".

He stopped.

And Y/N had sent another message.

"I don't think it's good for me to be in your life. I'm a distraction to you."

He deleted the message he was writing.

"What do you mean?"

Ushijima's hands began to tremble as he waited on the bench. He hadn't gone to practice; He hadn't even warmed up. He’s been waiting all day for the girl, all day worried, all day thinking about the things that might have happened to him not to accompany her at night.

"I'm taking you away from your dreams, Toshi."

"I'm a distraction to you."

"Ever since we met, you've been wasting valuable time you spent with volleyball. It's all my fault. I don't want to take you away from your dream, I know how important it is to you."

"Please, Toshi. You know it's true, you know you've gotten in trouble because of me."

"I'm so sorry, Toshi."

"Goodbye."

It broke.

Like when they crashed a glass into the ground. Like when they cut the bonds that connected soulmates. As when the fragility of the cherry petals was in their hands and so delicate that, with a grotesque rub, they broke.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the miracle boy, began crying after reading the last message sent to him by the woman he loved.

And he couldn't answer it, because it was true.

.· ´¸.·*´¨) ¸.·*¨) (¸.·´ (¸.·’* ⛧

It's been two months.

It was December.

And Y/N watched the snowflakes fall. She smiled very briefly as she sat on the bench where she had met Ushijima Wakatoshi, one of Japan's top 3 aces. She pulled out his drawing book and let out a sigh.

She had not managed to get to the post on ledge that she so desired. After she broke up with Ushijima, things for her went from bad to worse. She missed him so much and she could only think of him. All her drawings, it was him. Photos she had taken of him, pictures he had sent to her. Even pictures of the two of them together. Photos she found in magazines and photos she didn't know who had taken them, but each and every one of them, was in her drawing book.

She watched with some nostalgia around her. Usually Ushijima would come running, finishing warming up and then they would be seated while she gave him all her affection, even if he was bathed in sweat. Remembering it made her heart move a little with dissatisfaction from within. But this was for him, she had turned away from him so that he could improve, so that he could achieve his dream.

And yet, deep down, she felt that she had done something wrong.

Tears began to come out almost immediately, as if it were a method of personal attack against herself. When she cried, she could only think of him. In his smile, in his immense hands against his, in how he whispered "I love you," in the times it was just the two of them and the cherry petals.

She hunched over as he began to whine, covering her face. This was all her fault, if she hadn't sneezed, if she hadn't been a mess, if she hadn't loved him from the first moment she saw him, perhaps, just maybe, none of that was happening to her. It was all her fault, absolutely everything.

She couldn't recompose herself; it was all Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi had consumed his life in every aspect, and she loved that. She loved it so much that it hurt, it hurt so much.

But what could she expect? It wouldn't work anyway. There was an immense barrier to communication. She, for her part, could not speak. Ushijima knew no sign language and was a man of few words. It would never work, never.

But they would have made it work, because they loved each other so much, and she knew it.

Their sobs were so sad, so horrific. She tried to stop while covering her mouth with one of her hands, but only managed to get both parts of her body to start shaking uncontrollably.

She deserved all this, for taking all that time from Ushijima, for getting him into trouble, for being a distraction.

All that she deserved.

"Are you all right?"

Oh.

Oh, no.

It was that thick voice that had fallen in love with her. Oh, no. Not again, not again.

L/N Y/N was petrified as she looked up to meet Ushijima Wakatoshi in what she deduced was clothes to exercise in winter. Tears felt like crystals against his cheeks, silly whining still coming out of her lips.

He looked pretty bad. Ushijima could look the same as always, but his eyes, his eyes looked so tired, so sad.

"Y/N..."

She didn't know why at the time she tried to articulate his name, she tried with all his might, but only incoherent sounds came out. Tears began to increase. Everything was wrong, Toshi was looking at her in her worst condition, she was sure that Wakatoshi thought she looked pathetic in that state.

"Y/N" he called her again and approached the bench as fast as she could to sink in front of her, took off his gloves and began wiping her tears with her hands. How she missed his hands. Wakatoshi squeezed his lips into a straight line as he kept removing tears for tears "I don't want to hear you cry, please, " his voice sounded intimidating, but it seemed to break "I beg you, don't cry, no"

"A... A…To... hi"

Wakatoshi's eyes opened wide and observed her in amazement. She was trying with all her might to say his name, even if she knew it was impossible. Ushijima couldn't take it anymore and took his face in his hands so he could kiss her. It was short, but it felt so good.

"I love you so much Y/N, I haven't stopped doing it, not even for a second..." his voice began to break as he advanced. His figure began to tremble in the girl's arms. His whining increased "Forgive me, I let you go, I should have fought for you, I should have..."

Now, they were both crying.

The two held on as they cried on the same bench where they had met. On the same bench where they confessed their feelings, on the same bench where they gave their first kiss, on the same bench where Ushijima let her go.

That damn bench that held such fragile memories.

Y/N only embraced it more forcefully, afraid he'd let her go.

Ushijima took a deep breath to separate a little from her and start making movements with her hands looking her in the eye. L/N's lips trembled uncontrollably.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me and I want to have you back, Y/N" He learned sign language. Y/N at that point was already a disaster in tears. Had he learned for her, since when was he learning? She didn't close his eyes as the boy kept going, without hesitation of his movements "I don't care what the reason was, I'm going to fight to get you back and I'll never, ever ever let me make you cry. I just want to hear your laughter, I just want to see your smile and if you ever cry, I want it to be because you fulfilled your dream" Y/N wiped away her tears while covering her mouth, trying to suppress her sobs "You are my dream, Y/N. Don't take away my dream, I beg you."

L/N shook her head and removed her hand from her mouth. He gave her the most beautiful smile he could give her.

"I love you so much, my love"

　　.· ´¸.·*´¨) ¸.·*¨) (¸.·´ (¸.·’* ⛧

Three years later

"Y/N-chan~" Satori's voice began to distract her in so many ways, changing from one subject to another so quickly that he didn’t let her think. She sighed with a smile; he would never change.

Y/N and Ushijima were still together. Today, she was walking with Satori on the same path that led to the place where she had met the love of her life. Tendou distracted her by telling her to look at the non-existent bird attacking a non-existent cat. The reason they were walking around was simple, Ushijima had a little week's vacation and asked her to meet there.

"Y/N-chan~" Satori stopped in front of her and smiled "You know? Wakatoshi-kun has become very happy by your side, now he smiles a lot."

She smiled in response mode before Tendou went on.

"That's why Wakatoshi-kun decided to do this~ " he quickly plugged her eyes and helped her walk "Trust me, Y/N-chan"

She felt euphoria coming out for every pore of his body, what was going on?

Suddenly, they stopped and Tendou stopped covering his eyes.

Ushijima was using a sack for some reason and was sitting on the same bench where their story began, in his hands there was a small box and, on his face, rested a beautiful smile. Upon hearing them he looked up and Y/N's eyes filled with tears without me telling him anything.

Tendou sided up as he smiled at his friend. Ara, ara~

"Y/N" his voice no longer sounded hard at all, he sounded sweet, affectionate. The e/c-eyed girl immediately observed the article in her hands, her heart began to beat with a lot of force "I met you right here, it was exactly about 4 years ago. I don't regret being distracted by these same flowers that taught me that fragility could be so beautiful" Ushijima got up and approached her. He removed a petal that covered her face and continued to smile "Because thanks to them, I met the love of my life, the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

His heart turned when Ushijima swelled with one knee against the floor and the other flexed in front of the girl. He opened the little box.

A ring.

"Marry me, Y/N" that was not a question, it was almost like an order, and she wasn't going to deny it. She nodded without hesitation and knelt down, hugged him with all his might as he began to cry with joy. Her face was hidden in the hollow of Ushijima's neck, he smelled so manly that she felt weak.

"DID YOU RECORD IT, SEMI SEMI?!"

"OF COURSE I RECORDED IT, TENDOU, SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

"Ushijima-san" Y/N turned his face to meet Goshiki crying "and Y/N-san... congratulations."

They both smiled full of sweetness. Along with her, Ushijima had become too fragile, but he loved to be fragile if it meant being with her.

And it was perfect to be like this, as long as he was with her.

#ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima scenarios #ushijima fluff #wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu x you #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu x reader #ushiwaka x reader #ushiwaka #ushijima headcanons #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #ushijima imagine #ushijima one shot #wakatoshi imagine #wakatoshi #fluff #angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluf #bubbleteaa #one shot #haikyū!! #wakatoshi ushijima #fake texts #first one shot #not good in this #god help

[kaalamarii]

XOXO (MammonxMC)

This was written for @lumiere-morningstar 💛

Summary: From the chat where Mammon gets a letter he thinks is from MC. MC writes him a letter everyday and Mammon puts them aside, thinking they’re just from Lucifer.

Warnings: Sad Mammon, fluff

Masterlist

“Here,” MC said, standing in front of Mammon. He was sprawled out on the couch in the common room scrolling through his D.D.D. He looked up, cocking an eyebrow at the pretty girl before him. 

She tossed the envelope in her hand down to him and it landed in his lap. 

“What’s this?” Mammon asked, turning the envelope over in his hands.

“Just...read it in your room, okay? Not out here.”

Mammon felt his heart flutter as MC walked off, leaving him there to hold the envelope in his hand.

A sealed envelope from MC...that he was to read in his room? Mammon couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. A love letter...MC just gave HIM a love letter!

Mammon’s heart was beating, his hands shaking as he gripped the letter, speed walking to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the door, holding the letter to his chest. 

An actual love letter. From MC. 

Finally, it was confirmed. MC felt the same for him as he felt for her. I need to get her a present, Mammon thought. Something nice. Something expensive. 

But first, he had to brag. 

(Mammon:) Ahem.

Oh boy, he couldn’t wait till his stupid brothers heard about this.

(Mammon:) AHEM!

(Mammon:) HEY! Someone say somethin’!

(Belphie:) No way. I get the feeling it’s going to be something annoying.

(Levi:) Yeah, tell me about it. 

Mammon scoffed. Rude. Every last one of ‘em. 

(Mammon:) A-H-E-M!

(Satan:)Okay, fine. I don’t care what it is, so just say it already.

(Asmo:) It sounds like he wants to brag about something.

Mammon smiled proudly, sending the ‘Yes!’ sticker. 

(Mammon:) Listen up and be amazed! I, The Great Mammon, have received a love letter from MC!

(Belphie:) Huh? 

(Levi:) He must be hallucinating again.

(Mammon:) I’m not hallucinatin’! It’s a letter inside a pretty lil envelope? What else could it be besides a love letter?

(Beel:) you mean you haven’t opened it yet?

(Mammon:) Well, it’s kinda sealed shut. Besides, can’t a guy savor the moment a bit before he opens it?

(Belphie:) Wow, I never pegged you as the type.

(Mammon:) Hey! Whaddya mean by that?

I’ll have ya know I’m quite the gentleman! Besides, MC told me to read the letter by myself in my room ❤

And that’s exactly what I plan on doin’.

(Satan:) Well open it up then, “Mr. Gentleman”

(Levi:) Yeah, I don’t think you will be savoring the moment for long after you take a look at what’s inside.

(Mammon:) Ugh, fine! Gimme a moment.

Mammon took a deep breath, shakily and carefully opening the envelope. This was it. He’d finally know for sure that she returned his feelings. Then, she’d be his, and only his. It was like a dream come true, he’d be able to hold her, kiss her, and go on dates with her.

He pulled the letter out and unfolded it.

The demon’s face fell, and he sank to the floor, holding the letter in one hand and the envelope in the other.

(Belphie:) Mammon’s grown awfully silent.

(Lucifer:)That is because the ‘love letter’ is from me. Although I call it an “official written demand of repayment.”

(Levi:)Ha! What a noob, lol.

Mammon felt an aching in his heart and tears started to fall from his eyes, landing on the long list of debts. Every ounce of excitement, of hope, every thought of he and MC being happy and in love, shattered. Mammon balled up the paper and threw it across the room.

He was angry at Lucifer, but he expected something like this from Lucifer. But not MC. MC didn’t make fun of Mammon like his brothers did. She never called him stupid or scum. She even stood up for him most of the time. Mammon couldn’t believe MC was a part of this cruelty. That hurt a hundred times more than anything his brothers could say to him, any torture Lucifer had for him.

Mammon wiped his eyes, getting up to grab his precious Goldie. He stormed out of the house, determined to max out the credit card to get his mind off MC’s betrayal.

**

“I haven’t seen Mammon in a couple days,” MC stated at breakfast, looking over at the chair next to her where the second born always sat.

“Oh, he ran off to sulk,” Lucifer replied nonchalantly. “I gave him a list of things he needs to pay off.”

“Is that what was in the envelope you had me give to him?”

“Yep.”

Leviathan’s laugh interrupted the conversation. “That moron thought it was actually from MC. As if MC would be interested in a scumbag like Mammon.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” MC shook her head. “You gave me a letter to give to Mammon so he’d think it was from me?”

“Of course. Why else would I have you deliver it?”

“I just thought it was because I’m always with him.”

“Sure,” Satan offered up, “But also if Mammon knew the letter was from Lucifer, he wouldn’t have opened it.”

“Exactly,” said Lucifer, agreeing with Satan for once.

“That’s kinda fucked up, don’t you think?”

“Mammon’s fucked up,” Satan responded. 

Asmo sighed. “Seriously MC, I don’t know why you’re so close with Mammon. He acts nice to you, but he’d sell you for a few Grimm.”

MC scoffed. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Mammon is scum,” Levi spoke up again. “Don’t feel bad for him.”

“Wow,” MC replied, getting up to leave. “You should all really think about how you treat Mammon.”

Heading back to her room, she grabbed a pen and notebook out of her backpack and sat down to write.

Mammon,

I heard you wanted a letter from me. 

I’m so sorry that your brothers are dicks to you. I don’t think you’re scum, Mammon. I think you’re sweet and smart and funny, and I love spending time with you. 

You’re pretty much my best friend. 

Love, MC

P.S. Sorry for giving you that letter from Lucifer. I didn’t know what he was up to, I promise. Xoxo

She sealed in it an envelope and wrote his name with a heart. She snuck to Mammon’s room and set it on his pillow. MC was a bit embarrassed by what she wrote, hoping he wouldn’t find it creepy or weird. She wished that he’d be back soon.

**

Mammon snuck in late after being gone for a week, body and head exhausted and hungover, he crawled into bed and passed out. 

When he woke up, he yawned and stretched before noticing the letter on the bed next to him. He picked it up, scoffed, and tossed it across the room. 

There was a new envelope everyday. 

Somedays, MC would slip them under his door. Sometimes she’d hand them directly to him. They’d be waiting for him in his room, on his bed again, on his couch. Each time, Mammon would feel a pang in his stomach. He so badly wanted to open them. Maybe one would actually be a letter from her.

But of course it wouldn’t be. 

MC would never see him like that. Why would she? Mammon was nothing but a greedy, scummy, piece of shit. His brothers made that clear, and now they had MC joining forces with them.

So the pile of letters grew, a small mountain of various colored envelopes.

When he gets one with a lipstick kiss on the envelope, Mammon loses it. He grabs the pile of discarded envelopes and storms to Lucifer’s office, dumping all of them onto the desk directly on top of whatever Lucifer was working on.

“Mammon, what the f-”

“Ya gotta stop doin’ this to me, Lucifer. Look, I’ll repay everything. I’ll go get a job or something, but please, please, stop getting MC to give me these. I get my hopes up and I know they’re just bills and I can’t anymore. It’s killin’ me.”

Mammon was embarrassed at how emotional he was being, whining and crying to his older brother.

Lucifer stared at the envelopes. “Mammon, these aren’t from me.”

“Whaddya sayin’! Of course they are!” 

“No, they’re not.” Lucifer picked up one and ripped it open.

Mammon,

I know you don’t read these which I guess is why I keep writing them. I know that makes no sense. But it helps to write about my feelings for you. It’s a relief to be able to tell you how much I love you, cause I know I can never do it in person.

xoxo,

MC

“Oh...um, Mammon. I think you should read these.”

“You guys are probably just playing tricks on me again.”

Lucifer shoved the letter in Mammon’s face. Mammon wiped his eyes and read over the letter, his heartbeat speeding up.

“This is really her handwriting,” he said in shock.

Lucifer nodded.

“The stupid human really wrote all of these.”

Mammon grinned like mad, gathering all of the letters and rushing back to his room. He threw them onto his bed and sat, cross legged, reading each and every one of them.

A few of them were simple doodles of the two of them and Goldie. Most of them had words of encouragement for him, telling him that she thought he was sweet and a good person (Despite being a literal demon). In every single one was confessions of love and appreciation.

Mammon brought out his D.D.D. and text MC, telling her to come to his room.

MC was thrilled to get a text from Mammon. They hadn’t been spending a lot of time together, and he had barely spoken to her since the day of the first letter. MC slipped on some leggings and an oversized t-shirt and got to Mammon’s room as quickly as she could.

When she saw the opened letters on the bed with him, she grew red. Oh shit.

“Um...you opened the letters.”

Mammon nodded. “Whaddya thinkin’, writing letters like this for me?”

“Mammon, I’m sorry...just f-forget you ever read them.”

“Are you kiddin’ me? You’re the only one who’s ever nice to me, ya know? And now I know how you really feel…”

MC groaned, hiding her face in her hands.

“Of course ya like the Great Mammon! Everyone does. But, uh, iloveyoutooMC.”

“Wait, what?” MC peeked from behind her hand. “Did you just say…”

“Yeah, yeah. Come ‘ere, you!” 

Mammon gently grabbed MC’s arm, pulling her to him and pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against his lips. They fell back onto his bed, ripped envelopes and love letters crumbled underneath them. MC rested her head on Mammon’s chest as he pulled her close, both of them smiling wide.

“Does this mean I can stop writing you letters?”

“Ya better not! I expect one first thing tomorrow.”

Mammon planted a small kiss on the top of her head. 

Finally, he knew for sure that the human was his. 

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfiction #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #sad mammon #protect mammon #he is best boi #moronsexual #omswd #mywriting

[lilliagradiewrites]

wish you liked girls (kiara carrera)

Summary: You’ve been best friends with kiara for years, but lately you’ve noticed some changes in the way you feel towards her. When you hear the song she wrote about you, all is revealed.

WC: 4.5k

WARNINGS: homophobic, use of the f slur, cursing, nothing else really, just lots of angst and a lil fluff.

*this is based off of the song ‘wish you liked girls’ by Abbey Glover. I changed the lyrics around a little to fit the story better, but all credits to her nonetheless!!

A/N: happy new years my loves! this one shot is kind of my new years gift to all of you. I haven't been very active in the past few days, so I’m sorry about that. i tried to upload this on christmas, but tumblr was rude and didn’t let me, so here we are instead! wishing you all the greatest 2021, and I hope you all enjoy!

LET’S DO IT!!

~~~~~

You didn’t know exactly how you felt towards Kiara in the beginning. You feelings for her were indecipherable; more than friends… but also just friends?

The past few months had been a wild ride for you. Constantly, you were questioning your sexuality, and frankly everything you’d ever known.

It got harder as the days went on, and with every beautiful girl that showed up in your Instagram feed or your tiktok for you page.

And then, of course, there was Kiara.

Perfect, beautiful, unattainable Kiara.

She was your best friend, and you usually viewed your hangouts as a super comforting and safe space. Now, however, your hangouts were simply a cause for more stress.

Kiara was so… wonderful. After knowing her for many years, you could confidently say that the girl had no flaws.

Kie’s perfection made everything so much harder for you. Your feelings toward your friend were incredibly confusing.

Did you want to be her, or be with her?

The biggest issue was not your feelings for Kiara, but rather a completely separate problem.

Your boyfriend.

You were nearing a year with Hunter, the boy you found yourself lucky to call your own.

Hunter was an amazing guy, and everything a teenage girl could ask for in a boyfriend. He was considerate and sweet, and always knew the right thing to say to you. He never pressured you into intimacy, knowing that you weren’t comfortable or ready just yet.

You loved Hunter, you knew you did.

Yet, you found yourself feeling that same way towards Kiara.

This was the main issue causing the battle in your head. Was your love for Kiara just platonic? Or maybe you loved Hunter as a friend, Kiara was the one you wanted to be with?

None of those options felt right, but the last possible option made you feel confused and slightly guilty….

What if you wanted to be with them both?

All these thoughts rushed through your head as you brushed makeup on your face, preparing for a night with the girl who frequented your thoughts daily.

There was an open mic night at you and Kiara’s favorite indie cafe. Kie, who was unknowingly an amazing singer and songwriter, had played some music for you a while back, leading to a process of you encouraging her to grow as an artist.

For months, Kiara had been running song ideas by you. You could recall countless nights during which you and Kiara would sit on her bed, working together to finish up a song she’d been writing.

Kiara credits all her music to you completely, but you knew she was just being modest. The girl was undeniably talented.

That’s why, when you saw that Retro was having an open mic night, you’d insisted that your best friend go play one of her songs.

You had sat on her bed that night, the flyer you’d collected from the cafe sitting between the two of you.

You grabbed the notebook containing all of the lyrics you’d written together, and pored over the most recent piece.

The song was your best one yet. She’d been inspired by yet another fight between JJ and Rafe.

“What if I write something about the pogues and the kooks being so divided?” She’d suggested that same night. You could tell, judging by the look in her eyes, that a train of ideas was chugging in circles throughout her mind. “The whole thing is so ugly and gross… I just want to turn into something beautiful, you know?”

Without a second thought, you’d picked up a pencil and the song book you’d grown to be familiar with, and the two of you got down to work.

Two sleepless nights and countless cups of coffee later, the two of you had completed the piece. It was undoubtedly the best song you’d ever written. It captured the unnecessary feeling of hatred coming from the opposite groups of the island perfectly, adding a touch of soul. The moral of the song was simple: can we just get along?

Kiara had strung the words together beautifully, adding a gorgeous melody and some strums on her guitar. Once the two of you heard the lyrics had worked so hard on turned to music, you knew that there was something special about this piece.

That’s why you insisted so strongly that Kiara sing it at the open mic night.

“I don’t know, Y/N…” Kiara had twiddled her fingers, biting her lip in apprehension. “What if people hate my music? Or what if I fuck it up so bad I become a massive laughingstock. I don’t think I could handle it.”

You smiled, grabbing her hands to still them. “It’s a good thing you won’t have to worry about that, then, because you’re not gonna fuck it up.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Kiara protested, breaking the gaze you’d been holding as you spoke.

“I do!” You grabbed Kiara’s chin, moving her face towards you so that her eyes met yours again. “You are fucking amazing, Kiara Carrera. Do not doubt yourself. You are so talented, Kie, I don’t think you even realize how incredible you are. I am going to that cafe tomorrow and signing you up for the open mic night whether you like or not.”

This was a threat, but not an honest one. You would never sign her up knowing she was uncomfortable. So, when you let go of your light grip on her chin, you listened intently for a murmur of approval.

After a moment, it finally came.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Yes!” You exclaimed in celebration, throwing your arms around your friend. “I’m so excited, you’re gonna be amazing!

Now, a few days later, you’re sitting at your vanity, preparing for the night you’d be waiting for. Kie was extremely nervous, so you’d taken her out shopping earlier that day to calm her down. She’d bought a new outfit for the open mic night, which looked amazing on her. She promised you that she’d come pick you up so you could go to the performance together, and you’d happily agreed.

You didn’t expect to be at your house an hour early, though.

You weren’t even halfway through your makeup when you heard a knock at your door.

You’d rushed down the stairs, praying you’d get to the door first.

Your parents never liked Kie. They knew she liked girls and guys, and called her a “Hippie whore.”

Your homophobic parents: Yet another reason you couldn’t come to terms with the way you felt towards your best friend.

The odds seemed to be in your favor today, as you reached the door before your parents and swung it open to reveal a highly nervous Kiara.

“Hey!” You smiled. “What are you doing here so early?”

Kiara bit her lip in embarrassment and looked down to her feet.

“I-I got nervous and I got ready way too early. I know I’m not supposed to be here for another 45 minutes, but I’m too freaked out to be alone. Is it okay if I hang out with you while you finish getting ready?” She questions softly, almost embarrassed.

You smile, finding her nerves exceptionally adorable.

“Yes, of course you can. Come in, come in.”

You grab her arm, closing the door behind her and pulling her quickly up the stairs. The last thing you wanted was for Kiara to have to interact with your parents.

Once in your room, you close the door and head back to your vanity, Kiara flopping down on your bed.

As you sat down and continued applying your makeup, you spoke to your friend.

“So, how nervous and excited are you for tonight?”

Kiara smiled lightly, and bit her lip once again. “Very for both.” She confesses with a small chuckle.

“I know you can’t tell someone not to be nervous but I can tell you that you shouldn’t be. You’re incredible, Kie. I can’t wait for everyone to see how talented my best friend is.

You focus hard on your eyeliner, leaning in to your mirror to make sure you get a clean wing.

Once you're done on both sides, you lean back and admire your work. Perfecting your winged liner was something you’d been working on for a while, and it seems that your practice has helped. The wings are sharp and pretty much even. If you don’t look too closely, the wings are seemingly symmetrical. This is good enough for you, you decide, capping the liquid liner and setting it back in your makeup drawer.

Finally done with your makeup, you begin cleaning off your desk. You put your products back in your drawer, and the brushes in the holder you have for them on the corner of your desk.

Standing up, you look at Kie with a smile. “Now help me pick out an outfit so that I look hot supporting you from the audience.”

45 minutes later, the two of you are finally ready to leave. Kie is nervous as ever, but you offer comforting words to try and help calm her down as much as possible. You grab your favorite bag and throw the essentials in it. Your phone, a portable charger (just in case), and a few extra hair ties. Once you were done, you turned to Kie, who was playing with her fingers anxiously. “You ready?” You asked, encouragement laced in your voice. Kiara, still very obviously apprehensive, could do nothing but nod. Taking your bag in one hand and Kiara’s hand in the other, you head out of your room and towards the front door.

The two of you made your way down the stairs, moving quickly to leave so that you didn’t have to interact with either of your awful parents. When you got to the bottom, you rushed for the door, fumbling with the door handle. The house you lived in was old, and all of the metal pieces (such as the door knob) were rusted and hard to use. You did your best trying to twist it open, saying a silent prayer that one of your parents didn’t round the corner and see Kiara with you. She was nervous enough as it is; she didn’t need your parents making her night even worse.

Unfortunately for the both of you, your prayers were seemingly denied as your mother walked into the foyer, arms crossed over her chest.

You had hardly even noticed her presence until she said your name, anger apparent in her voice.

“Y/N. How many times do I have to tell you who you can and cannot bring into our home?”

You grimaced at the sound of her voice, turning slowly, knowing you’ll be met with inescapable doom. In the process of turning, you saw the look on Kie’s face. She looked anxious and heartbroken, not to mention severely guilty. After seeing your best friend’s expression, you knew you weren’t cowering down to your mother.

Your original plan had been to apologize profusely and beg her to let you go with Kie, possibly even lying about where you were headed.

But you knew you had nothing to apologize for, and neither did Kie.

“I don’t see why it matters, Mom.”

Surprise flashed over your mother’s face, shocked by your confidence. Standing up for yourself wasn’t your usual reaction to her scoldings, and she wasn’t prepared for the reply she was given.

“It matters because it’s my house, and because I’m your mother. I told you I did not want people like her over at this house. Now send the girl on her way and come sit down with me. I think we need to talk.”

You had to admit, you were nervous to make your next move. You knew what you were going to do, and it would result in getting your ass shredded when you come back home. But you didn’t care; you had to be there for Kie.

“I can’t right now. Me and Kiara have a place to be, so…” You turned and messed with the doorknob some more, finally getting it to work correctly. “I’ll talk to you when I get home tonight. It shouldn’t be terribly late. But, I might stay over at Kie’s, so, you think you could wait until tomorrow?”

Anger washed quickly over your mother’s face. She uncrossed her arms so that she could clench her fists at her sides, moving towards you menacingly. “Absolutely not, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. You will be staying here, and you will not be staying at her house. I won’t allow it.”

You smirked, a sudden confidence washing over you. “Well, that doesn’t sound very fun. Good thing I didn’t ask for your permission, huh?”

Kie looked shocked by your attitude, and your mother was getting angrier by the second.

“I’m going to need you to fix your attitude, young lady, or there will be severe consequences.”

“I don’t care. I don’t, and I’m not sorry about it. Kie is my best friend, whether you like it or not, and I’m spending the night with her.”

Your mother’s face was almost completely red. “Kie is a fag-”

“No. Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I will not allow you to talk to her that way. Why are you the way that you are?”

“Why are you hanging out with gay people? Do you like girls or something?”

“Why does it matter?” You’re fuming at this point. If she wasn’t your mother, you would’ve hit her by now.

“It matters because homosexuals are abominations. The Lord says so. I thought I’d taught you this by now, but clearly I didn’t press the word of God into you hard enough when you were younger.”

“No, Mom. Terrible people like you are an abomination. We’re leaving.”

And with that, you were gone, wrenching the door open and ushering Kie out of it, ignoring your mother’s shouts as you closed it behind you.

You rushed to Kie’s car, hopping in it as she pulled out of your driveway and sped through your neighborhood.

The two of you were completely silent for a moment. Both of you could barely process what had just happened. The more you thought about the situation, the more it upset you. Who was your mother to decide who you could and couldn’t hang out with? Especially when her reasons for you not hanging out with Kie were so disgusting.

What would your mother say if she knew the thoughts you’d been having?

After a little while, Kiara broke the silence. “Why is your mom like that?” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, and you could tell by the tone of her voice that she was fighting tears.

You sighed. Hearing Kiara so upset, especially on a day that was supposed to be fun, broke you. “I wish I knew, Kie. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe she accused you of liking girls just because you hang out with me. She’s so disrespectful for no reason.”

You shook your head. “You say it like it’s a terrible thing she ‘accused’ me of. It’s not a bad thing. She just made it bad because she’s a bitch.”

Kiara nodded, turning her head to gaze out the window. A momentary silence fell over the two of you, but you couldn’t help but feel like something wasn’t right. You glanced over at Kie, whose brows were furrowed. She bit her lip in thought.

Is there something she wanted to say?

“Kie? Are you alright?”

The brunette didn’t say anything. You knew something was up, so you pressed further.

“What’s on your mind, love?”

Kiara shot out her reply quickly, like it was taking all of her courage to say it.

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“Liking girls.”

You paused briefly, letting the girls words sink in for a second.

“No, I didn’t.”

Kiara turned to you, a million emotions in her dark eyes. They all flashed as you made eye contact, making each feeling hard to identify. “Do you?”

“Like girls?” Your breathing was halted. Was Kiara… feeling the same way towards you as you had been for her?

“I-I don’t know.”

Kie turned towards you. When you looked at her, you could see the tears in her eyes.

You could identify a strong sense of hope in her dark eyes.

“You don’t know?”

Suddenly, you remembered.

Hunter.

Your amazing boyfriend that you loved so much.

“It doesn’t really matter though, I guess. Since I’m with Hunter.”

The words had left your mouth before you could stop them.

Kie took a deep breath, and looked away.

“Right. Hunter.”

A few minutes later, you’d arrived at the cafe. No more words had been spoken, and tension in the car was thick.

Once the car was parked, you finally spoke.

“Are you ready to go?”

Kie nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you climbed out of the car, Kiara going into the back to grab her guitar. Once everything was locked up, the two of you headed inside in silence.

The crowd was bustling with life in the small cafe. On one side, people with songbooks and sheet music sat with their instruments, and on the other side, people sat sipping on cups on coffee.

When you noticed the separation, Kie headed over to the performers side. You gave a light ‘good luck,’ to which Kiara didn’t reply, and then the two of you went separate ways.

Kiara took a seat in the performer section, looking nervously at the people around her. She tried her best to push away the feelings from the conversation in the car earlier, but it was very difficult. For a moment there, she had allowed herself to believe that the feelings she had for you were reciprocated. That look in your eye when you looked at her… something about it made her think you felt the same as she did. Unfortunately, she was wrong.

You just had to bring your Hunter.

Kiara hated Hunter, though she’d never let you know that. She had no real reason to hate him, but she did. She hated him so much, it was almost painful to see his face.

She hated him because he had what Kie wanted more than anything else in the world.

You.

Kie watched you as you moved around on the other side of the cafe. You were standing at the counter, talking to the barista. Though Kie couldn’t hear you over the bustle of the place, she knew exactly what you were saying.

You were ordering your usual: a large vanilla sweet cream cold brew with caramel drizzle. You order has been the same for what feels like forever. You had tried other things, but you always stuck to your favorite.

“I’ve never liked anything as much as this.” You’d said a few weeks earlier, when Kie had teased you for never changing your order.

Kie longed to be over there with you, teasing you about your order. Just talking to you lit up her life. You were everything to her, and she wasn’t even afraid to admit it.

You got your coffee, thanking the barista and dropping some change in the tip jar.

Kie watched as you scanned the room, searching for an empty seat. As you looked around, your eyes met Kiara’s, and you held her gaze for a moment. Though you didn’t know why she was being so cold towards you earlier, you couldn’t help but offer a small smile of encouragement.

To your great relief, she smiled back.

Once you knew she was alright, you broke her gaze and continued searching for a seat. You wanted to sit near the front, so that you could lock eyes with Kie when she was on stage as a form of moral support, but all of the front seats were taken.

Slightly disappointed, you had to take a seat in the back, near the exit.

When Kie saw that smile you gave her, she knew something had to be done. Even when the two of you weren’t really on the best terms, you continued to support her.

She loved you so fucking much.

Right then and there, Kiara made a decision, one she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret in the future.

An hour had gone by, and many performers had made their way on and off the stage in the small cafe. You counted down the performers until your best friend went on the stage, nervously playing with the straw on your cup. Even though you weren’t the one going up on the stage, you still felt terrified.

When the performer before your friend was reading off the last lines of his slam poem, your heart began to race.

The guy walked off, and you watched your friend stand up.

“Next up, we have Kiara Carrera, performing an original song called ‘differences aside.’ Let’s give her a very warm welcome!”

You could barely hear the announcer calling Kie’s name over the sound of your heart pounding.

Up on the stage, Kiara’s heart was pounding just as loud.

See, when Kie showed up at your house earlier in the day, she had completely intended to sing the song the two of you had written together. ‘Differences Aside’ was a beautiful song, and one she was very proud of. However, after the events that had went down on the way to the cafe, her mind had changed.

She was writing a song she had written by herself.

A song she wrote about you.

“Hey, everyone, I’m Kiara. I know I said that I was gonna be singing a song called ‘Differences Aside,’ but there’s been a slight change of plans. I’m going to be singing a different original instead. I hope you all enjoy it.”

When she had finished talking, she made direct eye contact with you. You were shocked by her words, and a little bit upset. Was she really so frustrated with you, or hurt by your previous conversation, that she refused to sing the song you wrote together?

It was heartbreaking, and you moved lower in your seat as she began strumming her guitar, fighting the tears forming in your eyes.

“I grew pretty attached to you,

Like a dog on a lead

Thought you were everything I could’ve dreamed of,

And all I could ever need.

But you like him, him, him

But you like him, him, him

And you don’t like me.”

Kiara’s voice rang out as she began singing. She sounded beautiful, and the song was very pretty.

You would’ve loved it, but you were slightly confused.

With every word she sang, she was looking directly into your eyes.

“Always thought you looked at me differently

Than any other you'd see

Thought you were aching to see me

At any, any possibility

But you like boys, boys, boys

But you like boys, boys, boys

And you don't like me.”

Your eyes widened at the last lyrics.

Was this song about you?

“I could be a bitch and tell you a million reasons why

Being with me would be much better than with any other guy

I could tell you I'll treat you right

And never wrong

Tell you in my arms is where you belong

“But I know that you can't change someone

So I'll just leave you alone, although

I wish you liked girls, girls, girls

Wish you liked girls, girls, girls

Girls like me.”

With Kie looking in your eyes as she sang, the lyrics hit you hard.

She did have feelings for you.

Tears began to sting your eyes, and you were overcome with emotion. You dropped Kie’s eyes, grabbing your things and standing up. Unable to stay any longer, you ran out the door, crying as you did.

Inside, up on the stage, Kiara’s heart dropped as she watched you leave. She had no choice but continue to sing.

“I wish you would’ve been more clear

When I was hanging out with you

That women isn't really something

That you've ever been into

'Cause you like boys, boys, boys

'Cause you like boys, boys, boys

And you don't like me.”

Tears began to fall as she sang, blurring her eyes. She just kept strumming, putting everything she had into the last verse and chorus of the song.

“And I know you don't swing that way

But that won't take my feelings away

Oh I wish you liked girls

I wish you liked girls

Like me”

It became harder to sing as sobs caught in her throat, but she pushed through. She was going to make it through this performance. She had to.

“I could be a bitch and tell you a million reasons why

Being with me would be much better than with any other guy

I could tell you I'll treat you right

And never wrong

Tell you in my arms is where you belong

But I know that you can't change someone

So I'll just leave you alone, although

I wish you liked girls, girls, girls

Wish you liked girls, girls, girls

Girls like me”

When the last chord rang out at the end of the song, the crowd erupted in applause and murmurs. Kie choked out a quiet ‘thank you’ in the microphone before running off the stage and outside to you.

She was so so scared that she’d ruined everything.

When she got out there, you on the phone, sniffling as you spoke.

“See you soon. Okay, bye.”

You turned around, and your cheeks immediately went pink when you saw her.

“Hi.” You said softly, not knowing what else to do.

“Who was that on the phone?”

“Hunter.”

Kie’s heart dropped when she heard the name. She recalled your words from when she’d first walked out. ‘See you soon.’ Her heart dropped further.

“Is he coming to pick you up?”

You shook your head, causing a small bit of relief to flood through kiara. “What were you talking to him about?”

You paused for a moment, dropping the eye contact the two of you were making.

“I broke up with him.”

Your friend let out a light gasp, hope entering her mind once again. “Oh.”

You just nodded, looking anywhere but at Kiara.

“May I ask why?”

Your response was simple.

You ran up to her and kissed her.

Finally.

Kiara was taken aback, but kissed back eagerly, so happy this was finally happening.

And when she was kissing you, everything was good.

Maybe changing the song was a good idea after all.

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