#And it seems I was right too? That line‚ 'Life is so colourful‚ but... it has nothing to do with me' reads to me like that for now
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High Tides - Zimeng House
Yan! OC x Reader
Overindulging your child is very often the downfall of most parents, but it can be excused when you have reunited with your long lost son, no?
TW: Incest, some guy gets knocked out/killed, nursing, implied dubcon, general toxic behaviour, not really proof-read and maybe (definitely) bad writing
//I had the urge to write this no idea why. Dedicated to a friend of mine who fulfilled my inspiration fix and indirectly aided with the creation of this horrific thing
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The rapid yet skillful plucking of strings echoed throughout the hall, a sudden start that brought attention to the stage in the very middle. Surrounded by dozens of other guests, sitting atop a wooden chair with a pipa in your lap, draped in fine silks and tinkling jewellery, you strum the strings slowly as the melody rises layer by layer. Interspersed were tremolos, hot friction rubbing against the pads of your finger, the bright moon rising from the sea.
Your eyes scan across the gathering of people tonight, fingers still playing as you pluck and strum. It is the same as every other night, men seeking to spend the night in the embrace of another, courtesans pouring sweet wine into the awaiting mouths, there was little to note on such a mundane night.
The second section begins, you bring your other hand to the neck of the instrument as it joins your dominant hand in chanting and pulling. Still just as leisurely as the first, the added motions continued to entice your eager audience, wide eyes filled with wonder as they drift to visages beyond your face and skill. You could feel wandering eyes trail along your neck, travelling a line to your fingers, your waist, even to the arch of your feet. You pay them no mind, it is after all, your life’s work to entice and should your music not be up to par, then let it be your frame that does so.
As young women garbed in silks as vibrant as the fenghuang’s feathers emerge, their feet light and their actions entrancing, you continue your reverie upon silk strings. There is little incentive for you to focus on your art, not when you have all but perfected the very act of performing. In the distance, standing by a pillar and hidden among the crowd was a young man in dark robes. He had a still sheathed sword by his side, garbed in midnight dark robes that cut a severe silhouette. For a moment, your eyes meet, milky jade that seemed not of this mortal realm bearing an intensity. It is by instinct that you avert your gaze, and you find that despite having been the focus of unsavoury attention for far longer than most, you feel uneased by his.
You continue to strum, dancers whirling in winds of colourful fabric as the melody continues with its rhythmic flicks. Your vision is obscured by thin veils, arcing through the air as they fall with graceful descent. You still feel that man’s gaze on you, and you can only wonder whether you have met before in some clandestine time. There was little other reasoning, the only other could be a desire of service, a desire for temporary companionship.
When the performance eventually comes to its natural end, your sisters, the dancers, aid you with your ascent, one taking the pipa from your hands and another offering you a hand to take. Her hand is much softer when in comparison to yours, though care was essential for the lives you lead, your very niche borne callouses upon the pads of your fingers. A soft smile pulls across your lips as your eyes crinkle, and as the once hungry gazes of guests slide right off your form, focused on younger more nubile women, one slinks away.
You part the beaded curtains that separate the house’s main hall from the inner rooms, and just the clack of beads clicking against each other sound in your ears, you hear a man’s voice from behind you, low and rumbling.
“Ms. Shen.”
The sound is familiar in an odd manner, the way he calls your surname all too intimately despite the cold tone of his voice. You are not sure whether you like it, and when you turn to face him, high and all-mighty cultivator of milky jade eyes, you find that uncertainty still brewing. Your nerves seem to harden and chill, bringing a hand to your exposed collarbones.
Speaking slow and steady, you maintain the contact that he has put upon you, “I must apologise, young sir. I am afraid I shall not be taking on personal entertainment for tonight.”
“I wish not for company, but I must ask for a private room for I have questions not meant for prying ears,” He responds, his face not alluding to any emotion that you may take advantage of.
The brothel madam has been watching you from the second floor, her pipe in hand with a grimace on her lips. She waits for you to cover your mouth, to reach for the hanging decor of your hairpins. When none of it happens, the older woman closes her eyes and takes a puff from her pipe. Your eyes once shifting between her and the young man in front of you, his gaze ever steady, settles. You can only resign to whatever he wishes, acquiescing and bringing him to the upper floors of the building.
Tucked away within the labyrinth of rooms that lay within Zimeng House, a pot of warm tea and two cups sit between the two of you. The sounds of pleasure and revelry just barely at the edges of your mind, gentle woody incense wafting through the air as the night wind breezes in. Sitting opposite of you is the young man, grey hair long and bound at the ends, his complexion blemishless and those eyes, placid as a frozen lake, bore into you, as though trying to figure out something within you. His sword, impossibly long and not possibly able to be used by mortal hand, remains unsheathed by his side. This young man was quite obviously a cultivator, a fact that was only all the more by the odd oppressive aura he seemed to emit.
It takes a moment for him to speak, for any of you to speak yet when he does, there is now a susceptibility to his voice, one that sounded younger, one that belonged more to a child than an adult, “Did you have a son twenty years ago?”
The question, no matter the tinge of pregnability in his words, was sudden. Certainly not the kind of question one asks a high-ranking courtesan, and certainly not the kind of question asked in good faith, not in your field of work, not from a cultivator.
“If I did, that should be no business of yours.”
“And should that son still be alive? Would it then become my business?” He responds just as fast, still holding eye contact.
It is then that you notice the birthmark upon his hand, a little wing like discoloration below his knuckle. The bow of his lips so familiar to you, the curve of his eyes and the manner in which he holds himself. An image of you, an image of you distorted by the features of another and the dew of immortality.
You avert your gaze, taking in a breath before looking at him, the breath in your chest still and tight in your lungs. Rising from your seat, he lets you approach him with tentative steps, feet padding against wooden floors before you sit by his side. Pathetically, you could only rasp out, “How is he? If he is alive?”
The young man leans closer, eyes of wonder and recognition. As though just as affected by emotions deemed frivolous by his people, he manages to whisper, “He is doing well.” Then, he backtracks, a notion he appears not quite used to, correcting himself quietly, “And he has missed you quite so.”
For mother and child, it is very often that words are not needed to understand one another. Your arms that once cradled his infant form in a time long ago, wrap around him as he tucks his nose into the crook of your neck, his much broader form encapsulating yours as tears slowly soak through your silks. You cannot blame him, for even tears dew at your lower lashes.
“Mother, your son has found you.”
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When your son had disappeared, you had not the chance to even name him. How could you? For someone like you, someone who could barely even read let alone write, you had always intended to give him some name that would bless him most, perhaps wish for him to become a great scholar or businessman. Yet he has returned to you as Yuanhua, ‘first magnificence’, and what truth he has grown up as.
Your darling son, pride of Fengyi Mountain, saviour of the innocent and bane of the demonic, how magnificent he has become. You could be no less prouder of him, proud that he would rise above the status of a courtesan’s son. He is so much more than you could hope he could have become, and it fills your heart with an emotion you can not fully deem delight.
You must admit however, you did not think he would become such a clingy child in his adulthood. You suppose that he is only trying to make up for the years lost on the both of you, for his loss of childhood vulnerability and yours to overindulge. It has only been a few months since he has reunited with you, yet many of your sisters have already started looking forward to his visits. They would wait at the windows that face the busy streets and look for the white head of hair towering above the crowd. It has come to the point that they would ask you about him, albeit your relation not known to them, asking whether he treats you well, whether he was looking to retire from the jianghu and get a wife of his own. All those times, you could only laugh and urge them to ask themselves, after all, that son of yours was by no means a person you could control.
Today, he has come once more, now resting his head upon your lap as his form curls in towards you. Yuanhua is quite definitely one of the larger men you have had the experience of being with, and he is careful to not put his full weight, though he is still that sticky child, holding one of your hands within his much larger, colder ones.
A small laugh escapes you, he all but rushed to your side the moment you entered the room, and with his recent absence, you can only surmise that he was sent away on a mission that took up far more energy than he would have liked.
“Hua’er, have they been working you too hard?” You hum, rubbing his knuckles with the pad of your thumb. Reaching for the osmanthus cakes plated on a table, cakes you had been gifted and intended for him to try, you bring up a cut piece for him, “Come, eat some pastries.”
He obliges, obediently opening his mouth to accept your offering. Watching him so happily eat, with an overfond smile on your lips, your other hand reaches to pet his head, an act that has him leaving into your touch, far more than you thought already possible.
“I only wanted to be with you sooner,” He murmurs.
You sigh, a reigned smile pulled across your painted lips, still allowing him to hold onto you. “Your old mother can be on her own, don’t rush even if you can.”
The thought of him being injured, no matter the fact that he is far more powerful than most, tugs at your heart strings, yanking on them with a ferocity. Though you have lived 20 years grieving your child, knowing that he is alive and that is a tangible, actual person that you now so unfailingly adore, the idea that he may possibly be harmed is torturous.
“What if you get hurt, hm?”
Yuanhua does not respond, merely tightening his grip on you as another sigh escapes. The melody for tonight’s performance comes to the surface of your mind, and as you hum and pat his back in rhythm, he lets you. Your son lets you move as you please, all too happy to follow along as he fully relaxes on you and flutters his eyes shut.
It is then that you hear the sliver of conversation from the outside, spoken in hushed voices yet deafeningly audible through paper and wood. For your ears that have grown keen to hear news of your son, it is only natural, yet it is now that you wish you could not.
“Why does that cultivator keep visiting her?” A man’s voice sounds from outside, he sounds familiar, perhaps one of the more frequent guests.
Another responds, another man and another guest. He sounds younger, his voice louder than the first’s, “You know, I heard that those people up in Fengyi Mountain are meant to be celibate.”
You look down to your son, his eyes shut and his posture relaxed. He appears to have not a worry in the world, long lashes kissing the apples of his cheek. High nose, sword straight brows and thin lips, sometimes you think you see the face of another upon his. Your child, who appears so much like you and another, it pains you.
“Do you think…?”
“That he’s a philanderer? Why not? They all think they’re above us and yet look at them,” One of them scoffs, a supercilious tone to his lilt.
The other laughs at that, odd mirth tinging his voice as their footsteps sound further and further down the hallways, “And he goes and picks the most expensive one of them all.”
“Hah! At least he has taste.”
Your heart seems to drop all throughout such vulgar conversation. You have been no stranger to slander, have been the victim of it many times in your life, but your son? Your son who had lived 20 years as an ascetic, finally allowed comfort within his mother, who is unfortunately a courtesan. How cruel this world is, to reunite mother and son only to make it so the interactions you may have, be tainted by the very career that has kept you alive long enough to be with him until now.
You look down to him once more, he is looking at you, milky jade eyes warm with adoration as his fingers interlock yours, tightly. He does not deserve such talk, he does not deserve to be the butt of such a cruel joke. There is nothing you would not give for him, and it is now that you yearn to give him freedom from such mockery. One last night, you shall have him one last night and he will return to Fengyi Mountain as their pride once more
Your son squeezes your hand and turns towards your womb. Yuanhua asks a question so casually it was as if he were a child asking his mother for another story, his voice soft as though any louder and you would crumble to dust, “Would mother still dote on this me if you knew what I have done?”
“You are still my son,” You whisper, bringing your hands up to kiss the back of his hand. Your eyes close, and it takes you a moment to continue, your throat tight and your breath stilled, “There is nothing that you can do that will make me hate you.”
“I will always love you.”
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The night is young, the smell of spicy oud burns through the air as the music of revelment reverb through the building. People of all backgrounds gather to find entertainment, bliss and temporary companionship. When the sun rises, the remnants of the night’s debauchery shall remain a stain upon the soul, no less visible to the judge of hell than the shameful walk one must make in pursuit of escape.
Not tonight, for rather than performing musicality or sensuality, you are granted the rare visit of an old friend.
Dipping your head, hairpins of tinkling gold graze the curves of your cheek as you greet the man before you, “My lord, it is an honour to serve you tonight.”
“Ms. Shen, no need for the formalities,” He waves you off, urging you to come closer, an offer you take. His voice is low and humming, reassuring and assuaging, he smiles at you as crows feet appear at the ends of his eyes, “How long has it been since we’ve known each other?”
When you respond to such with a familiar smile of your own, he takes your hand in his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. Truly, Lin Zheng is still your most loyal, and kindest guest. 23 years and he has yet to request another, it has come to the point that practically everyone in Zimeng House knows to see him situated in the better rooms and call for you to attend to him. It was hard to believe that this wizened 4th ranking court official before you was the county magistrate who blushed redder than a jujube when he first saw you.
His eyes ponder upon your visage, and it is a long seeded regard that seeps from them. You follow along his example, allowing your eyes to trail along his high nose and sword straight brows, features that lent him regal apertures that rivalled the imperial bloodline.
With a solemnity that could have rivalled even the underworld judges, he calls upon you, “Have you always been this beautiful? Even now you rival the ladies of Chunning House.”
“You flatter me, I am but an old maid compared to the young flowers of today,” Laughing, a kind of shyness overtakes you as you avert your gaze.
Lin Zheng only reaffirms his praise, bringing a hand to your cheek as he gently redirects your gaze to his, “No less lovely, what man would not feel shame for having not experienced your touch?”
Times must have truly changed, for when it was he who sputtered in diffidence, it seems to have become your turn to grow shy at his action. Still, you do not turn away from his affection. The older man reaches for the jug of wine on the low table and pours out a conservative amount into the two cups, offering the first to you.
As he hands the cup of wine to your waiting hand, the window shutters open with a violent swing. The sound of wood banging against wood and the tip of a sheath tapping against the floorboards further drag the two of you out of the intimate atmosphere contained within the room. Clad in dark robes and with his long silvery hair flowing in the night wind, the man calls for you.
“Mother.”
Controlled and yet, the breach of something more, something raw and broken lies beneath his low voice. He remains at the balcony, and it is as though the world has gone quiet for solely his presence. The oppressive energy that had once made you wary of him when you first met trickles out, those eyes of his that which had once been warm, seethes and rages
His voice cracks, just the slightest as he directs the heavy burden of his gaze onto you,“You sent me away, so you could entangle with another?”
“Hua’er,” You managed to breathe out, a slip of vulnerability that you had so painstakingly tried to keep within.
Li Zheng, who though had no clue who was before him, moved to put himself in front of you, pushing you behind him as he places himself as a physical barrier between the two of you. This man who grew up a scholar and took no interest in the world of martial might, still saw fit to protect you over himself. Yet this one action, this one innocent action only enraged your child.
“You said you loved me, but you would let others touch you so familiarly?”
This sudden accusation confuses you, and you rightfully respond to such an inquiry with confusion, “What are you talking about? This is my job.”
“I see,” He mutters, and it is then that you see how dilated his pupils have become, thin jade encircling a pitch dark void. Yuanhua approaches the two of you, footfalls slow and practised and cutting through the room like a knife, and that breach of violent emotion finally rips through. That though his very movements were the epitome of discipline, the manner in which he seethes reveals far more than his actions. A laugh of unconstraint leaves his lips, one that echoes in your ears before he finally sneers,“I see.”
“Yuanhua!” You can only pathetically yell out, hoping that he would come to his senses and cease whatever he seemed so hellbent on unleashing.
In a move far too swift for either of you to anticipate, he brings the pommel of his sword down upon Lin Zheng’s head, a harsh crack reverberating through the room. You could only watch as your dear friend’s form fell limp onto the ground with a thud, your son kicking him away without care, as though he was merely a pebble in his path.
With the moonlight as his halo, he looms above you, broad shouldered and stalwart. You do not recognise the man before you, do not recognise the fervency in his eyes nor the concupiscence within them. His sword is abandoned in favour of covet, and your son, your dear son pushes you to the cold ground. Though gentle with a hand to the back of your head, the rushed action still sends a dull ache through your form.
“Mother,” He breathes, rosy flush to his jade white complexion as his breath fans against your skin. Nosing along an imaginary line down your neck, lips ghosting over pulse points as he murmurs, “Don’t leave me, not again.”
He tugs down the front of your ruqun in one swift motion, exposing tender skin and bare chest to the night chill. He takes a moment to admire you. Then, without hesitation, he latches onto the soft bud and starts to suck, his tongue swirling around as it rips a weak whine from your lips. Though you push against him in some meagre attempt to put some distance between your two forms, he merely strengthens his efforts as a hand moves to squeeze your hips, the other cupping and kneading the neglected breast.
Enervated by his fervid actions, it was as though even your voice wished to give up, whether from use or carnality, you were not sure. “Stop it–!”
He ignores you, and that hand that once gripped the very hips that birthed him, sinks deeper into its origin. Pushing through cavernous desire, Yuanhua rips a particularly loud keen from your throat. It is a sound more beautiful than your skillful playing, more mellifluous to his ears than any other sound, and he smiles.
Fengyi Mountain may have taken him away from you for a reason illogical, but that is in the past, burned in the embers of the future. When he finally takes you away from this establishment, away from those greedy eyes, then he will truly be reunited with you, mother and son.
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I called it, Ruan Mei is deranged and shady as hell
#I love her#I also said that she the light cone and the light cone description and her last eidolon and some other things#made her feel almost nonexistent or barely there‚ but not in a Herta and Xueyi kind of way#And it seems I was right too? That line‚ 'Life is so colourful‚ but... it has nothing to do with me' reads to me like that for now#Really digging the way Dr. Ratio contrasts or parallels her. How she talks about keeping a serene mask until the situation is ascertained#and talking about emotions and feelings being able to be analysed and dissected‚ the root of which found#In the promotional video immediately after she says the thing about masks‚ Ratio appears talking precisely about the same thing#It's so cool how both also take advantage in their fighting style of the weaknesses of the enemies#Ruan Mei with the weakness break effect and Ratio with the debuffs#Ruan Mei didn't seem as scornful of Ratio and the Guild as Herta seemed but Ruan Mei is also less open#The leaked line of Ratio about her (I can't recall exactly but it wasn't anything we haven't seen in the new Ruan Mei short‚#something about how the true intentions of her research are not what she stated and that she is actually the most ambitious member#of the Genius Society)‚ while not truly negative‚ doesn't seem positive either. But he perhaps isn't as callous#as he is when he talks about Herta and Screwllum. Or perhaps he is being even more so#I'm looking forwards to their interactions and the development of the relationship between the Guild and the Society as a whole#But also the dynamics and problems inside the Genius Society itself#They all seem to have their all personal and selfish agenda which could be source of clash‚ whereas the Guild seems more people driven#Even if they have at times pretty ugly methods. Not they the Genius Society doesn't#Ajfjsjd anyway I wonder if the Ratio and Ruan Mei parallels and contrasts will be truly explored or if it will be left in the air#just to sell either character more#But it seems sooo intriguing and so shady and I'm so into how two faces or representation of the same Aeon or under the same drive#could approach a similarish issue. Or how could one view the other. And how in general all that will develop#I've been looking forwards to more insight on the Guild/Genius Society confrontation since very early on haha#I am loving Ruan Mei *sighs* deranged#I talk too much
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Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.
Thanks!
It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!
I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)
Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.)
You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.
Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.
Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.
I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.
Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.
Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)
I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.
For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!
Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.
I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.
I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.
I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread.
I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)
Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.
Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.
The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.
You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.
Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)
Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.
For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.
And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.
Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.
Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.
To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.
In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.
Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!
If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.
(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)
Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.
Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!
Edit: Video finished!
youtube
And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.
#ask#buttonholes#sewing#hand sewing#sewing tutorial#I've been procrastinating on the video this week#I want it done! I don't want to work on it I want new projects! I want to cut out more gloves!#currently forcing myself to do the last few buttonholes on these pants and then maybe I can cut out new gloves? as a treat?#but I hope I get some filming done tomorrow too
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love to hate you | jjk [viii]
“when obnoxiously rich and spoiled frat boy jeon jungkook comes up to you one day and asks you to fake date him for money, you definitely should have said no. because before you knew it, you were going on insta dates with him and having lunch with his equally obnoxiously rich and spoiled friends.”
— genre: sexual themes, angst, fluff, fratboy! AU, fake dating! AU, college! AU, rich kid! AU, enemies to lovers! AU
— pairing: jungkook x female reader
— word count: 18.351
— warnings: swearing/cursing, communication skills nowhere to be found, chronic overthinking, emotional rollercoaster, confusingly set during christmas <3
— a/n: and just like that we've crossed 100k !! its here, the big one. by far one of my favourite chapters that ive written so far!! hope you guys enjoy it!! praying yall wont hate me for this one haha once again, this is inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before by Jenny Han!
You didn’t miss the look Chaeyoung and Jisoo exchanged, or the way Hoseok longingly looked after Jimin as he quickly walked away to get everyone some food after you sat down, or how Jimin muttered something about how someone clearly needed something to eat. The comment didn’t bother you because he was right and you could admit as much.
The mall had never been your favourite place to go, and even less so today. The Christmas decoration put up around you seemed overly tacky and in bad taste, and you could have ripped off your ears, sick of listening to the same three Christmas songs over and over again. You closed your eyes that ached from the bright colourful lights, and scrunched your nose when your arm bumped into one of your shopping bags. Your patience hung by a string, the fibers breaking with every passing second. Everything hurt, from your head to your arms and your feet.
Nothing was right, and there seemed to be no end to it.
“Fries?”
Jimin specifially offered them to you, placing two medium plates of golden fries in the middle of the table. You took him up on it, taking two and throwing them into your mouth. The fries were bland and not salty enough but you took three more pieces, shoving your face full. As if the grease and carbs would fix anything.
“Do you wanna try the thrift store that Ji suggested?” Chaeyoung asked, choosing her words carefully, and you cringed, shaking your head.
“No.”
The silence continued, and you didn’t miss the looks your friends exchanged. There was clearly a conversation going on over your head, but you didn’t care, reaching for one fry after the other.
“Y/N, it’s gonna be fine,” Jimin said in the end, putting his arm around your shoulder. Bold, but when was he not. “Don’t be so down. That one dress- the beige one looked great on you!”
“Yeah, but also, they don’t care about what you wear,” Jisoo continued, not allowing you to even begin to disagree.
“And you still have time to find the perfect thing, right? If you do decide that the dress isn’t up to standard. Didn’t you get some stuff online too?” Hoseok asked, trying to get you to look at him, but you just closed your eyes and pulled your lips into a line.
They didn’t get it. But telling them that would be of no use, just like how their words didn’t encourage you the slightest bit.
“I promise you Kook’s parents are really the sweetest people I’ve-”
“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know,” you mumbled, cutting off Jimin. You rubbed your eyes until you saw black spots. With a sigh, you leaned back. “I’ll figure it out, I think.”
There was no confidence in your words. To you, it seemed like your life was about to end, all over a stupid outfit you couldn’t put together. The thought almost made you laugh and cry at the same time. This was as ridiculous as it could get.
“What did Kook say?” Chaeyoung asked, and you frowned.
“About what?”
She blinked at you, her brows creasing together. “Well, have you talked to Kook about any of this? How you’re worried about meeting his parents?”
You pressed your mouth into a line, and you didn’t even know where to begin. It seemed futile to you to explain that you possibly couldn’t tell Jungkook about all of the thoughts suffocating your mind. You would look stupid, like an absolute fool. You would look like you cared, and really, you didn’t. It would weird him out—how much you stressed about it, how much it was on your mind. But then again, really, actually, you didn’t care at all. You just were… especially irritable these days. Hormones were raging—your period, of course, greeting you just a day prior.
“No,” you exhaled, shaking your head. You didn’t know what exactly you were denying—you being stressed about meeting his parents, or you not talking about it to him. Probably both. “He’s busy with his stuff. He’s got a paper to finish- it’s fine.”
And even though you closed your eyes, you knew your friends were looking at each other. There was a carefulness with which they spoke to you, and you did feel bad. Just nothing seemed to lift your spirits.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t been in… a good mood these days,” you told them, getting more annoyed at yourself for being the way you were. You hid your face in your hands. “I don’t know what’s up with me.”
“It’s fine,” Jimin assured you. “We know you’re stressed.”
Jisoo placed an arm around you, leaning her shoulder against yours. She opened her mouth before closing again, ultimately she decided to speak.
“What if… you don’t go?”
“Ji,” Jimin whispered, looking at her as if she had just suggested something criminal.
“I’m just saying— it’s stressing her out so much, maybe she shouldn’t go.” Jisoo shrugged, believing her suggestion to be rather harmless. “She can meet his parents another time, right?”
You looked at her. She grimaced, apologetic, about to backpedal, taking your expression as offence. But you waved her off. Her suggestion was meant well, you knew that. It would also be more than a lie to say you hadn’t thought about it too. Of course, you had. But you couldn’t do it. Not when the image of Narae popped into your mind every time you did consider it.
“Okay, fine,” Jisoo sighed, relenting. “But I’m just saying he’ll understand if you don’t want to go. It’s not like you guys are getting married.”
Chaeyoung mumbled something to her, but you couldn’t hear it. If you had to guess she told her to lay it off, which you were admittedly thankful for.
“I don’t even have gifts,” you groaned, remembering that your outfit wasn’t the only issue plagueing your mind. “Do I bring an actual gifts? Or just wine? Flowers? Something more personal? I don’t fucking know.”
“Do you have to bring them anything?” Hoseok asked, frowning. “I mean yeah, I guess it’s Christmas and you’re meeting them for the first time, but I don’t know, I’m not sure if you have to bring them anything.”
“I don’t think you do. They’re just happy to meet you, I promise,” Jimin said, squeezing your shoulder, but somehow, his answer annoyed you even more. Because what if he was wrong? And they use it as a reason as to why they didn’t like you because you showed up empty handed? Poor and rude? You wouldn’t even take a single step in their home. And even if Jimin was right, that they were just happy to meet you—it seemed even worse. Because all you had to show for yourself to Jungkook’s parents then would be…. yourself.
And what if that wasn’t enough?
You groaned, leaning back again. Everything was making your situation only worse, giving you an even bigger headache, feeding the heavy pit in your stomach. And as you spiraled, you didn’t notice the rather obvious text Chaeyoung send, or the even more obvious way Jimin’s phone lit up on the table to display it, just for him to quickly grab it and start typing. Jisoo leaned over to look, and Chaeyoung quickly mumbled something into Hoseok’s ear. You wouldn’t even notice the way Chaeyoung jumped when you spoke suddenly again,
“Let’s just finish eating and go home. I wanna go home.”
No one protested.
By the end, the fries were gone and the grease had eaten through the recycled brown paper plates, and your mood wasn’t much better, still the same level of annoyance always buzzing in the back of your mind. Grabbing the bags from the various shops you had walked in and out of with your friends today, you made your way out of the mall. Stepping outside, you hugged yourself, the wind harsher than the past few days.
“What way is your car again?” you asked, teeth gritting. Your question was aimed at Chaeyoung, but you didn’t have the nerve to look at her. With the tip of your boot, you scraped against the concret, enjoying the way it rolled back and forth. You lifted your head when no one would answer, confused by the silence.
“Oh, uh,” Chaeyoung began, glancing at Jimin who was typing away on his phone. “Give us… a minute.”
She said it as if it was a question, gesturing for you to wait. You looked over to Jisoo and Hoseok for some sort of explanation, but they both kept their mouths shut.
“Where’s your girlfriend’s car?”
Hoseok blushed, and you knew he still wasn’t used to the development of his and Chaeyoung’s relationship. It was cute, and it did make you smile a little.
“Just tell me.”
You tried nice. Nice didn’t work.
“I-I don’t know.”
You sighed, your hands on your hips, shopping bags knocking on your legs. The cold wavered your voice.
“Ji?”
But rather than even say anything, or make an attempt to stall you, she waved you off, flicking her wrist back and forth. At least, Hoseok and Chaeyoung tried to dismiss you subtly.
“Oh my God, what are you guys looking at? Can we just go home, I’m really cold here and I just wanna-”
“Ah, yes, he’s here!” Jimin exclaimed before slapping his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Oops.”
You stopped, not needing a second to understand. Jisoo punched his arm.
“You texted Jeon?”
If you were upset and annoyed before, you were even more so now. You leaned forward, as if the reality weighed down on you and physically pushed you. Your eyes darted back and forth between your friends before ultimately landing on Jimin, who was shrinking in on himself.
“Are you guys for real?” you hissed, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You could have ripped out your hair. “But why?”
Everyone looked to Chaeyoung. “We- we think it’d be good if you talk to him. You’re clearly stressed about meeting his parents, so why not talk about it?”
She added on a smile, and you closed your eyes, groaning.
“Guys, I’m fine.” You dug your hands through your hair, looking over your shoulder, relieved to see that he was nowhere. “Where is he? Is he here already? Tell him to go home. He has a paper to-”
An arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Go home.”
“Damn, hi, it’s nice to see you too, cabbage,” Jungkook laughed, grinning at you even as you frowned at him. He pinched your nose, and you didn’t even have it in you to swat his hand aside, closing your eyes instead.
“You guys weren’t kidding. She’s in a bad mood.”
Your frown deepened, mouth setting into a thin line. Jungkook squeezed your shoulder, quietly apologising to you for his comment, but his smile remained on his lips.
“Alright, I think—” Chaeyoung hooked her arm into Hoseok’s. “—it’s time to go.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll take her home,” Jungkook said, nodding to confirm his own words. “Get home safe.”
“Great, text us when you get home,” Jisoo said, waving at you. “We love you, Y/N! And oh, nice scarf!”
Jungkook laughed, thanking her.
“Yeah, good luck, Kook! Also love ya, Y/N!” Jimin laughed before taking off, sprinting ahead, scared you might just throw one of your bags after him. (Which you were strongly considering) The others waved you goodbye, and even though you were more than ticked off, you did the same, mumbling a goodbye their way. God knows they had put up with your attitude with enough grace today already. You sighed once they left your sight, shrugging off Jungkook.
You looked at him and your gaze softened, if only a little. Even more so when you saw it, wrapped around his neck so prettily. There was something very messy about him today—his hair not done in its usual way, hanging into his eyes, getting longer each time you saw him, the collar of his coat not folded down properly. If you had to guess, he had walked out the moment he got the text from Jimin. But he had thought of your scarf, looped it around his neck carefully. Looking at him now, out in the cold, you were glad you had invested the time into learning how to knit. The scarf suited him, the red matching him well. You were almost tempted to knit another one, one in every colour.
“You’re wearing the scarf.”
“Of course,” he returned, smiling at you, and you wondered if his cheeks hurt, red from the cold.
The thought embarrassed you. You looked down, returning to rolling the tip of your boot on the conrete, back and forth, back and forth.
“Go home.”
“Okay, yeah, let’s go home together.”
He reached to take the bags from you, but you pulled away, lifting your head. “No, Jeon, go home. I’m fine.”
Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. This wasn’t going to be easy, he realised. “And how will you get home?”
His question made you frown, as if that was the issue at hand right now. You almost scoffed.
“I’ll walk-”
“Right, because walking in the cold is such a good idea, hm?
“Fine, I’ll take the bus.”
“Do you even know where the next bus station is?”
“I can look it up.”
“Or you can just, you know,“ he leaned towards you, and you couldn’t back off, “not be so stubborn and let me just give you a ride home.”
You pursed your lips, shaking your head. Why was he being oh so frustrating? Why couldn’t he make this easy for you? Why wasn’t he at all discouraged by your behaviour? It didn’t make any sense to you. He should be annoyed with you and your attitude, infuriated because you were being difficult for no real reason. And yet, he smiled and laughed at you, showed you patience. It was strange to you, unexpected.
“I never asked you to pick me up.”
It was like you were a goddamn teenager, fighting with her parents, trying your very best to tick them off. It was like you wanted him to be mad at you, and in some ways, in some real ways, maybe you did. You felt sorry for your friends about your attitude, but not with Jungkook somehow. For some reason, you couldn’t extend the same empathy to him. At least not in this moment.
He didn’t say anything, hesitated, his brows creasing together. His eyes darted to the ground before ultimately finding you again, tongue in his cheek, nodding. For a moment, you thought you won, did it.
“Yeah, you didn’t,” Jungkook said, taking one two three steps in your direction, slowly prying the shopping bags from you. “But I’m still here to pick you up.”
And when he met you with a smile, you knew there wasn’t anything you could do. You let your head hang, as tears shot into your eyes. It had never happened before, you were never one quick to cry, but right now you felt like it. You blinked them away, not allowing Jungkook to know.
He took your silence as a sign of defeat, which it was. Very much so. He had won, and you had to admit that you were actually relieved. That he had proven you wrong, that he hadn’t just left after you had repeatedly insisted he should, or gotten annoyed and sick with you.
Jungkook shifted all of the shopping bags into one hand, using his free one to grab yours. Like he would, of course he would, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before putting your hands into his coat pocket to keep warm, together. You could have begun crying again.
“Be a good girlfriend, alright?” he told you, leading you to his car, and you scoffed, hoping your voice didn’t sound as unstable and shaky as you felt.
“Be a good girlfriend?” you repeated, raising a brow. Jungkook was quick to see his mistake and correct himself,
“I mean, let me be a good boyfriend to my girlfriend and pick her up after a—” He hesitated, squinting as if he was searching for the right word. “—fun, right?”
There was something inherently cheeky and smug about Jungkook. But you couldn’t quite take offence to any of it, nodding, even if you knew that today wasn’t the funnest day. (And you were to blame.)
“Fun day at the mall with her friends.”
You pressed your lips together. “But what about your paper?”
He paused and looked at you before shaking his head and laughing. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m almost done. I’ll finish it at your place.”
His hand squeezed yours, and you hated how warm he made you feel. How the warmth spread from your chest to the the tips of your ears and feet. How even if you tried, he remained patient with you. You hated it because it made it so much harder, for you not to fall for him again and again. You hated it because you almost believed him that you could be one of those stupidly in love couples that held hands in their pockets and made each other scarfs.
Jungkook opened the car door for you, and you climbed inside, thankful for the few seconds you had to yourself as he loaded your shopping bag into the trunk. Without a word, he gave you his phone, and by now, you knew the drill.
You unlocked his phone in second before quickly typing in your current location into Google maps. Your address popped up at the top, bookmarked, when you tapped to enter the destination. Handing him his phone back, you wondered what Jungkook’s password meant, 09052020. It seemed so oddly specific, but you didn’t bother asking.
“You should show me what you got.”
The water remained in your mouth a second longer before you swallowed it, slowly screwing the top back on the bottle, eyes set on Jungkook. You shook your head and leaned against your kitchen counter. He was just a few steps away from you, sitting on your couch, taking up all the space, arms spread left and right.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”
He gave you a look, as if to say oh please! His head rolled back for a second.
“I think you should.”
You didn’t respond, pulling your phone out of your pocket instead. Deeming your silence as enough of an answer, you scrolled through your phone, opening the group chat between your friends and you, your feet crossing at your ankle. But before you could even read one text-
“But isn’t that why you were in a bad mood?”
It seemed brave of Jungkook to address it so openly. Or maybe just incredibly honest. You couldn’t do it. He didn’t seem afraid at all that you might just dip back into your bad mood at the mention of it and come out bats swinging. It was admirable in some ways. You didn’t rememeber him to be this confrontative a few months ago when you started this, him and you. He seemed to have found a confidence with you now, convinced he knew the ins and outs of you. Maybe he did. He probably did, in some ways. You couldn’t say if you liked it all that much.
You snorted, an attempt to make light of the situation. “Yeah, so why bring it up again?”
Jungkook reached his hands out to you, a gesture for you to come his way. You thought about it for a moment before abandoning both your phone and the water bottle on the kitchen counter and moving over. He scooted to the edge of your couch to allow you to step between his legs. His hands held yours, thumbs brushing the inner part of your wrist, back and forth.
“My parents don’t care,” he told you, staring up at you with his big eyes, squeezing your hands as he spoke, physically stressing his words. “They really don’t care, I promise you. They’re just excited to meet you. And so am I, excited.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in with you and take effect.
“But I know you care and you’re stressed about it,” Jungkook mumbled, and you couldn’t look at him, eyes finding the floor instead, right where your carpet curled up because sometimes your couch would dig into it and flip it up. It was so very embarrassing that he knew how much you cared. It felt like you were ripping out your heart and letting him inspect it. You wanted to correct him, set the record straight that really, you didn’t care at all whatsoever! but it felt like a cheap attempt, even more humiliating.
“So why don’t you show me?” he asked, shaking your hands to get you to look at him. You didn’t want to but did anyway. His gaze was soft, just like his smile, and his hair fell into his eyes. You brushed it away. It made his smile widen, so much so he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it.
It was sealed for you then.
“Alright, fine,” you sighed, defeated, moving away from him to dig through your shopping bags. “Look away.”
“What? Why?”
“What do you mean?” you frowned. “I’m changing.”
Jungkook’s features morphed from a frown to a smile in a second before he ultimately began laughing. “Are you really gonna be too embarrassed to change in front of me?” He gave you a moment to deny it. “I’ve seen and touched-”
“Oh my God, just turn around,” you hissed, and for some reason, your cheeks were as hot as the sun. “Either that, or I won’t try on anything.”
He exhaled the most dramatic sigh he could, making a point to show you that he even pressed his hands to his eyes. Just for that, you wanted to kick him. But you should have known that Jungkook wasn’t quite done, needing to squeeze in one more comment, purely to annoy you and nothing more. There wasn’t anything serious about it at all, no deeper meaning.
“Are you gonna be like this when we’re married with kids?”
You froze, arms up and your face mushed together by your sweater and half of your body exposed to the naked air with only your bra to show for. He wasn’t serious, you knew. There was lightness and an obvious teasing embedded with his words. You doubted Jungkook even expected a response from you, probably just enjoyed knowing he made you flustered even if he couldn’t see it. And yet, your heart began pounding and your hands sweating and your cheeks burning and your mind reeling for any possible retort you could offer. Before you could stutter something, he spoke again,
“Sorry.”
The smile was evident in his voice, and when you finally peeled off your sweater, you turned out to be right. You shook your head, throwing your sweater at him before you could think better of it. It hit him in the face.
“Ow, cabbage! That’s not fair, I have my eyes-”
“I’m so close to kicking you out, you know?” you mumbled, keeping your voice quiet as if raising it by any means was dangerous. You pulled off your pants and your stockings you had layered underneath for some extra warmth.
“I said I’m sorry, cabbage.”
But Jungkook sounded far from sincere. You didn’t bother responding, grabbing one of the shopping bags and slipping on the sweater you had thrifted. It was off the shoulders and this warm midnight blue colour, rich and beautiful and cozy. You moved to your old dresser and pulled out the black maxi skirt you had thought to combine it with. The outfit was simple, but with the right accesoires (ones you would still have to buy which the thought of it already gave you a headache), it could work. At least, it could in theory because when you looked at yourself in your full body mirror (which you had thrifted when you had first moved in), you frowned.
“Can I look?”
You gave a grunt in response, still looking at your reflection as if you had put together the most hideous outfit possible. It wasn’t much of a yes or no, so for a few seconds Jungkook hesitated, but he slowly peeled his eyes open.
“Oh, cabbage! You look so amazing-”
“No.”
It was as simple as that for you, shaking your head.
“What? But you look-”
“I don’t like it,” you said, already moving to take off the skirt. “Close your eyes.”
You expected some sort of protest from Jungkook, but he actually did as you said. Just as quick as you had decided that the outfit wouldn’t work, you peeled it off of you. You rummaged through your next shopping bags, looking at the pieces you had gotten—a cream knit sweater and white maxi skirt. But all of a sudden, you hated it. You clearly remembered loving the clothes in the store, giving the outfit a couple spins and scrutiniscing it from head to toe until it was deemed worthy of your money. But right now as you looked at it, you felt quite the opposite.
With a sigh, you pulled the last shopping bag towards you. It had the dress your friends had mentioned you should wear. This time, you didn’t inspect it any further, not having the nerve for it. So you just bunched up the fabric and slipped it on. But you didn’t tell Jungkook you were finished changing. Instead you turned and looked at yourself in the mirror first.
Jisoo had found it for you—a maxi slip dress. It was in a beautiful and rich wine red colour, oozing warmth, and soft to the touch. The satin flowed down your body, hugging your curves, and reflecting your dim living room lights like water. Lace was stitched along the neckline, which otherwise probably would have been a little too low given the occasion. The straps securing the dress were tied up into small ribbons around your shoulders, giving it a more dainty and playful look. The slit on the left side reached up until your knee, allowing the fabric to move along with your body in harmony. It was a beautiful dress, made for any occasion with the correct accessoires and styling.
You were objectively and undeniably beautiful in it.
And yet, you stared at yourself as if it wasn’t, brows knitted together and lips pursed in a pout, eyes wandering up and down. It wasn’t insecurity—you felt great and comfortable in the dress. But something about it just wasn’t right. You tried imaging yourself all dolled up in it, hair and makeup done to your liking, but the frown remained. It wasn’t perfect enough.
You shook your head, moving to take it off. When you turned on your heel, you looked straight at Jungkook, and Jungkook looked straight at you. His eyes were big and wide and set on you, his mouth agape and curling up into a smile. You gasped, both in surprise and upset.
“W-why are you looking?” you hissed, feeling the heat crawl up your neck, and you threw your arms around yourself.
“I’m sorry. You- you just took so long, cabbage. And so I looked and…” Jungkook finished his sentence with a simple shrug and smile. You frowned at his answer, shaking your head.
“Close your eyes,” you spat through gritted teeth, turning around to change out of the dress. “I’m changing-”
“What? Why?” Jungkook sounded genuinely confused, jumping up from his seat and moving your way, shaking his head. “You look amazing! Please don’t change. I love this dress on you!”
He stopped short in front of you, turning you around and taking your hands into his.
“This dress suits you so well,” he whispered as if it was some sort of secret. You looked to the mirror behind you, inspected yourself, eyes shooting up and down. Jungkook stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his fingers interlacing in front of the soft of your belly. He pushed you to lean fully against him, his eyes scanning every inch of you.
“You’re so pretty. So very pretty.”
His words tasted like Christmas chocolate, were thick with honey and sugar, stuck to your teeth. They were bad. Horrible. For you and your heart. Because they sounded so very believable.
“You look incredible.”
He finished with a kiss to the back of your head, and you didn’t know where to look. You placed your hands on his, tentatively, and he was quick to take them into his, scoop them up and hold them tight. He had to know, you thought to yourself, how hard your heart was beating.
“Don’t you like it?”
You met his gaze in the mirror, mouth settled into a line.
“I like the dress,” you said, tilting your head.
“But?”
“I don’t like it for…”
“Meeting my parents?” Jungkook supplied when you wouldn’t finish your sentence, and you didn’t answer, averting your gaze instead. “What do you not like about it?”
You closed your eyes, feeling so very silly. Because you couldn’t say. You didn’t know. There shouldn’t be anything to dislike about the dress, nothing about it was wrong—you loved every little detail, and even more how you felt in it.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think my opinion really matters here,” Jungkook laughed, and you peeled your eyes open, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips. He was annoying. Just couldn’t provide you with a simple answer when he even has already voiced his thoughts. “But I think you look really pretty in this dress.”
You scrunched your nose. “How pretty?”
“So pretty I wouldn’t mind going blind now.”
You smiled, no, grinned. He was so stupid.
“So pretty I can’t believe you don’t like it.”
You tilted your head to the side.
“So pretty I don’t want you to ever take it off again.”
He pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder, nose burying into your hair, words mumbled into your skin, and hands beginning to wander further south, scrunching the fabric. You let him.
”So pretty I want to take a picture of you and print it out and hang it up above my bed and also keep another one in my wallet and change my background picture to-”
“O-okay, enough!” you said, pushing him away from you because your limbs were beginning to tingle and burn, and his touch was sending shocks through your entire body. Even more so, his hands were beginning to go to places he shouldn’t, not right now at least. You made sure to keep him at an arm’s length, palm pressing into his chest, in fear he’d simply close the distance if you didn’t physically stop him.
“You’re so ridiculous, Jeon,” you said, shaking your head, laughing a little. “You can never be serious, can you?”
“But I am! I’m very serious! Looking at you makes me wanna-”
You were quick to shake your head, hands pressing to your ears because no no no, you didn’t want to know! All while you were smiling, grinning almost. Without realising it, Jungkook had done the impossible—lifted your mood, made you laugh when you felt irritated and annoyed by everything before.
“Fine, I won’t tell you!” Jungkook sighed, dramatically rolling his eyes. You looked at him, lowering your hands, your smile cemented on your lips.
“You’re so stupid, Jeon,” you mumbled, scrunching your nose, and he gasped in faux upset.
“That’s so mean, cabbage!”
“Oh, just shut up.”
Jungkook slung his arms around your middle, doing so before you could even think to stop him. His chin dropped to your shoulder, hands scopping up yours again and eyes meeting in the mirror.
“So, what do we think?”
You raised a brow. “Now, it’s we? I thought your thoughts didn’t matter-”
He sighed, closing his eyes for a second. “Fine, what do you think?”
And you inspected yourself again, gaze wandering up and down. You didn’t know what it was, but the dress seemed different now. It was still the same fabric, same cut, nothing had changed, but you remembered why you had bought the dress, why you had taken Jisoo up on her offer to try it on when she had shown it to you. Because it was beautiful, even more so with you in it.
“Is this the dress?” Jungkook whispered into your ear, and you knew he was hoping for a yes.
You tilted your head to the side, heart beating faster when you opened your mouth. Because yes, it was. The dress, choosing it, it was another step closer to meeting Jungkook’s parents, another hurdle out of the way. Your eyes met his in the mirror, his face so close to yours. The two of you standing there together, you almost could convince yourself you were an actual couple.
“Yeah, it is.”
He beamed, tightening his arms around you, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Okay, good, I’m glad.”
You lowered your gaze, and you wondered if he maybe feared you wouldn’t go because you couldn’t find anything to wear. If maybe that was the reason for why he came so quickly because he didn’t want you to use that excuse. Because otherwise he would have to explain to his precious and perfect parents why his girlfriend refused to meet them-
“How does the 22nd sound to you by the way?” Jungkook asked, pulling you out of your trains of thoughts, almost as if he knew. He mumbled the words into your skin, and you felt every move of his lips. “To meet my parents, I mean.”
Just eight days.
“Y-yeah, that… should work,” you returned, breathless and high pitched, eyes finding the floor. He stared at you in the reflection, nudging you to do the same. You hesitated, but did as he said, breath hitching in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you, oh so sincere and genuine.
“It’s gonna be fine.”
There was something assuring about the way he said it. If anyone elses told you these words, it would do you no good, bring you no relief. But when he did, it did. It was silly really.
“I promise you.”
“Yeah, really, Jeon?” you laughed shallowly, tucking a strand behind your ear and swallowing. “You promise me?”
And as if looking at your mere reflection just wasn’t enough for him, Jungkook turned you around by your hips, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“I promises you, cabbage. I won’t leave you for one second, alright? Hell, I will drive you there and home again, okay? I’ll be there with you for every second of the day, from the moment you wake up to the moment you go back to bed, glued to your side, so much so you’ll be so annoyed by me that you’ll want me gone. You won’t even go the bathroom on your own, okay?” He paused for a second, scrunching his nose. “I’ll make sure you will have the most non awkward but perfect and fun evening possible.”
His phrasing made you laugh, ebbed the waves of anxiety crashing onto your mind over and over again when you thought a little too much about the next week. His parents, him and you, in one room.
“It’s gonna be great.”
Jungkook smiled at you, a little too bright and too wide. You returned it to the best of your abilities, letting him pull you back into a hug, eyes falling shut.
“Okay, I believe you,” you told him, hearing his heart beating in his chest. “For once.”
He tightened his arms around you.
(“Do you think it will have snowed by then?” he asked you when the intro to the new episode of Avatar began playing on his laptop. You looked up, eyes catching his, your head rested against his chest and his arms around you.
“What?”
“By the 22nd I mean. Do you think it will have snowed by then?”
You frowned, thinking of the last few winters. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
He thought about your answer for a few more seconds, looking off to the side before returning your gaze. “I hope. I’d like to spend a proper white Christmas with you.”
“Pray to the Gods then,” you said. “Chances aren’t so good.”
The past few years it had always only snowed in January.
“Oh, I do, every day,” Jungkook laughed, and you hummed, focusing back on the episode and missing the way his gaze softened at your sight.)
“Okay, so I’ll be back right before New Year,” Chaeyoung said, giving her calendar one last look before snapping it close again. “Who of us is gonna be here?”
Hoseok and you both let out affirmative noises, and Jimin raised his hand in a yes as well, mouth stuffed with his sandwich. You scooted closer to the table to let a guy squeeze through as he made his way to the lunch table with his friends, a tray full of bland and dry cafeteria food.
“I’m not sure yet,” Jisoo said, taking a handful of grapes from her purple grape shaped lunch box and plopping each one into her mouth. “My sister asked if I wanted to celebrate New Year’s with her. But maybe she’ll go over to her girlfriend’s. She isn’t sure yet. I’ll text you guys?”
“I’ll be here the entire holidays,” Namjoon sighed. “I still have finals.”
“Ah, I’m sorry,” you said, offering him a smile. He waved you off, mumbling something about how at least he was almost finished up with it all.
“Well, at least we will be spending New Year’s together, right?” Jimin said with a smile.
You took a sip from your green tea, needing warmth because your University never turned on the heaters, preferring their students to freeze. Where did your tuition money go?
“Okay, but how about Christmas eve for everyone else? When are you guys heading back home again?” Hoseok asked, shovelling his protein oatmeal into his mouth. “You’re going tonight, right, Ji? With Jennie?”
“Yeah, our train’s booked for 8 pm.”
“I’ll go on the 23rd,” Jimin said, and Chaeyoung echoed the same.
“You’re going tomorrow, right?” she asked Hoseok, and he nodded. “When are you meeting Kook’s parents again, Y/N? The 22nd?”
“Yeah.” You played with the lip of your paper cup, feeling the warmth of your tea. Your heart grew a little heavier, scared one of them would ask when you’d go meet your parents. Because you weren’t, at least not on Christmas eve. Both of them had to work, unable to take a day off. It was an irrational fear, you were aware. Because your friends knew that very well. They’d never ask, but your heart didn’t understand.
“That’s- oh my God, that’s in four days, huh?” Jisoo gasped, and the horror and terror gripping you must have reflected on your face because she was quick to interject. “Oh, sorry. No, it’s gonna be great, Y/N. I don’t know why I said that. That was stupid.”
“You’re still anxious about it, huh?” Hoseok mumbled, and though he worded it like a question, all of you knew the answer.
“Hard not to be,” you said, voice a little short and curt. “It comes in… waves.”
Namjoon patted your shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”
Chaeyoung reached for your hand, squeezing it. “Yeah, I’m sure. We’re all gonna be there for you if it does somehow go wrong—which I highly, highly doubt might I add.”
“Well, not Jisoo. She’s gonna be home, busy showing off her Jennie,” you joked, trying to make light of the situation but it sounded just slightly off.
“What? I can’t be there for you from home?” Jisoo gasped, and before you could question how she’d do that, she continued. “I’m there for you too, telepathically! Jennie too! In your heart! Always! Over the phone! Don’t doubt us!”
You laughed a little, mouthing an apology.
“But you definitely won’t need us,” Jimin said. “Because it’s gonna be fine. Especially because Kook’s gonna make sure of it, okay?”
Before you could return something, your eyes were drawn to the doors.
Oh.
Your friends followed your gaze.
Jungkook had his backpack strapped to his shoulder and the red scarf wrapped around his neck. It shouldn’t be possible. You were technically too far for you to properly see, but you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the strain in his nape, the deep knit between his brows. He was…. annoyed. It was new to you. For a moment, you almost expected to find Narae walking behind him, bugging him, hot on his trail. It would explain it to you, and you would just simply walk over there and pull him to your table. Just like that, you would ease the knit between your brows, take the tension out of his shoulders and neck-
But it wasn’t Narae.
It was Taehyung.
He said something to Jungkook that made him roll his eyes. Jungkook didn’t seem to want to respond, shaking his head and waving his hand around, an attempt to end the conversation. But Taehyung wasn’t so kind, going on, even taking hold of his shoulder.
“Someone is in a mood,” Namjoon mumbled, cringing.
“What are they talking about, Y/N?” Jimin asked, looking at you, and you stared right back at him, frowning.
“How would I know?”
“You’re his girlfriend.”
“So?”
“Go find out.”
“What? I just walk up to them and say,” you raised your voice a few pitches, “‘Oh my God, hi, you guys are clearly fighting. Care to share?’ Is that what you want?”
Jimin blinked, shrugging. “Sure, that would work.”
“You’re so ridiculous, Jimin,” you hissed, touching a hand to your forehead. “That wouldn’t work.”
“Of course, it would. Kook’s absolutely obsessed-”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Chaeyoung hissed, slapping Jimin. “They’re looking!”
“You guys are always so loud,” Hoseok sighed, and you sent him a glare because no, you don’t! It’s just Jimin!
But they were right. Taehyung and Jungkook were both looking at you, their conversation having come to an end. When you met his gaze, Jungkook’s face contorted into something else, features twitching. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it wasn’t the usual. He didn’t soften in the way you were used to when he would see you. And when you tried a smile, Jungkook struggled to return it. You felt shot, and your smile faltered.
But Jimin didn’t sense it at all, wildly waving his hand around, gesturing for the two to come this way. And as if it wasn’t more obvious, he yelled it too, “Hey, Tae and Kook! Come join us!”
Jisoo sighed, “He’s such an idiot.”
Chaeyoung and Hoseok shrugged, as if to say well, it’s Jimin. They were right, it was just Jimin being himself, unaware and impulsive. Namjoon didn’t have any words, shaking his head.
Jungkook and Taehyung looked at each other, exchanging a few words before the latter glanced at his watch and shook his head. He had to go. Taehyung placed his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, whispering something into his ear. You must have imagined it but it looked like he glanced in your direction. But before you could think about it, Taehyung headed in the same direction he had previously come from, and Jungkook slowly made his way over, not meeting your eyes once.
“What were you arguing about?” Jimin asked when Jungkook stood in front of you, and you watched him grip the strap of his backpack, the skin over his knuckles stretching thin.
“Jimin!” Jisoo hissed, punching him.
“Ow!”
“Right, yeah, of course, you’d ask,” he smiled. “It’s fine.”
Jungkook said it with a laugh, but it was all wrong.
“We weren’t arguing.”
And as if it wasn’t enough, Jungkook put on his brightest and biggest smile. He showed it to everyone. Like a stone plunged into the deep sea, your heart sank. You had seen it before, that smile. It had decorated his lips during the Halloween party when you first walked in, or when you had first hurt his feelings while you had gone costume shopping.
Namjoon and you looked at each other shortly, both of you sensing it.
“Is everything-”
“Well, it looked like you were,” Jimin mumbled, accidentally interrupting Namjoon. He waited for Jungkook to budge and cave under his gaze, but when he wouldn’t, he shrugged. “Come sit.”
Maybe he could feel your burning gaze on him, but Jungkook finally glanced in your direction. If only for a second, so very brief. But it dug into your heart and split it open, gutted you and left you utterly empty. You had seen him just yesterday, picked out your dress together, parted ways this morning a few hours ago, and now he seemed like another person. He looked so sad, sad in a way you hadn’t seen before. You didn’t think that any emotion close to that had ever crossed his features, not in your presence at least. It was so new and surprising to you—because somehow in your mind, you had forgotten he had the ability to feel… upset—you froze.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Jungkook said, nailing that same smile back onto his lips as before. “But I’ll see you guys around.”
And before any of you could protest, he was gone, back turned to your table and heading into the crowd.
“Well, that was… weird,” Chaeyoung said, pointing out the elephant in the room. And as if she had said your name, everyone turned to you for some kind of answer.
You blinked back at them. “Yeah, I-I don’t know.”
There was another beat of silence before ultimately your friends shrugged.
“Maybe it’s just not a good day?” Hoseok proposed, and they were all quick to agree, moving on. And though you didn’t voice it, you knew it wasn’t that. It couldn’t just be that.
You knew it was about you. It had to be. Taehyung had glanced at your direction. You hadn’t imagined it, that much you were sure of. And the fact Jungkook hadn’t been able to look at you cemented it for you. Your heart quickened, a certain question coming to the front of your mind.
What if Jungkook didn’t want you to meet his parents anymore?
Maybe it had finally clicked with him—what it meant if you met his parents. How ridiculous it was. Because you weren’t his girlfriend. It was his parents after all. How stupid all of it was actually. Not just you meeting his parents, but the entire contract you had. How far it had gone, too far.
You pressed your lips together, a knot forming in your throat. Maybe he didn’t know how to tell you now. Maybe you should be prepared for the very worst. Maybe this was it. Impact incoming! The fall was nearing its end, your end.
Your hands began shaking, curling around the edge of the table for stability. Panic built up within you, panic that really shouldn’t build up at all, you knew. Your friends blurred into an incohesive mess in front of you.
Oh God.
You didn’t see Jungkook for the rest of the day, or the one after that. In fact, you didn’t hear from him at all, until almost two days later. Maybe you should have reached out first—you did think about it. But you simply couldn’t, your hands shaking whenever you’d open your chat with him, your old messages staring back at you almost mockingly. Because what if he told you he wanted to end it? What if this was how it would end because you couldn’t wait and recklessly send a message?
There was a few seconds of silence, the sound of his breathing coming in through unsteadily. You gripped your phone tighter.
“Hey.”
Jungkook still sounded the same, and for some reason, you were surprised. Why you expected him to sound different, you didn’t know.
“Hi,” you returned, swallowing because it was your voice, in fact, that sounded odd. At least it did to you. You cleared your throat.
Usually, he’d make some joke, ask you about your day, how you were doing, where you were, if you had watched the videos he’d sent you yet, eaten already. Usually, your conversation would be much lighter, easier. Right now, you felt the air hanging between you, pulling your legs closer to your chest as you waited and waited. He had called you, he would have to speak first.
“I’m sorry I didn’t join you guys for lunch the other day,” Jungkook mumbled, and you closed your eyes.
“It’s alright,” you said, a waver to your voice and you couldn’t decide if it was because you felt cold, even though you were tucked into your bed, or because you felt uncertain of it all, like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, the deep sea awaiting you on the other side, waves crashing up on you.
Neither of you said anything.
Your throat grew dry, the questions coming back up again within you. Was he going to tell you over the phone? That he didn’t want you to meet his parents anymore. Maybe even that he wanted to call this entire thing off. That he’d realised this wasn’t worth it anymore, doing all of this to win a stupid bet he’d made with Taehyung months ago. It had gotten too exhausting, you had gotten too exhausting for him. Let’s just end it here, tell everyone you’d just fallen out of love. Hell maybe he’d be even willing to tell everyone the truth, how they’d been fooled. It had all been an act! How fun! How could you all think he was in love with-
“Everything’s alright.”
You paused. “What?”
“I-” Jungkook faltered, letting out a laugh. It came through oh so light and clear. Just not quite genuine. Or maybe you were imagining it, your mind dissecting every of his words. “I’m just trying to say- things are alright. It’s gonna be okay.”
And for some reason, you knew the words weren’t meant to reassure you. But him. He needed it right now, more than you. You blinked, nodded as if he could see.
“Yeah, everything’s alright,” you repeated, quietly. “It’s gonna be okay.”
What exactly he referred to, you weren’t sure. And you weren’t going to ask. He’d tell you when he wanted you to know, when he was ready. Truth be told, you weren’t even entirely sure if you were ready for it, couldn’t say either where your confidence that it’d be alright came from.
“It will, right?” he laughed again, that same laugh. It came through now, the tinge of uncertainty swinging with his voice.
You added a small smile, reassurance. “Of course, it will. Always has.”
Jungkook waited a beat, thought about it for a second. “Yeah, no, yeah you’re right.”
And then, you both went back to silence again. You were the one to break it, doing so before you could think better of it and retreat. The question slipped so quickly past your lips, came out of you with the answer to it packaged within already. For once, you dared something, held out your heart.
“Do you want to come over?”
The question seemed alright at first. He’d tell you he was already on his way, in fact. Had you not heard the engine this entire time? Actually, look outside! How silly of you, he had gotten you again. You’d laugh, buzz him up while telling him how annoying he was. He’d fall into your arms, coat and scarf and shoes still on. There’d be no time for you to tell him to at least take off his shoes because he’d knock you over with his entire weight. But you’d hold him up, if not barely and struggling heavily. You’d do it, and you’d do it with a smile. He’d press a kiss to your lips and ask you again if things would just be fine. And you’d do the same as you did on the phone, like a good girlfriend does, you’d reassure him over and over again until you’d be too tired and fall asleep together. Things would truly be alright, you’d meet his parents and maybe resolve it all. Maybe he and you could be something, more. Maybe he meant it, all of it, the gestures and words and kisses. He and you, together, it could be possible-
“I’m sorry—” You wanted him to stop then. He didn’t need to elaborate. It was enough. You bit down on your tongue, hard. “I’m… just really tired today.”
Jungkook hesitated, spoke slowly, and you wanted to laugh it off, tell him it was alright and to go to sleep, but your throat knotted into a terrible mess.
He didn’t want you to meet his parents.
“Hm.”
It was the only response you could offer. Because if you spoke, he would know, and he couldn’t know—the tears that shot into your eyes.
You pressed your hand to your mouth, and wondered if your reassurance had done anything at all. If not actually you had needed it, even more than he did.
“I think- classes was exhausting, so yeah. You know, right? So I’m gonna go to bed now,” Jungkook said, and you nodded, as if he could see you, and if you checked, you’d realise it was just eight. You bit your tongue harder.
He never liked you.
“Okay,” you squeaked out, your voice a few pitches too high. He had to know, you were sure of it. Anyone would know, even a drunk Jimin could figure it out. It was blatantly obvious, and you pressed your hand harder against your mouth, scared as you awaited what he’d say. You wouldn’t know how to answer his questions if he asked you why you cried. It would be utterly humiliating to admit why—that you knew you never meant anything to him beyond what you’d agreed upon, but that he did to you. So much, in fact.
“Goodnight-”
You ended the call, your phone displayed his name for a few more seconds before you tossed it aside, uncaring that it bounced off your bed and you’d have to look for it later on the floor. A part of you wanted to laugh, outright laugh out loud, laugh so loud because maybe it would drown it out. Because were you not just silly? Stupid? Even more so for the tears that rolled down your face and stained your duvet three shades darker. Clear evidence of your silliness, your delusion, your unwavering and foolish hope.
It embarrassed and humiliated you, how quickly the tears came, how his words had crashed onto you, ship-wrecked you, buried you under. His words hurt, and his dismissal even more. Two words had been enough, had pierced your heart and left you tiptoeing a cliff. Jungkook had more power than you thought he did, power he shouldn’t be holding over your head and heart to begin with. Power he shouldn’t have because you didn’t have it over him.
A text awaited you one morning, just a day before the 22nd.
[Jeon - 07:01 AM] : can i come over later tonight?
And a text was all it took.
Jungkook was not even a second late. Someone was in a hurry to get this over with, it almost made you laugh. Your doorbell rang the moment the clock turned seven. Still, you shrieked, hesitated, stared at your front door like you hadn’t known he’d come, like you hadn’t expected him to come.
You busied yourself with your phone, swiping back and forth, as he climbed up the stairs, your back turned to the door. You just couldn’t watch as he stepped inside. This was it. He’d tell you that he’d realised this had gotten too far, out of hand. You wouldn’t have to meet his parents tomorrow, you had done your part. He’d thank you, assure you he’d break the news to your friends and take the blame. It’d be alright, you wouldn’t have to do anything. And just like before you had ever talked to Jungkook at the vending machine, you’d go your own ways.
His steps grew louder, echoed less and less until he was inside. A draft pulled through your small flat as he shut the door behind you, quiet but final. You shivered and turned off your phone, heart heavy in your chest as you prepared yourself to turn around and face him. You had thought about it all day, agonised how it’d be like to see him again the past week, how you’d handle this, how you could retain just a bit of your pride at the end of this. The scenario played over and over again in your mind—you’d look at him with a smile, tell him you understood perfectly and he didn’t need to explain. It had been stupid anyway, fun but stupid. Both of you knew this wasn’t anything really, it would come to an end. You didn’t mind it at all.
“You know, it’s alright, Jeon. I know what you wanna-”
Jungkook wrapped his arms around you with his coat and scarf and shoes on. He pressed you to his chest, held you even tighter when you hesitated to return his hug, as if he needed to physically feel you, be sure you were there.
You hadn’t seen him all week, and all of a sudden, you didn’t know what to do around him anymore.
“Jeon?”
“Can you hug me?” he asked you, voice barely above a whisper, and though you had been so sure about what would happen just seconds ago, pictured how your conversation would go, you realised you knew nothing at all. You did as he said, putting your arms around his middle and squeezing as tightly as you could, holding your breath even.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like this, but when you pulled away, Jungkook looked at you in a way you had never seen. He took your hands into his.
“I’m sorry, cabbage,” he began, and in the dim light, you could see his eyes glaze over. “I don’t know what’s been going on with me for the past week.”
He paused, breathed in deeply, looked to the side before returning his gaze to you.
“I think- there’s just been a lot on my mind, and I had to figure it out first, I think,” he continued. “I-I don’t think I fully have, but I will, soon.”
You looked at him, silent for a few seconds before you nodded, brushing your thumbs over the inside of his wrists.
“That’s okay,” you told him, giving him a smile. “It’s fine. I understand.”
Truth be told, you didn’t know where you took your words from, where you dug up that reassurance again. Because you’d felt the opposite for the past week. It’d been a horrible week for you, sleepless and anxious.
You’d been tiptoeing a thin line, wondering every second when exactly this would blow over, just how close you were to impact, when your fall would end. Would it be a text? A call? Would he just show up to your doorstep unannounced one evening after you had come back from exhausting classes and do it then? Or would it be Jimin who’d relayed the messages? Would he not tell you at all, deeming not worth the effort even? So, it had been nice to be told the truth—that things had been confusing for Jungkook and he hadn’t figured out how to navigate it all—and yet you weren’t sure if it was enough for you, if it qualmed your worries.
“I’m really sorry, cabbage,” Jungkook repeated, and you wondered what he was so sorry for that he needed to apologise twice. If maybe you were right. Why else would he feel so apologetic? Was the ending coming and he just needed some more time to figure out the order of his words, unable to bring it over his heart?
You should ask him if the things plaguing his mind was how to end this. You should, really. Regardless of the answer, it would free you, however painful it might just be. You’d find peace. Maybe you feared the pain too much, the tears that would run down your face, the embarrassment that would rip you into pieces, or maybe you didn’t care enough for yourself to find out the truth, but you didn’t ask.
Your smile grew bigger, and you didn’t know who you were fooling, him or you. “Don’t be. It’s okay, Jeon.”
Jungkook took your face into his hands, staring into your eyes, looking so intensely at you like he’d never before. He was searching something, and you weren’t sure if he found it, if you held whatever he looked for at all.
“It’ll be fine,” you said, and this was for you, not him.
“It’ll be fine,” he repeated, nodding, and as he leaned closer to you, you wondered if the same would apply tomorrow. When you’d meet his parents, stand in front of them. When they’d scrutinise every little detail about you and come to their conclusion on who you were before you could even open your mouth and utter your name.
You let Jungkook pull you into a kiss, returned it with the same intensity. Both of you needed it right now. What exactly you offered each other, you couldn’t pinpoint. But it was enough to silence your mind and his too.
When his hands wandered, so did yours. He pushed you to your bed, and you let your mattress catch your fall. Your sweater landed on your floor, and soon the rest of your clothes followed. His coat and the scarf you had made him found its place at the foot of your bed. He struggled for a bit to kick off his boots before ultimately stumbling out of them.
Jungkook pressed kisses from your lips to your ear down to your neck and collarbone. Slowly, they wandered further down and down, stopping as he paid extra attention to the places he learned you liked, made your back arch in his favourite way and your breath hitch so beautifully in your throat. Soon, you were pleading with the Gods above, curling your hands around your duvet as Jungkook familiarised himself with you again. His hands pried you open, splitting you into two again and again, bringing you high above. You returned the favour, listened as he found religion through you, drawing out his relief until he needed your lips on his instead. By now, you knew him blindly, your hands finding the sensitive parts of him even as he carved his way back to yours.
“I’ve missed you,” Jungkook mumbled into your ear when he began moving, and you smiled, wrapped your arms around him. So had you.
“Me too,” you returned, your hips finding a steady rhythm together. He pressed kisses to your skin, hands holding you oh so tightly like he usually would. But he hadn’t said it, hadn’t told you for the entire week, not even now when he would on any other day—that he loved you—and so maybe that was why you fell asleep with an uneasy heart.
Had he not promised? That he’d be there for every second of the day, from the moment you woke up to the moment you went back to bed, glued to your side until you were sick of him? Was that not what he had said, the words he assured you with? So how was it that you awoke alone, like you had been for the entire past week, without him?
Jungkook wasn’t here, and yet you looked around your home like he could be hidden in some corner. He didn’t like you anymore, you were sure. Why would he? He never did to begin with. Probably regretted this more than anything else, realised just how exhausting it was to be with you. It wouldn’t be worth it. His parents wouldn’t like you, tell him that he could do better. He’d agree- actually he knew that already. Yesterday night had been a mistake, just like all the other times had been. He and you weren’t the same, never could be. Just like two mismatching puzzle pieces, you’d never make a whole picture together. You’d been right, of course. Jungkook could never like you, never saw you as anything more than a paw in this stupid cruel game between Taehyung and you. And you had been played, over and over again. How stupid of you. Foolish! This-
The blaring of your alarm brought you back to reality, the sound filling your ears. You had forgotten to turn it off. You reached for your phone, shutting it off but before you could toss it aside, you saw it. It made you pause, his name atop of your notifications. A voice memo, just over two minutes. Like it had been all you had been looking for, you hurriedly unlocked your phone. You were about to hit start, when you paused, your thumb hovering just above it. Because it could be anything—a simple breakfast run, or a goodbye. A pit grew in your stomach, and you wished he had just left you a clue about what he’d be saying in it. Your chest webbed tightly with anxiety, a rollercoaster in your throat.
You took in a deep breath, bracing yourself, eyes closed as you hit play. Whatever it might be, you’d be fine, somehow, you hoped.
“Hey, I’m so sorry—” Your chest felt so hollow, his voice unsteady. He was running, the wind blowing up the audio. He sounded far away, you had to strain to hear him properly, your phone on maximum volume. “—I know I promised to be there when you’d wake up, but—”
But I just couldn’t do this any longer. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I just didn’t know how to. I’m sorry.
“—my mom called me. She’s having an emergency with her car, and now she’s stuck in- actually, I don’t know where, but I’m on my way there to jumpstart her car. And I thought about waking you up for it, but that felt mean and you looked so peaceful, I just couldn’t. But- it’s so cold, oh my God. Listen, I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’m gonna hurry, okay? So just wait for me, alright? I’ll be there, I promise.”
You heard the door of his car open and close. The wind cut out, and all of a sudden it was quiet. There was ruffling, Jungkook took his phone closer to his face. He sighed, and you could see him right in front of your eyes—sitting there in his car, hair a mess on his head, as he closed his eyes to find his words, a knit between his brows.
“I’m really sorry, cabbage,” he began again. “Both for leaving now because I know I had promised I’d be there, and… again for the past week. I know I’ve been shit, and I know you’ve been confused and- I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair at all-”
Neither had you however, you realised as you listened to him talk. Of course, Jungkook had only left because his mother needed his help. How could you assume the worst of him after everything? When he was so good and kind? Had been all this time to you?
“But we will figure this out, okay?”
Jungkook paused again. You pulled your legs to your chest, burying your face into your knees, teeth sinking into your tongue.
“Let’s talk about this after today. But it’s gonna be fine. Like you said it would.”
You had lied.
“What am I talking about?” He let out a small laugh, and you knew he was shaking his head at himself. “It’s already fine.”
You felt like a traitor. You were terrible.
“I’ll be back to pick you up, okay? So just wait for me. I hope I can get to you by two the latest. I hope it won’t take too long to figure it all out. You know, I actually don’t know how to jumpstart a car, so I really don’t know why my mom called me.”
He laughed again, and you didn’t think you could ever get the sound out of your mind. It was so pretty and melodic, so good and precious.
“Well, anyway, I gotta get going, but I can’t wait for tonight already. I miss you.”
You missed him too, loved him even. Did he? Could he? Could you?
It was cowardly of you, hypocritical actually. But you couldn’t do it differently, didn’t have the courage to look at Jungkook and say it. The words wouldn’t leave you, you were certain, if you stood in front of him. He deserved more than a text, but more than that he deserved the truth. And the truth was you couldn’t do this, any of it in fact, not anymore. Couldn’t meet his parents, or even pretend to be his girlfriend any longer, not in good conscience. It had to end.
Your thumbs shook as you slowly found the right letters, strung together the words and sentences. You hit delete every other word, barely getting a paragraph together in almost an hour. Because worst of all, even as you tried to offer some honesty, you knew you couldn’t offer it entirely to him, couldn’t let Jungkook know just how exactly you felt, how deeply you had plunged into love with him.
I’m sorry, Jeon, but I don’t think I can keep this going any longer. I know I said I’d meet your parents, but I think we’re just going a little too far by doing that. I hope you understand. I know I’m not fulfilling our contract and you’ll lose your bet with Taehyung and I’m really sorry, so I’ll just wire back all the money. I never touched it anyway.
You were about to finish off the paragraph, deciding that any wishes for your future relationship as friends would be too much to ask for, thumb sliding over the glass, when your phone lit up, buzzing and ringing. And right just then, you accepted the call, your heart dropping in your chest. Your stomach twisted terribly because you couldn’t do this. How could you? Hear his voice, talk to him as if you weren’t just about to call this entire thing off over text? How could you pretend it was all fine when you’d felt gutted for the entire week?
“Hey,” Jungkook greeted you, oh so unaware. You could hear the harsh wind coming through the speaker. “I’m sorry—”
You wished he’d stop apologising. If he just knew what you’d been thinking of him for the past few days, all the assumptions you had made about him and his character, his parents too.
“—but looks like I won’t make it by two.”
There was a sigh, and you let the silence usher Jungkook to keep on speaking, knowing your voice would merely betray you.
“I tried to jumpstart the car, but yeah, it didn’t work out. We called some people now and seems like we’re gonna have to have the car towed and fixed at the shop.”
The frustration bled through in Jungkook’s voice. It was obvious. He had spent all morning trying desperately to fix his mom’s car in the freezing cold, and now it had come to this.
“We called my dad. He’s on his way here because I still need to go back to my parents and take a shower. It’s gonna take some time—the drive to my parents, the shower and then the drive to your place—so I definitely won’t make it by two. But I should be at your place by three the latest though, I hope that’s fine?”
You closed your eyes, wondered just what exactly you were supposed to say. And so, for a while you didn’t as you gathered yourself.
“Cabbage? Are you there? Can you hear-”
“Y-yeah.” You chewed on your lip, took a few more seconds before speaking. “You… don’t have to come-”
“What? No, I promised you I’d drive you. Let me at least do that,” Jungkook insisted, and you hoped he’d just understand. How direct did you have to be?
“It’s fine, you don’t have to,” you tried, but to no avail.
He snorted. “Cabbage, I’m driving you. No matter what. My dad’s almost here. You won’t have to wait long. I’ll probably be at your place before three actually. I shower quickly!”
You pressed your hands to your eyes until dark spots appeared, shaking your head. Why couldn’t he just understand?
A lump knotted your throat shut, your voice wavering as you began speaking, “I-I think we should just-”
“Ah, my dad’s here! I gotta go, cabbage. But please just wait, I’ll be there soon, okay? Can’t wait to see you! It’s gonna be great. You’re gonna charm their asses off, okay?”
And before you could even protest, confess to Jungkook that you couldn’t do any of this, he had hung up. You stared as your phone displayed your lockscreen before ultimately turning black, leaving you with your reflection.
You caught yourself in your mirror, realising how puffy your eyes were. It was blatantly obvious you had cried. You were a mess, in no state to meet anyone’s parents, no less Jungkook’s perfect parents. But now you couldn’t even get yourself out of this anymore, not when you had heard his excitement again. How could you disappoint him?
Just one more day. You’d do it for one more day, him and you. You’d just get today over with, that much you owed him, and then you’d sit him down to break it all off.
The dress was still oh so beautiful on you, harmonised perfectly with the white cropped cardigan you had picked out for today because it was, indeed, cold like Jungkook had said it was, and you really didn’t want to freeze. Your hair remained the same as always. You had thought about changing it, but decided in the end that at least your hair should be the way you were used to. Same with your jewellery, the same few pieces you wore every day adorning you today too. You kept the makeup minimal, and still it took you ages to get it done, hands shaky as you carefully drew on eyeliner and curled your lashes.
Looking at yourself you wondered if it was enough to fool everyone, yourself possibly even that you were perfectly fine, that you fit to Jungkook, that he and you could be something more, that your background was the same as theirs, that you were just another Narae, well-off and well-travelled.
But your doubts and worries had no time to brew, your doorbell announcing Jungkook. Shrugging on your coat and slipping into the pair of black kitten heels you had borrowed from Chaeyoung, you gave yourself one more look in the mirror. You looked beautiful, you knew that. Everything about you looked so close to perfect, and yet, you felt the opposite. Today was the last time for Jungkook and you, and just the thought made you want to cry.
You shook your head, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting any longer. It was truly cold, and you regretted your choice of shoes the moment you stepped outside, cursing yourself. The wind snaked up your legs. Maybe if you knew that this wasn’t going to be your last day together as a pretend couple, you would have run up and changed. But more than ever before, you wanted to look your best today. Because at the very least, however today might end (badly), you looked good.
Jungkook agreed, face lighting up the moment he laid his eyes on you. You tried your very best to return your smile. He looked oh so good too, wondering if he matched you on purpose. His sweater was the same deep rich red as yours, a white turtleneck layered underneath. He paired it off with some black slacks and black boots, your scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. You couldn’t look at him too long, vision beginning to swim when you did, so you focused on the ground, one step after the other.
“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook gasped, clutching his chest and pretending to have a heart attack.
“Thank you,” you said, speaking quietly, afraid your voice was going to betray you. “You too.”
Your compliment made his smile turn into a grin. “Well, you’re prettier.”
Usually, you’d make some snarky comment, fall into the same old banter you’d established with him long ago. Today, you could barely bring yourself to look at him.
“Let’s-”
Jungkook cupped your face, lifting your eyes to him, forcing you to face him. His gaze turned your insides soft and puddy, hands beginning to shake by your side.
“I’m so happy, cabbage,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips. It almost made you cry. You screwed your eyes shut. Before the kiss could go on longer, devastate you more, crush you further, you pulled away.
“I-I’ve got lipgloss on,” you mumbled, giving Jungkook a short smile before stepping aside to walk to his car. He laughed behind you, telling you how he didn’t mind at all, but still, he followed you.
Just as you were about to reach for the car door, he did it for you. Always the gentleman. You paused for a second, surprised (why were you?), before climbing inside, heart heavy as you waited for him to just close the car door. Jungkook didn’t though, drawing your eyes back to him.
“Are you sure about the shoes?” he asked you, brows furrowed together. “It’s cold. You’re not even wearing stockings.”
You felt even more self-conscious all of a sudden, tucking your feet underneath the seat, cheeks warming and heart thrumming. These shoes were the only ones that fit with your outfit. You didn’t have an extensive shoe collection, anything you could change into now wouldn’t match. It’d be a waste not to wear them, especially after you had asked Chaeyoung to borrow them.
“Y-yeah, it’s fine.”
Jungkook seemed to disagree, still standing there with the car door in his hand, and when he opened his mouth, you knew he was going to argue with you.
“I really-”
“It’s fine,” you repeated, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late.”
The frown didn’t disappear from his face, but he conceded, albeit with a sigh. His hand squeezed yours, and you flinched, pulling it away as if he burned you. Jungkook stopped, eyes shooting to yours.
Your heart dropped in your chest. Oh no.
You put on your brightest and biggest smile. “Sorry, your hand’s just super cold,” you laughed.
Jungkook blinked before smiling, “Ah, sorry.”
With that he shut the car door, and you pulled the seat belt across your body, readying your words on your tongue that you had thought of this entire time.
I’m super tired. Do you mind if I sleep during the ride?
It was a blatant lie. Every nerve and fibre of your body was lit up, wired tightly. You couldn’t find sleep even if you laid in your bed now. The thought of having to talk to Jungkook for the entirety of the car ride, however, turned your stomach upside down.
You decided to wait for him to put on the seat belt first before saying it, needing a few more seconds to rid the knot from your throat. From the corner of your eye, you watched as he climbed inside, putting his key into the ignition, rubbing his hands together. But rather than reach for the seat belt, Jungkook fumbled with the console, turning on the heat, carefully turning the knob back and forth. Warm air started blasting from the heaters immediately, wrapping you up from every direction.
“Do you want the seat warmer too?”
He looked at you so sincerely. You crumbled almost.
“I-It’s okay.”
“Just say a word and I’ll change it, okay? Don’t want you freezing,” he said before strapping the seat belt across his chest. You turned to the window.
Your voice wavered slightly. “Uh, I’m super tired. Do you mind if I sleep during the ride?”
“Oh, yeah, no, totally. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there. Gonna take a while anyway.”
You hummed in response, frowning when you saw Jungkook rub his hands together, blowing into them, even holding them up to the heaters for a few seconds. Before you could wonder for too long, he took your hand into his, thumb brushing back and forth.
“Warm enough?”
He said it with such a beautiful smile. It shattered you. You merely nodded before turning away, eyes closing shut, a lump stuck in your throat. The gesture, however small, dug into your heart like a knife. He was so nice, so kind, so good. And for the past week, you had thought the worst of him.
You knew you had arrived even before Jungkook parked the car. The engine slowly shut off, keys jangling when he pulled them out. You heard the click of his seat belt, some shuffling, and your heart beat faster as you waited for him to wake you up. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought this through. How were you going to convince him that you had slept this entire time when you hadn’t even for a single second? The last time you had pretended to sleep in the car was when you were seven and didn’t want to go to school. And even then, it hadn’t worked, your mother seeing right through you.
Jungkook had held your hand the entire ride. You had so gotten used to the feeling of his warmth that when he slowly pried his hand out of yours, you felt oddly cold. For a second, you thought you had to have imagined it when you heard the car door open. But when the sound of it softly closing followed, you knew you hadn’t. Maybe he wanted to come around and then wake you up?
You waited a few more seconds but when your car door remained shut, you slowly peeled your eyes open. Once again, Jungkook wasn’t there. But your attention turned to the house across the street instead. Jisoo and Chaeyoung had, of course, asked for Jungkook’s address—Just in case. He had happily sent it to them, and you too if you wanted to forward it to anyone else too. (The fact that Jisoo was over an hour's train ride away didn’t matter by the way.) You couldn’t recall the address, but you did remember the house number, and you were definitely staring at the right house right now.
It was bigger than you could have imagined it to be. It was so absurdly big, almost cartoonishly so. Even more so because it was decked out with all kinds of Christmas lights and stockings. You doubted no second the inside rivalled Chaeyoung’s and Jisoo’s home. But however ridiculous it was to you, this was Jungkook’s childhood home, the house where he grew up in. Where he spent his childhood and teenage years. This particular house. A house. Whilst you grew up in a flat, just with enough space to cram in your little family.
You saw him then, standing next to the expensive car parked in the driveway. Jungkook opened the car door to the passenger seat, and a second later, his mother stepped out. He offered her his hand, earning himself a big smile from her. From inside the car, you couldn’t hear what she said, but you could imagine it. She was right, he was a great son.
Jungkook looked a lot like his mother, you realised. She had gifted him with her kind eyes and soft big smile. No wonder, her son was so beautiful. She was an elegant woman. It was obvious. The kind of woman that wore cashmere sweaters, baked fresh bread every Sunday, made sure to do her skincare routine every morning and night, expensive creams and serums lining her bathroom cupboard. Not a single hair on her head was grey. She was the perfect wife and mother.
From the driver's seat, a man emerged, Jungkook’s dad. There was a hint of grey colouring his hair, but he pulled it off well. He was shorter than Jungkook by a bit, but you could see right away where Jungkook got his confidence from. For a moment, you wondered if that was how Jungkook would look like when he was older. Would he resemble his father? His dad quickly rounded the car, greeting his son with a hug before taking his wife’s hand into his. He had a kind smile too, you noticed. Of course, he did.
Jungkook had to have said something particularly funny because both his parents erupted into laughter. You looked away, closing your eyes.
What were you doing here?
The question blared louder than ever before. Could you really do this? Fool everyone? Yourself too? The answer was obvious to you as you looked ahead. A part of you wished you had come to that conclusion before you had gotten into the car. You didn’t know your way around this neighbourhood (of course, not), but you knew you had to get away from here either way.
You stepped out of the car, quietly shutting the door. He couldn’t see, couldn’t know. You had to get away, now.
“Where’s your girlfriend, Kook?”
His father’s voice made you pause. Jungkook sounded so much like him.
“In the car. She’s sleeping.”
“Are you not gonna wake her up? At least, let her come inside and sleep inside. It’s so cold.”
“No, I was gonna, but then I saw you and dad pull up,” Jungkook explained, his voice carried to you through the wind. His car offered you enough coverage to hide and at the same time allowed a clear view of Jungkook and his parents. “Also, I was gonna get her another pair of shoes. She’s wearing heels.”
His mother gasped. “In this weather? Does she at least have stockings on?” When he shook his head, she gasped again. “No, that’s not good. You better get her another pair of shoes. She’s gonna freeze!”
“I know- ah, I turned off the heat!” Jungkook touched his forehead as if to say how stupid of him.
You pressed your lips together, teeth sinking into your tongue. The guilt clawed up your throat, raw and red. It hurt, so much so that you didn’t even feel the cold wind on your feet and up your legs, or the way they ached from the unnatural arch the heels forced them into.
“Go get your girlfriend some shoes,” Jungkook’s father told him. “I’ll get the groceries-”
“What? No, let me, dad. I can do both. I’ll be quick.”
“It’s fine, Kook. We don’t want your girlfriend freezing.” His mother placed her hand on his shoulder. But like the good son he was, he wasn’t having it, already moving to open the trunk.
“It’s okay. I turned off the car just now, and she’s been sleeping peacefully this entire time. I’ll be quick,” Jungkook insisted. “You guys get inside.”
His parents looked at him with a sigh, realising defeat. Jungkook’s father handed him the car keys.
“Well, you better be quick. You know we can’t wait to meet Y/N.”
And with that, they walked inside, hand in hand. Your heart shattered, your name rolling so easily off their lips. It was so odd to hear them say it, hear with how much kindness they did.
You should just go now, take this opportunity to run, but your feet remained cemented, your eyes following Jungkook as he brought the first two bags up to the front door before grabbing the last two out of the car. Moving his foot underneath the sensor, the trunk closed automatically. You knew nothing about cars but you knew that such a feature didn’t come with most, and was definitely not cheap either.
Right now, looking ahead of you, you could see for the first time clearly just how different Jungkook and you were. There were two different worlds between you, a distance that no one could cross, no less a relationship that wasn’t genuine to begin with. It had been nice and fun, foolishly nice and fun, to pretend all this time, but in the end it had been foolish more than anything.
Why you didn’t move still remained a mystery to you. Maybe your feet had really frozen to the sidewalk, the heels one of your worst ideas yet, or maybe you simply couldn’t do it, bring it over your heart to just walk away. Maybe you just needed a little more, of him and you. You knew these few seconds would be the last ones of peace before it would all crumble. The illusion would shatter. He and you would be done, forever. There would be no more hangouts together with all your friends, no more cookies and Avatar marathons, no more kisses and hugs.
Jungkook and you would dissolve, just as quickly as it had all begun in that library with a notebook and pen.
Jungkook was about to turn around and close the door and he’d see you, standing there on the sidewalk with your eyes set straight on him. He’d see you and he’d smile and put down the bags and walk over to you and ask you why you were standing there and why did you get out of the car and how cold it was. How stupid and silly of you!
He’d come over and bring you into a hug and his lips would ghost over the crown of your head and you’d cave and melt and you’d go in and meet his family and it’d hurt so much to tell Jungkook’s parents what your parents did when they’d inevitably ask you because of course they would and you’d have to see as they realised that your parents didn’t get to enjoy higher education. They’d be silent for a few seconds before nodding and smiling. They’d quickly change the topic because it was better to talk about something else and oh I heard something so interesting on the news recently, did you hear?
But you didn’t move, even as Jungkook turned, arms heavy with grocery bags, and lifted his head, eyes meeting yours as you predicted he would. His lips lifted up into a smile, a smile bigger than you’d expected. He didn’t move though. Instead he blurred into a heap of colours.
You could no longer do this.
The image of him cleared as the first tears fell, and you watched as his face crumbled while he watched your chest heave up and down, sobs pushing out from your throat.
Jungkook let go of the grocery bags, the contents spilling out. When he took his step towards you, you did too, away from him. He stilled, frozen. Why, you could see it on his face. Why were you crying? Why were you moving away from him? He deserved answers, an explanation, but the most you could muster up right now was the shake of your head.
No.
And then you took off.
“Y/N!”
You pressed your hand to your lips, scared of filling the street with your gut wrenching sobs. Tears kept streaming down your face, hot and heavy.
You did feel sorry for doing this to Jungkook. But you had to. Because he wasn’t going to. It had to be you. You who finally saw the truth in the eye that this was ridiculous, that this had gone off the rails, that Jungkook and you should have never gotten to this point, to where you found comfort in his arms and he knew your favourite cookies and you showed him your home and he knew more than he should about you. To the point where you had shared the bed together and knew the softness of the other’s lips. To the point where you had irrevocably and undeniably and unfortunately fallen for Jungkook.
You were in love with Jeon Jungkook, and it was the worst thing you could have done to yourself-
“Y/N!”
And it was affirmed when he seized your elbow and turned you around. You didn’t make it very far. Your eyes locked with his, and you could see it in them. How this was going to end. How this had to end, now.
You were reminded of when you ran out on Jaehwa after seeing him for the first time again. It was what you always did, you realised. Run.
You just never expected you’d have to run out on Jungkook too.
His eyes, wide and big, searched your face, for something to give him a clue as to what was going on in the head of yours, anything. He didn’t understand.
You pulled away from him as if his touch burned you, pushed him away.
“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked, frantic, reaching out for you again, but you couldn’t let him touch you, tumbling backwards. Hurt flashed across his features, but this was for the best. Why did you have to be this dramatic? How stupid of you!
“I-I can’t,” you stuttered, shaking your head, dragging your coat sleeve frantically on your cheeks. “I-I just can’t.”
Jungkook stared at you, face twisting and morphing into emotions you couldn’t decipher. You had never really understood him anyway.
“O-okay, hey, that’s fine.”
Who would have thought this would hurt so much to hear?
“That’s alright.”
He should be furious, absolutely and utterly mad with you. You had just run away. If he hadn’t caught you, he would have had to somehow explain to his parents why his so-called perfect girlfriend was suddenly gone. And yet, he met you with empathy and kindness. Jungkook was so good, so precious. He was so much better than you, deserved more.
“I’ll give you a ride home-”
“No!” you screamed, lungs heaving for air, chest rising and falling dramatically. You shook your head, repeated it again, quieter this time. “No, you don’t understand.”
Jungkook stared at you, mouth opening and closing. “Okay, then explain. But let’s do this in the car-”
“Why are you like this?” You threw the question at his head, venomous and bitter. The anger wasn’t fair, shouldn’t be aimed at him at all. What had he done to deserve it? And yet, you couldn’t find it in you to shift the target. “What are we doing?”
His brows knitted together, the knit deepening. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” You looked at him as if he should. “Can we get to the car first, cabbage-”
You flinched. How could he still call you that?
“This is so stupid,” you scoffed, shaking your head, eyes looking at everything but him. The cold wind blew your tears away, and your cheeks felt raw from all of the rubbing and dragging. “I- this is so wrong on so many levels. Why am I even here? What are we even doing? Why are you like this?”
“You don’t want to meet my parents, that’s fine. I really think we should get to the car-”
“Why? Because you don’t want your neighbours and parents to see what crazy person you’ve brought home?”
“What? No! Who said that? I wanna get to the car because it’s freezing cold and you only have a coat and heels on-”
“Oh, please, Jeon!” The laugh slipping from your lips made Jungkook flinch. It was so mean, filled with so much spite. “Don’t pretend to be good. What a cheap and pathetic act!”
None of the words you spoke were truthful. You didn’t know where you pulled them from, you didn’t believe any of them. All of them were hollow and mean. But maybe they’d be enough though to bring out anger within Jungkook, make him come to the same realisation as you had—that he and you had to end. But knowing him, he’d meet you with empathy and kindness over and over again.
He had to hate you.
You had to make him hate you. Otherwise, this would never find an end. Otherwise, he’d convince you of the opposite, and you’d never be able to let go of him. Otherwise, you’d lose yourself completely to him.
And when you looked at Jungkook, you knew you were right. Because there was no no fire in his eyes, nothing. He still stared at you the same way he used to. Even after you had called him names. Hating you was the only option.
“I really think we should just talk this out another time.”
Defeat, you realised, contorted his features. Not anger. Not spite. None of it. Just defeat. You closed your eyes, shaking your head.
“You’re clearly not in the best of moods and saying stuff that you don’t mean. I don't know what’s going on, but let me just give you a ride home and we’ll figure this out another-”
“Figure out what?” You leaned forward, gestured wildly around yourself. “We? Oh, please, Jeon, there’s no fucking ‘we’. Don’t make me laugh!”
He shook his head, hands running through his hair.
“I really don’t think you mean any of this, Y/N. I know this entire situation must be bringing up bad memories for you- I know Jaehwa hurt you-”
“What? This has nothing to do with him,” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes, the words pushing through your clenched teeth like a bullet out of a gun. “What do you know, Jeon? What do you really know, huh? Actually, how can you know anything? You with your perfect stupid fucking family with a house oh so big because you just had to show everybody how you were better and richer and greater. What do you know about anything, really?”
You weren’t making sense, but you could see a change in Jungkook’s face, the flicker in his eyes as you mentioned his family. Bullseye.
“Miss me with that bullshit. You’re the kind of people I hate. It’s all so fake and condescending- fuck, you’re so stupidly loaded you’re paying me to pretend to date you so you can win a stupid shitty bet with Taehyung. Your parents must be so proud of their great great son.”
He closed his eyes, screwed them so tightly shut in hopes that maybe if he did so long enough, this would turn out to be a bad dream. This wasn’t happening. Things weren’t falling apart like that. They couldn’t. His hands curled into fists.
“Now you can’t even look at me, Jeon?” you sneered, voice and words growing more and more vicious. “Can’t face the truth, right? You pretend to be so good, so kind. But for fuck’s sake, look at the house you grew up in! Look at where I live! You’re the same as Jaehwa- actually, no because at the very least, he didn’t pretend like he and I weren’t different. You should have some shame, but I guess with parents-”
“Y/N!”
Your name cut through the air, and for once, you stopped and breathed. Jungkook had peeled his eyes open again, teeth gritted, jaw pulled taunt, hands curled into tight fists.
“I really think it’d be better if you stopped talking now.”
And yet, it wasn’t the response you wanted.
You could have cried then, bawled, fallen to your knees and just admitted to it all. How much you did love him and how much you wanted him, but couldn’t have him because this just wasn’t going to work because he never really did love you and neither would his parents. He and you were doomed, like the moon and the sun. He just would never see it, too idealistic for his own good. Your blatant and devastating flaws. You weren’t good or kind. You had to be the one to pull the plug, to call this what it was—wrong.
“Yeah, of course, you’d say that,” you mumbled, the tip of your shoes digging into the concrete, rolling back and forth. The scratching sound it produced soothed you oddly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean. You rich people just can’t ever face the truth-”
“No, you idiot!”
His voice echoed through the empty street, loud and clear. Anger and disdain coloured his words, features twisting and knits deepening. There it was, finally. The anger and upset you had waited and waited for, the blow of the bomb, the finale.
“I think you should stop talking because I love you and I don’t want my heart broken any further!”
Jungkook was so loud. You had never heard him so loud before, yell like that, tell you so abundantly clear that he loved you. It was the declaration of declarations, blaring and grand. You had wanted to hear it, needed to hear it all this time, all this week—that he loved you—and now when you finally did, it was truly the worst thing anyone had ever told you ever. Because it was everything you wished for, but you couldn’t have it, none of it. It wasn’t real, and even if it was, even if he meant it and he loved you, you couldn’t be with him. The truth didn’t matter. You were too damaged, too broken, too fucked up to never not doubt Jungkook, not to fear that he’d leave at any point.
You’d never trust him.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you!” He pointed at you, face scrunched and eyes red, tears welling. “I thought we had gotten past this- isn’t it obvious that I do really love-”
“Oh, please. You goddamn liar!” Your voice shook, broke in your throat and mouth, head spinning. You were losing Jungkook, spectacularly so. “What do you know about love? This is an act, Jeon! You’re not in love with me! You’re in love with an act! You’re in love with the idea of winning your stupid bet with-”
“No, no-”
“Yes, Jeon, you don’t know shit. You pretend like you do- think you do when in reality, you don’t know anything about me. Who am I if not just a pawn in your game? Someone you paid, so you could boast and brag that you didn’t get rejected, huh?”
Jungkook licked his lips, veins bulging in his neck as he tried his very best to not go too far, implode on you, hands digging into the roots of his hair. “No, that’s not true. The bet between Tae and me—”
“Actually, you know what? I don’t even care. Because all of it is wrong. It’s not what we agreed upon-”
“Okay, yeah, so we weren’t supposed to kiss and spend time together privately, or sleep with each other and talk on the phone for hours. But look at us now!” He pointed between him and you, as if there was something between you. “We did it all, okay? And? Was it so bad?”
His eyes fixed yours, so deeply. He took a step towards you, and you didn’t back away, couldn’t.
“You call me a liar when I tell you I love you—” His voice shook, trembled terribly, and you could see Jungkook fight to find the right words, struggle to speak. It pained you to know it was all because of you. How easy would it be to take it all back? Admit fault and go back? But would it be right? “—but tell me then, why are you looking at me like that?”
You tried a laugh. A laugh that was meant to dismiss it all, deny the truth, but it sounded hollow and wrong. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, beginning to crumble. And Jungkook saw right through you.
“Look at me and tell me you don’t feel something!”
You closed your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your stomach. The world began to spin faster and faster, and you felt like you were losing the ground underneath yourself.
“You’re not being fair,” you whispered, shaking your head. You were speaking much quieter now, your voice having lost all of its bite and edge. This had been harder than you expected. “You’re breaking the contract-”
“Oh my God, will you forget about that? Both of us broke it a long time ago, willingly! Can you please just forget about all of it—the contract, the bet—and look at the facts?”
Jungkook was begging at this point. Would you come to your senses?
“Do you really genuinely think that the past weeks- months didn’t mean anything to me? That it was really all just pretend? That I lied about all of it? That I’m really such a big asshole that I’d pretend to be in love with you this entire time, call you daily, buy you your favourite cookies, hold your hand and kiss you and tell you—” This seemed to drain Jungkook of everything, voice trembling as he presented the worst version of himself to you. “—over and over again that I love you?”
He leaned forward, searched for your eyes.
It was right in front of you—a white flag up in the air, for you to grab and hiss. You could do it now, he’d forgive you, you were certain of that. Jungkook was still kind enough to do so, his heart ready to let you back in. You wouldn’t even need to say anything, just falling into his arms would suffice. It’d be so easy. Simple, in fact. He’d let you do it, take your silent defeat as an apology. You’d never have to talk about it ever again. It was tempting, slip back into what you were before as if you weren’t aware that he and you were two parallel lines never meant to cross. Jungkook would never be tempted to take this way out, he’d stand straight for what he’d said, repent. The thought to take the easy way out would never cross his mind. It did yours.
“Y-yeah, I do.”
Jungkook shook his head, mouth set in a line.
“You don’t mean that-”
“Yes, I do-”
“Y/N, no, no, you-”
“Stop,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Stop insisting that I don’t mean it. I do. I-”
It was so ironic. It felt like the entire universe was mocking you, laughing at the two of you. This was what Jungkook had wished for him and you, imagined how beautiful it would be, how you’d sit together in front of the window and watch before he’d suggest to go outside and you’d follow happily. You’d dance and play until neither of you could feel your hands and your cheeks were rough and raw from the cold wind. You’d yearn for the warm, shiver as you stepped inside, but you’d be happy. So very happy. But now it felt like a stab to your hearts instead.
The first few snowflakes softly landed on your sleeve. It was so beautiful. The entire street would be white in a few hours, kids would come out to play soon.
“I’ll pay you back.” You took a step back, rubbed away the tears that wanted to spill. “See it as compensation for… not meeting your parents.”
Jungkook couldn’t respond, teeth sinking into his tongue, biting on the muscle until it hurt too much.
“That’s not- that’s not the point. I don’t care for the money, I just-” He deflated. “Just-just meet them, Y/N. Give them a chance, please. You’ll realise- they’re gonna love-”
He stopped when you shrunk in on yourself, vehemently shaking your head. Neither of you said anything, just allowing the snow to fall around you and cover you in white. You’d be shivering in just a few minutes, hair and skin wet, feet shaky on the cold ground.
Jungkook looked down, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.
“Okay.”
You stood there as you waited for him to turn his back to you and walk away, waited and waited to be finally alone. He’d do it and you’d be alone and you’d be proven right, vindicated. Relief would flood you, knowing you had seen it coming, had always known correctly, protected you, at least, this time of hurt and-
The keys looked cold to the touch.
“Take them. Wait in the car. Call Chae or whoever to come pick you up. You can leave the keys in the car. I’ll get them later.”
Jungkook was ordering you, telling you what to do. And though he spoke with finality, allowing no room for you to disagree, his voice trembled and shook. You didn’t have to look to know the tears staining his cheeks, to know how much you had hurt him, realise that in your quest to do the best for both him and you because he deserved better and not be hurt and left in the end, you had done just that to Jungkook, plunged the knife into his heart and pushed it further even as he spat out blood.
“It’s fine, I can-”
You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Jungkook grabbed your hand and placed the keys into your palm, forcing your fingers shut around them with his own. His touch sent sparks through your body. It’d be the last time he’d ever touch you, you realised, and before you could stop it, the tears spilt. But you didn’t let out a noise, kept your head low and eyes even lower.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
Jungkook hesitated before letting go, his feet dragging as he walked away.
Maybe it was you holding the gun, not Jungkook.
→ thanks for reading !! if you have any thoughts, id love to hear it!
#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#jungkook x reader#jungkook scenarios#jungkook fanfic#bts scenarios#bts angst#bts fluff#jungkook implied smut#bts x reader
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I don't know, ficlet AU sort of thing.
Alpha Steve has a YouTube channel that, kind of, started by accident. Steve is not the most confident reader, like, at all. The words get kind of muddled and he got into a habit of just sort of trying to rush it, figuring he was going to mess it up anyway, so get it over with, right? And then he just sort of stops reading, even though he enjoyed it, because he couldn't get his brain to slow down and the muddling got worse and...yeah.
So one day, his platonic soul mate bestie suggests he read out loud. To someone. If he reads every word out one at a time, knowing it has to be clear enough for the other person to follow, that'll slow him down.
So, he tries it, but only for Robin. And it sort of works, kind of, and then she hits on him using something so he can only see the line he's reading, like a bit of card with a letterbox cut in it, and...Steve is on fire.
The words don't get muddled up so much, and his reading is slow and even, and he needs to read to someone, and Robin can't always be there. It becomes his own pet project, he reads out little bits of books he likes, parts of articles he has enjoyed, poems, whatever, and starts his own little you tube that has like, five followers, and they're all people he knows.
And then suddenly, almost overnight, Steve finds himself with four thousand followers. A very large portion of them are very clearly Omega, from the comments, and Steve suddenly finds himself with a lot of fans who are using his videos for white noise. He's literally reading thousands of Omegas off to sleep.
Which is...nice. Steve likes it. The hits and followers on his videos seem to settle down after a couple of weeks, and then, after having so many comments about how settling Steve's voice is, how the Alpha is relaxing and safe. Steve thinks fuck it.
As a test, he makes a ten minute video directly for that audience. He builds a nest, films it POV. He films the view of someone walking through the bedroom door, of what they would see as they climb into the nest, then resting the camera on his own chest.
Then he starts talking. Tells the omega how perfect they are, how much he cares for them, wants to protect, keep safe. How soft they are as he pets them, how warm and cosy they are in their nest. How snuggles with the omega are Steve's favourite thing.
He deliberately keeps everything as vague and gender neutral as he can. The video fucking explodes. Goes viral. Millions of hits, thousands and thousands of followers. Robin and the kids think it's hilarious, and encourage him to keep going, claiming he's doing a public service.
Hundreds of copycats spring up, but no one pulls it off quite like Steve.
He knows there are Omega out there getting off to his videos, despite there being absolutely nothing sexual about them, but Steve figures, whatever makes people happy.
He gets so many positive comments, omega telling him how much comfort he brings them. He has some regular commenters that he gets to know, too, which is nice. Sometimes he even takes requests, small things, the colour of his shirt, the time of day he shoots his videos, certain words and phrases.
One supportive commenter always stands out though : EdDio86. Steve's pretty sure he's male omega, and he's always so grateful when Steve posts a new video. The guy clearly has a lot of trouble sleeping, and apparently Steve really helps. They have a little back and forth in the comments, learning little bits about one another. Steve likes this omega.
Steve also gets the impression the omega is sorely lacking any comfort in his life. Considering the length of his comments, the guy never asks for anything.
Until he does.
At the end of a comment, always ever so politely thanking Steve, EdDio86 admits he's 'in a bit of a pickle' and could Steve, please, do a video where 'the omega' is with pup? Could Steve tell the omega that the pup is fine, and healthy, and that the omega is doing good and the pup is okay and everything will be okay...but cool if not. Bit of a weird request, I know, sorry to be a bother.
And Steve suddenly doesn't give a shit about the consequences of just,,,dropping his personal email out into the world like that, because he wants to tell this guy these things personally.
#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#steddie#alpha steve harrington#omega eddie munson#omega eddie because hes so pretty#you tuber steve Harrington#au
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you don’t have to be a star | bob floyd
hey, hey, hey lover, I love you just the way you are.
in which after being outshone by his colleagues, Bob takes a moment of reflection with his soon-to-be wife before bed. For @ohtobeleah’s Galentine's Day Special <3
warnings: Bob being a little insecure, Jake being a little shit, kissing and allusions to sex. Adults cuddling and touching each other, nothing that isn’t PG-13. WC: 2.1k
…
Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin is a force of nature, and has been for as long as anyone can remember. For some, he’s intolerable. For others, he’s irresistible. People rarely fall in the middle when it comes to their alignment with Hangman — devotion or despisement.
For you, he’s someone that you will always be indebted to. If it wasn’t for Jake, you would have never met the love of your life.
Two summers ago, you had been at a small gathering for a friend’s party in one of the bars in the Coronado Beach area, and apparently you had caught the eye of the troublesome blonde.
You hadn’t noticed him feigning for your attention with his steely green gaze, or talking about you coolly with his buddies. No, your first experience with Jake was him sauntering up to you, leaning one elbow against the bar and hitting you with a sloped grin. “How’s your night treating ya, sweetheart?”
But, if it wasn’t for Jake Seresin trying his hardest to get into your pants that one night in August, you never would have met Bob.
You would later learn that other people didn’t have quite the same problem you did. As Jake had swept you over to his corner of the bar for a game of pool that he was hoping would lead to much more, you just couldn’t help but notice the man sitting by the window.
His hand curled around a root beer bottle, thin wire-rimmed glasses sitting across the bridge of his nose, and a single chestnut coloured curl dangling onto his forehead.
The routine way he would roll those pretty, Disney-blue eyes, and scoff against his root beer at each smooth line that had rolled off of Jake Seresin’s tongue. Just like you, he knew Jake’s game, and didn’t find it a particularly engaging one to play.
Long after the sun had set and right about the time last orders were called, Jake still hadn’t seemed to give up on the idea of taking you home — and he was being nice about it — but your mind had been made up a long time before.
You had just sunk the eight-ball, and Jake was calling for a rematch. Your lips had just quirked softly, hoping that he would take the hint after this one. “I think I’d rather look for a more worthy opponent.”
“Oh yeah?” Jake had grinned to you, heavily amused by the idea of there being anyone in this bar more worthy than himself. “Like who?”
Bob remembers bashfully how you had turned to him, cocked your head and smiled. God — he probably looked like such an idiot, all shocked like that. He could have been so much cooler, could have answered faster when you had asked,
“How about you?”
But the sheepish nod he had given you seemed to do the trick. He left that evening with your phone number, and now, two years later, he’s wandering through your house in his socks calling your name.
“Damn,” You pop out from the closet a few paces behind him, making him flinch and suck in a sharp breath. “The government name? — What’d I do to deserve that?”
He softens into a smile as he turns around and reaches out for you. Happily, you step out from the closet and let him wrap his arms loosely around your waist.
“Well, the first twenty times I called, you didn’t answer, so,” He leans in real slow, tilting his head to the left and pecks softly at your lips. “Figured I’d try something new, honey.”
“Right, well,” A smile tugs at your lips as you reach up to wipe the transferred lip gloss from his mouth. “What can I help you with, Mr. Floyd?”
Not long now until he gets to call you by that name too. By the end of the year, you’ll be Mrs. Floyd and he still can’t quite believe that he’s so lucky.
“Can’t… figure out this damn thing, d’you think maybe you could help me?” He asks, gesturing down to the unfastened black bow tie around his neck. It makes you smile wider.
All of the wonderful, incredible things that Bob Floyd can do, and he just can’t figure out a bow tie.
“Sure thing, handsome,” You tell him, hands already getting to work with evening out the sides around his collar. “If you’ll reach up on that top shelf in there and grab my shoes once I’m done.”
Ah, so that’s why you were hiding in the closet. Bob hums. “Sounds like a fair deal.”
As you fasten the black silk into a uniformed bow, Bob glances down at your dress, and then back up to study your face. “You look beautiful.”
“Yeah.” You answer playfully, plucking at the bow to test its sturdiness, and dipping in for another kiss. Firm and longing — giving you an idea of exactly how he’s planning to start getting you out of that dress later tonight.
Tonight is Bradley Bradshaw’s thirty-sixth birthday party, organized by his wife. She pulled out all the stops and required a black-tie dress code. Her events are always good fun and tonight is no different.
A buzzing garden party with string lights and music — some of it provided by Rooster himself. Photos of Bradley through his adulthood and adolescence are strung up around the party, reminders of how loved he is by the people around him.
It’s an incredible night. You have a blast, laughing and dancing with the people you have grown to love over the course of your relationship with Bob.
But, on the drive home, you can’t help but notice that something seems to have rattled your soon-to-be husband. He’s quiet in the car. Once you’re home, he sulks inside and kicks his shoes off in the hall, shaking off his bow tie and heading straight for the bedroom.
Curious, you follow behind him with furrowed brows.
“Hold it right there, mister.” You tease him, making him stop in his tracks. You follow him into the dark bedroom, crossing over the carpeted floor and positioning yourself right in front of him. There’s a stern look on your face, peering up at him.
“Robert Floyd, are you bored of my company or something?”
He scoffs weakly, fingers curling around your waist, then tugging you into him. He nuzzles the tip of his nose into your hair and revels in the smell of your shampoo.
“Lieutenant Commander Robert Floyd, baby.” He reminds you. You jab him playfully in the ribs and he chuckles under his breath. “‘M just tired, is all.”
It’s not the truth. Really, Bob has known throughout your relationship with him that you could have done better. Jake wasn’t the only guy after you the night that you met.
Sometimes, it just plays on his mind that maybe you settled when it came to choosing him.
Especially on nights where Hangman shows up in the honeymoon phase with some new girl and makes that everyone else’s business. This wasn’t the first girl he has dangled under your nose, reminding you of what you could have had — playfully, of course. To Jake, it’s all good fun.
To Bob, it’s something different.
You squint up at him dubiously, then reach forwards and untuck his shirt from his pants. His gaze falls, watching you start to unbutton it for him.
“That’s it?” You prompt him, smoothing your palms across his bare stomach and up his chest, pushing his open shirt back off of his shoulders. He curls his fingers into the material of your dress, quiet. Your lips press softly to his clavicle, dragging down the warm skin of his pec.
He closes his eyes and breathes.
“Just… wonder if I’m enough sometimes, I guess.” He rushes out with closed eyes and a firm hold on you, like you could be gone when he opened them again if he couldn’t feel you.
Eyes open, you pull away from his chest and look at him.
“Enough?”
His cheeks grow hot. He starts to bite at his lip, his eyes shifting to the carpet. He’s always messing up with what he says. There’s always a better way to say it, and he never realizes until after.
You can see his brain working away, battling itself as he criticizes his behaviour.
“I’m not — showy.” He stumbles for the words and sighs, leaning his head back. “Sorry. I’m just trying to say… I’m trying to say that I’m sorry that I’m not the kind of guy to sweep you off your feet in front of everyone.”
Oh. This is about Jake. Jake showing off on the dance floor with his new girlfriend, throwing her around like she was weightless and kissing her like he was about to fuck her right then and there.
Your lips quirk at the idea.
He’s quiet as you lean in again, starting at the divet between his collarbones and kissing your way across his shoulder.
“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want to be swept off of my feet in front of everyone?” You ask him, pulling the leather of his belt from the buckle and unfastening it softly. Bob watches you, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
“No, maybe not, but — y’know, you deserve to be… shown off like that.” He mumbles, letting you undress him. He steps out of his slacks and turns you around, gently pulling down the zipper of your dress.
As it hits the ground and you turn to face him once more, he’s surprised to find you smiling at him. Grinning, almost.
“What?” He whispers.
“Sit down, cowboy.” You answer, nodding towards the edge of the bed. He frowns, but complies, perching on the edge of your shared bed. You drape your arms across his shoulders and straddle his hips, humming as you kiss him.
“If I wanted to be Hangman’s trophy, I could have been,” You shrug calmly and your fiancé wrinkles his nose at the thought. “I don’t want anyone else.”
He swallows, letting his open palm flow along the length of your back and down onto your ass.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I want you with me, but I wish… I wish I was more, for you.” Your wedding has been playing on his mind a lot recently — an entire day where all eyes will be on the two of you. You deserve someone who will shine as much as you do.
Kissing his mouth, his jaw, then his temple, you squeeze your arms around his shoulders and rock yourself just slightly in his lap.
“Do you want to know why I said I would marry you, Bobby?” You ask him, stroking a curl back off of his forehead. His arms hook firm around your waist, turning you swiftly and planting his weight on top of you. Mm, he hums.
You smile softly as he leans in to kiss at your neck, tenderly stroking your hair out of the way.
“You’re wonderful, and kind and handsome,” Is a relatively strong starting point, but doesn’t do much to sway him. He keeps on kissing. “Animals love you, which I love. You let me sit on your lap when you play the drums, which is really hot. Your handiwork has saved me from almost electrocuting myself so many times.”
He chuckles against your chest; that one is true.
“You remembered my coffee order the first time that you heard it. You still get scared when I sneak up on you. You took the time to teach me about the things you love, and learn about the things I love.”
Bob glances up at you from your navel, pressing a soft kiss to your skin, his palms smoothing along your thighs.
“You’re the last person I think about at night, and the first person I think about in the morning,” You tell him, stroking your fingers tenderly through his curls. He sits up and covers your body with his once more, kissing your mouth. Inches from his face, you lift your palm and stroke your fingers across his cheek. “You’re funnier than anyone I know, and I love that our inside jokes are just ours. So much of our life is just ours.”
He nods his head, his nose brushing your cheek.
“Doesn’t all of that sound like enough?” You ask him.
He leans in for another kiss, soft and slow, rather than answering you.
“You don’t have to be like those guys for me to love you, Bobby,” You decide, secure in the decision and equally secure in the ring that sits on your finger. His lips quirk softly as your legs wrap around his waist. “All I want is the way that you love me, and understand me, and all of you — for the rest of my life.”
Smiling finally, he nudges the tip of his nose against yours and kisses you deeply, pressing you down into your shared bed.
“That sounds like a fair deal.”
…
#leahs galentines day special#Bob Floyd#Robert Floyd#Robert Bob Floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you
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🖤Fuck or Die part 2🖤
Part 1
Pairing: slasher! König x fem! Reader
Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, mdni, smut, non con so rape, violence, obsession, drugging, face-slapping and nose bleeding, choking, kidnapping, mention of murder. If you feel triggered by any of these warnings - just scroll past!
A/n: this took me way longer than I expected but yay, I finally wrote the second part!!! Also absolutely not me incorporating a quote from the movie bc I think it’s impossibly hot🤭
Reading part 1 is recommended for understanding the plot
Your life will never be the same. That damned evening changed you, everything around you, splitting your life into before and after.
Your memories of next few days after the murder were a sheer blur of events and conversations - numerous interrogations with police officers and detectives, psychologists trying to soothe you out of your stupor still, your mother crying her eyes out at the sight of you right after police arrived at the place of Paul’s death. And, of course, nasty journalists trailing behind you, watching your every move, invading your personal space unapologetically.
Of course, you were quite a catch - the first and only one who ever survived a meeting with König. Everyone wanted to know what he looked like - any particular details, scars or tattoos, a fucking skin colour - anything you could remember would be of huge use, giving at least any clues to a dead unmoving case. But there was very little you could help with - König took great care of covering every centimetre of his skin in black clothing, his voice changed, he smelled of nothing but earth and sickening metal of your boyfriend’s blood. Bastard was even smart enough to not cum inside nor anywhere actually, so that police couldn’t get his DNA samples.
A few months had passed since that horrific attack and there were still no traces of König.
It was midday when your parents had to leave to attend your grandma’s birthday - your mother was reluctant, not wanting to leave you all alone. You were never alone actually - a few police cars always patrolled right outside of your house, not allowing even postmen to get too close to your family’s property. It took a lot of reassuring and encouragement from your side to get your mother off your back, convincing her that you’ll be just fine by yourself and that you want your parents to have some fun. She then gave up with a deep sight, promising to be back in only a few hour’s matter.
You heaved a heavy sigh, closing and locking the front door after waving your parents goodbye, heading to the kitchen to grab yourself a drink. A pile of dirty dishes stacked in a sink caught your eye, the sight of its ugly mess on otherwise clean and tidy kitchen caused an itch somewhere deep in your brain. Without second thought you rolled up your sleeves, pouring dish soap onto the sponge and foaming it up.
As you were halfway through the dishes loud trilling of your landline phone calling startled you, causing you to jump on your spot. Your head whipped around, looking into direction from which the sound came. Wiping your wet hands on the kitchen towel you grabbed the phone, tucking it in between your ear and shoulder after accepting the incoming call.
- Hello? - you said, coming back to the sink, swiping foamy sponge over another plate, cleaning it of any grease and leftover bits of food.
- Hello! Um, can I speak to Paul? - your movements halted abruptly. You stood there silently for a long while, muscles stiff and unmoving, eyes staring blankly at some invisible point in the space before you.
- Excuse me, are you still here? Do I have the wrong number? - the man on the other end of the line said, his voice sounding concerned. It seemed to bring you out of your stupor as you drew in a long breath, exhaling noisily.
- Um, can I ask you how you got this number? - you said, already sensing something weird about this whole situation. But cops were all around your place, there was nothing to be worried about, right?
- Paul gave it to me himself. Said to call here if I needed to reach out to him, - man explained. That was strange but not unexplainable - Paul often hang out at your house, you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew your home phone number better than his own. - So am I calling right?
- Oh, yeah, sorry it’s just… Paul’s dead, - you said, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, sweet metallic taste coating your buds, but you couldn’t care less, nibbling deeper into small wound, feeling of slight pain grounding you successfully.
- Oh god, what happened? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. But who am I speaking to then? - the man said, his voice now sounding genuine and apologetic. Everyone around Y/n suddenly sounded genuinely and apologetic. She heaved another sigh, resuming her scrubbing on the plates.
- He was murdered. And I’m his girlfriend, - you said in a calm tone, free of any emotion or feeling. Paul’s death was pretty much the only thing you talked about with others - police, detectives, police again, his parents and friends, your parents and friends. It seemed like such a sensitive topic turned into a rough callous way too quickly. - Well, I was his girlfriend, - Y/n mumbled after a short pause, faint clatter of porcelain audible in the background.
- Sorry about your boyfriend, - man on the line said. There was a brief moment before he added: - all those muscles didn’t help much, did they?
You froze. Silence settled in, interrupted only by occasional electric noise humming through the speaker. You heard your own pulse humping rapidly in your ears, your breathing fast and shallow, all muscles in your body tensing in alarm, straightening your back. Your eyes shoot up, looking out of the window above the sink. There were a few trees growing shallowly - barely an orchard - separating your house from your neighbours. No one was there.
- What’s that, sweet girl? You can’t see me? - a voice taunted, erupting herds of goosebumps running down your spine. - What a shame, I can see you clear as day.
- Neighbourhood is packed full with cops, you sick son of a bitch. If you only fucking dare coming anywhere close to my ho-
- Now-now, Y/n, - slasher interrupted you unapologetically, his voice hard and cold, causing thin hairs on your arms to rise. - Control your fucking language when you speak to me.
Your eyes dropped down onto the sink, fluffy dish soap foam was sparkling, playing with all the rainbow colors under the sun rays pouring in through the window. You clasped the phone in your non dominant hand, your dominant one reaching out and grabbing a kitchen knife from the drying rack, handle still wet and a bit slippery in your grasp.
- My, my, a dangerous thing that you’re holding. Be careful and don’t cut yourself, dearie, - König taunted, making your teeth clench. All blood drained out of your face, making you as pale as paper. Your eyes were fixated upon your window, peering into the orchard, desperately trying to spot any movement.
- What are you planning on doing? Everyone will hear if I scream. And cops will get your ass into prison, right where it belongs, - you spat out, pushing off the counter; your eyes ran all around the kitchen, looking for your cell phone with detective’s number saved, trying to keep the current call going so it’ll be possible to track it down.
- Oh will they? Then you better not scream, silly, - König snorted, making your blood boil. You were frightened still, terrified even; but the remorse of what he did to you, to Paul, was fuelling into your spite, making you a tad bit braver.
Failing to find your phone you entered the living room, rummaging through cushions and blankets piled on the couch, failing to find the stupid thing.
- Looks like you lost something. What’s up sweetheart? - you threw soft cushion back on the couch violently, huffing in annoyance upon not finding what you were looking for. You straightened and turned around to head to your bedroom, stoping in the middle of your tracks, freezing to the spot.
In the doorway leading to the hall stood König - dressed in all black, with heavy leather boots and his huge dagger strapped firmly to his thigh with a sheath, white scream mask staring right back at you. One large hand was pressing the phone to his ear, the other one was holding up your cellphone - the exact one you were looking for.
- You looking for this? - he asked, his own voice reverberating on the line because of your proximity.
You threw the phone to the side clutching onto the knife tightly. You dashed to the kitchen - there was a back door you could slip through - and outside was filled with neighbours and cops. Just pathetic six or so meters. Just a bit…
A scream tearing through your throat was muffled by a huge hand clamping against your mouth, the other one squeezing your wrist so tightly that for a fleeting moment you thought your bones were snapped, causing your grip on the knife to loosen, it falling down on the floor with loud clatter. König kicked the knife away across the kitchen, folding your arm back which caused your back to arch in pain - it felt as if he wanted to tear your limb from the rest of your body.
- Where do you think you’re going, Y/n? - König growled next to your ear, picking you up effortlessly and dragging your kicking form back to the living room.
Hauling you onto the floor König hooked one meaty thigh over your squirming body, putting bigger part on his weight down onto you, momentarily halting all of your struggle. One huge hand took ahold of both your wrists, pinning them to the floor above your head with frightening ease, his other hand was clasping your mouth still. He crouched down, scream mask was mere fifteen centimetres afar from your face as he seethed:
- Now you shut the fuck up and listen closely to what I have to say, and no one will get hurt, you get that? - he said, waiting until you gave him any sing of agreement. But you offered none. - You get that?! - König growled impatiently, bumping your head against the hardwood floor, causing black spots dance in the corners of your eyes for a long minute. You gave a weak nod, feeling hot tears running down your temples, getting lost among your hair.
- I’ve been thinking about you. A lot, - König sighed, hand that was on your face squished your cheeks together painfully, making your lips pucker out. - About this gorgeous mouth and pretty lips…
König crouched down, barely leaving a few centimetres between your faces.
- A this tight little cunt of yours. Remember how you clenched around me? How good my cock was filling you up?
- What do you want from me? - you weeped quietly, voice barely audible, broken by faint sobs and hiccups.
- Very little, dove. Just be an obedient girl and do as you’re told and no one will get hurt, - König tutted, taking in the sight of your crying face. Gosh, he was a sick fuck - his cock was already getting painfully hard, straining against his pants.
Letting go of your face König reached behind his back, withdrawing something from the rear pocket of his jeans. Just as you opened your mouth to cry out for help he shoved that thing inside of your cavity, slapping a hand over your lips so you won’t spit it out. The thing momentarily dissolved on your tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste; you tried to struggle against killer’s strong hold, thrashing violently, but it led you nowhere.
Suddenly you felt hot - as if you had a really bad fever. Your mind clouding up rapidly, thoughts muddling, muscles becoming weaker by the second. You huffed out in frustration; moving your limbs a few centimetres seemed like impossible labour. World was spinning around you, blurring sharp and distinguishable features of König’s mask into a white haze.
König let go of your face once again, his now free hand slid down your body, cupping your sex through numerous layers of clothing separating you two. Sudden pleasure surged through your weakened body upon the contact; a loud moan that rolled off your tongue startled you - and suddenly you realised just how aroused you felt.
- Jeez, that dude didn’t lie about this shit, - König laughed out excitedly, watching your eyes widen in terror. You could barely move by now, not speaking of trying to fight off a man twice your size. His size. In a blur of all events, words and pain you never came back to just how fucking huge he was. You never mentioned that in any of your interrogations. How fucking stupid, huh?
Killer let go of your wrists cautiously, watching you closely - you rose your hands, resting your palms on his chest and pushing with all the might you had left, but it wasn’t enough to even push a cat off the chair - so that was the limit of your strength in this state?
König barked out another laugh - he was going to have so much fun with you! His hand never stopped massaging your crotch, noting a small wet patch forming on your shorts - you were soaked through your panties and now soaking your shorts? Gosh, he better buy a few dozens of these aids. Psycho’s eyes shot up to your face upon hearing a sob - tears ran down your eyes like small diamonds, turning your eyelids a pretty shade of red. König shifted forth so that his mask was almost touching your nose:
- Oh baby, I’ll be much gentler with you this time, I promise, - König cooed, pressing cold plastic of his mask against your flushed wet cheek, as if giving you a comforting peck.
Slasher shifted a bit, changing his position from sitting on your thighs to being in between them, yanking you towards him by your knees. He did quick job of taking your shorts and underwear off in few fluid moves, impatiently discarding them somewhere to the side. König felt his heavy cock twitch inside his jeans at the sight of your puffy cunny, all shiny from slick that practically oozed out of your fluttering hole. He swallowed hard, saliva was practically pooling in his mouth, having to restrain himself from tearing his mask off and devouring your cunt, exposing his face too early. You whined out something unintelligible, still trying to pry his fingers off one of your knees.
Your skin felt hot even through thick fabric of his gloves, so when König took one off and plunged two of his thick fingers inside of your tight hole he was surprised at how hot it was inside of you - one of the drug’s effects, he guessed. You couldn’t help but mewl at the pleasant feeling, your brain barely functioning, controlling yourself was beyond hard.
- That’s it, sweetness. Lemme hear all the pretty sounds you make, - König encouraged, plunging his fingers in and out of you, increasing the pace. Rough thumb coming to circle your slicked clit, causing your whole body to jolt softly. Scent of your pooling arousal was strong and prominent, seeping even through König’s mask, making him throb in his pants.
He couldn’t wait any longer. König was dreaming about your pussy being spread around his cock since that first night, he needed to be inside or else he’ll lose the remnants of his mind. Slasher slipped his fingers out of you, quickly undoing his pants, sliding them down as much as knife holster on his thigh would allow. Your breathing increased as you tried to close your legs, man’s bulky form making it impossible for you to do so.
- No, no please.. not again, - you begged, tears rushing down your temples, your voice meek and barely audible, so König just ignored it.
Pulling his girthy cock out König pumped it a few times with gloved hand, aligning pink swollen tip with your leaking entrance. It one smooth movement he bottomed out half of his impressive length, your body - flushed and pliant - taking him inside without any resistance. Low groan rumbled through his broad chest; König’s head fell backwards, hands gripping soft fat of your thighs, leaving pale marks of his fingertips on your skin.
You hated every second of it. Hated how his hips collided with yours with every thrust, how you felt him throb and twitch inside of you; hated how his hands wandered up and down your sides, rubbing your waist and palming your tits. And you hated how fucking good it felt. Hated how your body, despite all your attempts to resist, to fight off the effects of the drug, gave into the pleasure.
- That’s it baby. Just take what I give you, - König breathed out, his words slurred with pleasure. - See? See how good it can feel when you shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to? Just be a obedient little girl and feel good, I’ll take care of everything else yeah?
It felt as if a ball of bile got stuck in your throat; your face scrunched up in disgust as much as your jelly muscles allowed it:
- Fuck you, - you barely managed to choke out, your tongue struggling to form right sounds.
For a few moments you were sure König didn’t hear you, given the lack of any reaction nor acknowledgement of your words. But the next thing you knew was searing pain in your left cheek, the impact of man’s wide palm with your face jolted your head to the side, sudden change of its position made you felt dizzy. Now world was spinning around you even more so, you felt something warm trickling down your cheek - blood from your nose, you figured. Killer’s fingers roughly gripped your chin, yanking it back so that you were facing him once again.
- You wanna say that again bitch? Come on, I fucking dare you, - he spat out, movements of his hips halting completely, leaving his cock buried deep inside of your rippling warmth.
Your head shifting so harshly once again made you nauseous; you could barely see anything, dark purple circles were dancing all around, changing their shapes and giving way to greens and yellows to flood your vision.
- That’s what I fucking thought, - König gritted out. His hand let go of your chin, coming lower to wrap strong fingers around your neck. His hips started working with even more vigour, forcing his dick in and out of your drugged cunt on the pace that was almost inhuman.
Firm clasp of maniac’s hand around your neck made it nearly impossible to breathe. Both your hands wrapped around his mighty wrist, too weak to actually get him off you. Your vision started to darken rapidly, white noise trilling in your ears, barely allowing any other sounds to filter through.
- From the very moment I laid my eyes on you I fucking owned you. And I own you right now, and forever will. This is my fucking cunt, and I’ll use it whenever I want to. And I need you to fucking. learn. it. - König growled out, emphasising each of his last words with hard deep thrusts of his hips against yours, his cock making your stomach bulge, surely bruising your cervix.
- Oh but I’ll train you. Mould you into my personal cocksleeve, ready to be used whenever I feel like it, - his pace was quickening, thick cotton of his denim pants muffled filthy sounds of his mighty hips snapping against your ass. The grip of strong fingers never eased; König shifted part of his weight onto his hands which were wrapped around your neck, white mask hovering right in front of your face - milky white of it was a harsh contrast to blackness pooling in the corners of your eyes.
With that your conscience started to slip away. You felt your body jolt with every ferocious thrust of man’s hips, his cock buried deep inside of you, bruising your insides with its persistent bullying. Acute lack of oxygen burnt your lungs, and you prayed to all gods that König held your neck a tad bit too long - just enough for you to not wake up the next time. And just before you slipped into heavy delirium, your mushed up brain picked up König’s growl, penetrating through thick noise humming in your ears:
- You’re mine. Forever and ever.
Street was filled with all kinds of noise - sirens from police cars were going off triggering dogs from nearby houses, neighbours were crowding a bit afar, frowning and shaking their heads, everyone having their own theory of what happened. Loud cries of Y/n’s mother shook the air, putting everyone further on the edge. She is such a sweet girl, she’s never done anything bad! Oh god, why is this happening to her of all people?!
Some people were saying that the girl simply snapped, breaking under the pressure of events and finally fleeting the country without telling anyone to not give any clues about her whereabouts to the killer. Some said she just went out to unwind from being constantly watched by police and have some alone time - she’ll show up anytime soon. But everyone knew that it was one of murderer’s deeds - he did something to her. And everyone knew, deep down, that they’ll never see Y/n again - alive, at least.
A young lanky policemen, obviously green and not experienced in his job, was babbling out his report to the superior, all the other cops that were patrolling with him as well stood around silently, too scared to pipe in.
- Sir, I swear we were patrolling the area all this time, there was literally no one but the neighbours, but they were staying at their pro-
- Then you were not doing it well enough! - city commissioner barked out, his mighty vice silencing everyone around for a short moment. His face was red, fuming with rage; nostrils flaring with intensity of his heavy breathing, angry vein popped up on his temple, pulsating in tandem with his rapid heartbeat. His heavy gaze shifted between all the poor officers, their faces pale as chalk.
- You had one fucking job. ONE fucking job - to keep the girl in the sightline - and where is she now, huh? I’m asking you motherfuckers - where is Y/n?! - Mr. Lindner barked out, his heavy voice making everyone jolt. Younger officers stared down on their shoes blankly, not daring to meet eyes with their boss.
- You may consider yourselves lucky if you’ll still have your licences by the end of the week, - commissioner Lindner tsked, spitting onto the ground in remorse. Turning around, he headed to his police issued car, shouldering all those nosy ones who were brave enough to approach him in this state. Getting inside Mr. Lindner closed the door with a loud bang, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway onto the main road.
Commissioner Lindner drove in full silence, blue eyes fixated on the road ahead; it was barely past midnight, but the darkness hung thick all around, being slit by two yellow rays of his car’s headlights. He gripped steering wheel tighter, one hand coming to comb back his grown out hair out of his eyes, a small smile played in the corners of his scarred lips.
Soon he’ll be home - maybe the effects of drugs will wear off by that time and he’ll watch Y/n wake up slowly, those pretty doe eyes of hers gazing up at him drowsily. He will cook her dinner - all of her favourites - and maybe even spoon feed her, if she’ll allow it. Then he’ll bathe her and tuck her in her new bed, locking up the door for the night and watching her sleep through the cameras.
Everything was going as smoothly as ever. No one has accidentally seen him dragging unconscious Y/n out of her house and hauling her into the backseat of his car. No signs of struggle or fight were found - kitchen sink was still half-filled with soapy water and dirty dishes, clean ones drying off on the countertop, a knife with all the fingerprints being drowned among other dirty utensils. Y/n’s parents approved that everything was on its original place - as if the girl just disappeared, dissolved into thin air.
No one suspected a thing. And, of course, no one suspected a respectable city commissioner Lindner with years upon years of experience, a veteran with impeccable reputation, a person no one could speak badly of.
This was the beginning of your new life, life in which everything revolved around König, causing you to cling onto him as if he was some kind of goddess. Life in which you no longer belonged to yourself, but to your abductor. Life in which you finally understood that you don’t need anyone or anything else because you had König, understood that König was your life itself <3
Slasher! König Masterlist
A/n: I apologise for giving König a half assed name, but I thought it’d be really cool for the plot😌
Once again, feedback is highly appreciated! I’m making this a series so feel free to send in your suggestions for more slasher! König content<3
#slasher!konig#slasher!könig#cod könig#könig modern warfare#könig mw2#könig smut#könig cod#könig call of duty#könig x reader#könig x you#könig x y/n#konig modern warfare#konig cod#konig x reader#konig mw2#konig x you#cod#cod mw#cod fanfiction#cod mw3#cod mwf2#cod smut#cod x reader#cod x y/n#cod x you#call of duty#call of duty x you#call of duty x reader#call of duty smut#call of duty modern warfare
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Claim (Alpha Eijiro x Omega Reader)
Day 3 of Breedingtober
<<MASTERLIST>>
The zombie Apocalypse is never a great place for an Omega, but Eijiro appears in your life making it a bit easier.
Warning: This chapter does depict signs of domestic abuse and intimidation done to reader BUT NOT DESCRIBED, GUNS, Shooting, Undead, OMEGAVERSE, ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU, SMUT, KNOTS, slick, cum, BREEDING KINK, praise and slight degradation, blow job, deep throat, mentions of saliva, BLOOD, biting
CROSS OVER ALERT- Kuroko no Basketball (this is unnecessary to the story plot, I just needed characters. If you have read my story Ikigai, you'll be pretty familiar with the layout of the camp and other shit)
9,6k words
Eijiro paused as he waited for anything to happen, anything at all. He took a moment before motioning forward. The group moved forward, rifles out as they neared the motel that seemed otherwise unoccupied from the outside, however the boarded up windows were a concern that would be tackled in the moment.
Katsuki paused at the look of the old motel. Despite the apocalypse, it looked pretty good, stable, for a building that had survived the apocalypse. He glanced to his right from the tree he stood behind. “Sero.” He voiced out lowly.
Sero swallowed down hard as he looked through his scope. The tall lanky Beta was up in the tree tops, having stayed out of sight and higher up in the foliage to ensure that if they did have any enemies that were alive, they wouldn’t see him. “Its dark. I don’t see any movement inside.”
The blond glanced to the giant red head beside him. The large Prime Alpha was quiet for a moment as he surveyed the area for another second. He nodded. “On my lead, Izuku and Shoto watch our six.” He stated simply as he moved forward past the tree line towards the back of the motel.
The back door didn’t seem boarded up or nearly as crowded. There weren’t any undead in sight, and if they were, they had a bullet hole in their head that suggested that they weren’t a threat. Eijiro stood in front of the door, Katsuki staying to the left side of the door pointing his rifle so that if the door opened and there was someone inside he could have access to the right side of the room, while Mina did the same on the right side. Eijiro took a moment, before trying the door handle. It was locked.
Of course, it was.
Eijiro hardened his hand, crushing the lock with ease and opening the door. Inside he was met with darkness. He was quiet as he moved to feel for a light switch. Right as he felt the switch he smelt a scent. Recent. Too recent to not still be in the room. Just as he switched on the lights there was a loud bang sound.
“Eijiro!”
Katsuki and Mina immediately both had their riffled aimed inside the room as the sound of a bullet clattering to the ground was heard. The room was heavily silent. There were six people in the room from what Katsuki could tell but that didn’t matter because they all had their eyes on Eijiro. Eijiro had hardened his head, and with a sort of metallic sound, he was back to normal. Not a scratch on him.
He let out a breath as he looked around the room. “And this is why I go in first.” He let out truthfully.
“I thought you shot that guy!” A red haired man said as well. His hair was a ruby red and short with eyebrows that sort of reminded Mina of Tokoyami’s head. He held a gun up as well as he looked to his comrade who had fired the shot.
The Alpha hadn’t taken his eyes off of Eijiro for a second, dark blue eyes with matching colour hair. His tanned skin contrasting favourably with his hair as he held the gun with a trained grip. “I did, Kagami, unless you didn’t notice that the guy can turn into a fucking rock.”
There was another tall one with green hair and matching eyes, he adjusted his glasses as he looked at the intruders with a judgemental and analytical look in his eyes. “Then shoot one of the others.”
Eijiro took a step forward, putting everyone else on edge. “I wouldn’t advice that, pal.” He let out roughly as he frowned at the glasses wearing one. “Lets be civil about this.”
“Civil my ass.” The blue one scoffed with a low underlying growl. He snarled over at them. “You trespass on our grounds and you wanna be civil.” Katsuki scowled with a low growl, however that wasn’t what had Aomine so irked. Aomine, the blue one, let out another growl. “And this giant rock isn’t even looking at me.”
“It’s because he’s smart.” A man who sat in a magenta chair spoke out as he had Eijiro’s full attention. Although he was shorter than the other Alphas in the room he had an air of dominance and control that clearly showed who had the most amount of power here. His gaze was heavy on Eijiro but Eijiro didn’t back down. The large redhead held his gaze as if he had nothing better to do. Akashi scoffed but smiled, as he pushed himself off the chair. “Akashi Seijuro, Head Alpha of the Generation of Miracles.” He spoke leisurably.
At this point, Katsuki had motioned for Shoto and Izuku to come inside to make the playing ground more fair. “Kirishima Eijiro, Head Alpha of Pack A.” Eijiro responded.
Akashi put his hands behind his back, not a gun on him as he walked to stand in front of Eijiro. “Why are you here? You’re not dead yet, which means you’ve survived long enough to have your own resources. So why come here?”
Eijiro looked around the room. He shrugged not feeling particularly up to answering. “Truthfully, we were bored.”
His answer caused the other Miracles to growl. At the sound of their growling, Katsuki, Izuku and Shoto returned it. Akashi put a hand up that stopped their growling. He frowned at the taller Prime Alpha, his presence imposing on him. Unlike Akashi, there was a hierarchy here now that waws upset because of Eijiro’s appearance. As the only Apex in the room, it meant that he was at the top. And that never set well with Akashi because he was always at the top.
Eijiro sniffed before his eyebrows raised slightly. He sniffed again as he looked towards a large purple haired Alpha that seemed to be blocking something. Something that smelt much too sweet to be an Alpha’s scent. His eyebrows twitched as he felt his Alpha stir at the scent.
Akashi didn’t like that.
“Let go of me!” You whined as you pushed against Murasakibara, the larger than life purple haired Alpha that looked rather tired and drained. He looked a lot like Shinso in that aspect. “I wanna see.”
He looked back to you with a low growl as you were stuffed in a corner behind him. “No, Y/N-chin. Aka-chin said no.” He reasoned.
You let out a low hiss, your scent turning sour in anger. “Seijuro!” You shouted from where you were. You dropped to the flow, peaking from behind the tall Alpha’s legs to look at the Head Alpha of your group. That’s when Eijiro first saw you, with a frown on your face and determination in your eyes. Eijiro’s Alpha perked up at the sight of you. You were the most beautiful Omega he had ever seen in his life. You frowned as you looked to the Alpha who didn’t even look at you, who was too busy scowling at Eijiro’s attention on you to notice much of your anger. “Seijuro, tell him to let me go.”
“Y/N, I told you to get in the other room with Tetsuya and you didn’t listen.” He reminded you, when you had first spotted Pack A from outside.
You rolled your eyes. “They’re people, Seijuro, just like we are.” You reasoned as you put a hand to your chest. That didn’t seem to sit well with the other Alpha at all. You rolled your eyes as you turned to look up at Eijiro, your eyes looking up at him with something he wasn’t entirely sure what to call. “Excuse me, Head Alpha Kirishima,” You spoke with your head slightly down and exposing your neck towards him. At the sign of respect and submission, Eijiro couldn’t help but find you looking even more tempting. An approving rumble left his chest, showing that he was willing to listen to you. Akashi motioned for Murasakibara and Kise, who were the closest to you in your group, to block you out of sight, which made you let out a small yelp. At the sound Katsuki glanced at Eijiro who scowled at Akashi.
With another hiss you somehow managed to bully your way out from their grasp. “I swear I will bite your knots off!” You glared at the two of them for trying to stop you. The both of them lifted up their hands in surrender as you glared at them. You then turned back to Eijiro. Akashi, moved to block your path, showing he didn’t want you moving closer to the other Alpha. You frowned at him, but obeyed him as your Head Alpha. “Head Alpha Kirishima, tell me, is your pack based near here?”
Eijiro’s gaze eased at the sight of you. He nodded. “Yes, it is. Maybe a day’s walk away but nothing that can’t be tackled. Just further out of the city.”
You hummed as you nodded your head at that information. He could tell that slowly you were releasing your sweet scent into the air to try and calm things down and decrease the tension. As the only Omega in the room, Eijiro was appreciative of your actions. “How many pack members?”
“Twenty-One.” He answered simply.
You perked up at the number and glanced at Aomine with a pointed glare. It was a wordless exchange with the large blue haired Alpha but he scowled and looked away with a tsk. He knew what you were trying to tell him. If he had killed Eijiro, you all would have been way too over your head with the group you were dealing with.
You turned back to look at Eijiro. You swallowed down heavily before looking between Akashi and Eijiro. “It’s futile fighting it’s futile trying to kill each other. How about we talk about a possible alliance or maybe even… merge.” At the mention of your suggestion, Akashi let out a low growl at you. His magenta eyes bore into you with almost malice at the thought. You lowered your stature slightly but stood your ground. You took a step closer to him. “We need it, Seijuro.” You whispered to him before turning to Eijiro. “Humanity is better together than separated. Don’t you think, Head Alpha Kirishima?” You asked.
Eijiro hesitated as he saw Izuku and Katsuki glance at each other before glancing at him. Eijiro let out a heavy breath as he thought on it for a moment. “More people mean more mouths to feed, it means more noise, it means more attraction from bad people or the undead.” He explained.
“It also means more hands to help and more eyes on the ground.” You rebutted. Eijiro’s eyebrow twitched with a slight smirk. You shrugged. “Its better to have packmates than uncertain friends.”
Eijiro looked to Katsuki. The blond Alpha looked up to him before looking over at the group in front of him. Then his eyes looked to you. Then he looked to Eijiro. Eijiro looked over to Izuku. The green haired Alpha glared at the opposing side but then looked to his Head Alpha. He huffed but kept his grip on his rifle. Eijiro looked to Akashi but answered to you. “I’m willing to discuss.”
Akashi scowled.
You smiled. “Wonderful! Please, it’s late and its past sunset. Stay the night.” You encouraged, happy to see new faces as you looked around to all of them brightly. Your packmates were not so bubbly.
It took a long time for the negotiations to be met and for either side to be somewhat happy. You also got to learn all their names. You learnt quickly that the pink woman’s name was Ashido Mina, she was a beta and she was very extroverted and lovely. Although the other Omega in your group, Kuroko Tetsuya wasn’t so eager about her extervertedness, you didn’t seem to mind. Then there was the other Beta in the group, and Mina’s partner, Sero Hanta. He was nice and rather laid back and didn’t seem bothered by the Alphas in the room. Then there was an Alpha similar to him, Todoroki Shoto. From then you realised that they were all old heroes from before the world went to shit. Shoto was just as you remember him from all the girls that had crushes on him, stoic and quiet. Then there was the loud Alpha that you knew from the tabloids, Bakugou Katsuki. The blond was trigger happy which was a bad combination with Aomine and Kise but they were pretty satiated easily.
Then there were two Alphas that peaked your interest. First was the green haired Alpha with freckles on his cheeks and a dangerous yet friendly look in his eyes that could change at any moment. Midoriya Izuku. At first you thought the Alpha was a rather friendly a passive person, and you weren’t too offput by his presence, but you realised the undertones of a prime Alpha in him. It was clear that he wasn’t trying to present himself as such and yet he carried a presence to him. Then lastly was the Alpha that you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on, Kirishima Eijiro. He was the largest out of their group, pure muscle and an absolute tank of an Alpha. Although he was friendly to you, always looking deep into your eyes as if he could read you like an open book, he held a firm presence to him that told you why he was Head Alpha. Even when you went to bed last night, in a room upstairs with Tetsuya, you couldn’t help but think about him.
How large he was. How deep his ruby eyes were. How sharp those teeth were that could puncture into your neck so easily.
It was such thoughts that plagued your brain. You tried not to think about them as the next day you had a lot of walking and relocating to do. You were quickly ushered to putting on your scent blockers along with Kuroko because of how dangerous it was for Omegas now in this new world. Zombies were drawn to Omega’s scents like flies to a carcass. It was horrifying how one sniff of the scent could send them all barrelling towards the closest Omega first. So you had to be careful and under the radar as you travelled.
The best part of travelling is that everyone had to be quiet in order for it to be successful and for you all not to attract attention, which meant no fighting of the two opposing groups. However, Eijiro was right as the further you left from the city, deeper into the woods, just a days walk, did you reach large walls made out of metal and wood that blocked out anything from the outside, it was well hidden too which was a good thing. With a wave from Eijiro, you were all allowed inside into the large compound.
At the sight and sound of bustling people working around the area, you couldn’t help but feel excited and almost nostalgic at the sight. The camp had one side with a river as its border so that there was a constant source of water. The sound of the river seemed to numb most sounds of the people inside making it a great noise canceler. It almost seemed like it used to be a camping site, with cabins and a cafeteria too. Of course, there were newly built structures too and tents too, but it was functional, and it was working and it was beautiful.
You were quickly introduced to the pack and to the few other Omegas that were there, and you were put into a cabin with some other Omegas, away from the Alphas in the Miracles for the first time in a long time. It was almost relieving to have your own space again in some sort of way. And you also had a hot meal. You hadn’t had one in a long time, but you did have one.
You were happy in this new camp with all these new people too.
You sat on a tree stump around one of the fires that were lit to keep people warm. You looked up at the stars, looking at how bright they were without the city lights and all the pollution. It was a bit of a chilly night, but that was to be expected near a river.
“Hey.” You turned your attention over to Eijiro who moved over to sit next to you on another old stump. The large Alpha held two hot cups in his hands. He wore a light sweater that suited him well as he offered the one cup to you.
You smiled warmly at the gift and accepted. “Evening Head Alpha Kirishima, thank you.” You bowed your head in gratitude as you looked down at the cup. It smelt like tea which you were now very grateful for. You held the mug between your hands as you kept your body warm.
“No, please.” He waved a hand down. “No need for the formalities, Eijiro is fine.” He assured you.
“You are Head Alpha of his pack,” You said reminding him. “I have to acknowledge that.”
Eijiro looked at you for a moment intrigued by the statement. He scoffed as he looked down. “Well, at the end of the day, I’m just Eijiro. But if you want, Kirishima is also fine.” He informed you as he turned to look at you, the light of the fire illuminating in his ruby eyes. “So, how have you been? How’s the pack treating you? I hope the duties you were assigned aren’t too much.”
You smiled. “Well. Very well. And don’t worry about the duties, I understand. We all have to pitch in to help and keep this place running, it only makes sense.” You assured him of your understanding as you nodded your head. “You’re all so nice and I’ve made some good friends, like Mina, Momo and Pony, even with Shinso. I’m…” You looked up to the stars once again with a smile. “I’m glad I’m here.”
Eijiro watched you for a moment. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him and why he was so fascinated by you. You were something else entirely and he loved to watch you. He could sense so much from within you. At first, he was worried it was just because you were an Omega and conveniently, a good looking one at that. There weren’t many Omegas left and he was worried that his dumb Alpha just wanted you for your second gender. However, watching you as practical Head Omega of your group, watching your reasoning and your way of thinking was more attractive than anything physical.
Eijiro looked down at his cup, “Well…” he turned to look at you. “I’m glad that you’re here.” You turned to him in surprise at the statement, your eyes wide as you stared at the Alpha next to you. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve been doing well here. Not many people can adapt as easily as you have.” He spoke truthfully. You ignored the warmth in your face as being caused by the fire and not his words.
You moved to drink from your tea before it got cold. You swallowed down hard. “So… what have you been up to?” You asked him.
He let out a breath. “Been moving and chopping some logs and had some meetings with Iida and Akashi and the others, by the way, he really doesn’t like it here.” You giggled making him smile. “I’m serious, he acts like I’m condemning him to hell.”
“He’s just…” You hesitated as you let out a soft scoff. “He doesn’t like change.”
Eijiro nodded as he kept looking at his cup. He took a sip of his own tea as a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. The low rush of the river and crickets nearby along with the hush of people talking behind you filled the space between the both of you. “So… is he your Alpha?” He asked casually, but felt a heavy stone at the back of his throat.
You snorted as you shook your head. “God no. None of them are. I mean… sure we’re a pack and I’m an Omega so, I don’t really have much chose when it comes to…” You stopped yourself before you got too personally, and looked down at your grip on your cup. Your grip was harsh. “But I’ve never let one of them claim me. I mean, it’s the end of the fucking world and I shouldn’t be so picky… so many Omegas out there who didn’t make it would kill to have a choice of mate like me, but I…” Your voice trailed on, not entirely sure what more there was to say.
Eijiro nodded his head as he looked at you. “Hey.” You turned to him. “You aren’t forced to be with any of them. You’re free to do what you want and be with whoever you want.”
You scoffed softly. “That’s easy for you to say, Mr Head Alpha…” you spoke lowly. “I’ve already accepted life as an Omega in this world. If I’m not with a pack, I’m either waiting to die at the hands of zombies or going to be stolen away by people worse. Omegas are scarce and when people start getting comfortable, pack Omegas are the first people to look to. I understand my role as a femme in this world. Doesn’t make me helpless but it’s a scary truth. I don’t really have a choice.”
“You have a choice in pack.” You paused at what he was saying as you turned to look at him. Eijiro straightened up his posture. “That’s all up to you.”
You looked at him a bit unsure in what he was implying. You opened your mouth to speak.
“Y/N!” You visibly jumped out of your skin as you turned to look back at Akashi and Aomine. Both Alphas looked angry with who you had been found talking to. Aomine glared at Eijiro with a low growl. Akashi didn’t say anything but you already knew what he was saying to you.
You swallowed down hard before looking to Eijiro. Eijiro tensed at the smell of your scent, heavy and laced with anxiety and fear. You gave him a weak smile and a nod. “Thank you for the chat.” You spoke lowly as you left behind the tea you had and left over to them.
Eijiro watched with a worried look as Aomine grabbed the back of your neck making you let out a small yelp as he stirred you away from Eijiro along with them. Akashi didn’t say anything as he glanced back at Eijiro. He huffed before turning to look back forward again, ignoring the other Alpha. Eijiro had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a worried feeling about you.
Eijiro moved fast and quickly to the one of the Omegan barracks. His heart beating loudly in his ears as he tried to be quick about it. What Mina had told him was limited but enough to make the Alpha’s hair stand up in worry. He was light on his feet as he finally reached the cabin he was looking for. He opened the door, the room vacant all for one person.
You were sitting on a chair near a window. You turned to look at him, and that’s when he saw it. Bruises on the side of your face, recent enough for Eijiro to know that they weren’t old. Dried blood was on your bottom lip. You stood up in surprise. “Head Alpha Ki-”
You couldn’t finish your statement as Eijiro crossed the room in short strides and immediately cupped your face, looking at the bruises on you. “What happened?” He asked, a furrow to his brows and worry in his voice. “Who did this to you?” He asked with a low underlying growl as he inspected your condition.
You moved your face out of his grasp with a sigh. "You need to leave."
He paused for a second before frowning. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened and we get you help.” He stepped closer to you but you took a step further away from him.
“No, I can’t be seen talking to you.” You stated, turning away from him. You held your arms closer to your body not wanting him to press forward on that matter. Part of you was hoping he would just go away so that you could be in peace.
Eijiro paused. His eyebrows furrowed. “It was him, wasn’t it?” He asked lowly.
You didn’t answer as you tightened your grip on yourself as you tried to ignore that question. You heard a low growl from Eijiro in annoyance. You sighed, closing your eyes. “What does it matter?” You asked softly with a shrug. “It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“I am going to worry about it!”
“Why?”
“Because-” Eijiro stopped himself at his raised voice. You turned back to look at him as he had his eyes closed and he took a deep breath. His scent was raging, releasing pheromones of aggression and anger, but it quickly changed to having a heavy undertone of worry and care. He opened his eyes and looked to you. You watched his handsome face ease as he stepped closer to you.
The large Alpha let out a low chuft from the back of his throat, asking for permission to touch you this time. You hesitated but nodded your head with a soft chirp. He gently caressed your cheek, his thumb grazing over the bruise so lightly you didn’t even feel it. A low rumble came out of his chest, almost in a comforting sense. You looked up at him with wide eyes, looking into his ruby ones. He looked so concerned, eyebrows furrowed as if he wondered how someone could even think of hurting you. He leaned down forward, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for something to happen.
It took a moment, but nothing happened. When you opened your eyes this time, Eijiro had put his forehead against yours. His rumble only grew louder as he lightly scented you. You were stiff for a moment before relaxing, allowing him to scent you. You let out a hum as you lifted your neck, exposing it as he leaned forward.
His large hands went to rest on your hips as he pulled you closer, affectionately scenting you. You weren’t sure what to make of this, but it made your heart leap out of your chest and your Omega purred like a generator. You felt a flush rise up your neck. You weren’t usually this swayed but his large figure dwarfing you as he held you to his side made you feel butterflies that you had never felt since the end of this stupid world.
He let out a deep breath. “If you would allow me…” He started lowly. “I want to take care of you.” You listened to what he was saying but was half distracted by the feeling of his thumb stroking your arm. “But I can’t do that if you don’t want to be part of my pack… if you don’t want to be mine.”
You looked up at him half unsure. “But what about Akashi and the others. They would never allow it.”
“It doesn’t matter what they allow.” He lets out sternly. “I’m Head Alpha.” He moved his hand to lift your chin up to look at him. He raised a single eyebrow. “Aren’t I… Omega?”
Your eyes glanced down at his lips before looking back up at his eyes. Your mind went numb for a second but you nodded your head. “Yes… you are.”
You felt almost like you couldn’t breathe in his arms and yet you wanted him. You wanted him more than you wanted to breathe. You could feel it in the air, it was as palpable as ever. It was almost suffocating. He was right in front of you and you didn’t know what to do. You wanted him against you. You wanted him to consume you. You wanted him to ravage you and take you as his own. You wanted his bite on your neck. It ached and thrummed between your legs almost as consistently as your heartbeat.
You turned your head, trying to breathe, trying to align your thoughts once again. However, it didn’t even last a second that you tried to recollect yourself as Eijiro moved your face towards him. His lips claimed yours in security and assurance. It was slow and it was gentle. You weren’t even sure if it was real. All you knew was that you could feel the heat that radiated off of him and you wanted more of it.
The moment he pulled away, letting out a soft breath you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back down again. Eijiro let out a low rumble as he reached to put his hands back on your hips. He deepened the kiss, holding you tighter. You closed your eyes as you let yourself be consumed by his figure. For a second, just in his embrace, you could forget about everything and focus on the Alpha in front of you.
Eijiro stumbled back with you in his arms, putting your back against the wooden wall of the cabin. You gasped as Eijiro gripped your thighs and hoisted you up. He let out a determined growl as he held you up with little effort. He once again attacked your lips, his need to be with you, clasped around you, inside you, was so great it almost made him want to discard everything going on and sink into your soft cunt.
He could smell how needy you were, he could smell it in your scent and he could taste it on your lips. He loved it more than anything.
But he had to be patient.
Eijiro leaned back as he took a deep inhale and angled his face down away from you. His breaths laboured as well as your own. You could feel his half hard cock against you, making you whine as your thighs twitched. You nudged his jaw with your nose as he held you up. You had never felt such a strong and almost careless bond with someone like this before. It felt almost as if you had no control over your body, as if you were entirely acting off of instinct.
And yet it felt almost amazing.
He let out a low sigh as he brought his face to the crook of your neck. “You’re staying with me.”
You closed your eyes as you felt the beat of his heart against the palm of your hand as you rest it on his heart. You nodded your head. “Okay.”
“WHERE ARE THEY!” Akashi shouted as he pushed past others to move towards Eijiro who stood talking to Bakugou before he had to pause to look at the angry alpha. Eijiro turned towards him with a raised eyebrow. Akashi moved with Aomine and Kagami behind him as he moved towards Eijiro. At the confrontation, immediately Bakugou turned on the defensive as he started growling, staying at Eijiro’s side. Akashi had an angry look in his eyes, one that couldn’t help but ripple off of him in waves of his scent. “Where are they?”
Kirishima looked down at him before shrugging. “I don’t know who you’re talking about-”
“Don’t play stupid with me, Kirishima.” he let out threateningly. “Where the fuck is my Omega?”
“I didn’t know you had one.”
Aomine rolled his eyes getting fed up on behalf of all of them. “Y/N! Where is Y/N!”
Eijiro blinked before putting on a surprised face. “Oh Y/N…” He let out as he folded his arms. “Y/N is safe away from you.”
“Away from us?” Aomine stepped forward causing Katsuki to do the same. Noticing the scuffle, Izuku paused with a basket of nectarines in his arms. He handed them to Shoto who’s eyes widened in surprise before heading over to Eijiro and Katsuki’s side. Aomine scoffed before looking to Eijiro. “They are our Omega!”
Eijiro’s grip on his arm tightened as he glared over at them. “You don’t deserved the privilege of having an Omega if you lay a hand on them.”
Aomine opened his mouth but paused. Akashi had a hand up, signalling for him to keep quiet. His gaze hardened as he looked at Kirishima, he took a step forward. “They are our Omega. A masc, let alone a Head Alpha, has right to discipline their Omega how they see fit.”
“Discipline? Slapping an Omega, that’s what you call discipline?” Eijiro asked, his patience wearing thin as he stepped forward, suddenly, the area around them grew quiet as people stopped what they were doing to spectate the group. “How dare you treat an Omega like that?”
Akashi scoffed. “It’s none of your concern.”
“It’s all of my concern as Head Alpha.”
The magenta haired Alpha growled in annoyance. “You worry about your pack members and I’ll worry about mine.”
All it took was one glance to Aomine and suddenly there was a gun pointed at Katsuki. Everything happened so fast, Eijiro wasn’t entirely sure if he could even say a single word before it happened. He froze as the piercing sound rang through the air, everyone diving down in fear of the bullet. Eijiro’s heart stopped as he could barely breathe.
Katsuki was down on the ground, Izuku having tackled the blond Alpha before the shot could have gotten him. Katsuki put his hands to his head, feeling that he was in fact alive and not dead. However, Izuku let out a pained groan from atop of him. It was then that Katsuki quickly realised the green haired Alpha had been shot in his place. Warm hot blood spilt down from Izuku onto Katsuki making the blond trigger in a reaction. “Deku!” He pushed Izuku up, trying to see where all the blood that was now falling onto him was coming from. Izuku’s shoulder had an entrance hole from the bullet in it as he let out pained groans as he held his shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut as in agony as he bit down on his bottom lip. He bit back pained cries as he lay in Katsuki’s lap now. Katsuki put a hand to Izuku’s face. “You fucking idiot… It’s okay, it’s alright.” Katsuki said lowly. He looked up at one of the bystanders. “SOMEONE CALL A FUCKING MEDIC!”
Eijiro was frozen before looking at Akashi. Katsuki looked up and watched as Eijiro’s eyes turned black as his arm hardened.
You paced back and forth as you stood outside the medical bay on the grounds. The screaming had stopped a few hours ago. It was enough to make one sick. When you had heard all that had happened while you stayed in Eijiro’s cabin, you felt absolutely ridden with guilt. Learning that Izuku had taken a built all because of a scuffle concerning you had you feeling as though maybe you had done the wrong thing.
The door opened into the late evening air, the cycads singing the entire time. You looked up to Eijiro who closed the door behind him. He let out a heavy breath but smiled at you. “He’s going to be fine.” You let out a relieved breath, nearly falling to your knees. “Whoa!” Eijiro quickly caught you in his arms, holding you up.
You leaned your head against his chest as you tried to fight back the tears that spilt from your eyes. “Oh thank goodness.” You whispered in relief. “I was so worried. I couldn’t bare it if he-” You couldn’t say it as it got stuck in your throat.
Eijiro gave you a gentle smile before shaking your head. “No, don’t worry. Recovery girl is one of the best in the game, and her quirk is healing so he’ll make a good recovery. We just don’t have anaesthesia left so he had to go through removing the bullet awake. He passed out not too long ago though.” He reported. You kept your eyes squeezed shut as you held onto him for dear life. Eijiro frowned as he pet down your back. He picked you up and started walking down the dirt path.
You all had to be especially quiet after all that had happened. From the gun shot, to the fight that had happened afterwards, it was way too much noise and brought enough dead to your door that was unnecessary. You hard heard that Eijiro, Iida, Shinso and Sero had effectively kicked the miracles out of the community. It was only due to the sheer number of undead outside was the reason they didn’t kill them.
Alive enemies were worse than dead ones.
But you just hoped they wouldn’t bother any of the pack again. You didn’t want to be the cause of problems.
Eijiro carried you safely in his arms towards his cabin. Most of the pack had gone to dinner or were with Izuku currently. You chose to wait outside, wanting some time to yourself. Although the Omegas comforted you through it, telling you that this wasn’t because of you and none of this was your fault, you still felt consumed by guilt.
Eijiro entered his cabin, closing the door back with his foot as he walked over to his bedroom. This cabin wasn’t bigger than the others, but Eijiro had it all to himself (Head Alpha perks). He placed you carefully on the bed before crouching in front of you. “Hey…” He let out lowly as he held your hands in his own large ones. You looked at him, his ruby eyes lulling you in as he talked to you. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. You’re with me.”
You swallowed down hard as you nodded your head. You gave him a weak smile before looking down at your hands. You let out a stuttered breath. “Eijiro…” You started.
“Hm?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this?” You looked up at him so damn confused. You didn’t understand it. You didn’t understand him, you couldn’t understand him. It didn’t make sense. There were Omegas, femmes that here that had been with his pack longer, gorgeous and trustworthy, that were more worth the attention than you felt you were. You shrugged as you gave him a slight cynical smile. “I don’t get it. You could have just cut your losses and just left me out with them. It wouldn’t have been that hard. One of your pack members wouldn’t have been nearly killed because of me.”
Eijiro watched you speak wordlessly, watching your eyes entranced almost. A sad smile on his face as he watched you gently. “Y/N when I first met you… I found your presence captivating.” He spoke softly. His thumb traced over the knuckles of your fingers as he did so. “Your reasoning and commitment towards the betterment of the people around you and the community you find yourself in was… well, it was admirable. I found it admirable. I found myself drawn to you. I would have done this for any Omega that found themselves in this situation, it isn’t right to be treated that way. However,” He reached a hand up to your face, gently caressing you. “I found myself entranced with you… I hope you can forgive me for that.”
You swallowed down hard before a small sad smile came to your face. You shook your head as tears came to your eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive.” You shrugged with a soft whisper.
Eijiro smiled making the butterflies in your stomach flutter. Eijiro… you couldn’t help but get so giggly with him around. He made you feel like a young Omega all over again with a crush that felt way too good for you. You smiled as you leaned down to him, placing a kiss to your face. Eijiro chuckled but kissed you back with a rumble out of his chest.
You found yourself purring in response as you reached for his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Eijiro once again, found himself too deep in your scent, your touch, your presence to think logically even though he had only started kissing you two seconds ago. He moved to slowly push you back onto the bed, falling back with your back against the sheets. He caged you in easily making you feel so small underneath him.
Eijiro hummed at the taste of you on his lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to pull him in closer as you moved your hips up, your legs wrapping themselves around his torso. Eijiro pressed in further down. With one rut down against you, you both separated with a heavy groan into the air. The feeling of his clothed sex against your own made you feel so damn needy. It almost made you just want to rip your clothes of and jump on his cock until he knotted you. Part of you didn’t even want foreplay. You just wanted him.
You both found yourself in a steady movement of him grinding his hardening bulge against your own clothed cunt that was now covered in slick. You whined as you tightened your hold on him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Eijiro moved to try and lick over your scent gland. Immediately he moaned at the taste of you on his tongue. He loved it. He wanted more. Which is exactly what he did, lapping at your scent gland wanting to have the taste of you memorised on his tongue.
You moaned at the feeling of his hot tongue on your neck. A small hiss escaping your lips as you felt sharp canines just skim over your neck. “Alpha…” You let out into the air, making a low rumble thunder out of his chest, causing a shiver to run down your spine.
Eijiro moved to unbutton your shirt, moving to undress you as he kept you pinned underneath him. His cock was aching and he couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think past finally getting you on his cock, even as he slipped off his own shirt. Not with the way you were now looking up at him, bare and wide eyed as you stared up at him like a doe in headlights. It was an exhilarating feeling that had him aching to be one with you.
Just as he moved to push a finger inside you, you put a hand to his wrist, stopping him. You shook your head. Instantly that raised red flags in his head. Although you could guess just by the bulge in his cargo pants alone, Eijiro was big.
Okay, that was a lie.
He was fucking huge.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you by trying to bully his cock in a space that wouldn’t fit him. Although the thought of forcing his cock inside you, seeing the way your whole would struggle to accommodate him as you whined with tears in your eyes, you barely being able to breathe as Eijiro stretched you out further than any Alpha could before… it made a part of him excited which half scared him.
“Let me…” You pushed him back to stand as you sat up on the bed. You shuffled off the bed as well before slowly sinking to your knees. “Let me service you, Alpha.” You said as you slowly sank to your knees, keeping your eyes on him. You watched his ruby eyes slowly turn dark as he swallowed down hard. He allowed it with a deep grunt making you smile.
You stared at the bulge in front of you as you were positioned on your knees. You were careful as you found a comfortable position to stay in. You carefully moved to unzip his pants, taking down the zipper as you pulled down his pants first with a bit of his help, allowing him to step out of them. You then moved to pull down his briefs and thank God you had fast reflexes, the else you might have gotten smacked in the face.
Your eyes widened as you were met with the monster in front of you. A thick girthy cock that you were sure had you drooling. It was beautiful. Thick and heavy, leaking pre from the tip that made you want to kiss it. You wondered how on earth you were gonna take it inside you. But then the thought of struggling on such a beast had slick slipping out of you and onto your thighs.
Wanna read the rest of this smutty deliciousness? Head over to the link below!! This is one of my more spicy ones so, it belongs and will stay on AO3. DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM ANY OF MY WORK.
#mha x y/n#kirishima x reader#bnha#mha#eijiro x reader#alpha kirishima x reader#alpha kirishima x omega reader#alpha kirishima eijirou#alpha kirishima eijiro#alpha kirishima#kirishima smut#kirishima eijirou x reader#eijiro kirishima x reader#kirishima eijiro x reader#kirishima eijiro smut#bnha smut#generation of miracles#crossover WARNING#mha omegaverse#bnha omegaverse#zombie apocolypse au
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Rigor Mortis (part 7)
College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader
(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,
Part 6, Part 8
summary: You spend some time with Miguel.
warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI
a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl
Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3
Join my taglists here
wc: 6.3k
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all-consuming grief,
It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps.
Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.
Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop.
He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.
He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep.
Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening.
“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair.
Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.
“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.
His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.
They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.
“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”
“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”
It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges. “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.”
“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.
“Discúlpame, tío.”
They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.
“I spoke to your mother.”
He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.
“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”
“She hasn’t called me either."
“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"
Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it.
"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”
"You know it's all been hard on her."
" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words.
He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."
"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."
–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash.
Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager.
"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."
He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day.
"It's today, isn't it?"
All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back.
“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.
Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick.
Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.
His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.
“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.
“Hmm?”
They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.
“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”
Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe.
“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”
“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"
“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”
“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."
“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”
“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t– rot feels a little–”
“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”
They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.
“No promises, tío.”
“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”
He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.
“...best behaviour, I know.”
“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”
“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”
“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”
“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”
The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.
~~~
There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning.
Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes.
And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest.
And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most.
"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window.
You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.
"I…I do."
You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered…
Miguel is doing okay.
“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”
Really, actually; he’s doing fine.
“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”
Maybe even… good. Better than okay.
“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”
He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.
Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.
You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes.
“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”
His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.
“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”
“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”
“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”
For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs.
It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course.
Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.
"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt.
Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face.
"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips.
"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?"
You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest.
"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit.
Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words.
"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question.
"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?"
That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm.
Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move.
Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–
"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.
"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed.
"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force.
"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts.
Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence.
"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure.
"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."
"...now?"
Tomorrow. Miguel mouths.
"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt.
"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."
You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out.
"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things."
Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation?
What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you.
You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.
He cradles your chin, angling you upwards.
"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips.
You shake your head, writhing against the sheets.
"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."
His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Eyes on me, baby.”
He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big.
"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”
~~~
When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up.
He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes. You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all.
"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first.
"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."
"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?"
Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes.
He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter.
You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum.
"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course.
"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–
He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead.
"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?"
He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways.
"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."
He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad.
But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck .
You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.
You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own.
"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?"
It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate.
He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?"
His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?
"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.
"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above.
Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–"
Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."
Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin.
"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."
You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next.
He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.
“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug.
“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”
You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.
“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”
Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him.
After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole.
"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen.
It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths.
"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?"
He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine.
With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure.
"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement.
"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there.
He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck.
You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea.
"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."
"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before.
"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–"
You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter.
"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits.
Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it.
He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made.
He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa.
You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers.
He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good.
You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time.
"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?"
"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful.
You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers.
You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer.
Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine.
_
_
-
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confidently lost | k. mingyu
pairing: mingyu x reader
genre: smut (this is really filthy i'm so sorry lmao)
word count: 2.8k
tags: dilf!mingyu, divorced!mingyu, babysitter!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, mingyu early 40s), daddy kink, sir kink(?), mommy kink (mingyu wants to make reader a mommy), breeding kink, mild size kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex
summary: it's not easy to work your way through college, luckily for you, your babysitting job pays exceptionally well. and your boss is absolutely gorgeous.
you'd never really been fond of the colour grey. the way moody clouds clogged up the sky with cold indifference; or the concrete jungle of the city urged you to succumb to stressful days - it had always left an uneasy feeling within you. there was no warmth to it, no playful side, no joy, nothing.
although you'd found a new appreciation for it, once you started working for your current boss - mr kim mingyu. grey looked different on him. his suits seemed elegant, rather than arrogant. there were no harsh edges around him, nothing cold in his radiant smile or his salt and pepper hair. he was a kind, dedicated and gorgeous man, who always treated you with kindness, no matter how late he came home. and on top of all that, he was also a wonderful father. he was able to make a color as hopeless as grey shine.
"mr kim", he had introduced himself with a firm handshake, keeping his gaze steady as you felt your whole body flare up. "although mingyu's just fine with me. you're from uh- what are they called again? 'tiny treasures', right?"
you must have looked like a fish out of water then, gawking at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as though he had two heads standing on his shoulder. as much as you had tried, your eyes kept wandering to his broad chest and tall frame, feeling almost entranced by his presence alone. "uh- yes, mr kim. i'm currently still in college, so this is me trying to uh- make some money on the side. your daughter's two, right?"
"eunji's birthday is in december, she'll turn three then. i work from nine to five - her mother only gets her every second week of the month, so i appreciate any help i can get around the house", his smile had almost knocked the breath out of your lungs. even then you had known that this was going to be a problem. "and it's mingyu, sweetheart."
"when do you want me to start?", you'd merely replied, voice sounding disgustingly nervous.
his smile had turned into a smirk. "when are you able to?"
working for him simultaneously felt like a dream and like an absolute nightmare. yes, he might be a kind boss and eunji was nothing short of adorable. even his house seemed almost too perfect to be true. you were very certain of the fact that his job probably payed him handsomely - judging by his designer clothes and the many expensive toys eunji was entertained with. and yet, you felt this strange expanding in your chest sensation, whenever mr kim handed you your payment for the day. maybe he made you feel uneasy with his perfect little life as a confident man in his early fortys. maybe you felt like you didn't quite belong there, despite his welcoming presence.
or maybe, just maybe, it was your massive crush on him that fueled your anxiety. but who was to say?
"oh, shi- did i wake you two?", your ears perked up at the sound of your employer's voice, fingers still entangled in his daughter's soft hair. soft snores escaped her parted lips, her tiny arms holding still holding on to your torso. no matter how much you enjoyed hearing eunji's tiny giggles, you still felt relieved once she finally calmed down enough to fall asleep.
"hm? oh no, don't worry, sir", you replied, voice hushed. "uh sorry- do you mind taking her? my legs are starting to fall asleep."
"oh no, we can't have that", he chuckled, rounding the coffee table to lift her up from your lap, placing a soft kiss on top of her head. there were smile lines around his eyes as his beamed down at you and you swore, you could feel your heart skip a beat.
sure, you were quite aware of the age difference between you two. and yes, you were also quite aware of how stupid it would be, to start fucking your boss as someone who needs his money to go through college. but by god - were you not allowed to fantasize even a little bit?
he was goddamn gorgeous. his chest was broad, shoulders wide, biceps bulging even in dress shirts, and worst of all - his smile. there was always this wolfish glint in his eyes whenever he gifted you with a smile that left you questioning your sanity. it felt both, dangerous and exciting - as if you were breaking the rules just by talking to him. sometimes in moments like these, it did feel like he knew what kind of effect he had on you. and worst of all - he seemed like he found enjoyment in it. although you decided it'd best to bury that thought as deep as you could in the depth of your mind. who could afford to hope for something so naive?
your eyes followed him as he carried his daughter to her room, stretching your legs from underneath you. you hummed in relief at the blood rushing to your feet once again, letting your head fall back on the couch. exhaustion spread through your body, only suppressing a yawn with great effort. you were so ready for bed at this point.
"thank you again for coming in so late", mingyu sighed out, closing the living room door behind him with a soft 'click'. "i know, you usually don't really do weekends."
you offered him a faint smile. "oh please, it's nothing, mr kim. was there an emergency at the office or something? if i'm allowed to ask, that is."
to your surprise, he paused for a second, smile slightly faltering, before he moved to run his fingers through his hair. "it's mingyu, darling", the response felt automatic at this point but still never failed to make you feel all giddy. "i know you mean well, but i feel like i belong in a retirement home everytime you call me by my last name."
"i'm sorry, mr mingyu."
he snorted at that, casually leaning against the doorframe. "so she's afraid of using my name, but not afraid of teasing her boss?"
the heat that spread on your face felt unbearable to you, and yet you merely offered a shrug, suppressing the urge to giggle like a teen with a crush. "who said i was afraid?"
"if not afraid then-", his head tilted to the side, glancing up and down your still seated body. you felt so very exposed under his gaze, sinking further into the couch cushions. "is it nervousness? do i make you nervous, sweetheart?"
"n- do i have any reason to be nervous?" your question may have been bold, but the look of surprise on mr kim's face was worth the embarrassment crawling into your skin.
another pause on his end. his eyes trailed off into the distance, chasing something only he was aware of, his hands busy rolling up his sleeves. "i had a date today."
oh. oh fuck.
despite yourself, you felt your heart sink. how silly of you to hold any sort of expectations in regards to him. what did you think was going to happen? he was a grown man, free to do whatever who whomever he wanted, without any kind of obligation to his damned babysitter. "oh?", you flinched at the sound of your voice, sounding meek even to your own ears. "that's great. i hope it went well?"
just like that, he snapped back into reality, attention zeroing in on you. his smiley demeanor faded, replaced with an intensity you usually only saw from him during very particularly draining workdays. "i know eunji has a mother, i'm not looking for a replacement. she's my everything - i'd do anything for her, so it's... difficult to make the right decision on who's allowed into our lifes."
"your date sounds like a very special lady to be allowed such a privilege." mr kim sat on the edge of the sofa, the distance between you feeling almost too much to bare. he nodded along to your words, keeping his eyes trained on your face. were he any other man you'd try to escape his look, but you found yourself transfixed by him - unable to move even one muscle.
"that's exactly my dilemma", he frowned, arm stretching out across the back of the sofa, hand suspiciously close to the back of your head. "i already have someone to take care of my baby girl, and she does such a fantastic job too."
"that's- so kind of you to say, sir." his fingers brushed against your hair and you felt like you could die right then and there. you couldn't help but lean into his soft touch, a faint gasp escaping your lips. "i- i enjoy working here quite a lot! eunji's wonderful. such a quick learner too."
he hummed in response to your neediness, boldness shining through as he inched closer to you, until you felt the hear radiating off his body. "y'know...", he trailed off, voice raspier than just a moment ago. "all i kept thinking, while i sat there with this lovely lady was how i already have my two girls waiting for me at home."
you didn't feel like breathing anymore. "mr kim?"
"fuck-", his hand travelled from your hair to your cheeks, squeezing your lips together between his fingers in a swift motion. his face was so close now, you could make out every fine line on his handsome face, his breath ghosting across your skin. "you always look so pretty with my daughter in your arms. would make any man think."
his lips were so close to yours now, if you wanted to you could simply lean forward to connect yours with his, yet your remained still under him. "i've- i never wanted to assume intent, sir. i love... being around you and eunji."
"tell me you don't want this, sweetheart. tell me and i'll stop at once."
a whine. "i want you so fucking bad, sir."
the kiss was everything you could have hoped for. he tasted like way too expensive wine, feeling intoxicated just by the taste alone. his hands roamed your torso, trailing up and down your sides, groaning into your mouth. you felt electrified connected to him, static shock alerting your every nerve of his taste, his weight on you, his sounds.
"feel so good, sweetheart", he rasped as he grinded against your hips. "let daddy treat you well, yeah?"
the moan you left out at the nickname was involuntary, arching your back off the couch, you felt like a fucking mess. "oh fuck- daddy."
he laughed softly, toying with the top buttons of your blouse. "not mingyu but daddy?", his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. "wanna be a good girl for daddy? so needy for me, fuck."
one by one, he opened your blouse tantalizingly slow, teasing you every so often with a small kiss to the corners of your lips. all you could do was whine out your complaints, holding on to his shoulders, rubbing your palms against the soft material of his shirt. mingyu hissed at the sight of you in your bra, head dipping low to mouth at the top of your breasts.
pushing your chest out, against his face, you whined out a string of curses. your body felt too sensitive, every touch and every kiss setting you ablaze with want. you tried your best to look for any sort of friction, your panties already clinging to your wet cunt.
"shhh", he cooed, freeing your tits out of their confines. "don't wanna wake up our girl, right mommy?"
your eyes widened, head snapping up to meet his dark gaze. even through your hazy mind, you could feel your heartbeat quickening at his words. he met your expression with a smirk. "would you like that, honey? give eunji a sibling? become a mommy yourself?"
your response was immediate, your lips crashing into his once with newfound need, fingers finding purchase in his greying locks. pushing against him, he landed on his back, lying there with awe in his eyes as you climbed right on top of him. the feeling of his hard on in his trousers overwhelming you as you ground your hips against him in a rocking motion. the friction against your clit, letting you moan out in desperate pleasure.
his hands landed on your hips, your skirt all bunched up, revealing your thighs to him. guiding you into a steady rhythm, he couldn't help but gently thrust up into you. he grit his teeth, hissing at a particular pointed angle. "let me stretch you out first."
"n- no, wanna feel you now, daddy", you responded, hands on his pecs. "don't care if it hurts."
"there's no 'if' in this, baby", he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. "are you sure?"
frantically, you nodded your head 'yes', hips still slowly circling against him, addicted to the pleasure shooting through you. mingyu softly pushed against you, hands making quick work of his zipper. with a sharp hiss, his cock jumped free, your mouth watering at the sight alone.
he was fucking huge - without a doubt the biggest you ever had so far. his tip already glistening with precum, you reached out with trembling hands, thumb swiping across his leaking slit. "shit", mingyu groaned out, trying his damnedest to keep his hips from bucking up. your fingertips trailed along his greying happytrail, relishing in the subdued noises he couldn't keep quite in.
shifting in his lap, you pushed your panties to the side, shuddering at the feeling of cold air hitting your cunt. "gorgeous", he said, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. "and already so wet for daddy?"
"yeah, all f- for daddy." you let yourself slide up and down his length, coating him with your wetness, before aligning the tip with your pulsating cunt. his eyes met yours for a brief second, the hunger in them almost consuming you whole. without any prior warning, he finally rocked up into you.
not even halfway in, you already felt stuffed, tears forming in your eyes as you worked to accommodate his sheer girth. the stretch was deliciously painful, nails digging into the back of his hands.
mingyu did his best to soothe you, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your clit, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "'m so sorry, baby. i know it's too big", he cooed. "you need a- fuck- you need a second?"
as stubborn as ever, you shook your head with a pout on your lips, sinking further down on him. "hurt so good."
"yeah?", he half moaned, half hummed. "you like getting your cunt stretched out by just a- anyone? or is daddy special?"
once fully inside, you felt yourself clench around him, wetness dripping down his balls. the squelch of you moving up his cock sounded almost pornographic to your ears, the added stimulation of his fingers on your clit, forcing soft moans out of you. "no, just f- for you!"
even though the pace was agonizingly slow, you couldn't trust yourself to move any faster, thighs already trembling from the pleasure coiling in your stomach. though mingyu's resolve seemed to run slim, as he pushed himself off the cushions, pressing his chest against yours. the material of his shirt rubbing against your nipples as he thrust into you again and again, new pace making you head spin.
"oh fuck", you mewled, face buried in the crook of his neck. mingyu showed no mercy on you, his motions swift and smooth, fingers still expertly on your clit, working you towards your orgasm. everything felt like too much and yet not nearly enough. your mind was empty, fully succumbing to the heat in your stomach.
"you gonna cum f'me? let me fucking fill you up?", he grunt out his question.
with a shaky nod, you squealed into his shirt. "yes, fuck! please, sir-"
"oh fuck." and with a loud smack against your ass, you finally burst, vision turning white. you felt his pace stutter at your orgasm, chanting his name like a prayer. and all through that, mingyu kept his pace, fucking you through it like his life depended on it.
as soon as you felt your body go limp from exhaustion, he hoisted you up from his lap, laying you on your back, before he started drilling into you once again. with no more regard to your pleasure, he moved almost animalistic, panting right next to your ear. there was something insanely hot about the way he chased after his own release, using your body however he saw fit.
you let out a whine. "need your cum in me, daddy. fillin' me up to make me a m- mommy."
his hips stuttered at that, pressing kisses to your neck as a reward. "you want my cum?" and with one last thrust he stilled inside you, pumping you full. "then fucking take it."
if you'd felt full before, this was nothing compared to it, ropes of cum flooding your cunt and spilling out of you. you vaguely thought about the promise of pregnancy that mingyu mentioned, a soft smile gracing your lips as you pressed a soft kiss on to his temple.
his hands felt heaven sent as he smoothed over the skin of your thighs, feeling content with the silence between you two. when he finally lifted his head to look at you, there was a glint shining in his eyes that wasn't quite there before - and for a moment, you imagined what he might have looked like at your age. "hi."
you snorted. "hi yourself."
"this was amazing", he leaned to kiss you, careful as not to crush you with his weight. "i meant what i said, sweetheart. i don't want anyone else but you - if you'll have me."
the question seemed almost ridiculous as you grinned against his lips. "you're silly to think i wouldn't."
"hmm", he sighed. "all mine now."
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STREETRACER!TOJI x WEALTHY!READER ('my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that')
⤷ genre: sfw, fluff
⤷ tropes: reader's bf is a btch, passengerprincess!reader, trustfund!toji, caring!toji, highschool!toji, jealous!toji
⤷ series (jjk men as athletes)
STREETRACER!TOJI who skips school to street-race. you've had an eye on him ever since testing reaction times in Physical Education class, introducing him to drift back in sophomore year. he was a natural.
STREETRACER!TOJI whose life revolves around the illegal sport, catching on so swiftly soon you buy him his first car. you tell him he gets to keep it if he can win in the races.
you're half convinced he'll call you one day to tell you your baby's on fire... literal fire. but he never does- it seems he respects the trust you put in him. and he wins on your bets, so you don't question it.
STREETRACER!TOJI who's always pawing for your colourful gambling tickets (his name purchased first) and you're always removing them from his sight: beggars can't be choosers.
whatever. he never wanted to befriend the rich kid anyways.
STREETRACER!TOJI who tells you to go away right before the competition when you come to check up on him. 'you're distracting me. where's your prissy prince?' when you look at your boyfriend in the stands, he scoffs.
STREETRACER!TOJI who narrows his eyes as your boyfriend slides into the driver's seat of the car you gave him, the car with which he won the race, and begins to drive around like a little kid. no technique whatsoever. he is suddenly reminded of a scene from the movie Tokyo Drift you once forced him to watch at the beginning of showing him cars: 'my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that.'
well isn’t that the perfect descriptor for your boyfriend.
STREETRACER!TOJI who doesn't speak to you for a week after he notices a scratch on the car. he's in cold disbelief. one, that you would ever let an idiot close to a fine car like that. two, that you would trust that idiot to lead you around in a relationship.
i mean, seriously, how can a guy who parks for fifteen minutes and still crosses the line pick out what you want as a gift? how can a loser ever make you happy? he'll drive you carsick. toji's not sure how you haven't gotten so already.
STREETRACER!TOJI whose heart definitely does not flutter when he sees the dinner you’ve eft beside the vehicle after a race. you've left a note too: i know you're mad about the scratch, but congrats on the win. you drove really well. i've left a share of the cash in the centre console.
when he shows up in class the next day, he doesn't return your smile. instead, he stalks all the way up to your desk, silencing the rest of the class as he drags a chair to sit down next to you.
'i thought you didn't wanna associate with me at school?'
he shrugs. 'changed my mind.'
STREETRACER!TOJI who, when your boyfriend ditches last minute from taking you back to your countryside townhouse, shows up within ten minutes of you calling him up. he arrives. running.
you start to wonder if you should've introduced him to track and field and made a new Olympic gold medallist instead.
STREETRACER!TOJI who observes the v12 aston martin, cocking his head to the side.
you admit quietly, 'i... don't know how to drive' and he sighs, pushes you to the side, enters the driver's seat, then looks at you with an impatient stare.
'what are you waiting for? get in.'
you hastily enter the passenger seat, trying to unglue your gaze from the thickness of his arm around your steering wheel, the ease of his large stature adjusting the seat to fit, exhaling slightly when it works.
'trust fund baby,' you hear him mutter.
'hey!' you speak before you realise it. 'you're also my trust fund baby.'
his eyebrows shoot up, dark stare piercing the side of your face. what did you say? you bite your lip and prays for the seat to swallow you up. why did you say that? you feel him shift in his seat, inching closer until both his hands cage your smaller frame.
'say that again..'
STREETRACER!TOJI who drives you home all night, no breaks. you listen to music and watch the stars above the dark countryside trundling past. as the scene becomes monotonous, your eyelids slowly droops close.
toji notices, immediately speeding down by the side of the highway. he walks around the side of the car, opens the door, removes his leather jacket and gently places it over your sleeping figure. his breath almost hitches when you stir.
a tiny voice in his head yelps, whipped.
it's not even his own jacket. you bought him it as celebration for his first victory and he hasn't gone a week without it since.
STREETRACER!TOJI who carefully withdraws your phone from your pocket at the end of the trip, pressing a couple digits, raising it to his ear to leave a voicemail.
'hey,' he says, 'you're the guy who can't drive, right?' any sane person knows to never insult a guy's driving skills. toji pats the hood of the car as he speaks. guess he’s not so sane then. 'now i gotta say, i'm just looking out for you, yeah? stay away from my girl. she too expensive for you.'
STREETRACER!TOJI who dreams of a day he spoils you. a day when your bets on him come to fruition, when he can say with full certainty, 'bet on me, baby. put all your trust on me'
(extra: 'did you compare me to a car??' you listen to the voicemail toji sent to your ex.
toji winces. 'had to get the point across. he can't be crashing and burning shit he didn't pay insurance for.'
you cross your arms. 'and how are you sure you won't drive this thing off a cliff?'
'oh baby, cause i tokyo drift')
#toji x reader#toji x you#toji fushiguro#toji fluff#jjk#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ romance cheat sheet, pt. 2
chris sturniolo x reader
warnings: swearing, fluff?
summary: Chris and you have been best friends since middle school. Chris has been in love with you since he met you, and you developed a small crush during sophomore year. It’s now currently senior year, and Chris has no idea how to ask you out. So him, his brothers, and their friend, Nate, make a ‘romance cheat sheet’, to get you to fall for him (even tho you already have..?)
a/n: HELP can you tell this is rushed😃😃… sorry, I promise i’ll take more time to make it perfect for you!!!
౨ৎ
“Oh my god, I’m fucking starving.” Y/n whispered from beside me.
English class was sucking the life out of the both of us. The teacher kept talking about something I forgot around 30 minutes ago, until she handed us all some paperwork.
“Hey uh- I have Nerds Gummy Clusters. You want some?” I smiled, reaching for the pink plastic bag.
“Oh my god! I love love love gummy clusters, you’re a life saver.” She beamed, giggling quietly as she reached a hand out to let me pour a few into her hand.
One point to cross.
-
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. We were walking to lunch, her hands still in the pink bag of gummy clusters.
“These are so good. I think I’d die without Nerds, holy fuck.” she chewed, keeping her stare on the colourful gummy’s.
“Yeah, they’re great. I like the ropes better tho.” I smiled, softly grabbing her shoulder to direct her to the cafeteria without bumping into anyone.
“Chris, It’s basically the same!” she giggled, hitting my arm gently as she found an empty table. The gummy clusters were put back into her backpack, adverting her gaze back to me.
“So-“ she folded her arms on the table. “After school, we’ll go to the park, I heard there’s opened an ice cream booth.”
“Is this an order? Am I being forced?” I screwed my face up into a disgusting look, obviously joking.
She rolled her eyes, hitting my hand.
“Stop. After that, can you please ask Mary Lou to let me sleep over, I’ll be too lazy to get back home.” she fake pouted, making us both laugh, slightly drowning out from the noise in the cafeteria.
“Yeah, are you sure though? I can walk you home if you’d like. I mean, I’d love for you to sleep over. I chuckled nervously, smiling awkwardly at her.
“No- Uh- I’d rather sleep over. Let’s get some food.” she stuttered, grabbing my hand to drag me through the crowd.
“Are you alright? Your face is all red.” I mumbled, pointing to her cheeks, as I stood behind her in line. She was quick to turn around and grab a plate.
“I’m good. Don’t worry.”
-
“Oh, hi sweetie! I didn’t see you this Friday, where were you?” Mary Lou brought Y/n into a tight hug, making me roll my eyes with a soft smile.
I swear, she loved her more than her own son.
“Oh- Chris just said he had a friend over so I didn’t want to barge in. I hope it’s okay I’m here now though.” she smiled apologetically, pulling away from the hug, looking at me.
“No, don’t worry! You know we all love your company, especially Chris.” my mom smiled, winking at me for a second.
“Yeah, that’s enough mom. Let’s go.” I said, completely flustered as I grabbed Y/n’s hand, even though she knew her way around our house.
-
I was laying on my side, right next to Y/n. We had been talking for what felt like hours, the both of us starting to get tired.
“Chris, was Mary Lou right? Do you especially like my company?” she mumbled, eyes half closed, one hand fidgeting with my fingers.
I immediately went red. I thought it had went over her head.
“Y-yeah, she was right. You’re my best friend after all, of course I enjoy your company.” I laughed dryly, my gaze focused on our fingers. I couldn’t look her in the eyes.
“Oh. Right, of course.” she smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine. I looked at her, trying my best to smile back.
“Let’s get to bed, it’s late..” I murmured, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.
Two points to cross now.
“Goodnight, nerd.” I chuckled as I saw her red face, eyes glued on mine. I leaned forward to press a very friendly and way too frequent kiss to her forehead.
“Goodnight, Chris.” she smiled, this time a way more genuine one.
-
My alarm went off. 6:30.
I slowly opened my eyes, sensitive to the light from my bright phone screen. It took me a minute to register the position I was in. We were in.
Flat on my front, one arm wrapped around Y/n’s waist, the other hanging off the bed. Fuck?
She was still sound asleep, a hand wrapped around my forearm that was still attached around her waist, the other resting under her pillow.
“Y/n, wake up.” I whispered, not moving an inch.
She groaned, withdrawing the hand that was on my arm to rub her eyes.
“I’m up.. What time is it?” she mumbled with a rough voice, completely unaware of our position.
I moved the hand that was around her waist, her head quickly dropped to look down at her torso.
I reached for my nightstand, checking my phone for the time.
“It’s- It’s 6:32. There’s breakfast downstairs.” I squinted, still not completely used to the brightness from my phone. I put my phone back down, looking at her.
She groaned again, making me chuckle slightly. I stood up, stretching, before grabbing a shirt from my chair.
“Come on, get up.” I chuckled, grabbing her hand to drag her up from the bed.
“Chris, stop!” she laughed, hitting my arm with the hand I wasn’t holding. Finally, she got up, grabbing the hoodie I lent her last night.
We both stumbled down into the kitchen. My whole family looked up at me and Y/n, hand in hand, basically also wearing the same outfit.
"You guys looked comfortable," Nick smirked, looking back down at his cereal as we both sat down around the table.
I look at her with a confused expression, then back at Nick.
"What do you mean?" I chuckled nervously, knitting my eyesbrows together. I signaled for Y/n to grab a plate, which she did.
"All cuddled up?" Nick smiled, making Matt choke a laugh on his cereal. Seriously? They peeked into my room?
I look over at Y/n. She was blushing like crazy. There was silence for a bit, until we both laughed it off.
a/n: sorry this is boring, i needed a filler chapter. ANYWAYSS, leave reqquesets please and thank you. MORE FLUFF INCOMING CHAT
taglist: @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @toriinie @cupidzsq @lacysturniolo @iluvmattyb @ratatioulle @emma4eva @riasturns @sstvrnioloo @sweetbabydoe @elliewrites1 @its-jennarose @abbypost @chrisstopherfilmed @sturniolossss @ducksturniolo @junnniiieee07 @klaus223492 @urfavvev3lyn @vschrissturn @cicimayx @keerahsturn let me know if you'd like to be added!
#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo imagine#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic
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all i’ve ever wanted - [w.wonka]
wordcount: 2.0K
requested: yes! anon <3
warnings: bit of angst and heartbreak
I watch, a smile on my face as Willy walks slowly through the old building.
“So?” Noodle asks expectantly. “Do you like it?” I know how hard she tried to get this for him. She wanted nothing but for him to be happy, and I agreed. Willy Wonka was the kind of person you couldn’t bear to see sad.
“Do I like it?” Willy breaks into a smile. “Oh, Noodle, it’s just as I always imagined. No, scratch that–it’s better than I imagined!”
Noodle grins, and jumps up to give him a hug. I watch them, a twinge in my gut. I think I’d give anything to hug him like that.
Piper lets out a cheer, and Lottie and I exchange a grin.
We had a huge job ahead of us, but with Willy Wonka, I’m pretty sure just about anything is possible.
I stand beside Noodle, cradling a perfect blue chocolate flower in my hands. Willy has his hand on the doors, ready to walk out and announce to the world that Wonka’s Chocolate Shop is officially open for business.
I exchange an excited grin with Noodle, then I turn my focus to Willy. He takes a deep breath, muttering something so quietly that I can’t hear; then he pushes open the doors.
Sunlight filters into the dark room, illuminating the faces of my friends. We’re all holding our breaths in anticipation.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Willy announces, his voice strong and clear. “Welcome to Wonka’s. Incredible things are waiting in store, both literally and metaphorically.”
“What, in there?” A man’s voice sounds incredulous.
“Humour me.” Willy has a smile in his voice.
He leads the older man through the shop, as the six of us light up the building, pulling ropes and shooting strings of sugary goodness into the air. Lottie passes out umbrellas, Crunch and Larry ride the bicycles, and I hand out mini chocolate baskets to the children.
It’s beautiful, and it’s amazing, and I keep finding myself staring at Willy, his face alive with joy and contentedness. This is all he’s ever wanted, and I’m so glad I get to share it with him.
People have begun to line up at the front counter, their chocolate baskets filled to the brim with colourful goodies. Abacus is on the till, typing in numbers, writing receipts and giving out change. Noodle is beside him, handing out smiles.
I spot Willy, standing alone, gazing happily at the joyful customers around him. I trip merrily over, coming to a stop at his side. “Congrations, Mr Chocolatier.”
His smile is warmer than melted chocolate. “Thank you, dear y/n.” His eyes flit once more over the shop, then settle on me. “And thank you, so so much, for doing so much for me and for this shop.”
I laugh, a little awkwardly. “It’s no problem at all.”
“You see, this thing is…” He seems to hesitate, like he’s unsure of what to say.
“Go on,” I say quietly.
“Y/n, I know I have only known you for a short time. I also know that most of that time was spent either scrubbing laundry or you and Noodle trying to teach me to read, but in that short amount of time I have fallen in love with you. I love the way you laugh, and sing, and how you always try to make the people around you happy even if you’re really the one who needs comforting. You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever known, sweeter than even my best chocolates. I’ve spent my entire life alone and on the move, and now I... I can’t imagine not being in yours.”
He stops, taking a deep breath.
I stare at him, a little bit in shock. “What are you saying?” I ask, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper.
“I’m saying that I’m in love with you.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, shyly playing with his cane instead.
“Oh.”
His face scrunches a little, and he sighs. “I’m sorry. That probably wasn't the right thing to say.”
“No!” I shake my head adamantly. “No, it–it was perfect, Willy.” I don’t know why I’m so worried about this, but I try for a not-so-nervous smile. “I’m in love with you too, you know. From the first second you fell down that laundry chute. I just didn’t tell you because, well, I didn’t think I would ever be good enough for someone like you, Willy.”
He laughs under his breath. “Y/n, you are the one no one could ever be good enough for.”
“Really?” My voice is small, but I can hear my smile in the word.
“Yes.” He nods, then reaches for me, his fingertips delicately brushing my cheek. I instinctively lean into his touch, and my heart feels full to burst with happiness. He’s all I’ve ever wanted.
And when he kisses me, it feels like my chest is filled with melted chocolate.
Horror fills me as I stare at what’s left of Wonka’s shop. Smoke rises in small, winding columns. Lottie carries a fire extinguisher, putting out any little leftover fires. Melted chocolate, disintegrated sweets, and shattered glass are everywhere.
“What happened?” Piper asks desperately, tears glittering in her eyes.
“The chocolate cartel,” Abacus replies gruffly, wiping the ash from his shirt.
I exchange a heartbroken look with Noodle, watching as she lays a hand on Willy’s shoulder. He’s sitting downheartedly on the floor, his eyes fixed resolutely on the half-melted chocolate cherry tree.
“It’s okay, Willy,” Noodle tries to insist, “we can rebuild.”
“It’s no use, Noodle.” Willy doesn’t even look at her. “She wasn't here.”
Noodle’s face clears in understanding. “You didn’t seriously think that–”
“Oh, I did,” Willy says. “She pinky promised.”
“Willy–”
“Come on, Noodle,” Abacus breaks in, touching her on the arm gently. “I think Mr Wonka needs to be alone.”
Noodle sighs and follows Crunch out, while the rest of the crew silently file after them, leaving just Willy and I.
I sit gingerly beside him. “Are you okay, my love?”
Willy seems to stiffen at my words. “I’m fine. Please, I’d—I'd like to be alone right now. I’ll see you back at the laundry.”
I want to argue. I want to stay. But I understand. “Alright.” I get to my feet, and leave quietly, glancing back at Willy twice. Neither time does he look back at me.
Little did I know that I know that I wouldn’t see him back at the laundry, and that my last image of him was his hunched and upset figure, curled over his knees.
Noodle sits on my bed, watching me. I’m curled into a ball, hugging my pillow close to my chest.
“Y/n,” she says again, “it’s okay. He’s gonna come back.”
I shake my head. “He isn’t, Noodle. You heard Mrs Scrubbit downstairs. He made a deal with the Cartel. He’s gone.”
Noodle sighs. “I don’t believe that.”
“Well you should,” I say aggressively, sitting up. “He left us. He—he didn’t even say goodbye.” My voice breaks. Tears gather in my throat again, and I’m flooded with angry sobs.
“Do you want to be alone?” Noodle whispers.
Just before I can answer, Bleacher bangs on the door. “Time to get up! Mrs Scrubbit wants you all downstairs before breakfast.”
I groan, and pull myself up off my rickety bed. “Come on, Noodle-dee,” I say softly. “We’d better go see what she wants.”
Noodle tries to smile, for me. “Okay, y/n-doo.”
I file after her down the stairs, falling in line with the rest of the laundry crew.
“Look at all the long faces ‘round here,” Mrs Scrubbit says, a glint in her eye. “It’s almost like you lot has a sneaky little plan to escape.”
We line up, facing Mrs Scrubbit. “Your friend, Mr Wonka, done a deal with Mr Slugworth. Settled your accounts. Crunch, you’re free to go.”
One by one, Abacus, Lottie, Piper, and Larry all get a little ticket and leave. Soon, it’s just Noodle and I left.
“And now for you two.” Mrs Scrubbit’s smile is sickly sweet. “The biggest piles of the lot. But these ain’t to let you go.”
“What?” Noodle demands.
“Mr Slugworth doesn’t think nasty little orphans like you should be out on the streets, Noodle. This money is to keep you locked up for good.”
“I hate you!” Noodle shouts, slamming her fists into the bench. “You—“
Mr Bleacher grabs her, holding her arms still.
“Look at her go, Lord Bleacherfitz!” Mrs Scrubbit says gleefully.
“You don’t still think he’s a lord, do you?” Noodle cries. “We made it all up, you stupid old hag!”
“Why you little brat—“ Mrs Scrubbit clutches Noodle by the shirt. “You’re going in the coop, my girl! And you.” She points at me. “To the wash house, forever. You’ll never see daylight again, you hear?”
She drags Noodle away, both of them yelling.
I’m left with Bleacher, feeling as if I have a heavy weight on my chest. I can’t believe he just left us. Got a ticket out of here and abandoned Noodle and I.
I thought… I thought he loved me.
“Down you go,” Bleacher says gruffly. “Now!” He shoves me unceremoniously down the laundry chute, and I don’t even try to stop him. I land in a heap of clothes, and I don’t move.
I stare at the ceiling, at all the washing lines and steaming cracks in the roof.
My head hurts, but nothing compares to my heartache. I don’t think I will ever get over Willy Wonka. He’s the kind of person you only meet once, and you never forget them. Especially if you loved them with your entire heart.
But sometimes people like that aren’t good inside, and they can leave you, hurt and lonely and destroyed.
He’s gone, and I’m alone.
I must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because I rouse when I hear Noodle’s familiar voice. “Y/n, come on!” she hisses, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. “We’ve gotta go!”
I blink sleepily. “Wait, what? How did you—“
“He came back! They all did.”
“He… Willy?” I don’t want to believe it, I don’t want to see him but oh, I do. I do.
Noodle’s curls jump wildly as she nods. “Yes! He’s come back for us, c’mon!”
I follow her to the dumb waiter chute, and we both climb inside, clicking it shut. I press the ‘up’ button, and the crate clicks and shudders into motion.
I’m half excited, half still hurt. I can't decide if I truly want to see him or not. I mean–I’m in love with him, and I have ever since I first laid eyes on the curly headed chocolate boy, but at the same time… He left me, five minutes after confessing he supposedly loved me back.
The instant I see his face, waiting for us at the top of the laundry chute, a bright and anxious smile plastered on his familiar face, I’m torn yet another way. Gods, I’m in love with him.
“Y/n!” he says, grabbing me into his arms the second he sees me. “I’m so sorry–I, are you alright?”
I’m a little flustered, and not quite sure how to reply. “Hi, Willy.”
He must notice my slight stiffness, how my voice is trying its best to emotionlessness. “Hey, I really am sorry. I should never have ever tried to leave. I regretted it instantly. I promise, I will never leave you ever again.”
I look up into his eyes. “You promise?” My voice cracks on the words.
His eyes soften immediately. “Yeah, my love, I promise.”
“Okay.” I decide to believe him, mostly because the thought of being without him again hurt more than the chance of being left again.
#wonka#wonka movie#wonka 2023#willy wonka#wonka x reader#willy wonka x reader#fanfiction#to read#fanfic#wonka movie 2023#timothee chalamet#timothée calamet#timothee chalamet x reader#timothée chalamet x reader
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Are you over stripper gojo?
i am… NOT 👹
☆▒ DOUBLE LIFE!➜ ★
minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.
cw: afab!f!reader; suggestive content; not proof read.
w.c: 2.3k
Satoru always had a cover response.
"So, what do you do for a living?" The blonde girl asked, sipping her cocktail— a little too bitter for her taste.
"I'm a teacher, a private teacher, to be exact," he replied, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.
The possible reaction would be bemusement, laughter, thinking he was joking, followed by something along the lines of "didn't think you would be a teacher; you seem more like you work as a model or somewhere in the fashion industry," Satoru had it all memorized.
The most skeptical would narrow their eyes and stare at him like he just said the earth is flat confidently. Satoru would then pull out a white business card, with his name, phone address and 'job' written in Times New Roman font, all uppercase in platinum colour - because Satoru was cunning enough to order himself business cards for these occasions - and hand it to them.
People after that would not question him further; what is there to be asked? The teaching profession is not the most exciting of all— maybe ask him what he teaches, but beyond that, there is nothing; it's the perfect job to cover up his... nocturnal activities.
His cover-up was perfect, steady, almost unbreakable, almost.
Until you came into the picture.
—
"Now, I think I can kind of see you as a teacher, though I'm surprised no talent scout or casting director has ever contacted you to be part of a fashion magazine or commercial," you said, scanning him head to toe. The man before you was a total adonis, tall, handsome, charismatic, charming blue eyes with a smile that could melt any girl's heart; it was hard for you to believe he hadn't ever been the face of a brand or a high fashion's magazine cover, perhaps he worked as a high-end host as a side gig?
"Oh, believe me, I have," Satoru answered, taking a swig of the colourful cocktail, his face contorting into a slight grimace afterwards, "It's just not really my thing, y'know. I don't know if I'm ready to be People's hottest man alive."
"How humble," you snort, taking a swig of your drink yourself. Satoru chuckles in return; the sudden buzz of his phone interrupts your conversation, and he gives you a shy smile. He gestures with his right hand for you to hold on a second, to which you nod; holding his phone with his left, he gets up from his seat and walks away to take the mysterious call.
After a few minutes, he comes back with a sorry look on his face. You get the vibe that something happened, and the date's probably over. "Sorry, as much as I'd like to stay longer, I can't," he says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, "y'know, private teacher things, one of my students needs me for an upcoming competition, gotta teach him to master twinkle twinkle little star on the violin."
Now, you don't like to overthink; however, the thought that the phone call could've been a fake emergency call lingered in your mind after he left, even though he did apologize again through text and supposedly 'hoped' you guys could reschedule for another date, you still thought his sudden departure was weird.
—
"Oh, that sounds like he didn't like you and faked a rain check," Utahime said through the phone.
"You think so?" you replied uncertainly, sounding somewhat sad and disappointed, the corners of your lips forming a pout. "Fuck, this is why I don't go out with guys who know they're cute. They have it over their head and think they're the big deal."
"Well, I told you he looked like a prick when you first showed me his profile."
"All men look like idiots to you, Uta'," you rolled your eyes, putting the call on speaker as you opened your freezer, "That's why you're single."
You heard Utahime gasp through the phone, seemingly offended by your teasing, which made you chuckle a little. "I'm single because I chose to, in case you forgot- What's that sound?"
"Oh, nothing, I'm just going to drown my sorrows in ice cream," you replied casually, closing the freezer door and opening your ice cream, "and watch some mediocre rom-com to distract me from how mediocre my love life is."
"Girl, no. Put that back and start picking an outfit; we're going out."
"Uta, thanks for the invite, but I'm tired. I just had a disappointing date, I don't really feel like going-"
Utahime interrupted you abruptly. "No buts. We are going out. I heard there's a new club that does ladies' nights on Fridays, and it just happens to be Friday. Forget about that damn date, you'll have others coming. Let's go out, yeah?"
You thought about her proposal and, well, she was right, the failed date wasn't that big of a deal, not so much as to spend your night sulking on your sofa eating ice cream. You sighed, putting the ice cream back in its place, "Fine, at what time do we meet?"
—
"I heard the guys here are hot, so much so that some girl's blood pressure went up because of how sexy their dances were, or so I was told," Utahime said in your ear, her voice barely audible over the blasting music.
"You told me we were going to a club," you chided, averting your gaze from the scantily clad men. Geez, were they covered in... oil?
"Club, male strip club, what's the difference? You go to both at night, and there are men in skimpy clothing," Shoko joins and shrugs nonchalantly, not seeing the reason for your apparent embarrassment, "Come on, don't be such a prude, pick yourself a cute guy for a private routine. It's on me if that eases you up," she nudges you, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You sighed heavily; Utahime wasn't wrong. Some of the guys were kind of... hot, you suppose. But how were you supposed to ask for a private dance? Should you just come up to them and ask them? You've never been to a male strip club, and you don't know the 'unspoken rules' when interacting with a stripper yet.
Your anxious thoughts were interrupted when the crowd surrounding the main stage got suddenly louder, a pair of lights pointing toward it. You couldn't understand what the DJ was saying; the mic was so close to his mouth that it sounded like he was eating it, making his words unintelligible. Or maybe you had a bad hearing. Because the crowd, including your friends, started to cheer, wooing and lifting their shots in the air.
A song started to play throughout the club; you guessed that whoever was about to do his routine was the 'star' of the club because of how lively the crowd of girls was. The lights coordinated with the beat of the music, creating a surprise appearance of the long-awaited dancer on stage with his back turned.
Your heart stopped, jaw-slacked and speechless, as he turned around, unbuttoning the top of the fireman's outfit he was wearing one by one. Holy shit, that was—
"Uta'! It's him!" You nudged your friend frantically.
At first, she frowned in confusion, but it was only in a matter of seconds that it dawned on her. Having the same reaction as you, Utahime gasped and nudged you back, "Oh my god, you're right! It's the idiot from the date! Hell, I knew that 'teacher' thing was too weird for someone like him," she folded her arms, "and he sure does like the attention."
You looked back to the stage; the white-haired man had now fully unbuttoned his top, flashing his incredible, glistening abs on full display - you kept doubting whether it was oil or sweat that made them glint under the lights - and swaying his body seductively to the sound of the music.
Even if you tried, you couldn't exactly hate him for faking an emergency call or lying about his real job. Not when he looked this fucking hot doing it.
Satoru (if you remembered his name correctly) took off the jacket, tugging it down excruciatingly slow, showing off his ripped biceps and tossed it aside. Your eyes were captivated by the sensuality of his movements, his muscles tensing and rippling, making you swallow hard at the eroticism that carried his routine. And hell, with that frown and that sly grin, he looked so fucking hot as he danced to the beat of the music.
The more you watched it, the more doubts came to mind. Satoru could be famous; he had the charisma and appeal to be, so what brought him to this? Was it out of necessity, or did he enjoy it? Questions that would never be answered because you would never see him again after this.
Or so you thought before you were given a push (literally), coincidentally while Satoru was looking for a volunteer to pull up on stage.
Call it bad luck, but Satoru took your hand from all those who begged to be chosen, helping you onto the stage. Satoru couldn't recognize you under the dim lights of the club until he was face to face with you. He felt his heart work twice as hard, his eyes wide as saucers for just a second, masking his panic with a toothy grin.
In full view of everyone, Satoru sat you on a chair as part of his routine and stood behind you, the pad of his fingers skimming over the skin of your arms, trailing down to your wrists, his fingers wrapped around them and lifted them into the air.
"So you're not a teacher?" you murmured, feeling your heartbeat in your throat at the proximity of his lips against your neck.
"You got me, I'm not; sorry for lying to you," he whispered back, a small laugh coming from him as he took your hands to run up and down his beefy torso, feeling his every muscle rippling under your fingers.
A gasp escaped your lips as gasps of astonishment from the audience. God, it was a miracle you hadn't fainted by now. You swallowed dryly, falling prey to his erotic dance and his very presence, his hands guiding yours to rest on his hard-worked thighs and then roaming up your neck, the heat of his skin making contact with yours as Satoru pressed himself against you. You knew this was part of his dance routine, yet it felt so intimate, too much sexual tension and lascive, like a moment that shouldn't be shown to the public and kept taboo.
"Want me to tell you a secret?" he breathed, his laboured breaths blending with yours.
"Another one?"
"I was thinking of doing this to you on our second date," he confessed, a seductive smile to your eyes peeking out from the corner of his lips, "but it seems fate wanted to bring it forward."
"Do you believe in fate?"
"Nah, but doesn't it sound nice?" he huffed, tilting his head playfully, his white locks tickling your cheek, his hips sensuously grinding across your lap.
Satoru could sense your uncertainty in touching him and how much you wanted to do so. You moistened your parted lips and startled at every brush of his bare skin against yours, your hands tensed and trembling, refusing to explore any more of his anatomy. "Touch me," he instructed.
"What?"
Satoru pulled away from you, taking your hands into his, helping you to stand up and wrap your arms around his neck. With a firm grip on your thighs, you encircled your legs around his waist. "They want a show, and I know you're dying than just laying your soft hands on my body. Let me feel you all over me."
You felt your face burning, his innuendo going straight to your core. His words did things to you, like your skin prickling and leaving your mind blank. Bashfully, you complied; your shy hand travelled from his neck down to his abdomen, exploring every inch of his pale flesh as he carefully laid you down on the floor. He pried open your legs, easing his way between them, which made you wonder if this was still part of the routine or if you were about to get arrested for public indecency and be registered as a sex offender.
You finally understood why he was so popular at the nightclub; a routine by Satoru was like having clothed sex, the way his head dipped between your legs, alluding to him eating you out while moving every part of his lower body to the rhythm of the music or the way he acted out rhythmic sexual positions with you, made his touch feel igneous under your skin and sent a throbbing in your nether regions.
Fortunately (or unfortunately for you), the routine came to an end; beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he caught his breath and -painfully- said goodbye to you in front of the crowd, mentally grateful for the dim lighting of the place that hid his tented pants after his very sexual dance routine.
As soon as you stepped off the stage, your friends were all over you, bombarding you with questions, jokes and the occasional sly comment.
"So, are you going to meet him again?" Shoko asked you with a teasing -and very nosy intentioned- glint in her eyes.
"I... I don't know," you stuttered bashfully, still recovering from your heart rattling in your ribcage. As your friends kept teasing you to no end, you felt a vibration of your phone, forcing you to take it out of your pocket. Your breath hitched, and that sensation in your lower back became present again as you read the contact name.
"Next date at my place? ;)" —Satoru.
#KY000 ★#anon (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jjk fanfic#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu gojo#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#gojou satoru x y/n#gojou satoru x you#gojou x reader#gojo saturo x reader#gojo saturo x you#jujutsu satoru#jjk satoru#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satorugojo#satoru x reader#satoru gojo
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i think about the fact that crowley went through with his confession despite everything at least once a day, so have a ficlet where he doesn't.
edit: you can now find this fic on ao3 right here
———
"If I'm in charge… I can make a difference."
For a second, everything stops. The noise disappears, the world blurs and fades, his body grows numb while he desperately clings to the breath inside his lungs. He is suffocating, he must be, words are blocking his throat, and this—this can't be.
After everything they went through for six thousand years, after countless of heaven's cruelties, after ropeburn on Aziraphale's wrists before stepping into a spiral of hellfire, the mere thought of his angel returning to heaven seemed like a laughable impossibility. There are choices the world makes for one, and this had been one of them; live as a traitor, as an exile, but live.
A life lived in freedom, shared, and cherished.
Aziraphale wouldn't go back. He wouldn't.
Crowley could have sworn he never would, and yet here they are, mouths open, judgements spoken, and still alive.
"Oh."
Air rushes out of him and takes the tension with it, dragging him back to full consciousness and leaving him with tremors in his hands and tears in his eyes.
"Right."
Reflexively, he turns around, hyperaware of his uncovered eyes, and the confession is still humming in the back of his mind. He wouldn't, he thinks again and again and again, he wouldn't, he wouldn't.
But he did. The grandfather clock stares him down, a hint of gold reflected back at him, and his joints ache when he pries his glasses out of his fist and puts them on. A familiar shadow falls over the world, taking all the colour with it, and Crowley suddenly feels very, very cold.
"Crowley?"
A hesitant step towards him, then another, and his skin burns, his fingers shake, as the carefully cultivated sprout of hope in his chest dies oh so slowly.
He wouldn't, whispers the voice again, crumbling like a brittle leaf crushed in Aziraphale's fist.
He would. He did, another gives back, and he knows this, too, knows it with the taste of resignation on his tongue.
Crowley faces Aziraphale simply to stop him from coming any closer, gritting his teeth when he sees the confused irritation greeting him. Surprised—Aziraphale is surprised that he does not want to come with him.
Six thousand years, the tiny voice weakly offers, six thousand years, and this is the reward.
Crowley wants to rip his confession out of his throat and offer it to him, he wants to throw it up onto the floor and never see it again, he wants to grab Aziraphale's shoulders and shake him because, why, why would you think I want this? Why would you do this?
Why are you leaving me?
He wants to break his ribs and pull them apart so he can kill his heart with his own hand, and it is falling, it is burning, it is grace leaving him as everything he thought he knew dissipated and vanished among the stars. Maybe some pieces of himself will stay behind in the dust, marking his presence, marking an absence.
"Good luck," Crowley says flatly, not recognising himself, not seeing or hearing, and as he begins to walk away, a high-pitched ringing settles in his ears. Love is a stone sinking to the bottom of his stomach, it is his ribs splintered and sharp, cutting him open from the inside out. Maybe the worst part is that it is not entirely unexpected—after all, why would he keep telling himself that Aziraphale would never return to heaven if there were no fundamental belief that he would?
"Good luck? Crowley! Crowley, come back, to—"
A hand wraps around his wrist like heated iron, and he can barely bite back the strangled sound escaping him at the contact, wrenching his arm out of Aziraphale's grip; he doesn't turn around.
"Don't."
Not a command, no, a plea, a prayer, a finish line, the ending to a game he always hated playing; love, sure, in the good moments, during the good times.
Now it simply hurts—hollow and heavy—and if he looks at him, he will tell him; he will tell him all of it and more. He will try to make him change his mind despite knowing it is hopeless, yet he cannot help but feel as if this is a frozen moment right before the guillotine blade falls.
Judgement day, for better or for worse.
Crowley could linger, could meet tear-stained cheeks and blue irises, could fall to his knees and beg him to stay, but none of it would be able to fix the rift opening between them. Six thousand years, and for the very first time since Eden, Aziraphale is a stranger to him. The blade will have to come down eventually, and maybe they have been staving off the inevitable; maybe it is for the best.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Crowley gathers the fragmented shards of himself and holds them tight. Then he makes a choice and whispers a goodbye into the silence, numbly making his way through the bookshop, across the street, into the Bentley, and all the way back to his flat.
Sometimes things are better left unsaid.
#alex writes good omens#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable husbands#ineffable wives#ineffable spouses#ineffable divorce#the final fifteen#good omens ficlet
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Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 6
Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
Another Monday. Is this what life is? Mourning the weekend as you try to wipe the sleep from your eyes. It's too much, you should be cuddling squishes and snoring.
You hop off the bus and head towards the building. Once you're at your desk, you can pretend you're awake. If you get the right angle, you can just doze off a bit. Just a couple minutes more.
The elevator nearly knocks you with its slow rise. You shuffle between cubicles but before you can claim your chair, you find something unexpected. A cushion. A pink and white ergonomic cushion with a matching pad clung around the back rest. Um, this isn't your chair.
You look around confused. Someone will be real mad when they realise they lost their fancy chair. People do seem territorial around here. You turn the chair as you search for its owner.
“Did I get the colour right?” A grizzly voice has you leaping in place. You face Curtis as he rests his hand on the side of your cubicle, “they had purple too.”
“You?” You gasp.
“I…” he shrugs and his eyes wander to the ceiling, “I'm tryna make it up to you. I was and asshole so–”
“Nope, nuh uh,” you turn and tear open the velcro, detaching the back pad, “keep ‘em. I don't want your charity.”
“It's not–” he steps forward, “it's an apology.”
“Apology? For stealing? Well, I can't forgive a liar.”
You shove the pad against his chest, “I think I was clear. You should be happy I was because I have a terrible habit of rambling. My mom says I could talk the dead to life.”
He reluctantly clasps onto the pad as he scowls. You grab the seat cushion and press it against the other one. He reluctantly hooks his other arm under it.
“I was gonna give it back,” he grumbles.
“So why'd you take it?” You challenge.
“I don't know,” he mutters.
“I do. You're a bully. I left those behind in school,” you put your hands on your hips, “so go away and keep your hands off my things!”
His nostrils flare as his eyes meet yours. They're the shade of blue that makes you think of storms and the ocean and butterfly wings. He'd be cute if he wasn't so mean.
“You shouldn't talk to me like that,” he warns as he squeezes the cushions.
“Take your own advice, meanie! You had your chance.”
“I've been nice,” he rasps as he looks you up and down.
You're unsettled by how the glint in his eyes changes, how his shoulders square and his jaw ticks. He meets your gaze and narrows his eyes.
“You don't know what mean is.”
You flinch as he spins on his heel. He marches past you, a gust of air tickling your cheeks as he flees. You turn and watch him go, your stomach knotting.
Maybe you were a bit rude, even pushy, but you're trying to be better about drawing lines. You don't have to be a doormat to be nice. Even if it is easier.
You put your bag on your desk and sit, squeaking at the harsh impact of your ass on the thin seat. Gosh, there may as well not be any padding. You sniff and swivel close to the desk, booting the computer as you wait and think.
He's mad but he'll get over it. He made it clear he has no interest in you before so why this sudden change. Oh well, you never really understood men or their brains.
🩷
You stare at your pen cup and frown. You miss your happy penguin pen buddy. As you ponder his absence, that suspicion nips at your ears. Maybe he took those too.
Does it matter? You're moving on. You ordered new pens on Amazon. You're starting over new!
You get up to get a fresh coffee. You really should cut back. Maybe you could do some hot chocolate but you get a bit silly when you have too much sugar.
You enter the break room and immediately want to storm out. He's there, glaring at the machine as he watches it brew. You smell the dark roast you bought him. How could you have ever been so nice to someone like him?
Curtis takes his mug and you sidle along the wall, certain to get well out of his way. He turns and stops as he sees you. You stare at the ceiling as you wait for him to go.
He snarls but makes no move to leave. You bounce on your heels with your mug in hand. You can wait.
He's not going. So you go to the machine and peruse the selection. Maple shortbread, huh, that's a curious choice.
You sense him lingering. You do your best to ignore him, the scuff of his shoes putting you on edge. You're not the best at reading people, obviously, but you can feel his anger.
As he looms closer, you take a step forward. You spin and throw an arm up as if blocking an unseen strike. Your hand flips Curtis’ mug, spilling the brown liquid down his grey shirt. He backs up and looks down at the mess.
“Why would you do that?”
“Personal space,” you wave your arm up and down, drawing the invisible wall before you.
“I'm trying to… you're crazy, you know that?”
“So what does that make you?” You pout, “I told you to leave me alone.”
He puffs, lip curling as he grips his mug tight. He scoffs and whips it past you so it smashes against the wall and the bits litter over the counter. You let out a squeal as he stomps out, leaving you in shock, standing before a puddle of coffee.
You gulp and face the remnants of his mug. You should clean that up before anyone cuts themselves. You cross to the counter and set to carefully plucking up the shards.
“What happened in here?” Melanie asks as she enters, “oh it's you.”
You ignore her as you focus on the glass. Of course she assumes it was you. Seems like everyone thinks you're a disaster.
#curtis everett#dark curtis everett#dark!curtis everett#curtis everett x reader#sunshine lollipops and rainbows#series#drabble#au#snowpiercer
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