#I didn’t have the space to write this on the page BUT
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🌟 Encanto Friendship Page!🌟
Ahhhhh congrats @acewithapaintbrush on reaching your milestone!! And thank you for coming up with this super cute idea!! I’ve loved looking through everyone’s pages so far!
If you wanna make one, here’s the original post with all of the templates! ✨ Here’s mine! Thank you for the tag @mmollymercury! 💕
OKAY so I would tag people BUT I feel like basically everyone that I would tag has been tagged already so— anyone who sees this, do itttttt! It was funnn ✨
#encantofriendshippage#I didn’t have the space to write this on the page BUT#and I’ve probably said this already but I’ll say it again 🤌🏼#I’ve never been in an online fandom before#and this one was the absolute right one to join#I’ve met so many talented beautiful people 🥲#and it’s honestly been a long time since I’ve been THIS happy#so yeah#FRIENDSHIP#this fandom is great#y’all are great#all of youuuuu all of youuuuuuu#it’s crazy bc i initially wasn’t excited about watching this movie.. at all#I thought it would just be another movie that I liked but would probably only watch maybe twice#but OOOOOOH was I wrong#so very very wrong#can y’all believe it’s been almost a WHOLE YEAR since Encanto premiered??#my brainrot started in December— and I’m still here lmao holy shit#I haven’t drawn this much for myself in YEARS#Anyway I’m super normal about this movie and I’m so happy to be a part of a group that is also super normal about it 😊💖#my encanto fanart
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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.
It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.
To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.
This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.
Join me below, if you would.
2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.
Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.
It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.
But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.
The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.
“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”
“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”
We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.
"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?
The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.
We had slightly miscalculated.
Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.
“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”
“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”
“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”
“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”
And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.
00000
We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.
It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.
At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.
Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.
So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.
“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.
“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.
Monday is the last day to do this, after all.
00000
So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.
The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.
“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”
So.
Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?
Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.
It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).
Then it starts to rain.
We had not dressed for rain.
00000
Here is how the next six hours go.
We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.
Everyone is so happy.
Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.
People online start making delivery orders.
Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.
A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.
The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.
A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.
Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.
00000
We have Line Neighbors.
Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.
The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.
Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”
“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”
“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”
My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.
“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.
“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”
We stay in line.
It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.
The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.
We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.
It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.
They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.
We still have a -long- way to go.
00000
They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.
It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”
We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.
We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.
I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.
The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.
Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.
The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.
A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“
The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”
We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.
If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.
That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.
There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.
We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)
I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.
There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.
Then we're married.
Then we get in line to get our license.
It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.
Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.
We make it to the marriage records office.
I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.
It's almost 3PM.
00000
There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.
We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.
I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”
He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.
Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.
We get back to our car and climb in.
It’s 4:30 and we are starving.
There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.
We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.
We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.
The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.
My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”
00000
It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”
But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.
It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.
I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.
We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.
Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.
It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.
Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"
And that was that.
00000
When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.
I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.
I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.
I never thought I’d live in this world.
And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.
I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.
The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.
And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.
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tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.
[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]
“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.
His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.
“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”
You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.
“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”
It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”
It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”
Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”
For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”
“I need to— You said I could go—”
“Just give me another minute, darling.”
His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.
“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#degrees of lewdity#dol#harper the doctor#dol harper#harper x reader#yandere harper#dol harper x reader#yandere drabble#yandere degrees of lewdity#degrees of lewdity imagines#yandere dol#dol imagines
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summary: in which jungkook is one of your greatest fears and you’re his achilles’ heel.
idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, angst / word count: 4.1k
content/warnings: i love you i want us both to eat well T_T sigh. oc has abandonment issues pls protect at all costs + oc is worried bc jk is working so hard :( + a worm (???) cameo. ily protective and hopeless romantic iw!jk <3 the ending 🥲💔 this drabble literally goes 📈📉
> in which masterlist!
note: *insert my melody mugshot scene* me if planting puzzle pieces in my drabbles + making oc cry (IM SORRY) were a crime. this was sm fun writing <3 i cried and laughed they’re so precious </3
—
“jungkook, baby?”
your silky voice fills the quiet apartment as you pad across the floor. you’re carrying your heeled mary janes by its straps, leaving you only in your white socks.
“babe?”
you frown as the seconds pass and you receive no response from your lover. there’s no music playing, no rustling somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. the lights are dim like they usually are, but the vivid colors are absent.
him? asleep at 9pm? jeon jungkook? it can’t be, but you’d be delighted to finally see him resting early if it was real.
and so, spurred by that tiny glimmer of hope, you carefully crack the bedroom door open, as if you’re fifteen again and you just came back from sneaking out of the house.
but you’re grown now; you live in a building with complete strangers for neighbors. you just got home from work, and you’re no longer used to sleeping alone because you share the bed with another person.
you find it empty. devoid of any creases, sign of life. as neat as a hotel room’s make believe that no one lived there until two hours prior.
the disappointment weighs down on your shoulders, causing them to drop.
he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere else after practice, you think to yourself as your lips permanently shape into a pout. what happened to going out with you for dinner?
agreeing, your empty stomach grumbles angrily.
maybe he got caught up at work. maybe he’s on his way home. maybe he’s on his way to the restaurant and he’s about to text you to come over. maybe he forgot about your plans and he’s having dinner with somebody else.
whatever the reason is, you’re too lazy and tired to whip up something edible on your own. with or without him, you’re going out and you’re stuffing your mouth full with rice and meat. after all, autumn is here, your dear old friend.
in search for a coat that will accompany you in your late-night stroll, you enter the walk-in closet and flip on the lightswitch.
you can count them with just your fingers— the amount of times you’ve felt this type of fear. absent eyes, melting spine, chills running to the top of your head down to your fingertips, mind racing with an overload of thoughts (it appears as a blank page, the same way that white is the presence of all colors of visible light). this fear… you associate it with impulsive mistakes, fire, police and ambulance sirens, and… empty closets.
jungkook’s side of the closet is empty.
clothes. shoes. bucket hats. beanies. belts. everything. gone.
but the floor is scattered with random pieces of clothing that look like they accidentally fell while someone was in a rush to pack them all in a bag. so in a rush that they didn’t even bother to pick them up.
your weak knees almost give way, but you force yourself to stumble backwards until your back hits the doorframe— you refuse to let yourself look like you’ve been carelessly discarded too.
not again. not again. not this goddamn vicious curse you thought you’ve already broken out of. not. again.
you blink away the tears threatening to spill as you scramble to open the zipper of your bag, but they spill anyway when your shoes clatter to the floor. you flinch at the thunderous sound, clutching your phone tightly against your chest. you keep your eyes closed throughout the defeaning silence that comes after.
the empty space mocks you. it knows your intricate design was not meant to live in an empty home.
you guess nothing much has changed. you’re still afraid of jungkook and his power to take away the sun, just as he did before, and you deeply despise being afraid. you don’t like it when the walls are closing in on you, poisoning your mind into believing that you’re small when the heart inside your chest burns with a fire brighter than that of the damn sun.
anyone would be foolish to leave you; it’s only jungkook who could have you mourning the death of the garden you’ve given the past five years of your life to.
—
jungkook returns to the apartment half an hour later. despite the long, grueling hours of dance practice he nearly didn’t survive, the excitement vibrating through his body is manifested through the lightness of his movements. he’s finally seeing his lover for the first time today… awake.
when he brought his natural body warmth along with him to the bathroom this morning, you sunk yourself further into mattress, beneath the thick blankets and against the soft pillows. by the time he had to give you your obligatory goodbye kiss before he leaves for work (or else you’d sulk about it for the rest of the week), half of your face has been hidden from sight. he was only able to press a loving kiss on your forehead, and then your eyelids that were fluttering as you dreamt.
night time comes and he is still deprived of the sight of your beautiful face? he somberly wonders as he finds you slumped over the dining table; he swears that there is a dark rain cloud hovering above you. your arms are thrown over the hardwood as they serve as a makeshift pillow for your vessel— his little firefly curiously bleak.
“baby? are you sick?” he asks, voice dripping with concern as he tenderly rubs your back.
the legs of the chair screeches against the tiled floor, neglectedly pushed behind.
“kook?” you manage to choke out, frantically sitting up once your muddled brain registered the familiarity of his touch on your bare skin.
his heart drops to his stomach as your tear-stained face comes into view. this isn’t how he envisioned your greeting; it usually came in the form of a bright light not harsh as the sunlight, a softness that begs to be held.
“are you crying?!”
your reply only comes out as a pitiful whimper. he stumbles a step backwards when you unceremoniously jump into his embrace, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. he gets a whiff of your sweet perfume, and then it becomes the air that he breathes, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it.
“baby!”
he squeezes your waist taut against his body, affectionately nosing at your cheek before giving you a kiss. “did something happen? tell me- tell me.”
“jungkook,” your voice cracks as you utter his name, sounding almost like a plea, and then an endless string of heartbreaking sobs comes out muffled against his shirt. “where have you been?”
this sends him into a state of panic. seeing you in pain— it’s his biggest weakness. after all, you are his achilles’ heel.
“why? why, why, why?” you’re weak and pliant as he pulls your arms down, collapsing against his chest when he envelopes you in his embrace. he cradles your head in his palm, soothing you with gentle pats and shushes. “shh, shhh- it’s okay, i’m here now. everything’s okay, you hear me?”
his efforts prove to be fruitless, because you only seem to cry harder as he slowly rocks your bodies back and forth.
you shake your head, hands attempting to hold on to the back of his shirt to regain sensation in your limbs, but they miserably fail and fall on the sides of his hips.
“talk to me… please, mhmm?“ he hums quietly, pressing his soft lips to your temple. “tell me what’s wrong and your boyfriend will take care of it.”
from your sniffles to your hiccups, you remain unable to form any coherent response, and it leads his imagination to construct the worst possible scenarios. he feels his stomach turn with uneasiness, jaw clenching as he carefully pulls away to meet you eye-to-eye.
“did someone touch you? hurt you?” he spits out with urgency, and the unparalleled care he displays puts you in a daze, simply dumbfounded as he strokes your face. “huh, baby? just tell me and i’ll take care of the rest.”
now that you’re being reminded that jungkook could quite literally kill a person with his bare hands if they ever inflict harm on you, the fog is clearing up and you feel so incredibly… stupid.
but that’s more the reason why it’s difficult not to be sensitive when it comes to him; his absence proves to be lethal.
“shit, you’re scaring me.” he breathes out shakily as he taps your cheek lightly to bring you back to him, the distant look in your eyes triggering the emergency alarms in his head.
he unconsciously licks his lips and he tastes your tears; he doesn’t want anybody else to ever come this close.
“okay, okay- let’s put that aside for now. what do you need? should we go to bed and rest instead?”
“i thought you left,” you whisper as you hang your head in shame.
he blinks at you in confusion. “to where? my flight isn’t until next week, baby.”
fantastic! now you sound like the most dramatic, clingiest bitch to ever grace the planet. you bury your face in your hands to hide the battle zone between your heart and mind, but your boyfriend seizes your wrists because he can’t bear another second of it.
“is-is that why you’re upset…?” he asks with not a trace of malice or ridicule. he is only filled with guilt as it dawns on him then— how you’ve only gotten used to always having him around four years into your relationship, when he was taking a break from work.
the changes in his life are also changes in yours, but they still affect you in many different ways.
“then just come with me. i’ll make it work. maybe we can extend for a bit, spend an entire day by ourselves- there’s a lot of museu-”
“i thought you left,” you repeat yourself, exposed and vulnerable, vision swallowed by the darkness because you can’t make yourself look at him. “your clothes… they’re gone, and i was calling but you… you weren’t answering my calls so i thought…”
“my clothes?” he exclaims, eyes going wide as he realizes that they’ve accidentally slipped from his mind. “ahh, i thought about cleaning the closet while waiting for you so i moved everything to the other room!”
you open your mouth to speak, but much to your chagrin, no words come out. you purse your lips as your chin wobbles— the new wave of tears in your eyes mimic shiny crystals.
“____!”
and at the stern mention of your name, you know that you’re about to receive a (loving) scolding from your boyfriend. your lips curve into a frown before a sob inevitably escapes past them.
“why would you think that? why would i leave you? that doesn’t make sense at all, does it…?”
you shake your head, hugging him so tight, possibly tighter than you’ve ever done before. between your bodies, his heart is being unbearably wrung.
“i’m sorry, baby. seeing you cry like this breaks my heart…” he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, resting his cheek on the side of your head. “but why would that be the first thing you think of…? i must be doing something wrong, right? have i been too busy with work? am i neglecting you?”
you’re breathless, a little dizzy— bloodshot eyes meeting his that are now gleaming with sadness. “no, it’s not like that! i just panicked, i couldn’t think straight.”
“are you sure?”
he looks at you skeptically, scanning your face.
“baby-” his voice breaks, then he pauses with his gaze still trained on you. “okay, i’m sorry. i… should’ve thought about what cleaning the closet would look like.”
“i was just being stupid.” you give him a small smile, rubbing your eyes to chase away the burning sensation. “sorry for scaring you.”
“stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” he tuts, pushing your wrists aside to cup your face in his hands, much gentler in comparison to your own self. his thumbs draw shapes on your soft skin, and then out of the blue, he curiously squeezes one of the space buns on top of your head. “wow, this is so pretty?”
“huh…? oh, thanks.” you mumble, still feeling out of it.
“this, too.” the white silk ribbon wrapped prettily around your neck, he means, which he hooks a finger on to tug lightly. it matches the lace straps on your shoulders that falls across the underbust of your dress, tied together to form a ribbon in the middle of it. that makes two, so clasically you.
and while it may be partly true that he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere, he just can’t defy the urge to express his admiration for you, even in a situation like this. he’s perpetually love-drunk.
“thank you.” you nod, shyly looking away to sniffle. “but you’re the reason why my makeup is ruined… need to wash it off before we go.”
“you’re beautiful either way, baby.”
“i know.” you scoff. “would you date me for five years if i wasn’t?”
he releases a throaty chuckle, capturing your lips in his with a smile of endearment that he fails to subdue.
“you’re so fucking cute. i love you-” he says with merely an inch of distance between you.
he grunts in melodramatic anguish, overcome by the insensity of his affections overflowing past the brim of his very being, leaning so close that the edge of the table digs into your lower back, surely to leave a temporary mark.
and he carries on to kiss you so many times that you lose count; you can only melt as you collect them in that bottomless pocket located somewhere in your soul, where all the love you’ve received across lifetimes is recorded to prove i was once here.
“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you. i’m never leaving. you’re stuck with me and bam forever.”
if the time comes that the two of you break up, who would bam come home to? jungkook stubbornly refuses to have that conversation.
however, you still can’t let go of something, and you pout as you shove him lightly. unsurprisingly, his strong build doesn’t budge at all.
“but why didn’t you answer my calls?” at last, you gain enough energy to complain, but your face grows hot as the urge to cry returns. “i mean, what else was i supposed to think?!”
jungkook is struck by yet another lightning.
may the heavens have mercy, he’s been making you angry more than usual lately.
“shit, i forgot. i turned off my phone.” he mutters under his breath, feeling extremely regretful that he was not reachable when you needed him most to be. “i wanted to focus only on you tonight. what do they call it again…? leaving work at work?”
he winces guiltily.
“i’m sorry. maybe it wasn’t a smart idea.”
“no, i like that.” you almost interrupt him from talking because of how fast you are to brush off his apology.
he makes a mental note of it— the way you’re gripping at his shirt in small fists. you’re tense and overwhelmed; you need him to stay close.
“leave work at work. focus on me, and let me be your rest.”
unbeknownst to you, jungkook bites back his tears then. after all this time, he still gets mesmerized by the tenderness that naturally governs your every word and action; he thinks that he needs you more than you need him.
—
“just eat, baby. i’ll cook the meat for us.” jungkook coos at you as he cuts more meat into bite-sized pieces using a pair of kitchen shears.
“okay, then i’ll make sure that you eat.” you grin excitedly, dragging your chair closer to his.
you set down the tongs, grabbing your chopsticks to pick up a cooked piece of pork belly from the grill. you don’t forget to blow on it, mindful of burning his tongue.
of course, you don’t want to hurt him, but it would be especially painful for him as a singer.
“ahhh-” still busy with cooking, jungkook opens wide at your cue, catching the meat in between his teeth.
“rice,” he demands as he chews.
you scoop up rice from your bowl, and he devours it happily as he continues to flip the strips of pork belly lined up across the grill.
“mmhmm, it’s so delicious!” he dramatically says out loud. his eyebrows are knitted together and his legs are bouncing under the table, tell-tale signs of him enjoying the food.
witnessing this kind of reaction, any chef would be happy to slave away in the kitchen to serve him a meal. you recognize it in the smile of the owner after jungkook ordered more side dishes, and the way he dashed through the door to reduce the waiting time.
“yah, feed yourself, too!” jungkook chides you after you feed him meat three times in a row, but with an open palm that catches the juice that drips from the kimchi, you still tap your chopsticks against his lips. he spares it a glance before catching it using his tongue.
“i am!” you then rush to wrap a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dipping it into ssamjang before stuffing it into your mouth.
“good job, baby.” he grins in satisfaction, rubbing your back as praise. this makes you preen. “make sure to eat lots, got it?”
but then you’re back to spoiling him rotten, this time with an egg roll. so far, he has only touched his own chopsticks twice.
“i just told you to eat first!”
you glare at him, pouting. “but you worked so hard practicing today and you haven’t even eaten properly yet.”
he is too busy with work, and it’s not news that you’ve been worried sick about his health. it’s difficult to watch him work himself to the bone, but no one truly has the power to stop jungkook from doing what he wants, sometimes not even himself. and you find it impossible to fault him for it when you know that everything he does is done out of love. from the vigorous vocal and dance lessons, and to the deep cleaning of the apartment because his baby has been developing an allergy to dust.
“you need to make it up to your body. here, please?”
he loves being loved, jungkook thinks to himself as he eats the egg roll whole.
—
you were already prepared to go home after dinner, but your night owl for a boyfriend insisted on going on a walk at the park because he wanted to, and you quote, ‘see you awake for a little while longer,’ or whatever the hell he meant by that.
with his tattooed arm protectively swung over your shoulder, you’re engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. for the first two years of your relationship, before you started living together, you only met with each other at night, save for the very rare day-offs that he got. the only places that are still open after midnight are nightclubs, fastfood chains, convenience stores… and well, parks.
and he would always hold you close like this to make you feel safe, and the rest of you melts away while the side of your ribcage that he is pressed against remains to shelter your heart. on the contrary, you also remember how your bodies used to be so tense. you wanted to sacrifice more sleep and to walk to the other side of the park, of the street, to that other convenience store five blocks away because this one didn’t have the flavor of ice cream you wanted, anything… just… anything so you could be with each other ten minutes more.
and it was cold. it was always cold.
“what do you mean ‘it exploded’?”
“it seriously exploded! it was on fire! that’s why i went out to buy a new extension cord!”
“jungkook, it’s because you plug in too many things at once!” you cry out in frustration, your steps becoming heavy stomps. “i told you to stop doing that!”
“what do you mean? if it has six slots, doesn’t that mean six devices is the maximum?” he continues to stubbornly defend himself, and you can only hang your head in defeat. “otherwise, it’s a scam!”
“it is a scam! see…? they made you buy a ne-”
your sentence is cut short as your tongue gets paralyzed.
a dark and striped, long figure approaching ahead, slithering its across the grass.
your mind immediately registers it as the animal you fear most.
oh, no. no, no, no, no, no.
“jungkook,” you utter his name with a tremble.
the same fear you experienced only two hours ago holds you hostage once more, add all the hair in your body standing up and you’re as frightened as a cat.
“what’s wrong? yah! what are you doing?! baby, ba- fuck!” he sputters out as you forcefully pull him back along with you, displaying a type of strength and agility he doesn’t normally see.
the two of you continue to stumble backwards as you struggle to maintain balance, and somehow jungkook manages to switch your positions so that you’re the one who lands on top him instead of the other way around when you eventually end up as a heap on the soft earth.
he begins to feel his throat closing up at the sight of pure, genuine fear in your eyes.
“jungkook, snake- it’s small bu-”
you interrupt your own sentence with a high-pitched squeal, garnering looks from strangers moving and unmoving. in the blink of an eye, your boyfriend has swept you off your feet as if you’re light as a feather, driven by the instinct to protect the love of his life.
you cover your mouth in shock, your other arm coming up around his neck to keep yourself from falling.
you think you may have fallen for jungkook all over again.
“are you spiderman?”
he was too busy searching for the subject of your fear under dim lights, and so he looks at you in bewilderment to ask, “what was that?”
you shake your head with your wide eyes shining with faux innocence. you squeak. “nothing.”
he releases a sigh, followed by a chuckle of obvious relief and amusement as he squeezes your body closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. “aigoo, my ____! why are you so scared today? what am i going to do with you…? it’s just a worm.”
“are you sure? i swear i saw it raise its head!“
“i’m sure,” he lulls you. “i think worms can do that, too?”
your face twists in an expression of mixed bewilderment and distrust.
“that i’m not sure about, but it’s really just a worm! would i still be standing here if it wasn’t?” he clicks his tongue sharply. “we need to get your eyes rechecked.”
you roll your eyes with a huff. you’ve have had enough of his teasing before it even starts.
“uh?! i’m serious over here!”
this is new— you mean bickering with jungkook in a public place isn’t, but being carried by him like a bride while it happens definitely is.
“fine, i’ll go this weekend. happy?” you fake an obedient smile. “you can put me down now.”
he blinks, and then he adjusts the way he’s holding you to ensure that your dress won’t show what’s for his eyes only— for a split second, you were flying.
“i’ll go with you,”
“okay. now put me down.“ you tap his shoulder repeatedly to prompt him to heed your words. “babe, this is embarrassing!”
“nope,” he ignores your protest with nonchalance as he resumes to walk the path you’re on, evidently enjoying the attention he’s stealing and the way you’re curling yourself smaller to hide.
“oh my god! weren’t you just complaining about your body hurting?!”
“you were scared of me leaving,” he smiles, glancing down at you. “so now i’m gluing you to myself.”
that made you quiet for a while. inside your tote, the container of kimchi, wrapped in a plastic bag, rattles with his every stride. you noticed that jungkook loved it so much, so you ordered it to go when he went to the bathroom before you were to leave the restaurant.
“you know, we used to just hold hands,” you mumble with a childish pout. “like normal people?”
“this is very normal,” he argues.
the scenery becomes more familiar as he takes the long way home.
“some would even say romantic.”
a wave of nostalgia hits, and you visibly shiver.
you don’t know if he would remember, but he has said the same exact words once before.
you scrunch your nose, supposedly to give him a look of disgust, but a giddy smile betrays you. you are five years younger again, and the night ends with the moon bidding you an adieu.
—
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#jungkook#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook drabble#jungkook one shot#jungkook scenario#jungkook imagine#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts fluff#bts reaction#jungkook smut
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Eyes
Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea
“Red Robin!”
When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.
Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.
A fan?
Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.
“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.
The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).
He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.
It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.
Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.
A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.
He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.
Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.
“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.
What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.
“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”
The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.
“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.
“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.
So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.
Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.
“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.
The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.
“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.
“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”
Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.
“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”
He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.
“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”
Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.
“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.
Tim freezes.
“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.
Danny tilts his head curiously.
“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”
Well. This is less than ideal.
“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.
Yeah, he was getting there.
“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”
Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.
“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“
“Okay. That’s enough.”
Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.
“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.
Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.
“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.
“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”
Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.
“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”
“Think you can hold on?”
“Yeah!”
He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.
The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.
Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.
The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.
Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.
Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.
Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.
“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.
Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.
“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”
Danny blinks blankly.
“Nobody.”
“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.
“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.
“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.
“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”
Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.
“I demand you start making sense!”
Danny glares back in offense.
“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”
The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.
“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.
The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.
“Yea?”
“How do you know our identities?”
“Oh, memories.”
Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.
“Memories,” Bruce repeats.
“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”
A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.
“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.
Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.
“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”
“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”
“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.
“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”
“That you know of.”
And wasn’t that the kicker.
“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”
Danny positively beams.
“This is why you’re my favorite!”
Damian grinds his teeth harshly.
“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.
“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”
Tim has the sudden urge to scream.
#Danny is born from the#lazarus pit#memories are left in the pits after use#which is why people lose themselves like Jason#Danny is the Balance#living between Life and Death#he just wants to be loved#he just wants a family#let the boy live#danny phantom#danny fenton#dp x dc#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#tim drake#red robin#batman#dc robin#story ideas#thoughts#bruce wayne#de aged
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I don't need space, I need you
Mattheo and Theodore fluff
Based on this request, please don't hate me for taking 29 days to post this rather average piece, but I had a lot of requests and not a lot of time. I hope you like it!
Finally I had time to write today! Big yey for me, people. I needed it and I'm so happy I wrote something today. 💛 Sending you lots of love and of course: happy readings!
A/N: I got some stuff going on in life so if I don't respond, I'm sorry. Just know that I love you. 💛
Mattheo
“Where’s my princess?” Mattheo sings as he enters the common room in search of you. “Not here, I would check the library.” Blaise states not looking up from his book. Mattheo nods and is about to turn around to head straight for the library, but Draco’s snickering stops him from doing so. “I bet you’re pleased to have a moment of peace.” Mattheo focuses on Draco, not completely getting where the blond's going with this. “I honestly pity you, man, must be so suffocating.” Suddenly all eyes are on Mattheo and not just his friends, the entire slytherin common room is curious to hear what the big bad boy has to say. Mattheo moves a nervous hand through his curls and chuckles. “Yeah, she’s a bit much with her hugs and cuddles, and urgh those constant questions to check on me. I’m lucky she studies so much, so I have a break from time to time.” Mattheo sits down opposite of Draco who grins and nods, fully believing that Mattheo feels saved by your absence. However, Mattheo felt miserable sitting there, knowing that he could be spending time with you.
Just like Mattheo was searching the castle for you, you had been searching for him and ended up checking the common room. With watery eyes you turn around, unnoticed by anyone, and leave the common room. He thinks I’m too much?
***
“Who is it?!” Mattheo yells as he pushes you against the wall of an empty hallway. He rarely raised his voice with you, but now his face was close to yours, his eyes dark and piercing yours. He looks more pained than angry, but you just look confused. To him it was obvious, you had fallen out of love with him and probably found someone else. There was plenty of proof:
A quick kiss on the lips and a wish of good luck before Tuesday's test was all Mattheo got, instead of the tight hug and intense kiss you would normally give him before a test.
When you got your results back on Wednesday you jumped into Luna’s arms and just gave him a happy smile, while he was standing right there next to Luna. His heart ached to hold you and press you against his chest. Worse was when you asked Enzo about his test first and ended up discussing all the answers, barely giving your boyfriend any attention.
Thursday you went to sit next to Pansy in the common room, instead of settling in your boyfriend’s lap. Mattheo was forced to watch you the whole evening without touching you once. When you left for bed, you told him not to walk you to your room and reminded him to spend some much needed time with his friends. The sweet kiss you gave him, didn’t make up for any of it.
Were you trying to get rid of him? To Mattheo the case was obvious.
Friday was the worst. Happy to finally have you next to him as you were both reading, settled close by the fire. With his eyes still on the page of his own book his arm moved behind you to pull you closer and you let your head rest on his shoulder as you continued to read, but still Mattheo frowned. Normally you would sling your legs over his and cuddle up against his chest, wrapping your blanket around the both of you and creating this warm bubble of love. He could barely focus on his book, as his eyes constantly wandered to you reading next to him but not cuddled up against him like you used to.
So by Saturday Mattheo had pretty much had it with you. You rubbed your temple as squeezed your eyes. “I have a headache, I’m gonna head to my room and rest for a bit.” You got up from your seat to leave the library and Mattheo did the same. If you weren’t feeling well then he needed to be by your side. “Oh, don’t Matt. I’ll be fine. I’ll ask Pansy to give me something against the pain and settle next to me until I fall asleep.” Mattheo stood perplexed as you just kissed him and left. Now he wasn’t even good enough to take care of you anymore.
This was the moment he snapped. With stern strides he follows you.
“Who is it?!” You frowned at the question and met Mattheo’s dark eyes. “Obviously, you’re done with me. So who’s better than me, huh?” His voice was filled with anger, but his question sounded so heartbreaking, that you felt no need to get angry with him for pushing you against the wall and snapping at you. You cup his cheeks and softly shake your head. “Matt, I love you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Your voice is calm and endearing, reminding him of how much he needed your love. You were always so gentle with him and feeling you slip away the past week hurt so much that he felt like falling apart on the spot. He's too hurt and afraid to lose you to act tough and with a whisper he confesses his worries. “You don’t check up on me anymore. You don’t wish me luck before a test like you used to. We don’t cuddle anymore.” You stare at him in silence for a moment, you had never seen Mattheo this soft and vulnerable before.
Your hands still resting on his cheeks move to his neck as you wrap your arms around him and pull him against you. Mattheo snuggles his face in your neck, embarrassed with himself and desperate for your warmth. You rest your head against his and your fingers move through his curls, making him sigh at your touch. “You told Draco I was a bit too much. So I backed off, because I didn’t want to lose you. I know I can get clingy sometimes, I’m sorry.” Mattheo moves away to look at you and his eyes look guilty. “No, no. Don’t apologise. Don’t be sorry. I love you clingy and cuddly. I need you to be around me.” Your eyebrows knit together. “But I heard you say-” Mattheo interrupts you and shakes his head. “I was being stupid. Don’t listen to the things I say. Just stay with me and love me… overwhelm me with everything you have.” You tilt your head in confusion. “No, I mean listen to me, just forget about what I said back then. I- I was trying to act tough so I pretended to- you know.” You chuckle. “You pretended not to like cuddles, because you wanted to be a tough guy?” Embarrassed with himself Mattheo nods. “I’m a softy for you and I need my daily dose of love. I don’t need space.”
You sigh at Mattheo’s pouty face. “My boyfriend’s an idiot.” Mattheo nods and leans in for a kiss. “Please, let me take you to your room and let me take care of you, because I want nothing more than to be around you.” You pull him in for another intense kiss as an answer and as you walk to your dorm, he squeezes your hand the whole time walking.
Theodore
“Where’s my lady?” Theodore frowns as he sits down opposite of Blaise, who raises his shoulders without looking up from his book. Theo shakes his head in annoyance, he needed you like he needed cigarettes. He spent the whole day longing for your love and warm embraces. Merlin, all he wanted right now was for you to entangle your fingers with his hair and ask him about his day. “For once the two of you aren’t attached to the hip.” Mattheo quips and Draco snickers. “Must be refreshing to have a moment to yourself.” Theodore stays silent for a moment and a little further, near the common room entrance you halt in your step. “She’s so mothering, it’s almost toxic. I don’t know how you do it, mate.” Draco wiggles his eyebrows at Theo as Mattheo talks. “You know, if you ever need us to come save you, we could always come up with a code word.” Draco offers and Theodore chuckles, not knowing what to say. “It’s not toxic, but I’m happy to have a moment with you guys, because she can be a bit much. She’s always so… clingy.” You chew your lip and slowly take a step back, leaving the common room as the word ‘clingy’ rings in your head.
***
You didn’t want to lose your boyfriend due to being too clingy. So you decided to keep your distance.
Instead of spending your evening studying cuddled up with your boyfriend you ask Hermione to help you out with potions who of course never passes the opportunity to study. Keeping up his tough act in front of his friends, Theodore can’t protest as you leave the common room to go study with your friend instead of with him. Theo feels himself get cold as he sits by the fireplace with his friends. If you’re not there to keep him warm the room just feels empty and even the conversations are boring. He can’t help but curse himself for letting you go study with Hermione. Having to make peace with an evening without you, Theodore longs for the next day and having you next to him during breakfast while you talk about your plans for the day.
The next morning, at breakfast Theo only gets a small kiss from you before you turn to Pansy gossiping about some third years. Theodore can’t resist but snake an arm around you and you love his touch, but you try not to be too clingy and decide to not fully lean against him. Your boyfriend is happy to have you next to him, but disappointed that you stay engaged with Pansy’s gossip instead of giving him some much needed attention. Why were you not combing his hair with your fingers until it looked the way you preferred it? Why were you not checking if he had done all his homework? What was so bloody interesting about Pansy’s conversation?!! He was getting so annoyed that he was caught by surprise when you kissed him tenderly and headed for class. His mind and body were screaming to have you back by his side and walk you to class, but he just turned to his breakfast and spent the morning sulking.
Finally, after two days, he had you close to him, settled on his bed with a book in your hand. You were all alone in his room and you both enjoyed the peace and quiet. You lay between his legs with his arms around you, while his head rested on yours, reading some of the paragraphs of your book but mostly taking in your warmth and scent. He gives you a soft kiss on your cheek and you smile and lean against his chest. “I love you.” You whisper and his eyes shine even brighter than he smiles. “Love you too.” However, your romantic moment is ruined when Blaise and Mattheo enter. “Astronomy tower?” Mattheo raises his eyebrows at Theo who is about to decline the invitation, but you speak up first. “I was just about to meet up with Luna.” You jump up and Theodore's eyes go furious at the suggestion of you leaving. “No you’re not.” Theo snaps at you, shaking everyone in the room. “Why are you so eager to get away from me?” Theo questions and Blaise and Mattheo’s eyes move from their friend to you. You take a step back at your boyfriend's accusation. “I’m not. I’m just giving you space so you can hang out with your friends.” Theo shoots Blaise and Mattheo a dark glare. “Out! Both of you!”
As soon as the duo closes the door behind them and you and Theodore are left alone in the room Theodore gets up and towers over you. “I don’t want space, I want you. So tell me what’s going on, because I can’t stand it anymore.” His voice is stern, but you feel yourself relax as you no longer have to act differently and you can finally be honest with him. “You think I’m clingy and sometimes I’m too much… and I get that and I don’t want to lose you… so I did my best to give you some space in the hopes of saving our relationship.” Theodore’s heart aches at the soft tone of your voice. How could he make you feel like you were too much when you were all he wanted. “I’m such a shit boyfriend.” Theo sighs as he sits back down on his bed, making you frown and join him. “No, I was too much.” Theo’s head snaps to you. “You are not. I didn’t want those idiots to think I was whipped or soft or- so I said you were clingy, but you're not, if anything I am… I want you around 24/7.” Your eyes widen at his confession. “Soooo, you’re saying that ‘the’ Theodore Nott is so in love with me that he prefers cuddling over hanging with his friends.” Your boyfriend chuckles. “Yeah, so please just go back to reading in my arms and make me the happiest man alive.” You lean towards him and he meets your lips. The sweet kiss quickly turns passionate as you both fall back on the bed.
For the ones who asked to be tagged, here you go lovies: @ho3forfakeguys and @bitchoftoji
#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#slytherin boys#slytherin#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott#theodore nott x reader#pepercorgiworldwritings
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my guardian demon sucks at his job (not clickbait)
❝ look, i accidentally summoned jeonghan from my statistics textbook the day before you met him at the olive garden. ❞
PAIRING ▸ demon!yoon jeonghan x fem!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, angst, supernatural, demon au
WARNINGS ▸ not so biblically accurate, profanity, slowburn, found family, inspirations from mythology and h. p. lovecraft, lots of banter, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, oral (fem. receiving), fingering, palming, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), mc is painfully horny, ft. demon!shua and demon!wonwoo
SUMMARY ▸ just when you thought your luck couldn't get any worse, you accidentally manage to summon an ancient demon prince named jeonghan out of a scrap of paper from your statistics textbook. now, you're tasked with figuring out how to return your so-called "guardian demon" back to where he came from before he can stir up more trouble.
PLAYLIST ▸ our dawn is hotter than day by seventeen • cruel summer by taylor swift
WORD COUNT ▸ 23,610 words
TAG LIST ▸ @byunfirstlady @90s-belladonna @knucklesdeepmingi @xlovette @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hatesbutlovespeople7734 @goquokka
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ i had so much fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy this one!! thank you so much for supporting my works ♡ lmk what u think!
TO BE FAIR, YOU REALLY DIDN’T EXPECT THE SPELL TO WORK.
You initially thought the scrap of paper you found in your statistics textbook was someone’s torn-up Latin homework. You borrowed the copy from the library earlier in the day, realizing that the only way you would pass your midterm would be if you actually studied. Wedged between the pages of Chapter Three - Linear Regression was the dubious piece of paper.
You thought nothing of it at first. You turned a blind eye to how it was yellowed due to age, thinking it was just left behind by accident. It didn’t even cross your mind about how strange it was that someone left their Latin homework in a statistics textbook.
There was no real reason why you read the words aloud. You thought it could act as some sort of good luck charm—something that could manifest good grades on your exams—but you ended up with the exact opposite.
The paper started glowing, but it wasn’t bright light; a void of pitch darkness emitted from the scrap instead. Mind you, it was nearly the middle of the night. It was already dark, but your room was starting to look like you had opened up a schism in space.
You dropped the paper in the middle of the room instinctively, hissing lightly at how it nearly froze your fingers off. Your room’s temperature dropped by several degrees, and if you weren’t internally freaking out about the random black hole in the middle of your room, you would have curled up in your blankets.
This was one hell of a karmic retribution for slacking on your work for half the semester.
You could hardly see the paper, but you could see faint smoke coming from the middle of the source. It seeped along your bedroom floor, and you contemplated calling your roommate for help before realizing that you, in fact, had no roommate and lived alone.
From there, the paper seemed to crumple up and dissipate into thin air. Instead, a shadowy figure emerged from the smoke. You were not religious by any means, but you felt like this was probably the best time to start praying to whatever higher power was out there.
Light returned to the room once the darkness and smoke faded away. You could now make out the entity’s figure more clearly, noting how it towered over you with sharp horns sticking out from its tuft of hair. Once you could see well enough to make out its face, you were met with what you thought was a human, though the horns and red eyes were throwing you in for a loop.
Humans often had four different psychological responses to traumatic or stressful experiences:
Fight: facing any perceived threat head-on.
Flight: running away from the perceived threat.
Fawn: resorting to appealing to the perceived threat to avoid potential conflict.
Freeze: being unable to move or act against the perceived threat.
Being the absolute weapon of survival you were, your body chose to freeze.
The thing just stared at you until its mouth stretched into a lazy smirk. “Hey, I’m—”
In seconds, your body moved on its own. As soon as you heard the smallest sound come from the being, you grabbed your backpack that was leaning against your bed frame, and you started swinging at the entity with it.
You chose to fight.
You were no longer useless.
“Ow!” the thing winced, shrinking back with each blow. You were slightly worried about breaking your laptop inside, but you were currently prioritizing your life more. “Cut it out!”
You got a better look at this thing. He was clearly attractive with his strong jawline and dark, sleepy eyes—assuming he was even a dude in the first place. You still kept your guard up around Pretty Boy, though, considering he had just Harry Potter’d his way into your bedroom.
“Who—what are you?” you spluttered, holding your backpack up in a (hopefully) threatening way.
“Me?” Pretty Boy grinned. “I’m your demon.”
What in the Wizards of Waverly Place was this man talking about? You stared blankly at the guy before taking a careful step backward. Of course, there were far too many supernatural elements packed into the last minute for you to completely shut down the idea, but it sounded downright crazy. This was something that only happened in books and movies, and they weren’t supposed to be hot!
“A… a demon? From Hell?”
“Yes, that’s usually where demons tend to be from.”
Great, this “demon” was a smart-ass, too.
“What’s a demon?” you asked. It took you a few moments to realize that you had, in fact, asked an extremely stupid question. Of course you knew what a demon was; you didn’t have to be a religious studies major to know about all the Jesus and Satan lore.
“I’m glad you asked,” said demon started, although he didn’t seem to be glad at all. “There are demons that should be summoned, and there are demons that should not be summoned. Can you guess which one I am?”
“Uh…” You deliberated carefully. “You’re a demon that can be summoned.”
“Wrong!” Pretty Boy answered. “I’m a demon that shouldn’t be summoned, so I need you to explain how on Earth you summoned me.”
“I—I thought you said you were my demon.”
“I am,” he said, “because most demons can only be summoned by their designated human, which you did, but I, of all demons, am not meant to be summoned and trapped in this realm! How in Lucifer’s name did you summon me, human?”
You held up a hand to keep him from charging forward at you. “First of all, my name is Y/N. Shouldn’t you be familiar with your own human’s name? Second of all, what do you mean by ‘designated human’?”
Pretty Boy sighed. “I’m supposed to be your assigned demon.”
You frowned. “Supposed to be?”
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve kind of been neglecting you. Totally forgot your name and everything.” He hummed inquisitively. “Remind me of it again?”
“Y/N,” you repeated carefully, slightly offended. “What the hell is an assigned demon?”
“If I tell you,” he started in a somber tone, and you hung onto every word, worrying at your lip and fearing something dreadful would happen, “then it’s no fun.”
He had to be fucking with you.
“No fun?” you questioned. “Are you kidding?”
“I happen to be very serious,” he answered, “and I’m getting the feeling that you’re a bit of a kill-joy, human.”
“Listen,” you spat, “I have a stats midterm tomorrow, so you better start talking before I get back to studying and ignore you.”
“Fine,” he complied. “Think of it, like… a guardian demon.”
“Damn.” You looked up at him with wide eyes. “If I give you my soul, can you help me pass my midterm?”
“That’s not quite how it works, and I may be a demon, but that’s a pretty stupid request in exchange for your soul,” he deadpanned. “Okay, now tell me how you summoned me.”
Your gaze dropped to the spot on the floor where the black void opened up. You recalled the slip of paper disintegrating into thin air once the demon appeared. You were certain that was the key to this bizarre merging of two realms.
“Uh,” you said, “there was a piece of paper with some Latin written on it. You appeared after I read the words out loud.”
And after turning your room into an arctic tundra.
Pretty Boy’s face fell upon your words. You were shocked that the demon looked so crest-fallen all of a sudden, and it was making you feel a bit guilty for dragging him out of Hell.
You decided to ask, “Are you okay?”
“I am not okay, I am Yoon Jeonghan, one of the seven princes of Hell,” he started angrily, causing you to take a cautious step backward. “I am Greed, the creator of alchemy, forger of the Twin Blade, constructor of the—” The demon cut himself off when you held up a fist to your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. “W-what? What’s so funny, human?”
“I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly, accidentally letting a giggle slip from your lips, “but there’s no way some pretty face like you is a demon prince.”
“I emerged from an opening in the ground, and you still refuse to believe I’m a demon?”
“Well—”
“Human, do you know why a ‘pretty face’ like me is a demon prince?” Pretty Demon Boy a.k.a Jeonghan inquired, stepping closer until you were backed up against your desk. “The King of all demons himself was once considered the most beautiful of all angels. Why?” With three fingers, he tilted your chin up enough for you to take a good look at him—at the swirling dark red in his eyes. “Because demons represent temptation.”
“Temptation,” you echoed, embarrassed that your voice came out more strangled than intended. “Yeah, well, I’m really tempted to kick your ass back to Hell right now.”
You supposed he was onto something, in a sense. Maybe Jeonghan was telling the truth because you couldn’t focus on anything else but how his lips were nearing yours. It was as if your senses had completely clouded over.
Upon your words, however, he dropped his gaze and pulled away from you. Jeonghan looked saddened, which was a sight you had not expected from the smug-faced demon. You weren’t educated on demon lore or anything, but you were quite surprised that they were capable of feeling such human emotions.
“There are ways demons can be summoned,” he said in a somber voice. “If we are summoned by our names, then we can appear and promptly return to Hell. Incantations, though, are tricky; with negligence, there is a possibility that I’m stuck here.”
“Stuck here?” you asked, raising your voice. “What do you mean? You can’t go back?”
“Well, do you remember the words on that piece of paper?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t have a way of going back, dumbass.”
You huffed. “I didn’t know a demon prince could have the vocabulary of a middle school boy.”
“We can speak any language on this planet and adapt to modern slang,” he explained. “I can also speak dolphin. Wanna hear?”
“No, let’s circle back to getting you back to Hell,” you shut him down before he started using echolocation. “There has to be some other way, right?”
“We have a few options, actually,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed. You cringed at the thought of the intruder making himself at home, but you supposed you were the one who got him in this mess, anyway. It wouldn’t be smart for you to boss him around, especially since he could overtake you easily. “Either you remember the incantation, or… actually, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“So, we only have one option?” you clarified. “I have the memory of a goldfish, so I think you’re fucked.” You scratched your neck in thought. “Can’t you call one of your demon buddies to bring you back?”
“Demon buddies?” He laughed coldly. “We aren’t exactly buddy-buddy down there.”
“Then why do you wanna go back so bad?”
“This materialized human form of mine will not last me very long,” he replied gravely, though you weren’t quite convinced the horns and red eyes were doing him any favors. “Normally, I could be up here for as long as I want, but my powers are weak right now. I will eventually perish like this, unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless I kill an angel.”
After your morbid conversation with Jeonghan, you decided you would deal with the issue after your midterm. The demon insisted that he would not be able to leave your side since you summoned him, so that led to him sleeping on your floor. To your horror, he was pleasantly satisfied with this sleeping arrangement, claiming it was “better than being boiled alive in oil.”
His bedroom in Hell didn’t sound very cozy.
The next morning, you woke to an email notification that your midterm had been canceled. Something about your professor falling sick out of nowhere.
You wanted to rejoice, but you couldn’t help but feel that this was because of Jeonghan. This was probably the whole “guardian demon” thing, but he was causing chaos and disorder to get you what you wanted. It left an uneasy feeling, but, regardless, you were satisfied with not taking an exam.
Anyway, why was Jeonghan, self-proclaimed prince of demons, assigned to be your guardian? When you turned in your bed to see him sitting at your desk and staring at your textbook, you asked him the question that was bugging you.
He scoffed and replied, “I don’t know. Luck?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Is it really lucky that a demon prince was assigned to me? Sounds a little unnerving.”
“That just means you have a powerful demon on your side.” He smirked and leaned in to ask, “Were you happy to see your midterm canceled this morning?”
“So it was you!” you exclaimed. “Look, I appreciate it and everything, but you can’t just make people sick to help me out.”
“I can’t?” He looked surprisingly innocent when you reprimanded him, like a seven-year-old being told not to color on the walls. “I didn’t even murder him or anything.”
“That—that’s also pretty bad,” you stammered. “Let’s not do any of that, okay?”
“But that’s no fun.”
“This isn’t about having fun! These are people’s lives. How would you feel if I harmed one of the other demon princes for fun?”
“That’s hot. I’d probably cum in my pants.”
“Okay, maybe that was a bad example,” you grumbled. “Is there anyone you care about down there?”
“Not down there, not up here,” he replied. “I’m a demon, remember? There’s no one who cares for me, so I don’t care for anyone either.”
“Wow,” you said. “You could be the poster boy for 2012 Tumblr angst.”
“I’ll pretend I understood that, human.”
There was something bothering you, though. Jeonghan’s words last night about killing an angel were parroting in your head. You couldn’t shake off the guilt that he could potentially die on Earth because of you, but it felt immoral to kill an angel to return to his prison in Hell. On the other hand, you couldn’t bear to see him perish because of you.
“How long do you have?” you asked. “You know… to live.”
“Hm… I’d say about 718 years?”
“Oh, what the fuck? You’re chilling.”
“In Hell time.”
You frowned. “How long is that in Earth years?”
Jeonghan’s gaze flew to the ceiling as he tried to calculate the math in his head, using his fingers to count off. “That’s about half an Earth year, so, like, six months.”
“Oh no,” you replied in absolute dread, “and you’re still planning on killing an angel?”
“If that’s the only way to save me—yes.”
“Well, how do you even find one?”
“I can sense their presence,” he said before standing up. “Come on, human. You’ll have to show me around your world so that I can remember the mortal way of life.”
“I guess, but first”—you stopped him by raising your hand—“you’ll have to get rid of those horns.”
Once Jeonghan concealed his horns and changed his eyes to a more socially acceptable color, you gave him the green light to go outside. He looked good like this, but he was attracting too much attention. The demon simply had too big of an ego to tone down the attractiveness, so you were stuck walking around with a chick magnet.
“You’re a demon,” you whispered harshly. “You’re telling me you don’t have any ugly forms?”
Jeonghan sighed. “That is the unfortunate curse of a demon. We can’t help that our beauty is so blinding.”
You wanted to punch him. The boiling oil prison bed wasn’t a curse, but this was?
“Well, people are staring, and it’s making me uncomfortable. I’ve never been the center of attention—or, well, around the center of attention.”
“Then would you like me to gouge out their eyeballs with a dagger?”
“No!” you yelled. “No, there will be no gouging of eyeballs!”
You started going off on your Murder Is Normally Socially Unacceptable And Wrong tangent up until you realized that Jeonghan was no longer next to you. Fear shot up your spine right before you spotted him standing in front of an Olive Garden that you two had walked past earlier.
“Jeonghan, what are you doing?” you asked, frowning. “Let’s keep walking.”
“Human,” he said, clearly ignoring your words, “take me into this restaurant.”
“You’re hungry?” When he nodded, you sighed and complied, saying, “Alright, then, I’ll pay.”
You were worried that the demon wouldn’t behave properly, but, to your surprise, he stood to the side and let you do the talking. You found his shy smile strangely endearing, especially when he tilted his head after the waitress asked if you two were a couple.
“Yes,” he answered before you could shut it down. “We’ve come in a pair.”
You forced a laugh, glancing at the waitress to make sure she didn’t think you two were absolute nutjobs. Well, you supposed it had no effect on you if your psychotic demon was perceived as one, but you were 100% normal across the board. Thankfully, the waitress laughed it off and asked if either of you wanted anything to drink.
You smiled. “Just water, please.”
“Do you have any blood?” Jeonghan asked at the same time.
Your head shot up to see his furrowed brows as he tried to decipher the Italian dishes on the menu. At this point, you were mortified and could positively say that you were not taking Jeonghan outside after this. You’d rather be stuck in his boiling oil prison than be put through this torment.
“B-Bloody Mary?” the waitress asked.
“Oh, is this Mary providing the blood? I don’t really care to know who exactly she is, but I appreciate the—”
“Yeah, he meant a Bloody Mary,” you cut in loudly, putting on a sugary sweet smile for her. You turned to the demon with a warning look in your eyes, but you kept up the playful act as you chided, “Jeonghan! I told you to quit with the pranks here!”
“Oh, you two are so funny,” the waitress gushed. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“Thank you!” you chirped. When she was out of sight, you dropped your fake smile so you could kick the living crap out of the demon’s shin. He winced and raised a brow at you. “What made you think you could ask for blood at a restaurant?”
Jeonghan scoffed. “I’m a demon.”
“Oh, really? I wouldn’t have guessed from the hundred times you’ve mentioned it.”
“I can’t eat this food.” Jeonghan put the menu down and ran his fingers down the list of options. “Well, I suppose I could stomach it for sustenance, but it won’t satisfy my hunger.”
“Then what do you need to eat?” you asked, expecting to hear something morbid.
“Well, human blood or flesh would help,” he said. Just as you thought—morbid. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, “or… I’d need to have sex.”
“S-sex?!” you exclaimed. You tried not to choke on air, which failed about five seconds later. Never in your life did you expect hellbound demons to be so lecherous. Well, it made perfect sense, but it was still odd to think about. “You’re telling me the only way you can be fed is by cannibalism or sex?”
“Cannibalism is a strong word.”
“Cannibalism is the only word for people who eat other people!”
“I’m not a person,” he defended. “I’m a demon. I believe you humans call this ‘the food cycle,’ am I right?”
You leaned back in your seat to groan into your hands. “I guess we’re just gonna have to find a way to get you back before you get too hungry. How long can you go without food?”
“Probably forever if I was in Hell,” Jeonghan said, “but I feel really hungry.”
“Is this some ulterior motive to get into my pants?”
Jeonghan barked out a laugh. “Human, do you know who the Seven Deadly Sins are?”
“Sort of? I’ve seen the anime.”
“They’re the seven human vices, and I’m Greed,” he explained. “Other than me, there’s Lust, Wrath, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, and Pride. Many say that Pride is the worst of them all, but I am destructive at every level. Greed is what breaks a person down and then brings them to destroy the world around them.”
His voice was pitched deeper when he continued, “Greed is the sin that can never be satisifed.”
“O-okay,” you said carefully, “so why are you telling me this?”
“I’m telling you this because you’re pretty naive for someone who summoned a demon as powerful as I am,” he replied calmly. “I’m Greed, so of course that was an ulterior motive to get into your pants.”
Oh.
Awkward.
You weren’t sure if you were blushing because Jeonghan was hot or because no man had ever been so direct with you. For what it was worth, you were positive that the warm feeling in your chest wasn’t because you were flattered or anything. Being asked for sex in the middle of a restaurant wasn’t hot in the slightest bit, and especially after he proceeded to mansplain how he was a manipulative, conniving bastard.
“Don’t feel pressured,” he said.
Although those were the words that came out of his mouth, you could feel the impatience seeping from him. However, it had you thinking that this could become some sort of transaction. You would surely feel used if you let him get what he wanted so easily, but you would definitely be swayed if there was something in it for you. Plus, Jeonghan was unmistakably attractive, which was probably simply the devil’s temptation getting to you.
“If I let you satisfy your hunger… um, sexually,” you started, “then I want something in return.”
A mischievous glint flashed in his dark eyes. “Oh? You’re making things fun, human.”
You felt something hot roiling deep inside your core, making you nearly lose your breath for a moment. The effect he had on you was otherworldly. (You supposed this checked out considering he himself was otherworldly.)
Before you could lay down your guidelines, a voice called from behind, “Sorry, your previous waitress had something come up, so I’ll be taking your orders for your meal. My name’s—whoa, Y/N?”
Your eyes widened. “Seokmin! Oh my god, you work here?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, laughing lightly at your surprise. “Is this your, uh, boyfriend?”
You met Jeonghan’s stare with an awkward smile. “N-no, we’re just friends.”
Seokmin beamed at the demon, who, to your dismay, made no effort to reciprocate. “Nice to meet you. I was in one of Y/N’s classes last semester. Where are you from?”
Jeonghan reached out to shake the hand that Seokmin held out. You knew he was blunt, but you really didn’t expect him to respond by saying, “Hell.”
You were stabbing metaphysical pitchforks into Jeonghan’s side, fighting the urge to groan into your hands. Seokmin let out a stilted laugh, pausing for a moment to give Jeonghan time to clarify. When the demon didn't, however, Seokmin probably determined that Jeonghan was messing with him.
“You’re funny,” he praised with a grin. “Anyway, can I get you two started on anything?”
Seokmin had the brightest smile you had ever seen. In fact, he seemed to glow brighter just by showing his teeth. You were almost blown away for a moment, just looking up at him and trying not to stumble over your words as he set your drinks down.
“Um,” you started after regaining your composure, “I’ll take the stuffed ziti fritta, please.”
Seokmin turned to Jeonghan, who nodded in your direction with a distracted look on his face. “Yeah, I’ll get the same.”
“Great! I’ll bring those over soon.” With that, Seokmin took both of your menus and walked off.
You smiled to yourself. “What a small world.”
“I have to kill him,” Jeonghan muttered at the same time.
“Excuse me?” you nearly cried. “Jeonghan, are you crazy? You can’t just say things like that in public!”
“Why not?”
“People are gonna think you’re a homicidal maniac! Which you are, but… at least pretend to be normal.”
“Whatever, we’re alone now.” He rolled his eyes. “Your little friend has angel blood in him.”
“What? You’re crazy.”
But then, when you took a moment to consider his words, the lines were starting to draw themselves. It was starting to make sense in your head, with Jeonghan randomly stopping in the middle of the street, as if he was drawn to the restaurant. There was also Seokmin, who almost had an aura of light radiating from him.
Of course, there was the possibility that the demon was speaking nonsense and trying to get in your head. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him to deceive you, but there was no reason for him to lie. Jeonghan needed an angel to live longer, so he wouldn’t waste his time dealing with those who weren’t of use.
You asked, “How can you tell if he’s an angel or not?”
“I’m a demon. I can sense these things,” he answered, “but I’m sure you can see some of it, too. You saw how he glowed a bit? Maybe even made you feel a little happy out of nowhere?”
It was true that Seokmin’s smile made you forget all of your worries for a second. You thought his radiance was just contagious, but this sort of made sense now that you were semi-familiar with the supernatural. If angels were able to make people feel contented, though, did that mean demons had the opposite effect?
That could probably explain why Jeonghan got on your nerves so easily.
You leaned over the table a little, whispering, “Wouldn’t he know what you are, then?”
“Doubt he knows it himself. He’s a Quartarion—quarter angel. I bet he doesn’t even know he has wings.”
“So… you can’t use him, right? You need an angel, and he’s mostly human.”
“No, I could kill him, actually,” he replied. “I just need to kill an angel-blood. In fact, killing a Quartarion instead of a pure-blood would make my job a lot easier.”
You felt trapped. It wasn’t like you were in any position to argue about Jeonghan’s decisions, considering it was your fault he was in this state. However, you felt sick to your stomach over getting blood on your hands because of him. Even if you weren’t the one killing Seokmin, it was indirectly your fault.
“You are not killing him,” you said firmly.
“What?” Jeonghan almost sounded like a child. “Not even a little?”
“You can’t kill someone a little.”
“Well, maybe if I sliced his—”
“Okay! Be normal, be normal, be normal,” you chanted, trying to get him to hone in some morals. “No murder, no cannibalism, no—”
“Two stuffed ziti frittas!” Seokmin chirped, shutting you up effectively. You swallowed thickly as he set the plates down in front of you and Jeonghan. “Can I get you two anything else?”
“Yeah, actually,” Jeonghan spoke up, a sly grin spreading across his face, “are you free this week?”
Poor, poor Seokmin, you thought miserably.
Jeonghan managed to sweet-talk Seokmin into hanging out with you two later in the week. The very idea was absurd, considering you and Seokmin have only spoken about five times. You thought the demon used some sort of demon power to get Seokmin to comply, but Jeonghan later told you that he was just naturally charismatic.
You decided to deal with the Seokmin issue later, though. Now, you had another problem at hand: the proposal you initiated earlier.
Currently, Jeonghan had you pinned up against your door, his head dipping low so that he could look into your eyes despite your efforts to avert your gaze. Jesus, you knew this was a terrible idea, but every nerve in your body was telling you to just go with it.
He hummed. “What was your offer?”
“This isn’t very guardian demon of you,” you squeaked out.
“I just can’t kill you,” he said. “Sex is still on the table.”
This piqued your interest. “Wait… you’re not allowed to kill me?”
That just made you feel like he would’ve murdered you already if he had the chance.
“I could try, but I physically can’t harm you. I can harm others for you, though,” he said. “Now let’s go back to that offer you were going to make.”
“Let me clarify,” he continued, “it’s not the act of intercourse that feeds me, it’s your taste.”
He was basically saying that he needed to eat you out. You would be lying if you said you were opposed to the idea. You weren’t sure if it was the whole devil’s temptation thing or whatever, but you found yourself wanting to just let Jeonghan have his way with you.
You sucked in a sharp breath. Back at the restaurant, you weren’t ready to lay down any guidelines for the exchange. However, it was clear to you now.
“I’ll agree as long as you don’t kill Seokmin.”
The demon pulled away from you, frowning. “Why can’t I kill him?”
“He’s my… friend,” you tried.
“He appears to share a deeper connection with me, a complete stranger, than he does with you, an established acquaintance.”
Okay, ouch. That stung.
“Okay, he’s not really my friend,” you admitted, “but it’ll make me feel really guilty if you kill him. I know you need to kill an angel-blood to get back, but there has to be another way, right?”
Jeonghan’s voice was pitched lower when he said, “I don’t know about that.” Silence hung heavy in the air for a few moments before he spoke up again, “Fine. I’ll accept your offer. I won’t kill Seokmin for now, but I can’t promise that in the future if I’m left with no other choice.”
That was probably the best you were going to get out of him, so you nodded in agreement. “Deal.”
Before the demon could reply, you shimmied down your shorts, kicking them off your ankles, and then you sat back on your bed. You pressed your thighs together, waiting for him to come forward and take the lead.
Jeonghan just stared at you, jaw gone slack.
“What?” you asked with a frown. Slowly, embarrassment started to heat up your cheeks. “You don’t wanna do it anymore?”
“Human, I feel a bit strange doing this with the stuffed animals lined up on your bed.”
“I just had to convince you not to murder my classmate a minute ago, and you draw the line at this?” You sighed in exasperation. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Jeonghan just moved closer until he was right in front of you. He pushed your legs apart, surprisingly gentle, and he reached his hand between your legs so that he could prod at the thin material of your underwear at the apex of your legs. You shivered instantly at his touch, grabbing his sleeve when you felt your core ache for more.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, observing how wet you were getting with his gentle touches. “You seem to enjoy bickering with me a little too much, human.”
“T-that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” The question sounded genuine, but the smirk on Jeonghan’s face was unmistakable. You swallowed hard as his free hand traveled up your thigh slowly, inching further and further until he tugged your underwear down past your thighs. You kicked it off your ankles while he started to position you properly on your bed. “What’s ridiculous is having these adorable playthings watching us.”
You turned your head to see your Sanrio MyMelody Squishmallow staring at you with its big, empty eyes and mocking smile. It almost felt like you were being judged by your own plushie.
Okay, you were starting to get why it was capable of freaking a demon out.
You propped yourself up on your forearm and rose up enough to grab your Squishmallow by its bow and turn it around. Now that it was facing the wall, you strangely felt more at ease.
“Okay, now you can go,” you said with a grin.
Jeonghan scoffed, amused. “Thanks.”
“You’re wel—oh,” you moaned, pressing a fist to your mouth when you felt Jeonghan’s tongue work its way between your folds. “Give me a warning next time, damn.”
He paused for a moment to look up at you, mischief twinkling in his dark eyes. “You’re already thinking about the next time, huh?”
“Just shut up and keep doing your thing.” When he raised a brow at you, you added a frantic, “Please?”
This moment may have been the first time Jeonghan had complied so quickly. He got to work right away, gripping your hips and licking a stripe along your cunt. You arched your back once you heard him groan at the taste of your arousal, and the demon had to push you back down to make sure you weren’t fidgeting too much.
You turned your head to the side, digging your chin into the mattress as Jeonghan’s tongue rolled around your clit in torturous motions. You were fighting the urge to cry out in pleasure because you knew you would never hear the end of it from him. Eventually, though, the feeling overtook your pride, and you let yourself moan for more.
Jeonghan was insatiable. That probably came with being a demon, especially when he represented the sin of greed.
But, the thing was, you didn’t expect him to be so mind-blowingly good.
Your sounds must have spurred him because Jeonghan gripped your thighs harder and ate you out with more fervor. It was a back-arching level of pleasure, but he forced you down every time you tried to squirm. When his tongue snaked past your folds, flicking against the walls of your cunt, you truly understood the sheer power of temptation.
Jeonghan didn’t neglect one inch of your core, flattening his tongue so he could cover the surface completely. He switched from plunging his tongue into your cunt to licking long stripes along your slit so quickly that your vision was starting to curl at the edges. You felt like you were going crazy when you grinded your hips against his tongue and felt his smirk.
No man had ever made you feel this good—no, you were positive that no man could ever make you feel this good. Even Jeonghan’s nose brushing against your clit made you feel like you were combusting.
He brought you to the edge so quickly, and you wondered if you had even made yourself orgasm so fast before. The sensation left your legs shaking around his neck and your head turned to the side in a desperate attempt to hold back your moans. You managed to let out strangled whimpers that left Jeonghan chuckling once he pulled away.
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt a touch disappointed when you looked up at him. There was absolutely no hint of a boner tenting his pants.
“I’d ask,” Jeonghan started with a smirk, “but I can already tell you liked it by the way you were moaning for me.”
You raised yourself onto your elbows, huffing a little. “What about you? Are your powers back now?”
“It doesn’t exactly work like that.” Jeonghan patted his stomach, satisfied. “I’m full, though.”
“Interesting.” You left it there, not wanting to divulge further into his demon diet. “So, you don’t ever have sex for pleasure? Just when you’re hungry?”
“I don’t care for pleasure all that much.”
“Figured,” you mumbled. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, I’m tired. Wake me up in a few hours if I’m not already up.”
“Sure. I’ll go do human things and not kill people.”
“Keep up the good work.”
When Jeonghan left your room, you pulled the covers up to your chin and let out a long sigh. The feeling was fleeting, but long enough for you to take notice. A gentle quickening of your heartbeat and a warm feeling in your chest.
You pushed it down as a brief moment of confusion.
Living with Jeonghan felt like having a guard dog that you kept off its leash.
Not only did you have to stop him from attempting murder on several occasions, but, on the flip side, you also had to warn him about being too nice to make up for his twisted imagination. Jeonghan was far too attractive to be human, and from the numerous times you went outside with him, you realized that he drew too much attention. You were left standing to the side idly while he was chatted up by the umpteenth random girl that wanted his number.
Over the past week, you ended up explaining a lot of things to the demon. Going into depth about the criminal justice system was your favorite because Jeonghan looked flabbergasted by the levels of punishment they had.
(“A six month sentence for theft?” he asked with a frown. “That’s absurd. I got eternity in Hell while being boiled alive in oil!”
“Well, what was your crime?” you asked.
“Uh…”)
Once, you even found him staring at the TV screen with a somber expression on his face. You had never seen Jeonghan so visibly upset, so you asked him what was going on, only to be even more confused when he explained that his pet died. You suspected the demon’s pet to be a hellhound or something. Never did you expect him to pull up a picture of Mount Fuji.
(“His name was Doljjong,” he explained sadly. “He was only 1,359 years old when he erupted for the last time.”
Apparently, Mount Fuji was now extinct. In Jeonghan’s crazy demon lingo, that meant it died.
“You basically had a pet rock, dude.”
“He was more than a rock in my heart.”)
You also had to adjust to living with another man in the house. Thankfully, Jeonghan wasn’t messy or as disgusting as you had expected, but you still had to adjust to some of his living habits that took you by surprise.
For one, Jeonghan preferred showering in scorching hot water. This would not bother you if you hadn’t been dragged into the shower with him on one occasion, which he didn’t seem to think was improper at all. While you were trying not to look at his (beautifully-chiseled) naked body, he was urging you to help him turn down the cold water. As soon as your skin made contact with the water, though, you couldn’t stand the scalding heat.
Strangely enough, although the thought of having a demon in your house terrified you, it was kind of fun to live with him. You liked having someone around that could keep up with your antics, someone who challenged your thirst for argument. Jeonghan was the perfect match for you, and maybe that was why he was your assigned demon.
You finally decided to give him your old phone. It was supposed to be a hand-me-down for your younger brother, but your parents ended up getting him a new one. Since Jeonghan was pretty much ancient, you figured he wouldn’t mind an old phone.
“I want an iPhone 14 Pro Max.”
“What?!” you exclaimed as he took the used iPhone 8 from you, inspecting the home button with a frown. “How do you even know what that is?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, human.” He scoffed. “I don’t care for outdated possessions.”
Oh, right. Greed.
“Well, if you’re gonna live in my house, then you’re gonna learn to be grateful for what you’ve got.”
“Wait.” Jeonghan paused, looking between you and the phone about three times before he asked, “Can I contact Seokmin with this?”
“Uh, yeah, but—”
“Give me his number,” the demon insisted.
“Jeonghan! You said you weren’t going to kill him!”
“I never said I was going to kill him,” he said, “but I did invite him to hang out, so I should follow up on the offer. Didn’t you tell me that keeping promises is important?”
Ah, right. He was using one of the rules from Y/N’s Guide To Being Human against you. You saw this coming, though; you were no stranger to Jeonghan’s manipulation tactics by now.
“Keeping promises are important, but leading someone on is also wrong,” you chided. “Do not text him if you plan on hurting him in any way.”
He let out a petulant whine before agreeing, “Okay, okay, I won’t.” He thrusted the phone in your direction. “Give me his number, though.”
You bit your lip before you complied. “Fine.”
A few days later, when you had just gotten back from getting lunch with your best friend, Park Sooyoung, you entered your apartment to see Seokmin sitting on the couch.
“Oh!” you exclaimed. You were so startled that you couldn’t even process how furious you were with Jeonghan for inviting him without informing you. “Hey, Seokmin. What’re you doing here?”
The older boy flashed a kind smile. “Sorry to intrude. Jeonghan invited me. I think he’s in the bathroom right now.” He pointed in the direction of where Jeonghan went, and then he said, “I had no idea you two were roommates!”
You recalled last week when you asked Jeonghan if demons had to use the bathroom like humans did. For some reason, you couldn’t imagine it at all. The demon answered that he didn’t have to do such things in his own dimension, but his body was subjected to the same biological system as humans on Earth.
“Ah, yes. Roommates.” You forced a laugh, trying to not sound bitter. So that was the narrative Jeonghan cooked up. Honestly, you were just glad he said something normal. “He didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
“Ah, speak of the devil,” Seokmin said.
Meanwhile, it was just Jeonghan. Well, on second thought, he was kind of right.
“What’re you doing at home?” the demon asked, sounding more accusatory than welcoming. “I thought you were getting lunch with your friend.”
“And we finished lunch,” you answered. “What’re you and Seokmin doing?”
“We were gonna watch a movie,” he said. “The Notebook, I think?”
Your anger fizzled. Now, you felt like you were interrupting something.
“Do you wanna watch it with us, Y/N?” Seokmin asked, voice all sugary and light.
You found it way too hard to refuse him, so you sat down on the couch next to Jeonghan. Every time Seokmin spoke, you felt your nerves ease up. However, coupled with Jeonghan’s presence, you were undergoing a never-ending state of easing and tensing up again.
“By the way, why’d you guys pick The Notebook?” you inquired.
“Oh, ‘cause Jeonghan hasn’t seen it yet,” Seokmin replied, looking distracted as the film started playing.
Jeonghan hadn’t seen a lot of movies. It wasn’t like there were limited options to choose from.
Thankfully, the lights were off while the movie played, masking how bored you looked for its duration. You were convinced Jeonghan wasn’t enjoying it either considering he started up about ten different conversations unrelated to the movie. Seokmin, being the sweetheart he was, responded to him enthusiastically as he watched. You, on the other hand, were sulking on the other side of the couch and praying for this to be over because you felt like a third wheel.
You almost didn’t notice the mood shift when the kissing scene came up. Seokmin seemed to feel a bit awkward, so he laughed and made lighthearted remarks throughout the scene. You had stiffened up and lowered your gaze, remembering once again why this was an odd choice for a movie night.
Jeonghan, though, turned his gaze to you for the duration of the scene. You could feel his eyes drift to your lips, and it made you hyperconscious of every little movement of his. Your heart was pounding so loudly that you were praying no one else could hear it, and the blood rushing in your ears drowned out the audio from the movie.
The demon dipped his head to whisper in your ear, “Frankly, human, I’m enjoying your reactions more than this movie.”
You had no idea why, but you felt something unsettling in your chest. Your heart felt like it was going a hundred miles a minute, but not in a good way; the organ twisted painfully in your chest.
You had no idea why.
Seokmin came around a few more times over the next four weeks. You found yourself feeling less like a third wheel over time, and you were finally comfortable hanging around the both of them. Movie nights became more common, although The Notebook seemed to be so traumatizing that Seokmin and Jeonghan only watched horror and sci-fi movies now.
You were honestly surprised that Jeonghan hadn’t made any moves to kill Seokmin, but you were happy that he honored your agreement. The two of you had gotten closer—or, well, as close as a demon and a human could get. He still called you “human,” but you were banking on him calling you by your name at least once. Moreover, Jeonghan wasn’t completely convincing just yet, but he was starting to learn how to act like a proper human. (There were the occasional murder threats that you had to fend off, though.)
Jeonghan found himself between your legs nearly every other day. You feared that you would get too comfortable, but he still made you orgasm every single time. It was strange, to say the least. You knew demons weren’t capable of feeling anything remotely romantic, but your heart was still acting like a fool, twisting painfully whenever he pulled away.
Today, Jeonghan had followed you to the library. He met your friend, Sooyoung, who kept gushing earlier about how she was dying to meet your new “friend.” The rest of the day went smoothly, save for Sooyoung asking you and Jeonghan if you’ve ever made out. (You shut her up with a smack upside her head.)
Back at home, Jeonghan, who was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, leaned his head back to look up at you. You found it strangely endearing, resisting the urge to run your hands through his soft hair.
“Did I do good today?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said, “you were like a proper human—no weird demonic antics or anything.”
Jeonghan lifted his head up again, and then asked in a quiet voice, “Human, could I perhaps try something?”
The demon was asking you for permission? Strange, but you went along with it.
“Hm? What is it?”
“Let me try kissing you,” he said. His words were so clear that you couldn’t even pass them off as something you misheard. You only managed to let out a few incoherent stammers before he added, “Move your laptop. I’m getting on top of you.”
“Y-you didn’t even ask me!” you stuttered, although you were putting your stuff to the side as you spoke. “Is this about what Sooyoung asked? About if we’ve made out?”
“I’m asking you right now: yes or no?”
You frowned. It was as if all your nerves were cut wire, electrifying every limb in your body. Even though you couldn’t comprehend what came over Jeonghan and what possessed him to ask, your brain was screaming at you to just accept his offer.
“Fine, go ahead,” you murmured, feeling your face go hot when he smirked right after.
“Good,” he said. “Thank you for being my experiment.”
You couldn’t ask any further questions because Jeonghan already started moving on top of you, straddling your lap and placing his hands firmly on either side of your face. You stared up at him, wide-eyed, until he leaned down and brushed his nose against yours experimentally.
He was so close. So close that you could feel his hot breath fanning your lips. So close that you could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes.
You shuddered. There was that twist of your heart once again.
You swore you could hear his breath hitch, and you almost called it out before a crevice started opening up in the center of your living room.
“What the fuck?” you shrieked, scrambling back against the arm of the couch and holding up one of the throw pillows to defend yourself. Jeonghan had gotten off of you and stood up, eyebrows knitted into a frown. It looked like he knew what was going on, so you asked, “What is it, Jeonghan?”
It was the same void of darkness from before—the same one that Jeonghan came from. The room was freezing this time, too, and the windows had iced over. You swallowed hard, wondering if this was one of your mistakes again. You hadn’t said or done anything this time, though, so it must have been someone here for Jeonghan.
From the wisps of smoke emerged the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Or, well, second after Jeonghan.
“Mammon, you bastard.” Second-Most Beautiful Man scowled. “If this is one of your conniving plots to escape Hell, then you will face punishment worse than being boiled alive for damnation.”
You looked to your right to see Jeonghan with his arms folded across his chest. Smiling.
“Asmodeus,” your demon greeted with coldness in his tone, “you planted that scrap of paper in my human’s book, didn’t you?”
Asmodeus’ glower slowly morphed into a wicked grin. “You don’t leave any room for entertainment, do you? I came here to drag you back, anyway, so don’t be so bitter.” His red, beady eyes shifted to you. “This must be your precious human.”
Jeonghan’s voice was deeper when he warned, “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her, Asmodeus.”
“Or what?” he mocked. “What could you possibly do to me in that pathetic human body of yours? Have you gone soft already? Your powers have weakened, Mammon. Face it. You’ll die out here—no, you’re already dying.”
“What do you want?” Jeonghan snapped. “If you want me dead, then you have no need to be here.”
“I need you alive,” Asmodeus muttered, “in your true form.”
He scoffed. “I’ll just die and be reborn.”
Reborn? You straightened up at Jeonghan’s words. Why didn’t he tell you he would be reborn? Here you were, like an idiot, worrying over his possible death.
“The other five princes are requesting to see you, so—”
“Oh, why should I give a damn about the other princes?” Jeognhan fussed. “They only care about using me for their trivial schemes!”
“Jeonghan,” you spoke up loudly, and both of the demon princes turned to you with shocked looks on their faces. “If I’m interpreting this correctly… then aren’t you being offered an easy way to get back? You should take it, right?”
“Human—”
“Oh, I forgot you go by your human name here,” Asmodeus said with a chuckle. He walked toward you and reached his hand out, smiling so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. You can call me Joshua, if that’s easier. I’m the demon prince of lust.”
“How do you know my name?” you asked, cautiously shaking his hand. You looked toward Jeonghan with a scowl. “Wait, how does he know my name and you didn’t?”
“My bad.”
“You’ve truly gone soft, Mammon,” Asmodeus observed. “You’re on Earth entertaining a human girl instead of doing your job back in Hell. Aren’t you the one who told the rest of us to be happy with what we’ve got in Hell?”
“My job,” Jeonghan corrected, “is rotting in Hell. My other job is taking care of my human.”
“Your allegiance is with the princes, Mammon,” Joshua hissed. “This human is insignificant—”
“Do not speak about my human with that filthy mouth of yours, Asmodeus,” Jeonghan interrupted sharply, his eyes darkening. “Tell me what you want from me and leave this place at once.”
“Pythius wants a seat with the Seven Princes.”
Jeonghan raised a brow. “He wants to rebrand to the Eight Princes? Doesn’t have as nice of a ring to it.”
“No, you idiot.” Joshua groaned. “He wants to overthrow one of the Seven Princes, which is why you need to come back. Greed must have a seat at the throne room of sins.”
“Tell him to go ahead. He can be boiled alive in my place.”
“You’re still on that? That was eons ago.” Joshua sighed. “Don’t be a fool, Mammon. If you die on Earth—sure, you’ll be reborn in Hell again, but you will still waste your time by dying on this planet.” He continued, “Think about how disastrous the situation would be if Pythius actually takes your place. You will be stripped of your title, your powers will weaken, and greed will no longer be one of the Seven Deadly Sins.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.”
“Mammon,” Joshua growled. “Take this seriously. You’re acting like Belphegor with that flippant attitude of yours.”
“Ah, Belphegor.” Jeonghan turned to you with a light laugh. “I think you’d like him. He goes by Wonwoo here. Seriously, such a—”
“I will slice up each limb of that mortal body of yours, Mammon,” Joshua warned. “You’re not understanding the severity of this situation.”
“I understand it well enough now,” he replied. “So, you can leave. I’ll figure out what to do on my own. Either way, Mammon will be reborn as usual. Happy? Good, now get lost.”
Joshua sighed, frustrated. “Do you even have a way to get back, you fool?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Then I’ll be on my way,” Joshua said before his body started to tessellate out of existence, vanishing piece-by-piece into thin air. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Mammon.”
You were the first to break the silence once the demon of lust disappeared, asking, “You’ll be reborn? So you never even had to worry about dying?”
“Demons can be killed, but they can’t die.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks. Really cleared things up for me with that.”
“Let’s just drop it.”
You couldn’t just drop it, though. “You weren’t actually imprisoned in Hell, were you?”
“I was. Sort of.” He paused. “Haven’t been for a while, to be honest.”
“Then why didn’t you go with Joshua? It doesn’t sound like he wants you back to throw you back in the lake.”
“I don’t want to be a pawn in their silly games anymore,” Jeonghan muttered darkly. “It’s infuriating.”
“Then what are you gonna do? That was the easiest way for you to get back!”
“I have time, human.” Jeonghan didn’t seem to want to be pressed further, so you backed off. “Don’t worry about me.”
He walked into your room and slammed the door shut, so you settled back into the couch and hugged the throw pillow to your chest. How could you not worry? You couldn’t understand Jeonghan at all, and although you wanted to respect his decision not to go back with Joshua, you were at a crossroads; staying here was killing him. He had far too much pride to think rationally.
Plus, the longer he stayed with you, the more it stung when you realized time was running out. Fast.
The next day, Jeonghan appeared as if he was back to normal. It was odd, though, given how he was brooding yesterday. You made a conscious effort not to mention Joshua, but you knew the topic was still weighing heavy on his shoulders.
(He was insatiable once you were awake and sitting up in bed, prying your legs open and begging you for a taste. Although you had several questions for the demon, your carnal desire overtook whatever curiosity you had.
“Feeling better?” you asked cautiously.
“I’ll feel better soon. Anyway, good morning,” he purred. “You’re dripping already, human. I haven’t even touched you yet.”
Your chest felt hot. “Yeah, yeah, just get to it.”
“My pleasure.”)
“Hey,” you called out later during breakfast. “I’m going out with Sooyoung tonight. Are you gonna be okay being alone at home?”
“Where are you going?” he asked instead.
You paused between your spoonfuls of cereal. “Uh, just a party.”
“I love parties,” Jeonghan said. “Will there be human sacrifices?”
You grimaced. Although your guardian demon was making impressive improvements on his transition to human life, there were still some flaws in his way of thinking. On the bright side, though, he made sure to pass his morbid comments by you before he tried them out in front of others.
“No, it’s a college party,” you replied. “The most deadly thing there will be alcohol and Old Spice.”
“Boring,” he mused before getting up from his seat and heading to the living room. “Well, be safe.”
You nearly choked on your cereal, completely forgetting to respond to his words. Did Jeonghan—Mammon, manifestation of greed, one of the Seven Princes of Hell—just tell you to be safe? You had to be hearing things.
Or, your heart offered, maybe some part of him cares about you—deep, deep down.
You pushed down the thought entirely, forcing yourself to think of other alternatives. After all, there was no possible way for a demon to feel those sorts of emotions.
It was almost midnight and Sooyoung was passed out on the couch.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” you said in dismay. “We literally just got here.”
“That’s tough,” Kim Mingyu, president of Sigma Omega Nu, replied sympathetically. “At least her boyfriend’s here to take care of her. That means you need to drink more and get on her level.”
“That sounds like a terrible idea.”
“Hey, that’s what college is for.”
You whined when Mingyu handed you a new cup of jungle juice. Normally, you didn’t accept drinks from strangers; Mingyu was harmless, though, and you two were well-established friends for a few years now. However, you were on your third cup of juice by now, and, if you kept it up, you were probably going to end up like Sooyoung. Since she was the one who drove you two here, though, you had to stay sober enough to find a ride home. No matter what happened, you were determined to not fall asleep on the musty frat house couch.
(It already happened once last year. You woke up the next morning to Kwon Soonyoung yelling, “Someone take a picture of Y/N sleeping on the couch I got laid on!”)
“I can’t get drunk,” you insisted. “I have to get home.” To make sure my pet demon is behaving, you wanted to add.
Mingyu let out a snicker. “Call someone to pick you up or I can ask one of the sober monitors to drop you off.”
You pondered for a moment. Technically, you could call Jeonghan. Now that he had gotten the hang of using his phone, you saw him texting Seokmin every once in a while. You were sure he would be able to pick up a call, as well.
“Fine, whatever. Hand it over.” You took the red solo cup from him and downed its contents—just under ten seconds, counted by Mingyu himself. “I’m gonna go call my friend before this starts hitting me.”
You walked out into the backyard where the music wasn’t as loud. The cool air hitting your flushed skin made you feel like you could breathe properly again, but you still weren’t walking nearly straight enough. With careful hands, you searched up Jeonghan’s number in your contacts.
Your phone rang three times before he picked up.
“Human? Are you dead?”
You frowned. “If I was dead, how would I be calling you?”
“I was hoping I could keep your soul around as my pet in Hell,” he said.
You must have had some sort of degradation kink by this point because that comment was not supposed to make you feel butterflies in your stomach. It was time for you to consider therapy.
You cut straight to the point. “Can you come to the party?”
“What? No.”
His refusal normally would’ve stung, but you were too tipsy to back down now. “Please? Sooyoung already passed out and her boyfriend’s taking care of her. I’m getting drunk all by myself now.”
Sort of an exaggeration. You were going to use every card up your sleeve.
“Then walk home.”
“I can’t. Home’s too far to walk.”
“Then sleep over at whoever’s house you’re at.”
“It’s a house full of frat boys. Their living conditions are probably worse than yours down in Hell.”
“Then sober up.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be my guardian demon?!”
“If you want an angel to come rescue you, I would try Seokmin’s number.”
You let out a groan and crouched down, letting your head hang between your knees. This was fruitless; Jeonghan was stubborn as a mule, and you were getting nowhere with this conversation.
But this wasn’t just about getting someone to take you home. You certainly had other options, so you could hang up on Jeonghan right now and find someone else to drive you back. However, you just didn’t want to admit out loud that you wanted to see Jeonghan. You wanted him to come over and take care of you, even though that was impossible for the demon.
You were just foolish.
“Fine, Jeonghan,” you snapped. Your head started to feel fuzzy, and you were quickly losing control over your own tongue. “I’ll get home all by myself. I’ll walk home in the cold, dark night, and hell, I’ll even walk on the road if I feel like it. Maybe I’ll lay down and take a nap if I get really tired, and if I can’t even make it to the door, I’ll just sleep in Mingyu’s bed—” You didn’t realize you were pacing until you hit a solid surface. “Ow—wait, what the hell?”
Jeonghan, in the flesh, sighed heavily and hung up the call in front of you. “Human, you’re really such a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“H-how’d you get here?” you asked, your cheeks starting to feel hot. “Did you teleport or whatever again? Didn’t you say that eats up your power? Are you—”
The demon clamped a hand over your mouth. “I materialized here, and yes, it eats up the little power I have left,” he whispered harshly, “but you wouldn’t stop running your mouth, so here I am. How could you get intoxicated so easily?”
“Well… I’ve been here for about an hour,” you defended. “It doesn’t take that much for me to get drunk. I’m pretty lightweight.”
“How much did you have?”
“Like, three cups of jungle juice.”
“Jungle… juice?”
You snorted. “This one’s got vodka, rum, and fruit punch. It’s pretty good.”
“Three cups?” Jeonghan asked with a scoff. “I forget that humans have such weak tolerances for alcohol. I can drink eight bottles of wine without getting drunk.”
“Oh yeah?” you challenged. You dragged the demon inside the frat house, not giving him the chance to take in and process his surroundings. You poured him a cup of jungle juice in the kitchen and handed it to him. “Drink up, then.”
Jeonghan raised a brow at you before chugging down the liquid like water. He handed it back to you with a light smirk playing on his lips.
“Are you sure there’s even alcohol in this concoction?” he asked, barking out a laugh. “Human, you’re too cute. This is nothing for a powerful demon like…” he trailed off, looking down at his feet and letting out a soft exhale. “My chest feels hot.”
Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, stopping yourself from bursting out into laughter. This sight was absolutely priceless. You didn’t think you would ever be able to see Jeonghan so vulnerable.
“Are you drunk off one cup of jungle juice?” you asked, and, at this point, you weren’t able to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god!”
“Shut up, human,” he grumbled. He blinked a few times and held onto the edge of the counter. “I’ve never felt this way before. My body isn’t used to having a human’s biological system.”
“Whoa, this guy is fucked,” Lee Chan retorted, showing up out of nowhere. “He’s talking like something out of I, Robot.”
You rolled your eyes at his pop culture reference, but Jeonghan didn’t seem to follow at all. For all the movies he and Seokmin had been watching, you were surprised that they didn’t get around to this one.
“Robot,” Jeonghan mumbled, moving to lean against you. You grabbed his arm and tried to hold him steady, but he just wrapped his arms around you and let his head rest on your shoulder. “I feel like I’ve just been expelled into the Outerverse with Yog-Sothoth. Ah, fuck, those guys owe me…”
You had to get Jeonghan out of here fast. Before he started speaking crazy demon lingo again.
“Are you sober monitoring tonight?” you asked Chan. “You think you could drive us home?”
“Yeah, sure,” Chan agreed with a smile. Gauging that Jeonghan wasn’t responsive enough to answer any questions, the frat boy decided to ask you, “Did you bring a friend from another school, Y/N?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you mumbled. “This is Jeonghan.”
Chan ducked his head to get a good look at Jeonghan’s face. “Nice to meet you, Jeonghan.”
“Hi, Robot.”
“No, my name’s not Robot.”
Jeonghan’s biggest weakness wound up being seatbelts.
You and Chan had to fight him down to get him to sit down properly in the back seat. Since he was fussing too much, you decided to sit with Chan up front, letting Jeonghan moan and grumble incoherently in the back.
(“Unchain me, human,” the demon kept whining. “I refuse to be imprisoned in the mortal realm.”
When he was stopped at a red light, Chan threw a glance over his shoulder before telling you, “I think your friend watches too much anime.”
“He’s going through a phase,” you lied.)
While you made light conversation with the frat brother, you felt like your guardian demon was glaring daggers at the poor boy. You wanted to smack him upside the head for his rudeness despite Chan’s generous act.
You craned your neck to look back at Jeonghan, shooting him a warning look. He simply scoffed and looked the other way, although he ended up resting his head against the window once he realized his world was still spinning.
“Come on, Jeonghan,” you murmured once Chan parked the car in front of your place. “Get up.”
“Don’t wanna.”
You tugged the sleeve of his shirt impatiently. “What? Why?”
“Not going back with someone who ignores me.”
Your jaw nearly went slack. Was he jealous? Yoon Jeonghan, Prince of Greed, was jealous over frat boy Lee Chan? Over something so miniscule as you sitting in the passenger’s seat? This was definitely something you were going to hold over the demon’s head for as long as you could.
“I’m not ignoring you, okay?” you tried. “Come back home with me, and you’ll have my full attention.”
Jeonghan hesitated before he let out a begrudged grumble. “Fine.”
You and Chan hauled the drunken demon to his feet, taking one of his arms and throwing it over your shoulders so that you could help him walk. Chan assisted you by slinging Jeonghan’s other arm over his shoulder, but you still found it hard to walk properly with Jeonghan’s head lolling to the side. His face was so close that you could feel his hot breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.
“You smell so good, human,” he murmured. Jesus, he was saying all this while Chan was still here? You were glad that Jeonghan couldn’t tell how flustered you were, but it was probably evident to Chan. “What perfume is that?”
“This guy sure does call you ‘human’ a lot,” Chan observed with a light laugh.
“Uh, yeah, inside joke,” you explained quickly. “Let’s just get him to the couch.”
Once you and Chan let Jeonghan’s heavy body drop onto the couch, you walked the frat boy to the door. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, a shy smile playing on his lips. He looked at you expectantly, like he was waiting for a tip or something. You were considering handing him the crumpled-up five dollars you left in your back pocket.
“We should hang out sometime, Y/N,” he started. “I feel like I barely see you around the house anymore.”
“Oh, yeah, I haven’t been in a partying mood lately,” you explained, “but I’ll try to drop by more.”
“Alright. I’ll see you around.”
Before you could respond, a voice from behind you loudly interjected, “Bye.” With that, Jeonghan slammed the door shut with one hand.
“That was rude,” you said.
“Can I gut him like a fish?”
“That’s even more rude. Please don’t.”
“Whatever.”
You looked back at Jeonghan, who had one hand against the door that was right beside your head. “What’s your deal? He was nice enough to drive you back and help you to the couch.”
“Why do you keep ignoring me?” he asked, proceeding to ignore you at the same time.
“I-I’m not ignoring you!” you stammered. “I’m the one who helped you get back to the apartment!”
He had you backed up against the door, looking up at him with worry knitting your brows together. Jeonghan let his head drop to lay on your shoulder, leaving you frozen in place. You figured it was the alcohol rushing to his head, but you couldn’t help the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest.
“Human,” he mumbled against your collarbone, “why can’t you just stay by my side?”
“Huh? But—”
“I wanna be human, too.”
The words sounded strange coming from him. Almost like he was at his tipping point. Tender. Raw. Vulnerable. You were absolutely dumbfounded by what you had just heard. With no coherent response coming to mind, all you could do was raise your hand to gently thread through his soft strands of hair.
“Let’s get you to bed,” you replied softly, letting the demon stay in your embrace as you walked him back to your bedroom. He looked up at you quizzically when you sat him down on the edge of your bed. “It’s about time you stopped sleeping on the floor. I’ll take the couch, so—”
You cut yourself off when Jeonghan wrapped his arms around your legs and pressed his lips to your thighs. “Stay here with me.”
You stared ahead, straight at the wall, a dull ache throbbing in your chest. “What are you doing, Jeonghan?”
“What?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” you asked. “You only have months left to live. You should’ve just gone back with Joshua.”
He stiffened. “I didn’t want to.”
“Yeah, I guess you’ll just be reborn, anyway,” you muttered. “You never had anything to worry about to begin with.”
Jeonghan suddenly pulled away from you, his eyes cold as ice. Since he was always docile around you, there was never any reason for you to feel scared around the demon. However, the look he was giving you left you backing up slowly from him.
“I’d rather stay dead than be reborn,” Jeonghan said, “and I wouldn’t feel so agonized about it if I didn’t have to meet you.”
Tears pricked your eyes. You felt a lump rising in your throat, and you felt the hot, salty tears hitting your feet before you even realized you had started to cry. It took all of your willpower to keep the waterworks at bay. The demon’s cruel words were never supposed to get under your skin this bad. You held him at arm’s length for that very reason.
Maybe, all this time, you had been pulling him closer unintentionally.
“You think nothing hurts for me just because I’m a demon,” he continued, “but it stings every time you try to chase me away.”
“I’m not trying to chase you away.”
“Then why do you keep pushing me to go back to Hell?” he asked. You couldn’t exactly read his expression, but it was clear that Jeonghan felt tormented. The pain in his eyes was telling of that. “Why did you want me to go back with Asmodeus?”
You huffed. “I really don’t understand you. You don’t want to die and be reborn, but you don’t want to go to Hell either? Aren’t you going to die if you stay here?”
“You don’t get it.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to be reborn because I lose all my memories of the mortal world. I lose all my memories of you.”
“And you don’t want to go to Hell because…”
“The only reason you summoned me was because of Asmo—I mean, Joshua’s—need for pointless entertainment. Surely, with what’s been going down in Hell ever since I left, they won’t let me leave again until Pythius is quelled. That could take hundreds or thousands of years.” Jeonghan scoffed, shaking his head. “Pythius… one of the most fearsome and hideous demons. There’s no telling what he’d do for a seat with the Seven Princes.”
“I’m sure if I go back, he would try to kill me over and over again,” he continued, “because he detests me the most. That group of them—the Malebranche—they might be more sadistic than Lucifer himself.”
You frowned. “What’d you do to him?”
“Why do you assume I did something to him?” Jeonghan scowled.
“Because you’re the demon prince of greed,” you replied. “I’m sure you pissed him off somehow.”
He snorted. “Pythius rules the eighth circle where frauds are punished. He hates nothing more than the greed that consumes those humans. Of course he’d loathe the demon that represents the very sin.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you act that greedy here, though. Are you different when you’re down there?”
The dark glint in Jeonghan’s eyes nearly went undetected. You only managed to catch it because of the way his smile dropped in tune. His normally easygoing expression was replaced with the same serious look he wore when Joshua was around.
“I haven’t been this greedy in eons, human.”
You tried to think back to when Jeonghan had acted in such a way. Sure, there were the multiple times he gave you (mind-blowing) head and the time he asked you for the newest iPhone, but those didn’t seem as drastic to you. You expected the very demon of greed to be more selfish.
“Really?” You forced out a stilted laugh. “I think you’re about as greedy as a toddler, like, in a bratty way, but that’s it.”
Jeonghan stood up.
You took notice of his broad shoulders before, but now you felt swamped under his gaze. He towered over you with ease, looking down at you with a storm brewing in his eyes. There were no words exchanged at first, but one look at the demon told you that whatever he was experiencing was far too human for him to understand fully.
“I’m so greedy that I would let the hierarchy in Hell fall to shambles because of you,” he started. “I would abandon my seat and let Pythius take control just so I can stay here with you. I would rather wither away on Earth instead of going back to Hell where I can’t see you again. I would let Alastor, the chief executioner, torture me over and over again until the ache in my heart finally goes away—the ache you caused.”
His next words were no louder than a weak whisper when he grabbed your forearms and said, “I’m so greedy that I wanna just give up everything for you, Y/N.”
With that, Jeonghan muttered something about sleeping on the couch before he walked out of your room and shut the door. That was the first time he had ever called you by your name; yet, it didn’t even make you feel happy. The first salty tear hit the floorboards, then the next, then more. You could only watch the demon leave in silence, finally letting yourself cry once he was out of sight.
Crying because you didn’t want him to leave. Crying because your feelings were already running too deep.
Crying because you knew a botched confession when you heard one.
Just as you were about to settle in bed, burrow yourself in the sheets and sob until you fell asleep, you heard Jeonghan’s footsteps coming back from the living room. You had no time to regain your composure when he flung open the door, his eyes stony and his lips pulled down in a frown.
“I can’t sleep if you’re crying like this,” he murmured, walking over to cup your face with his large hands. “That’s foul play.”
He kissed you.
The motion was swift—a gentle grab of your jaw and tilt of your chin, and Jeonghan was kissing away your disquiet with surprising tenderness.
Temptation.
Temptation was the utmost desire that demons could draw from mortals, but you weren’t quite sure this was it. Jeonghan’s kiss felt different—more intimate. His lips moved against yours with hesitance at first, and he only deepened it once you reciprocated. It felt like he wasn’t trying to pull you closer; rather, he was waiting for you to find him.
Once you two were lost in desperate kisses and heavy breaths, Jeonghan jerked away with a light gasp. You stared at him, dazed, before he grabbed your wrist and pressed your hand firmly against his chest. At first, you weren’t quite sure what he was having you do, but the realization was a slap in the face.
A heartbeat.
Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
It was fast, like he had just run a marathon. You looked up at the demon quizzically, but he was already pulling away. Your hand hung in the air before dropping to your side, registering too late that he had already let go.
“You think nothing hurts me,” he mumbled. This time, he had his own hand flat against his chest. “I torture myself every day like this because I know, deep down, there’s no happy ending for us.” The demon’s eyes, normally masked with golden brown irises, glowed a dim red.
It started drizzling outside. Soft pattering of rain that drowned out the silence.
Everything would fall apart—slowly, gently, inevitably. Jeonghan, too, would eventually become nothing but a ghost of a raindrop that once streaked your window.
Post-party hangovers always called for breakfast at The Veranda. It became a tradition between you and Sooyoung to go there after a night of partying. That, or you two would skip straight to lunch and get pho. There was no telling when either of you would wake up the next morning.
Today, however, Sooyoung texted you early enough.
“We should get cocktails,” she suggested while looking down the menu.
“You already blacked out last night, you crazy bitch.”
To be frank, you had ulterior motives for this outing. For one, you wanted to get out of the house because the tension between you and Jeonghan was making you suffocate. The other reason was because you wanted to consult Sooyoung with your problems.
You started with, “So, there’s this guy,” and your best friend was already at the edge of her seat. Once you finished giving her the rundown (which only concluded after you ordered your food and were halfway done with your herb roasted chicken sandwich), Sooyoung paused to think, which stretched into about five minutes. More than enough time for you to finish your sandwich.
“I don’t get what the problem is,” Sooyoung finally said, tilting her head curiously. “If you two like each other, then just ask him out.”
If only it were that easy, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t spare her the details of how impossible the situation was. You weren’t in the mood to hear “if he wanted to, he would” when you were dealing with a guardian demon who was literally dying in the mortal world.
You hesitated. “Let’s just say that he’s not exactly available right now.”
“He has a girlfriend?” Sooyoung asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. She looked ready to start telling you off for being a homewrecker, so you had to clarify immediately.
“No, no, he’s single,” you said. “He’s just not… emotionally available to date.”
“So, he’s been getting all close to you without wanting to date you.”
“Uh, not really? He’s just—”
“Cut him off, Y/N.”
“What?” you asked, eyes widening. You figured the situation sounded bad from an outsider’s perspective, but there was no way for you to break it down without explaining that Jeonghan’s your guardian demon from Hell that ended up being trapped on Earth because of your statistics midterm and demonic intervention from Joshua, the other oddball from Hell. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can,” Sooyoung replied. “It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll get over it eventually.”
“But he’s…” you trailed off, wondering how the fuck you were going to defend a demon prince of greed. You settled with saying, “He’s funny.”
“So are clowns, Y/N. You don’t see me asking out Ronald McDonald.”
“Okay, it’s not that simple, Sooyoung!” you cried out. “It’s more like… he doesn’t have that much time left here.”
“Oh.” She sounded lost at first, but the confused look on her face was slowly replaced with somber understanding. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”
“No, you’re good. I didn’t know how to say it.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” she said, “why don’t you just make the most of the time you have left with him?”
Sooyoung’s words hadn’t left your mind ever since breakfast. Even after she dropped you off at your apartment, you were still replaying the conversation in your head.
You thought about it in the shower.
You thought about it while doing your homework.
And you continued to think about it when Jeonghan was spreading your legs apart later that day.
“Didn’t we just fight?” you asked, your voice unnaturally high. Despite your words, you came to realize that you were sort of feral when it came to your sex life. A little fight was just a chip on your shoulder.
“That was a fight?” Jeonghan asked. “I’ve been in fights before. They’re pretty gruesome. Usually some heads roll or someone gets disemboweled.”
“A verbal fight,” you clarified.
“I’ve been in verbal fights before, too. They usually end with someone getting stabbed.”
“Okay, well, that’s not a verbal fight.” You sighed. “I mean, aren’t you upset with me? You were acting like being around me was hurting you.”
Jeonghan looked down and went completely silent.
“Hello?” you called. Did you break him?
Jeonghan looked back up. This time, his cheeks were tinged scarlet red. Your eyes went wide at the sight of the demon fully blushing over your words. You were definitely adding this bullet point to the Blackmail on Jeonghan folder you kept in your Notes app.
“I let my emotions get the best of me, okay?” he mumbled. “Let's just drop it.”
You, however, were brimming with questions. “Hey, but you let me feel your heartbeat last night,” you started. “Did you always have a heart?”
Jeonghan pulled away to look at you with distaste dawning on his face. “Did I always have a heart? Of course I’ve always had a heart, human. How would I be giving you the head of your life if I was a corpse?”
Your demon was gradually evolving to develop a filthy mouth. You weren’t sure if this was improvement or regression.
“You have a human heart and you can feel human emotions,” you said. “What makes you and I so different, then?”
Jeonghan opened his mouth, but before he could speak, there was a knock at the door. You glanced at Jeonghan suspiciously, wondering if he invited Seokmin without your knowledge, but even he looked clueless. There was no one you were expecting, so you wondered if it was just the UPS guy dropping off a package.
When you opened your door though, it was indeed Seokmin, and he was pissed.
You had never seen him like this, with his nostrils flaring and his skin flushed red. It was almost as if steam was coming out of his own ears. But there was something very glaring about Seokmin that had you gawking at him.
His wings were on full display.
Snowy white wings fanned out behind him. You could hear a low, angelic hum faintly resounding from the feathers. You were in shock for a moment, unsettled and overwhelmed by the heavenly light that Seokmin was bathing in.
It seemed to have an even worse effect on Jeonghan. You noticed how he flinched at the sight, backing up slowly.
“Get back, Y/N,” Seokmin ordered. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but your roommate’s dangerous.”
You wondered if he had some unexplainable power over you because your actions were going against your words as you found yourself stumbling away from the two. “Seokmin, don’t do this,” you begged.
He frowned. “What?”
But Jeonghan got his words in before you could. “Looks like the both of us figured it out before you did. You just found out you’re a Quartarion, huh?”
He was jeering, like he was taunting the angel to attack him. You couldn’t understand what the demon was thinking when he was clearly overpowered right now. Even if Seokmin wasn’t a pureblood angel, Jeonghan’s powers had considerably weakened ever since he entered the mortal realm.
“How…” Seokmin was shocked for a moment, straightening up and glowering down at you. “How did you know?”
“You found out recently, didn’t you? Mommy or daddy told you they were half, which meant you’re quarter—weaker than them,” Jeonghan pressed. “They kept it from you all this time, huh? Because your angelic presence wasn’t strong enough to be a threat, but then you started glowing brighter.”
“Jeonghan, enough!” you yelled, trying to mediate whatever was happening. You had no idea what Seokmin was going to do, but it definitely didn’t seem like he was here for another movie night.
“Mammon,” Seokmin said through gritted teeth. “That’s your real name, right?” Suddenly, the angel turned on you with an accusatory stare. “And you—how did you know about all of this? Did he tell you?”
You gulped before starting slowly, “Look, I accidentally summoned Jeonghan from my statistics textbook the day before you met him at the Olive Garden.”
Seokmin tilted his head, looking utterly puzzled. None of those words were in the Bible.
“I knew he was a demon,” you continued, “and he told me you were an angel. He could sense it, or something like that.”
“Oh,” Seokmin replied rather sadly, as if he had just discovered he had been the brunt of a joke all along. “Well, I’m sorry you were caught up in this Y/N, but I have to kill your roommate before he hurts anyone else.”
“Whoa, hold on—he hasn’t hurt anyone!” you cried, holding onto Seokmin’s shoulder to keep him from charging at Jeonghan. “You’re an angel; you can’t kill him!”
“Technically, he can,” Jeonghan noted as he just barely avoided the angel grabbing him. “Some angels are specifically assigned to keep demons away from humans. I think Seokmin’s just mad, though.”
“I’m not just mad,” Seokmin spat, although he was visibly seething. “I just feel stupid that I befriended someone who was trying to kill me this whole time!”
You turned your gaze to Jeonghan, who held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit I might have had murderous intentions at first, but come on! You would be dead by now if I really wanted to kill you.”
“You can’t kill him, Seokmin,” you repeated in a desperate attempt. “You owe him!”
Now the angel was lost. “And how exactly do I owe him?”
“Remember when your card declined, and I bought you that croissant on campus last week?” you tried. As soon as the words came out, you heard a loud groan from Jeonghan, and you were sure he was pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “You owe me, who owes Jeonghan, so you owe Jeonghan!”
Seokmin was even more lost. “What?”
“Transitive property of equality: A equals B equals C, so A equals C.”
“There’s no way you’re actually applying the transitive property of equality to this situation.”
“And what exactly do you owe me for?” Jeonghan chimed in, equally as confused.
“Yeah, I can’t believe I’m agreeing with him on this one, but he’s a demon, Y/N,” Seokmin said. “If you feel like you owe him anything, it’s likely you were manipulated by him.”
“No, I wasn’t!” you protested before the demon could object himself. “I owe him because…”
You trailed off, wondering how you were going to string your feelings into comprehensible words. They were all a mess of jumbled vowels and consonants in your head, holding no significant weight until you thought long and hard, feeling it get heavier and heavier on your tongue.
The angel raised a brow. “Because what?”
Letters unfurling in your head. Piecing themselves together. You felt like your head was going to explode until you blurted out, “Because he showed me what love feels like.”
You looked over at Jeonghan to see him staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. He looked helpless at the moment, wild with pain, like he had let down all lines of defense at your declaration. A scarlet red blush stained his cheeks, and it was perhaps the single most human expression you had ever seen from him.
Seokmin moved forward, and an agonized scream tore itself from your throat before you could even think. His sudden movement chilled your blood, and all you could think about was how you needed to protect your guardian demon before he was struck by the angel.
And so you did.
Confession time: you kicked an angel in the balls.
You were pretty sure that was a one-way ticket to Hell.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” you kept repeating to a defeated Seokmin, who was now laying on the couch with pain drawn all over his face. “My fight response has been kicking in a lot more lately.”
“I wasn’t gonna hurt him,” he explained weakly. “My foot was just cramping up.”
“So you won’t kill Jeonghan?” you asked, brimming with hope.
“I… I don’t know,” he answered. “Jeonghan’s a demon, Y/N. Just because you have feelings for him doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of manipulating those emotions out of you.”
“He’s as good as human, Seokmin.”
“Y/N,” Jeonghan started, but you shook your head.
“I’m right!” you insisted. “Jeonghan has a heart, and it beats; I’ve felt it myself.” The two men were silent, so you continued, “He can’t handle alcohol at all; he’s more lightweight than I am. He likes building lego sets. He likes the rain, and he said it’s because that means an angel’s crying, but it’s really because he loves the way the Earth smells after rainfall. He likes coffee, but he always pours me some first before he takes any. You think he’d have the vocabulary of a Victorian man, but he knows more slang than I do. He… Jeonghan wants to be human. Isn’t that enough for you?”
Silence hung in the air. You wondered if you overstepped for a moment, aired out too much of his business, but then you could visibly see Seokmin at war with himself. You could see the internal battle in his eyes, fighting to believe in whatever the angels had instructed him to do.
He narrowed his eyes at the demon and asked in a calmer voice, “You swear you won’t kill me?”
“I swear on God.”
“You’re a demon. Swear on something else.”
“Um, okay… I swear on, uh, Y/N.”
“Please don’t swear on me,” you muttered, looking at your feet nervously as if the ground was going to swallow you whole.
Seokmin closed his eyes, exhaling loudly. “So, when did you stop wanting to kill me?”
“Y/N and I had a deal that I wouldn’t kill you in exchange for—”
You slapped a hand over the demon’s mouth immediately, successfully muffling the next words that decided to slip from his lips. It felt like your face was burning from how embarrassed you were. While Jeonghan shot you a confused look and tried to lick your palm to get it to budge, you exclaimed, “That detail isn’t important!”
“Anyway,” Jeonghan continued once you finally removed your hand, “I guess… part of me started enjoying those movie nights. Kinda hard to discuss the endings after you kill your friend, right?”
You could see Seokmin visibly soften, the fondness returning to his eyes. “You’re telling the truth.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“You can tell?” you inquired, wondering if it was some sort of angelic ability he had recently acquired.
“Yeah, I’ve always had some sort of sixth sense about these things,” Seokmin said, although you weren’t quite sure about this because you and Jeonghan had lied to him on numerous occasions. “I was only able to tap into it after I saw my wings for the first time.”
You then wondered if the longing etched bone-deep in Jeonghan’s face was also real.
It took a couple of hours for you and Jeonghan to explain everything to Seokmin, from beginning to end. You had to start from how you accidentally summoned him, which seemed to entertain the both of them, and you had to scold them both to take the situation seriously. Then, Jeonghan explained his side of the story, detailing how he didn’t have much time left because his mortal body was weak.
“What do we do now, then?” Seokmin asked, sitting up straight now. “You’re gonna die if you stay here, right?”
“That’s why he wanted to kill an angel,” you said, “but now we don’t have a game plan.”
The three of you sat in silence for several minutes, letting the situation sink in. Your nerves were still buzzing from your earlier confession, still unanswered by Jeonghan, but you knew it wasn’t the time to dwell on that. There were more important matters at hand, but no one knew what to do.
Jeonghan sighed. “It’s fine. I’ve already accepted that I’m going to die here and be reborn in Hell.”
“You think that’s fair to Y/N? Or me?” Seokmin burst out. “You’re basically telling us to watch you die, dude.”
“You think I wanted this outcome?” he snapped. “No, I didn’t think I was going to actually enjoy living in this realm! I didn’t think I was gonna fall in love with my human! I didn’t think mortals had such excellent marketing strategies!”
Seokmin’s eyes went wide. “You…”
“Jeonghan,” was all you could say, and his name came out no louder than a whisper.
“What?!”
“You said you love me.”
You looked toward Seokmin for confirmation, who answered with a quiet nod—an indication that not only had you heard it correctly, but Jeonghan was telling the truth.
To be honest, you were quite embarrassed that this was all coming to light in front of Lee Seokmin. He seemed very out of place in this otherwise tender moment. Yet, you were filled with inexplicable happiness and absolute dread simultaneously.
Once the grief settled, you were born again. Newfound confidence rising up your throat. You were determined to do whatever it took to mortalize Jeonghan.
“Oh, right.” The demon sounded nervous—enough to make you nervous. He simply stared at you for a moment before brushing the proclamation off with a wave. “Anyway…”
“Jeonghan!”
He shot you a withering look, glaring you down with every fiber of his being. “Seokmin is right there. Do you really wanna do this right now?” he whispered in an exasperated tone, turning his back to his friend so that he could converse with you. Although Jeonghan was lecturing, you were enjoying the way his blush rose to his cheeks. “We can talk about this after he leaves.”
“Okay, fine,” you agreed. “Why’d you have to blurt out a confession while he was here?”
“You did the same thing!”
“I can still hear you guys,” Seokmin reminded unhelpfully.
Somehow, Jeonghan took this as an opportunity to continue to chastise you. “See? This is all because you can’t keep quiet.”
“I can’t keep quiet?” You knew this was not the time nor place to bicker with your guardian demon, but he was an expert at getting on your nerves. “You’re the one who speaks in crazy demon lingo wherever we go!”
He scoffed. “I don’t speak in crazy demon lingo, human.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Chan. Poor guy had to witness your drunk ass going on about the Yog Sloth owing you or whatever.”
Jeonghan stammered and did a double take, looking at you like you had just kicked him square in the chest. “Wait… what did you just say?”
“Uh, Chan—”
“No, the other thing.”
“The Yog Sloth?”
“Yog Sloth,” he echoed, and then something clicked. “Yog-Sothoth? Wait, the Outer Gods—oh my god! They do owe me!” he all but yelled, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N, you’re a genius!”
Seokmin’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What’d she even do?” he asked, and you were glad you were on the same page as him.
“Yeah, what’d I do? Who the hell are the Outer Gods?”
For the next thirty minutes, Jeonghan went on to explain how billions of years ago, the most powerful beings of all creation, that rivaled even God Himself, were ruling over the universe. Before space and time was Azathoth—chaos. Azathoth even tried to disrupt the beginning of God’s Creation by starting a war. Each blow delivered from both God and Azathoth caused a rippling effect, creating infinite multiverses that were birthed from the clashing between darkness and light.
There was a period in time when the angels and demons had to side together for once to seal away the Outer Gods. Although they were no match for these cosmic beings, God was able to lock them in the Outerverse, where they have been slumbering ever since.
The key that locked away the Outer Gods had been missing for several millennia, but it happened to end up in the hands of Mammon and Belphegor. Mammon had the clever idea of reshaping the artifact into a human hand and hiding it in a fiery lake in Hell. It was called the Right Hand of Doom, but it hadn’t been touched ever since its reform.
“You reshaped a key of cosmic importance into a hand,” you summarized in disbelief. “That key has the power to doom all of our existences, and you turned it into a human hand.”
“You know, Belphegor had the same reaction after I created it,” Jeonghan said. “Actually, let me give him a call to fetch it for me.”
“Wait!” Seokmin exclaimed. “That key could wake the Outer Gods from their slumber. What are you planning on doing with it? Are you seriously considering using the Outerverse?”
“No, Seokmin, I’m gonna use it as a back scratcher.”
“Don’t get me wrong; I do want you to stay here, but this is extremely dangerous. It’s a really selfish decision, Jeonghan.”
“I’m literally the Prince of Greed.”
“Jeonghan, no matter how much I want you to become human and stay with me, this is just… it’s just crazy,” you said. “What if it goes completely wrong? What if you’re trapped in the Outerverse and killed by the Outer Gods?”
“Listen,” Jeonghan started. “When I first created the Right Hand of Doom, I was contacted by Yog-Sothoth himself—Azathoth’s grandson.”
“How did he contact you if he’s imprisoned?” you asked.
“These gods have their ways the same way demons do,” Jeonghan explained. “It’s kept on the down-low, but there are numerous worshippers of theirs that seek out ways to release them. None of them are ever successful, though.”
He continued, “Anyway, Yog-Sothoth isn’t as cruel as the others. He’s actually quite generous when he deems someone worthy, and I guess he thought I was that person when I refashioned the Right Hand of Doom. Millions of years ago, I helped the Outer Gods out by bringing them sacrifices to empower them, so they’re in my debt.”
Seokmin's face soured. “Why’d you bring them sacrifices?”
“Dunno. I was bored.”
“Let me get this straight,” you spoke up. “So, you’re gonna risk your life over the slight chance that you could be turned human?”
Jeonghan’s dark eyes pierced yours, as if he was saying, Look at me. Look at how far I’d go for you.
“Relax.” He cracked a smile. “It’s not like I’m going to the Outerverse myself. I just need the Right Hand of Doom to communicate with Yog-Sothoth across our realms. Even if he rejects my bargain, I doubt he’d try to crush me to a pulp from his prison.”
“If that’s all there is to it,” Seokmin started, a smile creeping to his face, “then I don’t see why we shouldn’t try.”
Jeonghan left the room momentarily to contact Belphegor, Prince of Sloth. He hadn’t exactly disclosed how he was going to summon the demon, but he returned with a scowl on his face, shaking his head as he explained that Belphegor was too lazy to retrieve the Right Hand of Doom at the moment. You and Seokmin asked when he would return, but even Jeonghan didn’t have an exact answer.
“Give me a call whenever he decides to show up,” Seokmin said before he went back to his apartment. You could tell that he was still shaken up from finding out that his friend had been a demon all this time, but you were glad that they were both being civil for now.
However, there were now other issues at hand. As soon as Seokmin left your apartment, you realized that the tension between you and Jeonghan couldn’t even be cut by a blade. To your surprise, your guardian demon was the first to mention it.
“You love me,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. It was like he was trying to wrap his head around the concept, trying to make sure it was real.
“I do,” you said bravely, “and you love me, I think. Seokmin seemed to believe it was true, and he’s an angel, so…”
“I think I do.” He looked pained. “These feelings are really confusing. I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes. You have a way of making me feel like I’m at the top of the world sometimes, but sometimes I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom.”
You understood that completely. When you and Jeonghan had your good moments together, you felt like you were soaring. However, when you were reminded about how little time he had left on Earth, you wanted to shut out the rest of the world and hide.
“We can figure it out together,” you told him, reaching forward to grab his hand and squeeze it.
Jeonghan’s eyes always looked different to you, like melted amber. They held many millennia of age and experience, so it felt like Jeonghan was unfazed by most aspects of life he encountered. Nothing could make the man falter.
But now, with evident panic in his eyes, newfound confidence surged through your blood that compelled you to get on your tip-toes and press a chaste kiss to his lips. It was a seemingly tame sign of affection, so you were thrown off when Jeonghan quietly slid a finger past the hem of your jeans. With his head dipped, the demon looked at you through his long, feathery lashes.
“Are you… are you hungry?” you stammered out.
“No,” he mumbled, raising his head to meet your eyes with his expectant ones. “Two people who like each other… Normally, this would lead to dating, wouldn’t it?” When you nodded, he continued, “How about it, then?”
“How about what?”
“Let’s go out.”
Your mind went blank for a moment. With how straightforwardly he said it, you would have thought Jeonghan was messing with your head, trying to push your buttons by teasing you. But his face looked determined this time, like he actually meant it. You could see the red glow of his eyes as he waited for an answer.
You blinked. “Like, as boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“Yes, as boyfriend and girlfriend,” Jeonghan confirmed, exasperated. He gripped your hand tighter, as if he was getting his feelings across with a gentle squeeze. “Like Hallie and Noah.”
“It’s Allie.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He scoffed, surprisingly tender in the way he cupped your cheeks and pulled you closer. You were still a bundle of nerves, but something about Jeonghan made you feel secure. Quite the opposite of how you theoretically should feel around a demon. “Hey,” he tried again, his voice no louder than murmur, “I wanna kiss you.”
You smiled. “Then do it already.”
And so he did.
Jeonghan had kissed you before, but it was nothing like this. It seemed so urgent before, like you both knew you were running out of time. This time, though, he was slow, taking his time to memorize the shape of your lips as he moved his mouth against yours. You felt his long lashes tickle your cheeks, and it almost made you giggle, so you had to pull back to regain your composure. Jeonghan looked down at you, chest heaving even though the kiss was nothing but gentle.
“Again,” you pleaded.
Immediately, his current expression turned cocky. The corner of Jeonghan’s mouth lifted in amusement, and he kissed you not-so-gently this time. He pulled your body flush against his, and you reciprocated by wrapping your arms around his neck. The moment he slid his tongue past your lips, you heard a soft groan from Jeonghan that made your knees buckle under you.
Jeonghan held your waist with one hand and the back of your head with the other. Even though you were still standing on two feet, you were sure that he could hold you up, anyway. He gripped you like he never wanted to let you go.
“You taste good,” he mumbled against your lips.
“You taste like… coffee.” You made a face and let a giggle slip.
“Well, it’s a good thing you like coffee.”
“Not when I’m tasting it secondhand.”
“You know, a minute ago, I wanted to fuck you properly,” he said. “Now, I’m just miffed. Slightly turned on, but still miffed.”
“Fuck me properly?” you asked, sort of embarrassed by how high your voice got. You inched closer, allowing Jeonghan’s finger to toy with the waistband of your underwear. In return, you placed your hand flat against his abdomen, moving it down slowly until you reached his crotch. Jeonghan hissed when you pressed against his growing bulge. “You mean…”
“With my cock, yeah,” he finished bluntly.
It was silent for a moment. You removed your hand, swallowing carefully after realizing that your guardian demon was hard.
Jeonghan wordlessly slid his hand down your pants, maintaining direct eye contact with you. His hand cupped your clothed cunt, and although you tried to resist, you couldn’t help but throb for more contact. You wondered if he just wanted to see your reactions, and you confirmed this by watching his smirk form when you whimpered.
“Oh,” you breathed out.
“Yeah, you like that?”
His voice was heavy, ragged. You felt like you could get drunk off it, so, naturally, you backed up with him until the back of your legs hit the bed. You made a sound of agreement when he hummed, prompting you to answer his question. You couldn’t even form words when all you could think about was being under him. Jeonghan’s palming grew more intense, and you were having a harder time staying upright.
Then, he was occupied with your neck. Jeonghan dragged his soft lips along the flesh, nipping and biting where he pleased. You let out a soft whine when he sucked on that one spot that turned your brain into mush.
“I’m gonna lay you down,” he said, although it felt like a question with the way he was looking at you. His eyes were careful, like he was holding onto your every word before following through. “Am I doing this right?”
You laughed, delighted as he set you down on your bed and got over you. You looped your arms around his shoulders and asked, “What do you mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Am I going about this the right way? I don’t really do this sort of thing.”
You were surprised at his sudden meekness. Judging from Jeonghan’s overwhelming confidence from your past hookups with him, you expected him to carry on with the same arrogance. You never thought he would be so hesitant all of a sudden.
“You’re doing perfect,” you reassured with a chaste peck to his lips.
“Right.” He did one of his breathless laughs, easing your nerves with his grin. “Just tell me if I’m screwing up, then.”
Jeonghan dipped his head again to pepper kisses across your collarbone, working his way back up to the column of your neck. He worked on your sweet spot, biting and sucking until he had successfully left a bruise. You squirmed underneath him the entire time, tugging your hands through his hair and begging for him to fix the ache between your legs.
The demon only chuckled darkly in response. As he bit the shell of your ear, he removed your jeans and underwear swiftly, which you aided by kicking the garments off your ankles. He prodded your cunt with nimble fingers, grinning wider when he saw the desperation in your eyes.
“You’re so wet,” he commented in a silky voice. “All for me, huh?”
“Shut up,” you grumbled, “and take your clothes off already.”
Jeonghan rose up to sit back on your thighs, staring at you the entire time he pulled his shirt off and discarded it to the side. You couldn’t help but ogle at his figure; he was absolutely gorgeous—sculpted by God Himself.
“Don’t do that,” he said gruffly when you reached out to poke his stomach. You deduced that Jeonghan was most definitely ticklish and trying to hide that weakness from you.
“But your reaction was cute.”
He rolled his eyes but smiled, his hands moving to tug at the hem of your shirt. “C’mon, your turn.”
“H-huh?”
Even when Jeonghan gave you head in the past, you always kept your shirt on. He, too, had never stripped down in front of you like this. Surely, you were expecting this to happen, but the thought of being fully naked in front of Jeonghan was intimidating. It felt like you two were reaching a level of intimacy and closeness that you thought was unattainable months prior.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I already know you’re not wearing a bra. You've gone braless for, like, almost a week now.”
You raised a suspicious brow at him. “You were staring at my tits?”
“No comment.”
Jeonghan placed his slender hands on your waist, squeezing your sides comfortingly as you pulled your shirt off over your head. He watched you with marvel in his eyes, eyes trained on the swell of your breasts. He leaned close to press soft kisses against the skin, whispering praise as he did so. You didn’t peg the demon to be so romantic, but you weren’t complaining.
You heard gentle pattering outside your window while Jeonghan kissed down your chest.
“It’s raining,” you whispered. The two of you broke apart for a brief moment while Jeonghan hastily got rid of his pants and boxers. “An angel’s crying.”
You looked to the side, and you nearly had to look away before Jeonghan could notice how flustered you looked. The demon stood in all his glory. You had seen naked men before, but Jeonghan was, of course, a creature beyond human comprehension. He was the most gorgeous being you had ever come across.
And, strangely enough, for the first time, you didn’t feel that uncontrollable tug of desire when you looked at him. You weren’t compelled to drop to your knees and submit to the demon. Your attraction felt innate, much like how the rain falls so naturally from the sky. Not that Jeonghan ever had you under a spell or anything, but it almost felt like he was becoming more human.
Whether that meant he was losing his powers or was growing accustomed to living as a human, you had no idea.
“You’re beautiful,” he admitted, looking down at you like you were the stars in the night sky.
“Thanks,” you replied shyly.
“That’s your reaction?” He beamed, amused. “Well, whatever. I’d rather you save your voice for when I make you scream, human.”
You thought it would be impossible at this point, but your cheeks grew even hotter. Yet, you couldn’t even chide the demon because he was already getting over you, promptly attacking your neck with more kisses.
You were a soaking mess already, so Jeonghan’s fingers slid into your cunt with ease. You were taken aback yourself by how effortless it was, but you figured two fingers couldn’t hold a candle to the girth of his cock.
You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch how Jeonghan fingered you. Both of you stared at the spot where his fingers disappeared in you, and the sight only turned you on even more. For once, Jeonghan was pleasuring someone else without the favor being returned, yet you had never seen him so satiated. He was thriving off of your moans and cries, like the sounds itself were feeding him.
A moan escaped your lips, fragmenting off into broken whimpers as Jeonghan’s fingers sped up. You felt your thighs start to shake—the preamble of your orgasm building up. Heat bloomed under your skin, and you dug your nails into the demon’s shoulders to warn him.
The warning only spurred him to move his fingers faster—in scissoring motions this time. His thumb found purchase on your clit, circling the ball of nerves slowly. Finally, you fell off the edge, crying out in ecstasy as boundless pleasure tore through your body. Your mind went blank, thinking about nothing but how good you felt. It was like you were bathed in heavenly light.
“I got you,” Jeonghan murmured, kissing the spot under your ear.
If you had half the mind to kick him in the shin, you would. Pretending to comfort you while torturing your swollen clit throughout your orgasm was pure evil. You expected no less from a demon.
“Will you do me a favor and fuck me already?” you asked, exasperated. For good measure, you flattened your palm against his stomach and slid your hand down his abs.
“Alright. Beg for it.”
You balked. “W-what?”
“You want me to fuck you that bad? Then beg for it,” he said with an air of haughtiness. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but the man didn’t budge. “I’m waiting.”
“I am not begging you, that’s so—” You paused. Jeonghan raised a brow, prompting you to continue, so you admitted, “It’s embarrassing!”
He shrugged. “I think we’re both past the point of being embarrassed in front of each other, human.”
You sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay, fine. You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” You laid back down, looping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck once more and pulling him close. “I’ve been waiting months for you to fuck me, so please make me feel good and I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” The mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable.
“I’ll be good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” you whined, the agitation growing in your chest. “I’ll be a good girl, okay? I’ll be really, really good.”
“Alright, I’m sold.”
Jeonghan pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting out a light laugh before his demeanor completely shifted. His easygoing smile turned into a proud smirk when he practically folded you in half, throwing one of your legs over his shoulders so that he could line himself up to your entrance. He hummed, teasing your folds with the head of his cock.
You wanted to cry out, to push at his chest and beg him to just fuck you already. All of the teasing had you at your tipping point, and you were about to complain until you felt the tip of Jeonghan’s cock enter you slowly.
Your breath hitched. He hadn’t even completely entered you, and you were already throbbing at the thought of his cock inside you. Jeonghan used one hand to hold your hips down, pushing into you slowly but surely. You could tell he didn’t want to rush or hurt you, so he kept his eyes trained on your face the entire time, gauging whether to proceed based off your reactions.
“Sorry,” he apologized, placing a kiss against your stomach as he continued pushing his way inside you until he bottomed out. Your eyes nearly rolled back once he was fully inside, and all you could do was clench around him until he growled. “Hold still.”
“Keep going,” you begged, holding onto him like he was your anchor. If you let go of him, you were sure you would fall apart.
Jeonghan simpered, looking quite delighted as he started rocking his hips slowly. It seemed as though he was waiting for you to get adjusted to his size. Despite all, you were still clenching around his cock occasionally, leaving him holding onto you tighter and groaning into the crook of your neck. Jeonghan sped up his thrusts and left a bruising grip on your hips.
“You like that?” he asked, and, lord, you nearly came for the second time just by his words.
“Jeonghan!” you cried out, nearly gasping the words. “I… I want—”
“Want what?” he cut you off smoothly, smirking down at your disheveled appearance. He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust. “What do you want, princess?”
You whimpered. “I do wanna be your girlfriend.”
He froze for a moment, stunned. Apparently, that wasn’t the route he was expecting you to take.
Then, the demon’s shock wore off and was replaced with a warm smile. “Yeah?” he asked, leaning down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. He pulled away to look into your eyes. “I’d be honored to be your boyfriend, Y/N.”
It was like clockwork—the way your orgasm hit you at that very moment. You tightened around him uncontrollably, the sporadic motions causing Jeonghan to cum as well. He pulled out right before his climax, ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach. You watched it pool together with hazy, unfocused eyes, still dazed from your orgasm and sudden confession.
Jeonghan was your boyfriend now.
“I see why mortal men are such fools for women,” Jeonghan said once he collapsed next to you. “If sex is always this good, I would start wars, too.”
“You’re a demon prince. You’ve started wars, anyway.”
“Oh, right.”
Afterward, you taught Jeonghan a thing or two about aftercare. The concept was completely foreign to him, so you informed him that good boyfriends took care of their girlfriends after sex. When Jeonghan told you to just grab a tissue and call it a day, you had to scold him to get him to clean you up.
To your surprise, Jeonghan did a satisfactory job. You half-expected him to do the absolute bare minimum, but you could definitely see that he was trying his best.
So, you bestowed upon him the highest honor: allowing him to sleep with you in your bed.
Jeonghan got under the sheets beside you, wrapping an arm around you once you cozied up to him. It was strange how comfortable you felt with him, especially considering he was your assigned demon. In some parallel universe, you and Jeonghan might have been normal people with normal lives, and you two probably felt the same level of closeness as you did right now.
Neither of you could sleep right away. Jeonghan traced patterns along your arm and you told him countless stories about your childhood. He smiled fondly, intently listening to the life you lived before him.
Later, he kissed you, and, between bated breaths, whispered promises of forever. And eventually, the soft trickling of rain lulled you both to sleep.
You woke up freezing.
At first, you thought Jeonghan had stolen the blanket. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for the Prince of Greed to be, well, greedy. However, considering your limbs were entangled with his, that didn’t seem to be the case.
The feeling was awfully familiar. It was the same sub-zero temperature you experienced when Jeonghan appeared in your room the first time. However, it was brief this time, dissipating as soon as it started.
Although you couldn’t identify the strange man who materialized in the center of your room, you had a good idea of who it was.
“Oh, Belphegor,” Jeonghan greeted without a care in the world, confirming your suspicions immediately. You were amazed that the half-naked demon was completely unfazed by his demon friend coming out of nowhere. Maybe this was just a regular morning for their kind. “About time you showed up.”
Belphegor made a noncommittal sound. “Yeah, well…”
“I can’t believe it took you centuries to fetch the Hand.”
“I was going to do it,” he said, “but then I didn’t want to.”
Jeonghan groaned. “You idiot.”
You gathered up the bedsheets, making sure to cover yourself fully before turning your attention back to the two demons. Maybe if you acted like everything about this situation was normal, it would distract from the fact that you only had a blanket to cover your naked body. The stranger seemed to have no interest in you whatsoever, so you figured he wouldn’t think anything of you and Jeonghan sleeping together.
“Jeonghan!” you hissed, glowering at your startled boyfriend. “It wouldn’t kill you to wake me up?”
“Oh, Y/N,” he started, seeming pleased with himself. He gestured toward the demon next to him, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed himself. “This is Belphegor, but you can call him by his human name: Wonwoo.”
“Nice to meet you,” you said cautiously.
“Hi.”
There was clearly no room for conversation between you two.
“Anyway,” Wonwoo continued, shooting Jeonghan a curious look, “what’re you gonna do with the key? You’re not opening the Outerverse, are you?”
Jeonghan shook his head. “I’m not gonna release the Outer Gods, I’m—”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Wonwoo cut him off, clearly uninterested in the conversation. “Now that I know you’re not trying to kill us all, I’ll get going.”
“Yeah, okay, good talk.”
Later in the day, you sat on the floor of your living room with Jeonghan and Seokmin. Jeonghan was giving him a rundown of Belphegor’s visit, which didn’t take very long considering he was there for a grand total of nine moments. You almost made an offhand comment about how Jeonghan didn’t give you any time to get dressed, but that would have exposed what went down between you two last night.
Neither of you had even mentioned to Seokmin about sealing the deal.
“Alright, so,” the Quartarion started, “how does this work?”
Jeonghan pulled out a ten dollar bill, a deformed-looking Twinkie, and a tiny bottle of bath salts from the pocket of his sweater. He laid them out carefully around the Right Hand of Doom before looking up at you and Seokmin. A smug grin spread across his face, but you and the angel were flabbergasted.
“A Twinkie?” you asked.
“He likes sweets,” was the extent of Jeonghan’s explanation.
“Primordial Outer God of space-time likes Twinkies. Good to know.”
“And the ten dollars?” Seokmin asked.
“He likes money, too,” Jeonghan said. Before either of you could question the bath salts, he pointed to the bottle and added, “These are just for the vibes.”
Nice.
“Anyway,” Jeonghan continued, “these types of invocations usually require human sacrifices or something along those lines.” Seokmin and him glanced in your direction at the same time, and you shot them each an icy glare. Jeonghan coughed into his fist. “We’re obviously not sacrificing you. I’m just saying he’s more likely to answer me because I’m a demon prince.”
Seokmin looked on edge. “So… are we starting?”
“I don’t want Y/N in the room,” Jeonghan answered.
“What?” you asked, shocked at the sudden dismissal. “Why?”
“He’s so powerful—even knowing of his existence can drive some mortals insane,” Jeonghan muttered darkly. “Seokmin should be fine since he’s an angel, but there’s a chance you’d go mad if you heard his voice, so stay back until I say so.”
He didn’t have to tell you twice. You were already starting to get to your feet the second he mentioned mortals going insane.
“I’ll stand in the hallway, then,” you decided, far too curious to lock yourself in one of the rooms.
You watched as Jeonghan and Seokmin took each other’s hands quietly and exchanged a silent nod of understanding before closing their eyes. Jeonghan then started reciting some strange incantation that was far more complicated than the one you used to summon him. It seemed to drag on for close to a minute before the air around them went still. It was as if they were trapped in a time vortex, suspended in space while all you could do was wait for them to be released.
You took careful steps backward until you were against the wall, and then you sank down to the floor. As much as you tried to calm your nerves, you were riddled with anxiety. You had to physically hold your thigh down to keep it from bouncing.
Jeonghan didn’t tell you how exactly this would go. Hell, he probably didn’t know himself. Because you were so unaware, though, you weren’t sure if what was happening right now was normal or not. The two men weren’t even twitching or breathing; they were like still images.
Minutes stretched on. You weren’t sure how long it had been, but each passing second felt longer than it should have been. There was nothing you could do but wait. Stare at the motionless air around the two boys and wait.
It had probably been around half an hour when Seokmin’s eyes shot open with a loud gasp. You scrambled to your feet immediately, badgering the poor boy with questions to find out what happened while he was just trying to catch his breath. Jeonghan, on the other hand, looked the very image of tranquility when he opened his eyes.
“What is it?” you kept asking. “What happened?”
Seokmin had a strange, distant look in his eyes. He tried to speak several times, but no words came out.
“Could you get him something warm to drink, Y/N?” Jeonghan asked. “I think he’s in shock.”
“I’ll—I’ll make some tea,” you stammered, stumbling over your feet before you could start walking properly. “How about you? Are you—” You stopped yourself once you saw the hint of fear in Jeonghan’s eyes, and it chilled your blood. You couldn’t even fathom what they had just gone through. “I’ll get you a cup, too.”
It took two hours for the two men to recover—slowly but surely. You brought them tea and gave them time to process what they had just been through. It mainly consisted of you sitting to the side and keeping yourself from asking any questions. You figured they’d tell you if they wanted, but you weren’t in any position to press them.
Jeonghan seemed to feel bad for letting Seokmin tag along. He kept glancing at the angel with sad eyes, seeming remorseful. Then, he turned his attention to you. To your surprise, he walked over to where you sat on the couch to sit next to you and lay his head on your shoulder.
“Hey,” you called softly. “Are you feeling better?”
He nodded, although he didn’t look you in the eyes. “You should probably go to your room. Yog-Sothoth told us he’s thinking about my request, so he could be making up his mind any minute now.”
“You’re going back?”
“I guess. It was more like my consciousness was transported there instead of my physical body.”
He said it like it should have been no big deal, but the two were clearly unsettled by their visit. You weren’t sure how to feel about them going back. It could break Seokmin for good. Even though he was an angel-blood, he didn’t have the power that Jeonghan had.
“The fact that he listened to Jeonghan’s request means that he’s considering it,” Seokmin spoke up after a period of silence between you three. “It’s a good thing you didn’t go, Y/N. The Outerverse is the most terrifying realm I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to Alabama.”
You smiled a little. At least he seemed to be feeling more at ease now.
“They say Yog-Sothoth exists beyond our reality, so he can possibly see other streams of reality that aren’t connected to the branches of Creation,” Jeonghan explained. “That sounds insane, right? When you’re in the Outerverse seeing those pockets of different realities… it can make you go a little crazy. I mean, I’d give Hell a five star Yelp review over the Outerverse.”
Seokmin tucked his head in his folded arms. “I never wanna go to that place again.”
“Well, I’m not exactly planning to have my next birthday party there.”
“Mammon,” a voice boomed in your ears, and the sound itself was weird. There were undertones of echoes in its words, and you couldn’t even tell if the voice was in your head or not.
You didn’t have to ask who it was because the fear in Seokmin’s eyes was unmistakable. Jeonghan straightened up, panicked, but you assumed it was because you were still in the room because he swiftly placed his hands over your ears in an attempt to muffle the sound. You weren’t sure it would help, but you did feel safer that way.
“God of Time, I appreciate your presence.”
“I’ve decided to accept your offer,” Yog-Sothoth said. His voice sounded louder, even with Jeonghan’s hands over your ears. “I’ll help you.”
There was a way.
He removed his hands from the sides of your head, and you sat up straight again. You never thought those four words would light up so much hope inside you, but here you were, beaming like an idiot next to your demon boyfriend. There was a hope for a future between you and Jeonghan—hope that you two could live out the rest of your lives as humans. More importantly, there was hope that you two could live out the rest of your lives together.
For a moment, you were filled with doubt. There was so much at stake for this decision, and you couldn’t fathom someone loving you so much that they would give their world up for you.
“Jeonghan,” you murmured, “are you sure about giving up immortality?”
“I’d rather live a short life with you than spend the rest of eternity longing for what we could have had,” he declared with a fire blazing in his eyes. “I don’t want forever if it’s not with you, Y/N.”
His soft words coupled with his fierce gaze only sent butterflies to the pit of your stomach. You were hopeless when it came to Jeonghan; whatever he said left you like putty in his hands.
“Jeonghan,” Seokmin whispered, looking fearful. He was pointing at the makeshift summoning circle. “The Twinkie’s gone.”
So, the primordial Outer God of space-time was helping Jeonghan out because of a Twinkie. You decided against questioning why the all-powerful being was about to manipulate the fabric of reality over an over-glorified sponge cake.
“But,” Yog-Sothoth’s voice echoed in your ears as he spoke, “for this exchange, I require a sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice?” Jeonghan asked, frowning. “The Twinkie—”
“No, Mammon, not the Twinkie. I want you to bring me a loved one; an eye for an eye.”
You frowned. Jeonghan could split his soul into two—one residing in his demon form in Hell, and the other residing in his human body here—but he had to sacrifice someone he loved? You couldn’t understand how this was a fair exchange; he was already giving up a part of him for this ordeal.
“Sacrifice a loved one in exchange for what I want,” Jeonghan echoed, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ve seen this before.”
“You have?” Your eyebrows narrowed. “When?”
“Avengers: Endgame.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Dude,” Seokmin chimed in, and you were starting to think you were the only one who understood the gravity of the situation. “This is literally Thanos sacrificing Gamora for the Soul Stone.”
“Stop embarrassing us in front of the Outer God!” you whispered harshly.
“Well,” Jeonghan started, his tone growing serious again, “I’m sure you know my choice.”
“Yes, I do.” Yog-Sothoth hummed, and something about it seemed calculative. You wanted to interject and ask Jeonghan what the hell he was talking about, but you felt like you were immobilized. “Very well, then.”
You looked at Seokmin to see if he understood what was going on, but he seemed just as confused as you were. Jeonghan just stared ahead, refusing to look either of you in the eye, and panic rose in your throat. You wanted to trust him, to confidently know that he wasn’t choosing you or Seokmin, but you really didn’t know who else it could have been.
Like Jeonghan told you before, demons didn’t care about anyone or anything. Only you and Seokmin were able to crack him open.
That was why horrifying realization was drawn across both of your faces. Jeonghan was choosing either you or Seokmin, and considering you were the reason he wanted to be mortal in the first place, you were terrified he was going to sacrifice Seokmin. And it seemed like Seokmin was terrified of that possibility, too.
You stood up and grabbed his shoulder. “Jeonghan, you—”
But before you could get any words out, you were sinking and the ground was swallowing you whole.
Everything went dark, and then silence followed.
You had gone under anesthesia once in your life. It was back when you were thirteen and the doctors had to perform an appendectomy on you. Being sedated didn’t feel like sleeping at all; it felt like closing your eyes and then waking up to a weird jumpcut in your memory. You remembered being extremely disoriented at first, not even realizing what had just happened to you.
Now, as your eyes fluttered open, you felt the same way.
You were tucked in your bed, which had to have been impossible because you were in the living room when everything turned black. You sat up to gather your bearings. Your head was a mess for a second, unable to focus on one thing at a time.
Jeonghan. Seokmin. Yog-Sothoth. Twinkies. Sacrifice.
The words etched themselves in your bones until you felt dread seep in. If you were still in your bed, completely unharmed, that meant Jeonghan had gotten rid of Seokmin. You looked down at your hands, and you realized they were shaking before you could stop yourself.
“Jeonghan!” you yelled, furious. Before he could hurry to your room, you stormed out, fighting back tears. Just as you thought, he was rushing down the hallway to see you, but you weren’t in the mood for a happy reunion. “How could you?!”
He looked confused. “Didn’t… didn’t you want this? I’m human now, Y/N.” A bright smile broke across his face. “Yog-Sothoth split my soul, so Mammon’s back in Hell where he belongs, but I’m here to stay as a human.”
You punched his shoulder. Hard.
“Okay, ow,” he complained. “Y/N, I—”
“Don’t,” you warned. Your voice was wavering and you could feel your throat closing up. “I don’t wanna hear it after what you did to Seokmin. You promised me you wouldn’t kill him!”
As if on cue, the angel-blood, who was supposed to be dead, peaked into the hallway from where he was in the living room. He had a bowl of ice cream in his hands, shaking his head at you repeatedly.
“I’m not dead,” he clarified, even though you could very clearly see that. “I’m alive.”
“Oh.” You had to take a step back because now, you were more confused than ever. “You’re alive.”
“You sound disappointed. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna steal your boyfriend.”
“I’m not! I’m… really fucking confused—wait, you found out we’re dating, too?” You turned to look up at Jeonghan. “Wait, so who’d you sacrifice, then? What happened after I blacked out? I feel like I’m so in the dark right now.”
Jeonghan looked down at his feet, suddenly glum. “I sacrificed my pet.”
“Mount Fu—I mean, Doljjong? I thought it was dead already?”
“No, my other pet.” He showed you his phone screen, which was on an article about Mount Vesuvius going extinct. “Jjongddol.”
“Oh, another rock.” You tried to sound sympathetic, but it was hard to feel bad for a volcano. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“He’s not even sad about it!” Seokmin argued, pointing his spoon at Jeonghan in an accusatory manner. “He gaslit the Time God!”
Jeonghan huffed. “I am sad, okay! Just because it took me a while to remember his name doesn’t mean I don’t have fond memories with Doljjong!”
“Jjongddol,” you corrected.
“Oh, right—Jjongddol!”
You smiled, taking his face into your hands. “You know what this means, though?”
Jeonghan looked at you, eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise. “What?”
(“Oh, Christ, they’re gonna start making out,” Seokmin muttered and hurried back to the couch. “I’m gonna look for movies on the TV, Jeonghan!”)
“It means we finally have all the time in the world to ourselves, Yoon Jeonghan.” You got on your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips, which he reciprocated almost immediately. “I’m a little sad I don’t have a guardian demon anymore, though, even if he sucked at his job.”
“Hey, I didn’t suck!” He pouted a little, which you laughed at. “Now, though, you get to show me how to be a proper human.”
“Oh, shoot. We need to find you a place to live since my lease only allows one person, and then we need to figure out getting your documents in order, and then—”
Jeonghan cut you off with a laugh. “I’m on board for all that, but I’d really like to celebrate my new life right now by watching a movie with my best friend and girlfriend.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “And then tonight I’d like to—”
“Alright, alright!” you interjected, feeling your face go hot. “You know, the demon part of you might be gone power-wise, but I don’t know about personality-wise.”
“You love it, though.”
“Jeonghan, let’s watch Superbad!” Seokmin called from the living room.
“Okay!” Jeonghan turned to you and held out his hand. “Come on. I heated up popcorn and even put in some jalapeños for you.”
“Hey.” You stopped him, and you weren’t exactly sure why, but you felt so overwhelmed by your emotions at the moment. There were so many forces against you two, yet you still managed to fight the odds. A constant storm you both battled to stay together, and only now you felt like you could finally breathe. So, when Jeonghan looked at you, the words came out naturally. “I love you.”
He looked at you for a moment, before his face broke into one of those heartbreakingly beautiful smiles again. “I love you, too, Y/N.”
Now it was your time to smile and grab his hand. “Let’s go watch that movie.”
“Oh, is Y/N watching with us?” Seokmin asked.
“This may come as a shock, but this happens to be my apartment, Seokmin.”
And, as you three watched the movie, you and Jeonghan kept your hands interlocked, unwilling to let go. You thought it was beautiful how two hands could touch and forge a bond like no other. It must have been why you and Jeonghan had made it past every obstacle that came hurtling your way.
In some parallel universe out there, some stream of reality that didn’t branch from Creation, you and Jeonghan were probably normal people who found each other naturally. In that world, neither of you had to go through all the pain and suffering to find each other, to finally end up in each other’s arms.
But you would choose this reality over that one every single time. You would go through all the trails and tribulations for Jeonghan however many times you needed to because, at the end of the day, the love you two had for each other couldn’t compare to any other reality out there.
And you would never admit it out loud, but he was right; your guardian demon didn’t totally suck at his job.
#svt scenarios#seventeen scenarios#jeonghan smut#seventeen smut#svt smut#seventeen#jeonghan x reader#yoon jeonghan#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#jeonghan imagines#jeonghan scenarios#svt hard hours#seventeen hard hours#seventeen x reader
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hey! I really really really like your writing very much!
can you do one where the reader and spencer reid are both nerds but different kinds of nerds. so the reader's more of a literature/ language nerd and spencer's basically an expert in LITERALLY everything. so she has a major crush on him but always hesitates to make a move on him cuz she thinks that she doesn't stand a chance because she struggles with basic math and physics chemistry make her head hurt
and so when spencer asks her out she's all baffled like you don't think I'm dumb?!😭😭
Hi, thanks honey!
Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words
It’s one of those rare days where you can actually afford a lunch break, and you’ve decided to take it outside with your book. Every day lately feels like it could be the last nice one you get before the cold weather comes in, and you’re enjoying the crisp breeze and warm sunshine on your face as you get settled on the bench outside the cafe where you work.
The book you’ve been reading for the past week is good but not great, and you’re sort of pushing yourself to finish just so you can say it’s over with and tell the friend who lent it that you gave it your best. Still, you’re very nearly lost in it by the time a pair of black converse comes to a stop in front of you.
You follow them upward. “Spencer!” you say, probably with a touch too much alacrity. Too quickly, too. You might’ve at least pretended to have to think about the name of the sweet-faced doctor looking down at you. But it’s not your fault; you’ve gotten used to calling it out from the counter when he comes here to pick up his lunch at least three days out of the week.
“Hi,” he says, teetering on the edge of bashful. “I’m surprised to see you out here, you’re almost always working when I come by.”
It’s embarrassingly gratifying that he knows that. You’d never hold it against him if he didn’t, but you’ve come to enjoy the little bits of conversation you grab with him when he comes by, and it’s nice to know that he’s noticed you too.
“It’s a slow day,” you reply by way of explanation. “I figured I’d grab a break while I still could.”
Spencer smiles like he totally gets that. You imagine he does. “Good idea. Can I sit?”
“Of course!” Again, way too eager. You’ve got to work on controlling your tone around him. You move your discarded jacket into your lap.
“Thanks,” he says, sitting in the space you’ve made for him. His legs are so long he looks like he’s squatting on the bench, knees high enough for him to set his elbows on. Which he does, tilting his head to see you. “What’re you reading?”
“Oh, um, it’s nothing. I mean, I wouldn’t really recommend it,” you laugh. Christ, you don’t want him to know what you’re reading. Spencer probably reads astrophysics textbooks for fun. “It’s not very good.”
Spencer puts his hand over yours, far from forceful as he tips the page toward him until he can see the cover. Your brain is short-circuiting so badly it’s a wonder you don’t drop the paperback onto the pavement.
“I haven’t heard of it,” he says, which surprises you. Spencer seems so knowledgeable it’s difficult to believe there’s anything in existence that’s not stored somewhere in his hard drive. “Why are you reading it if you don’t think it’s good?”
He doesn’t ask it in any unkind or judgemental way, but something inside you tenses nonetheless. You know perhaps too much about Spencer Reid. It’s not like you’d gone out of your way to figure him out, but the facts had presented themselves to you almost serendipitously and you’d put the pieces together. You know that he’s in the FBI, not only because of the laminated identifier he sometimes leaves clipped to his shirtpocket when he comes in, but also because of the coworkers that occasionally come with him. From those coworkers, you also know that he’s a doctor, and you gather that he’s generally respected and admired as well as cared for by his team. He seems a bit awkward, but sure of himself where it matters, and he goes into every interaction with a kind curiosity. Most of all, you know that Spencer is smart. Like, expert in everything smart. You’d caught a few jokes from the people he’s brought in about an eidetic memory, his multiple PhDs, and the nickname “boy genius.” No matter how shy and sweet someone is, that’s intimidating.
And it’s unnerving to have someone with an IQ higher than you can probably fathom asking about your intellectual habits.
“Well, the plot doesn’t actually have much movement, so it’s pretty boring,” you say hesitantly. “I guess at this point I’m mostly in it for the prose. Plus my friend recommended it, so I have to finish it to keep her happy.”
Spencer laughs at your little joke, nodding. “Wow, the prose alone is enough to keep you going? It must be pretty fascinating.”
You want to backpedal immediately, but settle for a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s alright. I’m kind of a nerd for that stuff. Rhetorical devices and all.”
Spencer tilts his head, something igniting in his brown eyes. Interest. “Rhetorical devices. You mean like metaphor and personification?”
You nod. “Yeah, like those, but also anadiplosis and polysyndeton and anastrophe.” Spencer’s eyebrows move slowly upward as you speak, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks despite the slight chill. “I just like that there’s things that affect the emotion—or the pacing, or whatever—of writing that we as readers pick up on almost subconsciously, but were so intentional for the writer.”
Spencer’s nodding, eyes going somewhere just slightly distant. “Yeah, that’s a good point. I mean, I know writing is a very intentional process, but I never really think about the tiny, word-level decisions authors make to influence readers.”
“It’s so cool,” you agree. “Like, how long do you think it takes someone to land on the exact right word for what they’re trying to convey, or to structure their sentences in a way that builds momentum over the course of a paragraph? Like, so much goes into it.”
Spencer’s smiling at you, and you realize you’re gushing, geeky zeal bursting out of you like a soda bottle that’s been shaken and finally uncapped. “Sorry. Um, what’re you reading lately?”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says quickly, still smiling at you. “I actually just finished my last book, so I’m looking for something new. If this book has all that and isn’t up to your standards, I’d be interested to see what you really enjoy reading.”
Your cheeks are burning hot; you hope Spencer thinks the redness is from the cool breeze. “I’d be nervous to give you a recommendation,” you admit. “Too much pressure.”
Spencer waves you off. “I’ll read anything, don’t worry about it. Hey, have you ever been to that coffee shop on fifth? It’s in a bookstore.”
You blink. “No, I haven’t heard of it. That sounds cool, though.”
A bit of pink tinges Spencer’s cheeks; it’s probably from the cool breeze. “Yeah, well, you should let me take you there sometime. If you want, of course,” he adds hastily. “Don’t worry about it if not.”
It takes you a second to realize what’s happening. And then once you do, another second to make yourself believe it. “Like, as a date?” you ask, just to be sure.
Spencer’s smile is hopeful behind its timidity. “Yeah. Yeah, if you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah.” You can’t think of anything better to say, your brain filling with buzzing bees. “That sounds good. Thanks.”
He laughs, eyebrows coming together bemusedly. “Well, don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”
It’s more a thanks for his taking action, you think. For making a move when you’d been too scared to, stagnant with months over your anxiety that he’d think you were too dumb or trivial to want to keep talking to you after he’d picked up his sandwich.
“Okay, great.” He stands. “Well, I have to get back, but I’ll, uh…I’ll see you? Friday, maybe? I can come by here after your shift.”
“You know when my shift ends?”
Now even his ears are turning red. “You…around four, right? I sometimes see you if I’m leaving work around then.”
You smile. “Yeah, four. See you then, Dr. Reid.”
“See you then!” he turns around, and you can see the exact moment he thinks to wonder how you know his last name. You don’t bother worrying about it.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#dr spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fandom
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x : AVOIDANCE :*+ﾟ
in which: falling for blade was not on your agenda, so naturally you decide to distance yourself. however, the last thing you'd predicted was blade being upset with the sudden space.
warnings: 2.3k wc, FLUFF, ooc!blade probably bc i'm still trying to figure it out, kafka meddles with the two of you, gn!stellaron hunter!reader who has a past lol, NOT PROOFREAD, idiots in love bc i love that trope, bad writing
a/n: thank you to the anon who gave me this idea :D much appreciated, i had a lot of fun with this one when my angstier fics were draining me af. i hope you enjoy, apologies if it's a little low quality, but it's my child <3
when you first joined the team of stellaron hunters, you didn’t expect to get much out of it, especially since the team looked so cold, calculating, mischievous, and unforgiving, greeting you with vicious smiles and muddy eyes. preemptively, you assumed the most you would receive is acquaintanceship.
however, time has proven you wrong, because on the contrary, you have found comfort, friendship, and stability in the form of this mismatched group.
you never expected to find love either.
but you did, and it might be the worst decision your heart has ever made.
“y/n, there you are. kafka and i are thinking about going out to lunch. want to join?” silver wolf’s voice interrupts your train of thought, disrupting your peace in your private spot amongst the gardens.
“oh, hi silver wolf,” you murmur, shutting your book after shoving in a bookmark. “who else is going?”
“kafka asked blade and he agreed.”
the genius hacker doesn’t notice the way you tense upon hearing a certain swordman’s name. instead, you play it cool by opening up your book again, scanning the pages in hopes of ignoring the racing of your heart.
“i think i’ll pass on this one. thank you though,” you mutter.
“really?” the silver-haired asks, popping her gum before shrugging. “whatever you say. i’m off!”
“bye!”
hearing her footsteps fade, you slump in your seat, your memories with blade hauntingly eminent in your mind. you don’t recall when you fell for him, or why exactly, all you have in your recollection is a series of moments that you look back fondly upon with a full heart, love slowly seeping in to you and causing your affections to grow to the size that they reside at now.
when you had realised, the love had already grown too big to deflate, and dejection struck moments after; a big bang of butterflies in your stomach that all disintegrated straight after.
how brutal- perhaps this was an indication that blade was rubbing off on you too much, and you need to cleanse yourself of his influence.
love, although fickle, was not something that you avidly rejected. despite having lived like a hunted deer, your experiences have been fleeting, building your delicate heart for a life of meeting, falling, then leaving when you least wanted to, needing to run before an arrow pierced you- and certainly not cupid’s one.
but with blade, everything is different. there is no arrow to run from, not in the life that elio has foreseen for you. for the first time in your life, you can stop running away and try fall into the arms of love with little remorse.
it's just ironic that you fall into the arms of a man who should not be touched.
“y/n’s not coming with us today,” silver wolf reports after meeting up with the other two stellaron hunters.
“oh?” kafka hums, “usually y/n’s always willing to hangout, why’s that?”
“busy or something, i don’t know, i didn’t care to ask.”
the slight scrunch of displeasure in blade’s expression passes by the keen eyes of both kafka and silver wolf. if either of them had noticed then perhaps it would have been a topic of interest, but for the time being, the pair move on (faster than the third member), your unusual absence dismissed in favour of where to get food.
as the days turn into nights and elio issues more missions and mumbles more futures, blade feels as though he sees you less and less.
it’s not intuition more than it is you purposefully ignoring and evading blade in your everyday, though.
“good morning,” kafka’s voice greets when she walks in to the cafeteria, where you were eating breakfast alone. setting down your phone, you regard her with a mouth full of bread. “gross. at least swallow first.”
“screw off,” you murmur. “how did you sleep?”
“fine fine, i woke up in the wrong position though and my neck is killing me, but what about you? seems like you’ve been up a while.”
“i’ve been up since asscrack of dawn.”
the purple-haired regards you with amusement. “why’s that?”
“body clock or whatever,” you lie, staring down at your glass of water.
“i see,” kafka hums half-heartedly, as if seeing right through you. “well, i’m going to get some coffee, i’ll be right back.”
“mk.”
you’re left on your own for only a few minutes, waiting patiently in silence for kafka to return. the morning is cool and pleasant, and the smell of rain is still heavy in the air as the morning dew lightens the atmosphere. the weather will surely get hotter as the day matures, but for now, you enjoy the gentle caress of sunlight on your back.
or rather- you were enjoying the gentle caress of the sun, but the methodicalness of it all is ruined when you spot a certain figure with dark, long hair beside kafka.
suddenly the last thing you know is peace and calm, and the abrupt, painful scraping of your chair against the floor symbolises that.
“going somewhere?” kafka asks.
picking up your scraps, you avoid blade’s gaze. “yeah! i- uh, realised that i have some documents to drop off for elio by twelve or whatever.”
“won't you stay to keep us company for breakfast,” the purple-haired tempts, “it feels like it’s been so long since we’ve spent some proper time together.”
“has it?” you laugh nervously and kafka easily picks up the pitchiness of your tone. “i’ll make it up soon, i promise, i’ve just been overflowed with things to do.”
“alright. you be off then. don’t work too hard.”
“i won’t. my head is remaining tight on my shoulders, don’t you worry!” you reassure before scrambling away, feeling like your legs could not be any slower as you retreat away from blade’s scrutinising gaze. when you round the corner, you sigh a breath of relief.
it’s laughable and simultaneously admirable how dedicated you are about dodging every interaction possible, but for the record, you think you’re doing quite well. not that space was doing many favours for your heart, but persistence is key.
whoever believed that distance makes the heart grow fonder just clearly didn’t try enough, because yours feels like it’s about to hammer out of your chest with how fast it is racing, and the sensation is equivalent to something like pain rather than fondness.
“i’m worried,” blade mutters, gaze lingering on where you’d just disappeared. “and why does y/n talk like i’m not right here?”
“aww, are you upset?” coos kafka, taking a seat. the swordsman mimics her.
“why wouldn’t i be? it feels like y/n has been ignoring me as of late.”
kafka hums thoughtfully, swirling her coffee cup around.
“do you know anything about that?”
“nup. nothing at all,” she answers, feigning ignorance to the many suspicions that are bubbling around in her mind. the last thing kafka is, is blind, your unusual behaviour has not bypassed her perceptive eye at all, but she believes she has uncovered the reasoning as to why; said reasoning being a certain swordsman.
the revelation is definitely interesting, and she might just be able to give the push you both need.
“y’know what, bladie? if it concerns you that much, i’d say you go check up on y/n later,” kafka suggests.
“why not you?”
“i’ll be busy, but i think some support in dire times is just what y/n needs.”
“okay. fine.”
when blade gathers the courage to check up on you, like kafka recommended, the time is nearing 5pm. the sun is beginning to cool, the animals are retreating into their nests, and the big, bad, intimidating stellaron hunter is roaming around the archives, where you’re situated to work, hoping to locate you.
it takes a few laps around to finally find your placement because you’re fast asleep, only identifiable to blade by the jacket you hung on the back of your chair.
the sight of you hunched over your desk over a multitude of forms and papers causes a wave of concern (however much he can feel) to wash over blade, and suddenly, he does something completely foreign to him: dote over someone.
gently lifting your jacket to cover your shoulders, he stills when you shift a little, your eyebrows furrowing in your sleep. deciding to leave you alone, all blade spares is one lasting look at your vulnerability before leaving.
he wonders what it is that could be making you so frustrated.
(if only he knew).
a few days later, kafka confronts you about the suspicions that’s been creeping to the forefront of her mind.
“did you do something to piss a certain bladie off?”
kafka’s saccharine voice is laced with mischief as she leans towards you, chin resting on the palm of her hand. she certainly does not miss the way you tense up at the mention of the swordsman’s name and her smirk widens when you shuffle away, subconsciously turning away, as if avoiding the subject.
“i can’t think of why i would have,” you murmur, crossing your arms. “why?”
“oh, nothing, he’s just been complaining and crying a lot recently.”
“he does that all the time.”
“so he does,” your fellow stellaron hunter hums. “except he’s mentioning your name a lot more nowadays.”
you freeze. “what?”
“hm? did i say something peculiar?”
inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself. you know what kafka wants out of you and you’re not going to give it to her despite how innocent and pretty she spins the web to look. after all these years together, you hope to have learnt a thing or two about how to avoid her snare.
“what is blade saying about me?” you quiz.
she blinks at you. “why so curious if you haven’t done anything?”
“can i not ask about something that involves my name? besides, he’s my friend, i want to know what he’s saying,” you lean against the back of the couch, trying to calm the involuntary shake in your legs. you despise that the slightest mention of blade can cause a bottomless pit to form in your stomach and it’s not because of how intimidating or threatening he is.
no, it’s because you’ve fallen for him, hook, line, and centre.
and blade would have to die before you ever tell him.
“mostly just grumbles about wondering where you are,” kafka expands, waving her hands about to match her words. “he asked silver wolf and i if you’ve been talking to us and when we said ‘yes’, he looked pissed! when i asked why he was being a sourpuss, he just stormed off.”
“so temperamental, that man,” she sighs. then, she looks back at you with those half-lidded eyes that have always gotten her what she wants, and in this case, they’re answers. “so tell me, y/n, what did you do to our bladie to have him all riled up like this?”
“nothing. absolutely nothing.”
“are you sure?”
“positive.”
“positive?”
you avoid her curious gaze. “positive.”
“maybe i phrased the question wrong. has bladie done something to you instead?”
panic settles within you. “no,” you lie through your teeth. “he hasn’t.”
“so if i asked you why you left breakfast so abruptly that day, you wouldn’t say that it’s because of him?”
“i had work to do, kafka, you know how busy my job gets.”
“i know, i know,” she persists, “then why weren’t you in a hurry before blade arrived that morning?”
you don’t know how to refute that, letting silence speak volumes instead.
“and why did you skip out on lunch with silver wolf and i? was it because we also invited a certain someone?”
“okay! fine, you’ve got me. what do you want to know?” you explode, tossing your phone on the couch in frustration.
“so it is about blade?” questions your coworker.
“yeah. it is.”
“what about him? did he do something to hurt you? you know he’s accidentally mean sometimes-”
“it’s not that, he’s nothing but a sweetheart.”
“so what’s the problem?”
“that is the problem! he’s just… he’s him.”
“is that bad?”
“for my heart, yes.”
“oh my- so you like him?”
you exhale exasperatedly, “don’t act like you haven’t already figured that out, kafka.”
the cheshire smile she then flashes sends shivers down your spine. for whatever reason, an oppressive feeling grows in your gut, resembling something like a warning.
“you’re right, i knew,” she flaunts. then, her gaze cuts to look behind you. “but i don’t think blade did.”
your heart lurches out of your chest with enough force to pull you off the couch and you stumble around to see that, lo and behold, blade was indeed standing in the hallway. the expression he wears tells you enough; he heard you, he knows.
kafka somehow sneaks her way out of the room, leaving you alone to deal with the face of rejection. it’s daunting being in the same space as him after so long, you almost forgot about the intimidating pressure that blade naturally exudes and projects in every space he enters.
“hi,” you start, looking away.
he stalks over to you, footsteps soundless before stopping a feet in front of you. instead of saying something, the swordsman merely gazes down at you whilst you keep your eyes glued to the side.
“can you reject me already? the silence is kinda killing me,” you snap after a few seconds, crossing your arms protectively.
instead of obeying to your request, blade does something completely unexpected; he very gently lifts your chin with his hand, and red eyes bore right into yours. is it odd to feel seen in your demise? because blade is looking- no, surveying you with such immense focus and clarity that your heart stills, frozen in position because it wants him to see the most picturesque part of you.
(he sees it, but he wants to know more of you. the pretty, the ugly, the likeable, and the unwanted.)
“would you like to go on a date?” he asks.
© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
#this was awful </3#blade x reader#blade hsr x reader#ren x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x gn!reader#blade x gn!reader#blade fluff#blade x reader fluff
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damnation (peek VI?)
Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.
Characters: Ortho Shroud, Idia Shroud.
Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.
Note: I was looking back at previous sneak-peeks and I realized I've been kinda spoiling y'all with these. But, don't ever let it be said that I don't cherish y'all, so here you go. While I'm currently about 2/3 of the way towards completing the result (if I don't have to rewrite it or change scenes or do anything major), the sneak-peek is only about eight or nine pages. Which is still a lot when you consider that the end result will be anywhere from 42 to 45 pages. Let's hope that I continue writing at this steady pace. I will not give a date for when this is fully completed, so please don't ask! It's done when it's done.
I . . . II . . . III . . . IV . . . V . . . VI . . . VII
THE LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD
Cold metal. There was a slight weight on the top of your skull, like the heft of a helmet. Carefully reaching up, your fingers touched thin cold metal, but as you tried to gingerly remove it, it failed to come off. Gentle tugs become harsh pulls, but that only serves to form an ache in your head as if you were pulling on your hair. Was it some sort of deadly contraption placed on prisoners? Was this how they wanted you to die? By crushing your skull with this thing?
“Wh– Where am I…?”
As you stumbled over your own two feet, you stopped yanking on the metal on top of your cranium. Fear took root as you took note of your surroundings, dark and unfamiliar, those same qualities as the jail cell but this was unlike any prison. There were high walls with columns of gray and silver and gold, arched ceilings that were mixes of blues and grays and blacks which almost looked like painted murals that had been smeared across the surface. The floor was freezing like cement, but it was a smooth polished dark gray. With at least two floors, the second was accessible by some wide curved stairs which lead to more of the unknown. Your voice echoed in the space, leaving you to believe you were completely alone.
Skull-crushing could still be on the list of possible ways to die. Or would your punishment be isolation? Complete solitude was known to drive people insane. It didn’t even seem like a single soul alive was here, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing in the otherwise unsettling silence. White flowers from large vases wilted, their petals suspended gray and limp like hanged bodies.
On the floors you nearly slip and hit your head, but you manage to grab a nearby column that was as thick and sturdy as an old oak tree. That’s when you caught sight of your reflection in a nearby huge vase coated with a reflective exterior. You were staring wide-eyed at an unfamiliar figure, so odd that it took a moment to register that it was truly you.
A long black cloth with dark blue meander borders acted like a shirt or a robe, wrapping over one shoulder and extending in different directions to act like a small cloak and cover part of your legs. From your hips to your ankles covered by part of the top cloth, were a pair of black pants with more blue meander borders decorating it. They were like modern day sweatpants and an ancient palla all in one outfit, which you might’ve admired if you weren’t currently filled with confusion and dread. That metal object on your head was like a headpiece, with two long thin black protruding pieces slicked back that glowed a slight blue. Like a demon’s horns. Impossible to remove.
You resembled a demon with these horns, a devilish little imp. When your eyes adjusted, the reflective surface of the vase was painted. Painted black and browns, like the famous Athenian ceramic styles with figures of black and brick red. Except, each vase depicted a different scene. A powerful muscled figure standing proudly and holding a bolt of lightning; a baby strangling two large snakes; a young scrawny man training beside a satyr and a pegasus.
“Get– these off…!”
An imp… you were an imp! Horror spread across your features, and the constant tugging to remove the metallic horn-like objects from your skull served pain stronger than a slap, to let you know that this was no dream. The judges had cast the final verdict, and as soon as you arrived you were destined to live as a miserable little creature to serve a higher being. A god.
A God of the Underworld, that wielded the deadliest of blue flames and kept all souls contained within his land of misery. A being of divinity who envied his family and others who dwelled high in the clouds of Mount Olympus, so he planned meticulously for years to lay siege to the mountain by freeing titans who would wreak havoc across the globe. Just as he sits on the throne where the God of Thunder and King of Gods once dwelled, the human son of that royal god arrived to face the dark god. That gloomy and dreary antagonistic god had three main underlings, two of which were imps he regularly abused and tormented.
Maiming, wringing their necks, burning them in blue fire, those were just some of the torture those imps faced at the hands of their master. You felt yourself fall to your knees in a heap, like a rag doll, by the overwhelming emotions weighing in your mind and the now new burden of survival on your shoulders. This was hell, literally. So caught up with this newfound revelation, that you didn’t even notice the vases become blank as if by magic, wiping the depicted scenes off their surface. Hallucinations!
These must’ve been hallucinations formed by your unstable mind–– You were especially sure of it when it felt as if the ground vanished beneath your feet and were surrounded by dark mists. The dark and elegant place you had once stood in, was gone, and you plunged into a dark pit. A small plunge, then you fell on rocky uneven earth, leading you to fall flat on your face. There was hardly any light, and the ceiling was low. But, there was a blue flame, a small glow to which you opened your eyes to.
In front of you was a young boy that looked more akin to an android. Surely, another illusion, but your certainty wavered when it blinked at you. It blinked with its wide bright yellow eyes. Its eyes were like a light, as was its hair made of what seemed like real blue flames that was like a torch in this small cave. Its body was dark and metallic, part of those metals extending over the mouth like a mask. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder if you chickened out. Are you ready to put on a show? Remember, we gotta make it believable, the hero won’t be the only one there! We gotta trick all the humans!”
“W-What…?” You watched as the android-like being opened up a hologram in front of him, and on the screen of light were various shapes and figures of numerous creatures and people alike.
Whatever this thing was, its voice became monotone for a brief few seconds as its pointer finger landed on the image of a normal young boy. “Selecting… Loading… Finalizing appearance.” In an instant, a light flashed over him and he became that little boy in the hologram. “What do you think? Pretty convincing, huh? Now, your turn!”
If you squint, it was like peering through glass, because at some angles you could still see the android. However, you had absolutely no time to question it, or the situation at hand, or what he could’ve possibly meant, because the quiet was shattered by the squeal of what sounded like a horse.
Scrambling onto your feet, you approached the thin tiny opening where light filtered in, far too small to squeeze through but just big enough to peer through. It took a few spare seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light of the outside on this cloudy day, but you could make out high rock cliffs as gray as the sky. And a white horse with wings, a pegasus, several meters away with two people. A young man in purple who looked quite ruffled and a muscular woman with auburn locks. You blanched upon recognizing the location.
The mighty hero was said to have fought his first life-threatening battle in a gorge, just like this one. It was a battle that nearly cost him his life. The human servant, obliged to serve the dark Lord of the Underworld, lured the hero to the gorge under the guise of an accident requiring urgent attention from a savior. When in actuality, the accident involved two children trapped under rubble where nearby the hydra lurked. And those two children? Were the two imps who also served the God of the Dead. One imp, you were one. And the other? Beside you now, which explained his matching metallic horns on his head. Meaning the hydra was near. Each breath you took increased in pace, on the very verge of hyperventilating––
“Help! Hurry! We can’t breathe!” The android boy cried for help, his little eyes peeking out of the same gap you were peering out of. Even his voice sounded different with whatever magic or technology he used to disguise himself. As the hero was running over and a crowd was forming a good distance away, your fellow imp looked at you and whispered in confusion, “Where’s your disguise? You can’t let her see––”
“Get me out…!! Please! Anyone! Someone!” You gasped, suddenly realizing just how small it was underneath this massive boulder. It was a miracle it hadn’t crashed down yet, killing you instantly like rock squishing an ant. But if the boulder didn’t kill you, then the hydra would. And that was what terrified you, causing you to scream for help.
The young boy’s eyes brightened up, looking a bit taken aback at your volume before he grinned. At least, he must’ve been grinning, judging by the way his eyes lit up. Pausing his very loud pleas, he whispered in amazement, “Wow, you’re really good at this acting!”
You were not acting. Especially not when help arrived in the form of the protagonist.
Instead of a man as depicted in the stories, it was a woman. A woman with innocent blue eyes and a kind voice that attempted to ease the worries of what she must’ve thought were two poor victims trapped beneath debris from a rock slide. Her eyes darted from what she saw as a regular little boy, then over to you. “It’s okay, I promise you’ll be alright.” Those eyes like the bright blue sky, softened with a hint of pity, maybe because you just looked that pitiful and on the verge of tears. Because you knew what monster would come lurking from the gorge just moments after you and the small horned being beside you are supposed to be saved.
Incredibly, with only a minimal amount of struggling, the hero heaved the boulder slowly above her head. Even though the rock was easily ten times her size, she raised it up high above her shoulders, allowing you and the boy to scamper out of the pit. Managing a charming smile despite the tons of weight she was holding, she began, “How are you holding up? Are you injured or––”
Running. You were running. There was no way you would waste even a second here, and become a victim to that three-headed beast. It sounded like the hero had shouted something as you fled, and were followed by the android boy still in disguise as he called for you to wait up. Climbing, climbing, you took what looked like a thin path on a narrow cliff’s edge until you reached a hollow cavity hidden by shadows and boulders. By then you were out of breath, heaving, the ache in the back of your legs screaming from all that climbing and your lungs burning.
However, it seemed as if your torment were far from over. As your gaze traveled up, you stilled like a deer in the headlights. There, engraved within the very surface of the rugged stone walls, was a mausoleum that appeared to be left abandoned. Its smooth columns held up ledges, and at the very mouth of the entrance was a throne of pure stone occupied by a stranger. A stranger that looked eerily similar to the android that had been your company.
A figure who sat looking quite bored upon witnessing a mortal with inhuman strength. There were no words, but just by appearance alone you knew that this was the divine god that ruled the underworld. Fire, blue fire, ran from the top of his head down his spine and over thin shoulders. He was covered from neck to toe, completely in robes of dark blues and dull grays. Long sleeves with meander patterns extended to his wrist, and even his bony fingers were pitch black either due to the fabric of a glove or it was his actual skin, you couldn’t tell. The himation, the cloth that pooled on the floor at his feet, was pinned by a brooch resembling a skull.
Chilling yellow eyes leered down at you, his blue lips pulled back slightly in a grimace to reveal unnaturally sharp teeth on his pale face. Under his judgemental gaze, you felt like a miserable little roach scuttering about underfoot. “This isn’t a theater, and you’re not Dionysus, tryhard. That was major overkill. You screamed so much I heard you loud and clear from all the way up here, pretty sure all those humans heard you.”
In the blink of an eye, the android’s disguise was gone and he floated beside you. Placing a gentle but cold metallic hand on your back, he eagerly piped up, “I think they did really good, brother!” Brother? The god, the villain of this story, was his brother? Well certainly the resemblance was there between the god and the being in the role of the imp. “Did you see the look on the hero’s face, Idia? By my estimations, the act fooled all mortal onlookers!”
Brother. But… that couldn’t be possible. Now that you were high up beside the god, Idia is what your partner in crime had called him, you were no longer so fearful of immediately becoming the hydra’s next meal. That wouldn’t happen, especially when according to the story, the lord of the underworld was the one who controlled the hydra. But now you were currently more concerned and fearful of the literal divine being sitting in front of you. The lord’s brothers were only supposed to be other gods from Mount Olympus, not a being that served him. What else was different about the story? More importantly, what would he do to you once he realized that you did not belong?
“Okay, fine. Stirring performance gets five stars from me. Definitely better than that uber cringe Oedipus play that came out a while back. Ortho, nice, you really played the cute little kid you gotta feel for, and you…” Idia directed his attention to you, and you froze in place under his gaze as he sized you up. “You actually weren’t that annoying this time. So congrats, I guess.” He added dismissively, apparently bored with this prelude as the crowd of humans down below continued to clap for the protagonist that had just saved two souls from the boulders in the gorge. Then, his gaze traveled over to the shadows, on a small cliff where a figure you hadn’t even noticed had been standing in silence. “And can’t forget you. A thumbs-up for the leading guy. Even a girl like her can’t resist you, huh, Meg? Talk about pretty privilege. It must be nice.”
Startled slightly by the new presence, you glanced over, spotting a slightly familiar face looking over the cliff. It was that man who had been accompanying the protagonist. A fairly handsome looking man with brown wavy hair, in a purple chiton and baggy loose gray pants. Again, there was that modern style mixed with ancient, making you question what time this took place in. But that question was so insignificant compared to the rest of your worries, that it would be pushed to the very back of your mind.
Looking from Meg to Idia, you compare the two faces. The God of the Underworld certainly wasn’t ugly, per say. In fact, he was ethereal in his own unique way. It was more of an acquired taste to appreciate the slight cheekbones, the aquiline nose, and the dim glow his fire blue hair provided in the dark space. He wasn’t exactly the beauty standard that could be compared to a warm summer day, but cold rainy nights could be just as beautiful.
“What are you staring at? Can you not? Seriously, don’t you know that’s rude?” The god muttered in a near sneer, his gaze unable to meet yours. In fact, he appeared to be looking anywhere but at you. Like he was nervous. But what would a god have to be nervous about? “When I leave home, I’d rather not be gawked at like some freak. I don’t need another reminder.”
Embarrassment caused your heat to creep up your neck and into your cheeks as you lowered your head swiftly in an apologetic nod. With your eyes now glued to the ground, you didn’t lift your head even an inch. It was a mercy that he didn’t appear to be a wrathful god. Cruel, perhaps, but apparently not quick to violence. If he was the hostile type, the last thing you would probably see was his calming blue fire turn an angry red before your body became nothing but ashes in the wind and your soul joining the countless in the river of the dead. In an effort to appease him so he wouldn’t believe you were staring for the wrong reasons, you began hesitantly, in a nervous tone, “I-I’m sorry–– I was staring because, well, you talk as if y-you didn’t have that specific privilege either.”
Because you kept your head down, you failed to see all three of them, Ortho, Idia, and even Meg whipped his head around to stare with their own forms of shock as you snapped your mouth shut. There was no room to question what was said and done.
“Not funny, didn’t laugh. I had no idea the role of jester was just taken up. Last I knew, we had that position available. Guess I was wrong.” He replied, unamused, and surprisingly not offended. At least he didn’t seem as if he was about to smite you for offending a god. It was jarring how lax he was, but he spoke with bitter sarcasm which actually hurt. “If I wanted a laugh, I’d probably watch you snivel and cry again, but honestly it’s way more pathetic than funny so there’s really no point in it unless I want to remind myself that there’s someone within a ten foot radius who’s giving me a run for my money in the pity department.”
“I don’t think any of you are pathetic or pitiful.” Ortho chimed in, throwing in his two cents on the matter. To which the god only glanced at. “Shall I search our records for the soul of a successful jester? I believe we may have a few that once served kings in past centuries?”
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the motion while propping up his elbow on the armrest of the stone throne. “Nah, don’t bother, none of them are that funny anyways. It’s not worth the effort of fishing them out of the river of souls. Once we secure our win, then maybe I’ll consider it when Thalia runs out of jokes to tell.”
Thalia? Wasn’t that the name of one of the muses? Did he plan to use those divine beings as servants once he conquered Mount Olympus?
“Uh, you can scram now? I know your soul is probably drawn to the company of other mortals like pretty-boy Meg over there and that schlemiel Heraclea.” Idia scoffed, looking a bit bitter. Although, maybe that was his natural expression along with the constant gloom that seemed to permanently linger around the divine being. He rolled his eyes, murmuring the word so it sounded like an insult, “Mortals.”
“T-Then… I’ll talk to Meg.”
#yandere#ortho shroud#idia shroud#twisted wonderland#twst#yandere twst#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#twst writing#work in progress#damnation twst au
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the weight of words — alhaitham x mute! reader
notes: based off of this tiktok i found a long while ago featuring a poem that serves as the base for this fic <3 i feel like this is very poorly written / rushed and it lacks a good flow but i wanted to get it out asap bc i didn’t have any more energy to write it LOL
tags: italics represent handwritten notes, reader is implied to be rlly smart / top of the class, implied depressive episode (reader), self deprecation (reader), fluff → angst → fluff, may or may not be an inaccurate rep. of mute individuals, ooc alhaitham, not proofread
this was a little more irksome than he wanted to admit.
at the very top of the akademiya, far away from prying eyes, sat a student bathed in sunlight. from a distance, he observed. you held a book in one hand and an apple in the other, while your legs dangled off of the ledge. he couldn’t discern much from your backside.
but what bothered him the most was that you were seated in “his” spot. the spot he always crept away to during lunch, mainly for its isolation and breathtaking view.
without hesitation, alhaitham approached you. he tapped on your shoulder and stared with an intensity akin to the blazing sun in june. “excuse me,” he began. “i normally sit here. i would greatly appreciate it if you moved to another place, as i’m most accustomed to this spot.”
a silence washed over as you stared up at him. your lack of response left him annoyed — did you find this funny?
however, as you set down your book and snack gently, alhaitham found himself surprised for the first time in a while.
a notebook sat on your lap as you wrote rapidly. the man watched quietly.
i’m afraid not. there are countless other spots up here, and i just happened to get to this one first.
a sigh slipped from his lips. while he wasn’t unfamiliar with stubborn personalities around campus, this particular interaction seemed to interest him more than it irritated him. alhaitham nodded and sat beside you, much to your surprise.
he listened as you flipped your page and began writing again, this time taking up less space on the paper.
why do you like sitting here? you passed the notebook to him.
he wrote much slower in comparison to you, however, his handwriting bore an elegance you had not seen before, as if each letter carried a song in the ink. you found it beautiful.
the lack of noise.
his short response made you smile — simple and straight to the point. another thing you deemed wonderful.
he did not hand the notebook back to you, but instead, continued to write. i dislike unnecessary sounds. they serve as useless interruptions. up here, i find that in comparison to the chatter of students, the ambience is soothing. alhaitham placed the notebook in your lap gingerly and looked into the distance, his gaze absent yet his thoughts reverberating.
you continued this back and forth with him for the entirety of the lunch break. the lines engraved on your palms spilled over with ink smears, and you found your dominant arm growing weary. you did not write your goodbyes on the paper, therefore leaving your conversation unfinished. you left with a smidge of warmth in your heart and a smile on your face in hopes of meeting him again the next day.
from afar, you could see the way he sat leaning slightly more towards one side, and the occasional tapping of his fingers against the table as he wrote. he drank from a small mug of what you presumed to be coffee, but rather than holding the handle, he gripped the cup from its mouth. another intricacy that piqued your interest.
he noticed your stare after a few seconds, eyes of jade and clementine meeting yours. without a word, he relocated to your table, sitting directly across from you. “hello,” he greeted softly. “i didn’t know you frequented this place either.” his gaze flickered over to your notebook peeking out of your schoolbag, and when you pulled it out to respond to him, he found himself getting uncharacteristically excited.
i don’t, actually. i wanted a change of pace, but i’m not sure how much i’m enjoying it. you pushed the book across the table to him.
is it too loud to study? that’s surprising.
you looked up at him questioningly for a moment before jotting down your reply. i’m not studying. i’m just here to read. his lips upturned noticeably at your words, an expression you wished to carve into the crevices of your memory for eternity. he was painstakingly beautiful.
alhaitham didn’t respond for a handful of seconds, instead opting to look outside the window to his left. strands of sunlight draped themselves onto his perfectly crafted face and fell between each strand of hair. a view that compared to the one at the top of the akademiya.
a conversation of short responses — ranging from questions about your darshan, to your favorite season, to the books you enjoyed reading — ensued, the evidence splayed onto the paper. you appreciated his company, for it was rare that anyone sought to talk with you.
he asked another question, his curiosity seeping out endlessly. why do you communicate like this?
a thin-lipped smile etched itself onto your lips. the ink of your pen ghosted atop the paper, your hesitation evident. i was born mute. i have no voice, therefore i cannot communicate in a normal manner.
you grew increasingly anxious as he looked at you with an expression that was terrifyingly unreadable. your hands rested atop the notebook, keeping it away from him for reasons you didn’t understand quite yet.
“that’s okay,” he spoke, the baritone of his voice cutting through your shared silence. “i don’t mind it. actually, i think i prefer it. over the grating voices of the other scholars i know, at least.” he went on about his senior, a friend in kshahrewar who apparently could never keep his mouth shut in his presence. you merely listened, soaking in his words and absorbing each syllable that spilled out of the cracks between his teeth. your confession rendered you utterly silent, but seemingly, he paid no mind.
again, your conversation ended without a proper goodbye. your notebook sat still on the table. moments after his departure, you stayed in your seat, contemplating the complications of this newfound acquaintance.
alhaitham’s life revolved around routine and quiet. he needed both to go about his day in an efficient and satisfying manner; otherwise, he would end up feeling rather unfulfilled and bothered.
perhaps that is why he found himself so drawn to you. in comparison to many of his classmates, who were incessantly obnoxious and needlessly talkative, you were quiet, not just vocally, but in every other aspect. your handwriting was consistent and each letter looked just as neat as the other. your responses were similar to his in that they were direct and honest. and, oddly, you radiated a warmth that he could not see in anyone else.
his next encounter with you wouldn’t be for a handful of days. he knew you were a student, thus resulting in his confusion — he had never seen you around campus until that day.
he ran into you during one of his lectures. you sat right beside him in a seat that wasn’t usually occupied. he began to question you with pen and paper, as usual.
since when were you enrolled in this class?
i always have been. this isn’t a necessary class for my darshan, it’s just an extra period for me to increase my credits. i don’t come to class very often.
he quirked a brow up. you fiddled with your pen.
interesting how i haven’t heard of you until now. alhaitham smiled softly at your muffled giggle, one that he had not heard until then. the noise swarmed his chest with a lightness he could not replicate.
you might have fallen too soon.
alhaitham was a simple man, yet alluring all the same. you had snuck away his perfections and imperfections in a different notebook. for instance:
3 - straightforward and direct
21 - prefers tea over coffee
44 - can’t sleep without a weighted blanket
your ever-growing infatuation for him began to blossom in the cavities of your stomach, and soon, it would infect everything above. you could not bear it — nights spent in solitude, where he would discuss his interests (which were minimal) until you fell asleep; afternoons spent in comfort, where you would share a slice of cake to celebrating a particularly difficult exam. he consumed your very being, the neurons that invoked muscular response and the veins that carried your blood here and there; all of it was him. and yet, you could not meaningfully share this with him, your silence embedding your heart in a crevice far away.
it seemed that he got to it first, anyways.
alhaitham asked you a simple question — if you were capable of speaking for a day, what would you say? he had begun carrying his own memo book to conversate — another addition to the list.
you sat in silence for a brief period before writing, every thought and feeling and idea that has ever encountered my mind would leave my lips.
he wrote, then i will give you just that, and more.
when you began dating alhaitham, you found that he was much more eager to “speak” to you consistently. he would write in his same font and present to you a variety of inquiries, ranging from plans for the day to what you wanted for dinner. he was the epitome of a loving man, a far cry from the tales of coldheartedness and brutality you’ve heard of him. and yet, something began to gnaw at your lungs as he did so.
alhaitham was your voice to speak through — he was the monotonous ramblings, the heavy whispers, the gentle laughs; he held all of those for you. seemingly, life became far more breathable.
but your love was just as restricting as it was kind. to speak is to suffer, but to not speak at all is beyond that — it is torture. nights were spent staring at alhaitham’s sleeping figure, questioning whether he truly felt the affection you expressed. gifts, contact, quality time; what good was it if you could not do something as simple as converse with him? it extended beyond him, as well — for reasons unknown, it grew increasingly difficult to communicate with your new professors and classmates, the downturns of their lips as you pulled out a notebook gut-wrenching. you questioned if alhaitham felt the same.
you began to spiral.
a rapid set of knocks arrived at your door at a questionable hour. the sun hung high in the sky, albeit obscured by your curtains. a soft buzz rung in your room.
“i know you’re inside,” a voice spoke from the other side of the wood. he knocked again.
you made no move to open the door, nor to approach it, nor to get up from your bed. in response, the hinges creaked and heavy footsteps neared.
“why have you locked yourself in here?” alhaitham asked, his tone indiscernible. you didn’t see it, but you heard him shuffling around your bedroom. “where is your notebook?”
it was silly. he spoke as if you could respond, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to be sorrowful or upset.
he pulled the blanket from off of your head, his face indifferent as he witnessed your disheveled state. “i’m not sure what’s going on, but i can assure you i will wait until you’re well enough to speak to me again. i will always wait.” alhaitham set his own memo book and pen beside your pillow. a warm hand held yours, a signal of reassurance. “please get better as soon as you can.”
he turned around to leave, and you could not bring yourself to reach out for him. what would you do? would the words crawl out of your throat, akin to a miracle? or would you plead at him with desperate eyes in hopes he’d read your mind? you did not know. every instance would inconvenience him in some way — that you could not bear.
you did not step foot outside for another week. alhaitham (and kaveh, much to your surprise) had left meals and gifts next to your door, all of which remained untouched. you were in stasis.
each thought had been replaced by a fog so asphyxiating that it had drowned every word the moment it rose to the surface. a bubbling exhaustion boiled in you. you wished to speak, to express anything at all, to apologize for inconveniencing those around you, and to apologize to alhaitham for putting him through such an obstacle.
as if sensing this desire, he arrived at your dorm again, this time with a more gentle appearance and a large bag behind him.
you reached out for the notebook he placed beside you a week prior. why are you here?
he kneeled down beside you, paying no mind to your disheveled appearance, and spoke softly, “i’m sorry.” if it were fitting, he would have laughed at the instantaneous furrow of your brows. “i should’ve realized. and in failing to do so, i have failed you.” alhaitham took the notebook and pen from your grasp, and with an unrivaled delicacy, he held you.
“i would give up my own voice if it meant i could spend an eternity with you,” he began. “i do not care if you lack a voice of your own. you’re still embedded in my heart all the same.”
you had not written to him for days. and yet, he understood everything. he read the words displayed in your features with a familiarity no one had demonstrated.
758 - willing to help me heal.
alhaitham sat across from you, his back hunched over his work and his face framed with a mix of feather-gray hair and wispy sunlight. he wrote with an unmatched fluidity, as if time were escaping him.
he let out a sigh as he set down his pencil and sat up straight. “why must you sit with me if you’ve finished this assignment weeks ago? it’s as if you’re mocking me.”
it’s entertaining. he grabbed the notebook from your side of the table and wrote haphazardly, contrasting his smooth technique before.
it’s really not. i feel as if i’m being ridiculed and observed under a microscrope. it’s horrible, he teased.
you’re smart, anyways. you’ll survive.
afternoons in the akademiya’s library were once suffocating and exhausting. to be surrounded by peers who could only sneer and misjudge and question was unpleasant. now, as you sat with your lover in a soft silence, you felt at peace.
#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin fanfic#genshin angst#genshin fluff#genshin smut#genshin impact angst#genshin alhaitham#alhaitham#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham fluff#alhaitham angst#alhaitham smut
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These Things Take Time (Yandere! Supernatural! Taehyung x Reader)
Synopsis: There's something wrong with your boyfriend Taehyung. At least, you think it's him.
16.5k
Trigger warnings: yandere behavior, psychological gaslighting, violence, gore, some heavy making out, strong language, AFAB reader (she/her) I'm sure I'm missing some but you know me and what I write lol
Authors note: just a real quick thank you to @bigbuffjoonie and @mustardpop for having beta read and brainstormed with me literally a year ago about this fic that I never published until now.
-----
He passionately thrusted her against the wall, mouthing at her neck while muttering disgusting things that he was going to do to her.
It was foul…
It was taboo…
It was…..
Your fingers paused and hovered over the keyboard, the constant clicking of your writing coming to a sudden halt.
Your eyes scanned the last few lines, lips instinctively mouthing the words and checking the overall flow of the plot.
Your two main characters were about to fuck each other’s brains out after a long ‘will they or won’t they’ that spanned well over a dozen chapters.
There should be a feeling of torture, a feeling of relief, a feeling of frenzied lust that just couldn’t contain itself anymore and combusted within the contents of these pages.
That is what you desperately wanted your loyal readers to experience when they get to this scene.
Yet when reading the long-awaited buildup, you felt nothing.
You cared for every character you created like a mother does their child, them getting their happy endings was just as important to you as it was to them. So why did you feel so numb and dissociated from everything you’ve been typing the past hour?
You released a disillusioned sigh and leaned back into your chair. Your eyes stung from staring at a screen for so long and your limbs ached to be stretched with hours of immobility.
Writer’s block was a bitch.
Unlike other skills, writing was one of the few expertise that working harder at it won’t guarantee a better outcome. You could type away until your fingers were bruised and bloody, but it doesn’t mean anything you wrote would be worth shit. Writing was a talent and it came and went as it pleased. And right now it was gone.
Which left you very depressed and your editor very pissed.
You gave up the fight and reluctantly closed your laptop. Then stood to your full height, to give your back a much-needed stretch.
‘I tried today. And that’s okay. I’ll try again tomorrow.’ You thought to yourself, half heartedly taking your therapist’s advice to acknowledge your efforts and not just the outcomes.
When in a creative slump, it has been said that reading other works can be a source of inspiration. Can’t be a good writer yourself, then go out and read a good writer. With this thought in mind, you slowly exited your office and descended down the stairs.
Last week your mom sent you a book she recommended, and you’ve been so busy trying to finish your own novel that you just tossed it somewhere and haven’t touched or looked for it since. Though, you were almost certain you caught sight of it on the coffee table yesterday.
When you stepped into the living room, you spotted a familiar figure standing by the large bay window.
The sight tugged a small fond smile onto your face.
Taehyung was your boyfriend of six months.
He was strikingly attractive, tall, kind and clearly didn’t know his own worth because not only was he dating you, but he also agreed to move into this secluded farmhouse while you tried to finish your book. He assured that he could use this time and space to focus on his paintings as well, but you knew deep down he just didn’t want to leave you alone out in the middle of nowhere.
Right now only his profile was facing you, his alluring feline eyes staring at the raining scene outside, dark brows furrowed in heavy thought. He looked to be biting on his lower lip, a habit you’ve never seen before, but you supposed you two have only been dating for a few months so there was probably a whole world of little quirks you didn’t know of yet.
The scene was a bit intense, as you weren’t used to your usually cheerful boyfriend looking so ponderous. Yet you shrugged it off and just assumed he was most likely brainstorming his next painting. Taehyung was your first artist boyfriend and your friends did warn you that they could be a bit dramatic.
You quickly surveyed the room and indeed located the book on the coffee table. While reaching for it you called out, “Hey love?”
Taehyung snapped his neck at a speed too fast for your liking, instantly facing you with eyes wide and blown out in what you could only assume was shock.
You giggled, thinking he was too absorbed in his own world that he probably just now noticed your presence.
“I know I said I wanted pasta for dinner but how about we order some chinese instead?” You asked. Taehyung didn’t say anything, eyes still wide in unknown revelation, entirely unmoving. You continued, “This weather makes me not want to do anything, and I know you complain about the delivery time but we could just reheat the food if it gets here cold.”
It seemed like forever but Taehyung eventually nodded.
He then turned to face the window again.
You inwardly sighed and guessed he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of chinese. He always complained that you didn’t take care of yourself and how you needed home cooked meals rather than greasy takeout. But when creatively burnt out like this, you tended to just reach for the doordash because the act of cooking seemed entirely too much for you.
Hoping to butter him up, you tipped toed from behind and wrapped your arms around him. You nuzzled your face into his back and took a deep breath, enjoying the familiar scent of his outrageously expensive cologne. His body seemed to melt into your hold, tense posture suddenly limp and calm.
You reached up and pecked his cheek, grinning when you caught sight of his lips twitching upwards. Harmless manipulation complete, you trudged out the room with a lukewarm “Thanks honey!”
You skipped up the stairs and made a left into a hallway, quickly getting into the bedroom and preparing to plop into the heavenly crumpled mess of sheets and blankets, when an unexpected sound caused you to still.
The front door was opening.
Afraid of a possible home invasion, you rushed out to see what was happening.
The door was wide open and emerging into the home…was Taehyung.
His hair and jacket was drenched from the rain, four or so heaping grocery bags in his hold as he looked up the stairs at you with a tired smile.
“Hey baby, can you give me a hand with some of this? I got some sauce for the pasta and picked up some other stuff we were running low on.”
Time stood still.
Your jaw dropped in bewilderment.
Your mind struggling to process this odd collapse of reality.
The nearest grocery store was, at its quickest, still a twenty-minute drive into town.
There was just no way Taehyung was able to leave and get back in the same time it took for you to get up the stairs and into your room.
No one can be in two places at once.
What the fuck was going on?
You just saw him. You just talked to him. You just smelled him. You just touched him.
Taehyung’s gaze worriedly ran up and down your face, correctly detecting that something was dreadfully wrong. He kicked the door closed behind him and rather ungracefully dropped the bags, hastily stepping over some of the falling items to race up the steps and take you in his hold.
“Y/n? Baby what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Did something happen while I was gone?” He fretted.
“I-w-what-you-j-just-living room…” You stammered, not even being able to bring yourself to voice what was happening.
“What? What about the living room? You’re not making any sense.”
You gulped, looking up at him with fear. “T-Tae, I could’ve sworn I just saw you in the living room. I talked to you.”
Your boyfriend’s face dropped.
“Y/n, get in the bedroom and lock the door behind you.”
You irritably huffed while blinking away oncoming tears, realizing Taehyung didn’t quite understand what you were saying. “No! Not like an intruder! It was you.”
“I’m right here Y/n. I just got back from the market. I haven’t been home in the past hour. There’s no way you just saw me in this house.” He slowly explained, as if you were having some mental breakdown and needed to be talked off the ledge.
Your temper rose. “No shit Kim Taehyung! That’s why I’m scared! Do you have a twin brother or something? Or did you come into the living room before going back to the car to get the groceries?”
Taehyung backed away from you, clearly put off by your outburst. “No? First off, you know I’m an only child. Secondly, why would I come in and let you talk to me before going back out in the pouring rain, bring in groceries and then pretend I have no idea what you’re talking about when you said you saw me in the house just now?”
You glared up at him, now feeling foolish for even being scared in the first place of something that most definitely had a logical explanation.
Your boyfriend always had a more playful side than you and this was most likely the first trick he was trying to play in your very young relationship.
“I told you I don’t like pranks, Taehyung. You can pull them on your friends all you want but you promised to never pull one on me.”
He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I’m not pranking you! It probably was an intruder who looked kinda like me and instead of letting me go and investigate, you're arguing with me?”
“It wasn’t an intruder! He didn’t take anything!”
Taehyung laughed incredulously, “Great, you're defending some robber over your own boyfriend now? I almost feel jealous.”
“There’s nothing to be jealous over because the guy was you!” You exploded.
“Which isn’t possible!”
“Go look then!” You relented.
Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice. He swiftly ran down the stairs and went through the entire house, searching for an unseen man who managed to trick his girlfriend into thinking he was him.
He found no such person.
It was only while you both wordlessly unpacked the groceries while licking the wounds of your little spat did Taehyung make a point that chilled you to the bone.
“Y/n, when you saw me…how did I look?”
You raised a brow at him. “I don’t know? You looked just fine.”
“Okay…and your working theory is I parked outside and came in, talked to you, then went back out, just to enter through the front again like nothing happened?”
You meekly shrugged, “Yeah I guess that would be a good trick.”
Your clever boyfriend pointed at the window, where it was still raining heavily. “I would've been soaked then, Y/n.”
That was the first incident.
—
Dinner that night was a tense affair.
At least until Taehyung solemnly apologized for being so bad at hiding his true identity.
He then fessed up to being the Korean version of The Flash.
Against yourself, you bursted out laughing.
Maybe it was all the anxiety of the day that made you loopy, or your desperate need to just return to normal but you apologized for snapping and blamed your overactive writer's imagination for everything.
Taehyung said it was okay and that you actually looked hot when angry, you knew for a fact you didn’t but took the compliment nonetheless and suggested an early night in.
And just like that your first couple fight was over.
Yet that night when you were in the arms of your slumbering boyfriend, with his peaceful snores rumbling in your ear, all you could think about was the other Taehyung.
You regretfully lied to your boyfriend.
You knew for a fact that it wasn’t your imagination.
You were never the type of writer who got so immersed in your work that you began imagining things and confusing them for reality. If anything, you were too grounded in reality. In addition to this, you highly doubted that multiple weeks of writer’s block would even allow for such a vivid mirage to occur.
And the most damning evidence of all, if it was your imagination…why would your mind conjure up the exact replica of your boyfriend? The very man you live with and see everyday for hours on end? Wouldn’t it be a character from your book? Or at least someone you haven’t seen in a while?
It all didn’t make sense, but you didn’t have enough information to say what it was, you just knew what it wasn’t.
You rolled over and buried your face into Taehyung’s chest, practically praying for the mystery to soon be over and solve itself quickly.
It was most likely the overthinking and looming dark corners of the bedroom, but you began to feel like someone was watching you through the small gap in your ajar bedroom door.
–
A few days passed and you have almost forgotten about the incident.
I mean, maybe not entirely but you were at least willing to chalk it up to a freak incident.
Scrolling through some discussion boards online showed that your story was actually pretty tame to what other unexplainable experiences some people have had. At least the other Taehyung didn’t try to scare or hurt you. It just seemed like he was doing his own thing really, like he was lost in his own world staring out that window. Thus you concluded that you weren’t in danger, and it therefore wasn’t worth freaking out about.
Mainly because your editor was on your ass and there was nothing productive about thinking of him when you were already so late on a deadline.
Naturally, you attempted to throw yourself into your writing, which was proving to be as fruitless as ever. Yet you knew giving your editor anything was better than nothing, leading you to sending half-assed drafts to him and enduring long calls about how your writing was okay, but not great.
You and Taehyung have been off too.
There was no more fighting or even words exchanged about the fiasco. However there still was an uneasiness between you two. You doubted that Taehyung believed your imagination excuse, but you also knew that he didn’t trust your original recollection of events either. Your boyfriend sort of walked on eggshells around you, almost as if you’d somehow think he was the imposter whenever he’d step into the room. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little offended by it.
Luckily, Taehyung was currently immersed with his art, rarely leaving his little workspace. You wished you could say the same but you felt like you were simply writing in circles without actually getting anywhere. It was hard to not be jealous, but at least you were given some space away from him after a rather unresolved fight.
Meanwhile, you were planning to take a day or two off of writing, to just let your mind wander and relax so that maybe the next time you sat behind a laptop you could actually produce something worthwhile.
Of course it would just so happen that it would fall on the very day you get sick.
Waking up that morning you felt feverish and lightheaded, telling yourself that you could just use fifteen more minutes of sleep and you’d probably feel better.
You woke up five hours later; feeling even more feverish, lightheaded, and now nauseous.
You trudged downstairs to the kitchen and popped back some painkillers with a glass of water, already fantasizing about getting back into your warm and comfy bed once again.
Except what could make your bed even warmer and comfier? Taehyung.
Your boyfriend was always the more affectionate one between you two, you often practically had to push him away when you were trying to get work done. But now that you were willingly going to ask for his affection, there was no way he’d let you go uncuddled.
Any awkwardness in the relationship was long forgotten as you stomped towards his workspace, a demand to be held heavy on your tongue. You were too sick and exhausted to try to navigate relationship politics, but the whole point of a boyfriend was that he was supposed to provide attention on demand, right?
You reached his door and feebly knocked, trying to be polite to his artistic process and not just barge in.
You heard some shuffling on the other side and soon enough your boyfriend was in front of you. Taehyung hadn’t shaved his face in days, a faint goatee gracing his already intimidatingly handsome face. His black hair was messy and fluffy, a gold chain gracing his neck and drawing attention to his lack of shirt and gray sweatpants.
He grinned at you, “What’s up baby?”
You pouted up at him, momentarily not even ashamed to resort to such cheap tricks, “I feel sick and want to be cuddled back to sleep.”
“Aww poor thing.” He crooned while leaning against the doorframe. “Why don’t you head back up to bed and I’ll be up as soon as I can? I just finished a sketch and really need to focus on the next few steps before I can quit for the day.”
You huffed, kind of annoyed that he wouldn’t even take a break to hold you.
He rolled his eyes at your reaction, “Don’t look at me like that, honey. When the muse strikes, I gotta paint. Otherwise I don’t know when I’ll get the next chance for inspiration. You understand, right?”
“Yeah, I’m just really crabby and being held sounded really good.”
Taehyung chucked, muttering to himself a “cute” before leaning forward and pecking your lips. “I promise I’ll try to be quick. Go drink some water and wait for me. I’ll bring you some soup when I’m done.”
You just nodded and left him to his work.
Instead of the bedroom, your feet somehow led you to the living room.
Maybe you should watch some tv while Taehyung worked? You already slept a lot today and if Taehyung was gonna be in bed with you later, perhaps it was a good idea to stay up for a little bit. Besides, you’ve been avoiding this part of the house ever since the incident and you needed to get comfortable in your own living room eventually.
Such a reminder of that rainy day caused you to cast a wary glance at the bay window, oddly feeling both relief and annoyance that nothing was there.
You plunked down onto the couch and wrapped a throw blanket around you, searching your usual streaming services for some comfort show to watch.
It was halfway through an episode of some show you’ve already watched countless times, when you heard footsteps approaching.
You looked up and saw your boyfriend, looking as cute and messy as before. Except now he held a sheepish smile on his face as he held up a steaming mug of something.
“What’s that?”
He took a seat next to you and gently handed the drink over. “Hot chocolate. I know protocol is tea whenever someone is sick, but I know how much you hate the taste.”
You fondly smiled and took the mug, flustered that he remembered such a minor detail about you. “Thank you love but you didn’t have to. You should be focusing on your work. Don’t let me distract you!”
Taehyung shook his head and threw an arm around you, holding you tight against him. He craned his neck and looked down to you, almost meeting you nose-to nose to connect his gaze with yours. Suddenly a serious expression replaced his formerly sheepish one.
“Actually, I wanted to talk.” He said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I-I wanted to say sorry.”
“For what?”
He licked his lips, “I know we’ve been kinda out-of-sync ever since you said you saw someone and I didn’t believe you. But, it just didn’t make sense. Like, how is that possible? Whatever the case though, I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were going crazy or something.”
You raised an eyebrow, “So you believe me then?”
“Yes. I know you wouldn’t lie. I don’t know what happened but…I know you know what you saw.”
A warm feeling spread across your chest, temporarily putting your sickness on the back burner. In truth, you weren't sure if the situation even called for an apology but you felt so pampered that your boyfriend cared enough to. “I-I’m sorry too, Tae. I shouldn’t have assumed you were being mean and pranking me. Snapping at you wasn’t cool.”
Taehyung just shrugged. “Nah, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
You secretly agreed that you were in the right but still, if he was being a big enough person to say sorry so should you. You turned your attention back to the drink in your hands, taking a sip.
You nearly moaned in pleasure when the flavor graced your taste buds.
“What did you put in this?”
“Oh just some cinnamon and-”
“Ginger.” You interrupted, knowing without a doubt that it was the other spice.
“Yup. Why? Is something wrong?” He asked, probably worried you didn’t like it.
“No! It’s perfect.” You said before gulping down more of the nostalgic hot chocolate. “When I was a kid, I had a babysitter who would make her hot chocolate with cinnamon and ginger. Mrs Fritz was her name, a really kind old lady from down the street. I was her favorite so she made hot chocolate for me all the time and watched me for free whenever my parents went out.”
Taehyung hummed, a small smile on his face as you fondly recalled one of the biggest figures of your childhood. “She must’ve had great taste.”
“Mrs. Fritz had impeccable taste.” You good-naturedly corrected with a giggle. “I miss her. When other kids wouldn’t play with me she would stay inside with me and color or read me these cool stories.”
“I would’ve played with you.” Taehyung grumbled, in all likelihood noting how you grimaced at the memory of not being all too popular as a kid.
“Haha, you definitely wouldn’t have! I was such a dork and actually hated playing outside. Kid me much rather be at home watching some old movies or something. Not to mention I was quite an ugly little girl.” You laughed.
Tae gasped dramatically, “That’s not true! You were adorable!”
“You saw like one picture of me at eight! And my mom did me all up for that picture! Trust me, I didn’t look that good at all.”
Taehyung looked like he wanted to argue further, but realizing you were right he just dropped it with an unconvincing, “Whatever you say.”
“But anyway babe, you really can go back to painting. I don’t want to keep you. If I had any inspiration right now, you wouldn’t be able to tear me away from my laptop.”
His arm tugged you even closer. “Nope, I’m alright where I’m at right now. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left my sick girlfriend all alone?”
You blushed, logically aware that you could handle yourself but emotionally over the moon that this beautiful man didn’t want you to. Selfishly, you wanted to take advantage of his presence even if it came at the expense of his art progress. So you placed the mostly empty mug on the coffee table, fishing out your phone from your sweatpant pocket and setting it there too.
You then curled up into his side, suddenly feeling so drowsy.
Taehyung held you closer, even playing with your hair as you lost the battle with your increasingly heavy eyelids.
You felt him press his lips against your forehead in a drawn out peck, as his nose ticked the crown of your head. He inhaled deeply, his everlasting love for your shampoo revealing itself once more.
“You okay?” His baritone voice whispered.
“Yeah. I just took some medicine that’s probably making me all sleepy.” You mumbled back.
You didn’t hear anything else, just felt as he rested his head on top of yours, presumably also closing his eyes to rest.
Slowly but surely feeling the mechanisms of your brain shut down, the darkness steadily taking over as the sound of the tv became more and more distant.
A notification from your phone caused you to open a single eye, quickly scanning the screen on the coffee table.
Taebear: Hey almost done over here! Do you mind turning down the TV a bit tho? Kinda distracting :(
Before you can even gasp, the medicine-induced darkness consumed you completely, effectively and brutally knocking you out.
That was the second incident.
–
“So like I was saying, I dumped his ass because what the fuck do you mean you ‘don’t know what we are’? I met his damn parents, Y/n!”
The voice blarred over the phone speaker, as you hummed rather noncommittally. “What a jerk. You can do a whole lot better, Lisa.”
You were in the laundry room, slowly taking clothes out of the dryer and folding them as you spoke on the phone with one of your closest friends. About once a week you two would have a call and catch each other up with your lives. Although, Lisa led a much more interesting life than you and usually had a crazy story to share every week, while you just reacted to it. It was kinda like a one listener podcast, but you didn’t mind as you were always very entertained with her.
“Thank you! I don’t know where I keep finding these guys. You really got lucky with Taehyung, all the other men our age are such assholes.” She groaned.
You wanted to laugh, but at the mention of your boyfriend’s name you froze.
Not catching your silence, Lisa continued, “Anyway, how are you and Taehyung doing? What’s it like to live together only six months into a relationship?”
“Actually…we had our first fight.” You told her. “Maybe. I don’t know. It may not even be considered a fight so much as a disagreement but I’ve been feeling a little awkward.”
“Oooh, what happened?” She didn’t even try to mask her excitement.
“It…I…Something happened and he didnt…I don’t know, Lisa. I’m going to sound crazy but I feel like I’m experiencing a glitch in the matrix or some shit.”
She pushed, “Try me. Remember when I used to be a flat earther? I’ll believe anything.”
Lisa made a good point, she was always down for conspiracies and even proclaimed herself a supernatural expert. So you relented, “Okay. Look, I don’t want you to laugh at me or anything because I’m being completely honest. I’m telling you this because I desperately need theories.”
“I promise I’ll give you a theory! Just get to it!” She barked over the phone, anxiously awaiting your story.
“Um, so earlier this week I went downstairs and saw Taehyung. I talked to him about ordering out instead of cooking, hugged him then went up the stairs. Then not even a second later Taehyung came home with groceries, telling me he wasn’t in the house at all when I said I saw him.” You paused, waiting for her to interject.
“Huh…” She trailed off, stumped herself with what that could mean.
“And yesterday, I went to Tae’s workspace to try to cuddle but he said he needed a bit more time with his painting and then he’d meet me upstairs. I went to the couch to wait and he suddenly came in and apologized for not believing me earlier. We cuddled and talked then…I got a text from Taehyung asking me to turn the tv down because it was distracting him.”
You took a deep breath to calm your rising nerves, not liking how you were managing to scare yourself all over again. “Lisa, how was I in Taehyung's arms when Taehyung wasn’t even in the room with me?”
“How did this other Taehyung act? Was he any different than your actual boyfriend?”
“I mean, the first time he didn’t say a word and I left the room quickly. The second time he was so sweet and…I don’t know. Maybe even nicer than my actual boyfriend but not like suspiciously so.”
“And there’s no difference between him and Taehyung? Same height, voice, birthmarks, everything?”
“Yes.”
A brief silence as she no doubt was working with a theory. “And you’ve never had experiences like this before you moved into that farmhouse?”
“None.”
“Ah-ha! It’s probably a ghost then!” She assured triumphantly.
You, however, weren’t so sure she solved the case. “A ghost that looks exactly like my boyfriend?”
“Well, crazier things have happened. You know, scientists say that each person has around six doppelgangers out there somewhere. What if this ghost was your boyfriend's doppelganger?”
“Still, why would he act like he was my boyfriend? Like, this ghost must have a different name and background than my Taehyung so why does he go along with it whenever I call him Taehyung and treat him like a boyfriend?” You questioned.
“The afterlife can get pretty dull. The ghost is probably just bored and noticed that Taehyung looks alot like him, so he’s using that to his advantage to mess around.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” You grumbled, pissed at the prospect of you being a little plaything to a bored spirit.
“I know babe but ghosts are mostly harmless. If it really starts to bother you, maybe get a medium to move him along or whatever.” Lisa advised.
“Yeah, maybe.”
–
Mom: Look what I found!
The text came with a video attached, and you clicked it without thinking much.
A chubby little girl of about three to five years of age was badly hiding in a school cubby. Her mini feet sticking out and wiggling as the rest of her body was covered by a hung up winter coat. The cameraman sighed dramatically from behind the scenes, asking loudly, “Oh where could Y/n possibly be?!”
The girl giggled and a new figure slowly snuck into frame, approaching the cubby with a large grin.
The preschool teacher suddenly reached into the cubby and snatched the girl up, holding her up in the air as if the toddler was a prize of some sort. “Gotcha!”
The mini version of you laughed in her hold, kicking the air in glee. “Miss Addison you found me! You’ll find me anywhere, right?”
The young teacher nodded as she placed you on your feet. “Of course! I have a really good Y/n sense! I’ll find you anywhere.”
“Even the moon?” Innocent you asked, most likely just having learned about the star.
“Yes, I’ll find you on the moon if I have to!” Miss Addison chuckled.
The video ended and you went to type your mom a half-hearted reply, mostly inquiring how she still even had that clip after all these years.
While doing so, you caught yourself wishing that you could show this to Taehyung and prove that you were indeed not the best company as a child, your teacher had to play hide-and-seek with you because no one else would.
Yet, it wasn’t Taehyung you had that particular conversation with. Rather other Taehyung.
Or as you and Lisa had nicknamed; ghost Taehyung.
You failed to tell your boyfriend about the second incident. He woke you up an hour or so later with his promised bowl of soup, softly scolding you for never turning down the tv.
Deep inside you were sure that he was already convinced you were crazy from the first time his replica showed up. You didn’t seek to push that theory even further. Mostly because you didn’t want him to admit you to a psych ward, but also because of another glaring reason. The first time you were sure that Taehyung himself was messing with you somehow, which prompted you to accuse him, but this time around you knew for a fact he was innocent.
Instinctively, you didn’t feel threatened by the doppelganger spirit. If anything you sorta wished he’d pop up again with a ginger-cinnamon hot chocolate. It was kinda weird that he was acting like your boyfriend when he wasn’t, but he didn’t try to be too intimate with you or anything. The lease on the farmhouse was only twelve months so you could put up with a friendly ghost for a while if need be.
The only creepy thing was that you weren’t sure how you were going to tell if you were talking to the real Taehyung or not. Thankfully, the sick day incident seemed to be the last one, the last few days being almost eerily mundane.
The door to your bedroom suddenly slammed open, revealing your beaming boyfriend.
He held up a champagne bottle with one hand and two glasses in the other. “Guess what just happened!”
You sat up in bed and placed your phone on the nightstand as he giddily approached you. “What? Are we celebrating something?”
“Only the Bauhaus Gallery agreeing to schedule a showing for my latest collection!”
You jumped up in surprise, instantly wrapping your arms around him and plastering his face with kisses. “Oh my god! Tae! That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you! When is it?!”
“Next Friday at eight.” He chuckled through your kisses, fully basking in your attention.
The Bauhaus gallery was an uppity German gallery in town that apparently served as a who's who in the world of painting. Personally, you didn’t get what the big deal was, but Taehyung made it one of his career goals to have a show there. He always said that his career would really take off if he could showcase his work at such a place.
You pulled back and began thinking out loud as Taehyung worked on the bottle, “Wow, okay! I need to get a dress. And we should invite some friends to support you. Oh! Namjoon and his wife would probably try to buy a painting so we should see if they’re free-”
Taehyung cut you off with the resounding pop of the bottle, “Yeah yeah, we can plan that all out later. Right now I just wanna celebrate with my pretty girlfriend please.”
You quieted down and held the glasses as he poured. He then placed the bottle aside, took a glass and held it up for you to clink. You did so while your boyfriend declared, “To my collection and girlfriend; both beautiful and priceless!”
“You better announce that again at the afterparty!” You laughed, covering your blush.
You both finished the drinks rather quickly, him with a refreshing “ahh” and you with a cringe. Champagne really was overrated in your opinion, having no idea why it was the token celebratory drink. The glasses were then shoved somewhere aside, courtesy of Tae.
You laid back down in the bed, Taehyung unhurriedly following suit and even climbing on top of you at a leisurely pace.
Taehyung’s face was now inches away from yours, his every breath tickling your skin. His previous mood of joy shifted into something more…sultry. Cat eyes darkened, fully taking you in with a steadily growing smirk. The artist licked this bottom lip in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it speed, before quirking one brow up in faux inquiry. His voice was low and husky, purring into your ears, “You know, it’s been a while since we’ve fucked.”
You snorted, “Gee, that’s hard to believe when you put me in the mood like that.”
“You like a man who's upfront.” He shrugged, not wasting a second more as he leaned down to slowly melt his lips against yours.
The intimate sensation felt almost foreign, the last few days having only been filled with obligatory pecks due to you two being so caught up in your work. You almost forgot how talented he was at making you feel special.
You kissed back just as slowly, feeling the intensity of his lips and taking the time to reacquaint yourself with them. It was gentle, deep, and meaningful. He kissed you gingerly, carefully, but that’s not what you wanted. Not after all this time. Pent-up sexual frustration caused you to knot your fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against you.
Taehyung groaned softly, low in his throat while encircling you in his arms to gather you against him. You two rolled over in the bed, tangled in the sheets, still locked at the lips.
His tongue slips into your mouth, tender but demanding. You swirl your tongue against his, moaning into his mouth as his hands snuck up to twist in your hair and grip you impossibly closer. Taehyung’s slight stubble prickles you, but somehow the extra sensation just excites you even more. Your boyfriend's lips pull back and meet their ultimate home at your neck, him now mouthing fervently at the sensitive nerves there as you gasped for air.
As you felt hotter and hotter, Taehyung answered your unsaid prayer and positioned his thigh between your legs, obscenely brushing against the place you needed him most. Knowing you like the back of his hand, he purposefully tensed his thigh as you not-so-subtly grinded against it, all the while he sucked and nibbled at the spot just below your ear.
A tug at your clothes.
Softly biting your earlobe, he whispered, “Be a good girl for me and take this shit off.”
Just when you were about to oblige, an unexpected sound cut through all the haze and caused you both to freeze.
It sounded like a…bang?
From somewhere deep within the house.
It was so loud and shrill, it effortlessly echoed off the walls of your humble bedroom. If you had to describe it, it was as if someone had just thrown a bowling ball with all their might.
Undoubtedly snapping into protector mode, Taehyung immediately jumped off of you and reached under the bed to retrieve a metal baseball bat.
“Stay here.” He ordered, already marching out the door before you could even protest.
You fearfully obeyed, reaching for your phone in case 911 had to be called.
Your once warm and flushed body was now icy with panic. Sitting upright in the bed, you strained your ears for any idea of what was occurring downstairs.
But alas, the house remained freakily silent. Almost as if that brutal sound was in your head and nothing more.
This did nothing to help your anxiety, a cold sweat quickly forming.
Minutes passed, you waited with bated breath for something. Anything.
But nothing ever came.
Your worry grew tenfold.
The longer Taehyung was away, the more you felt weighed down with dread, heart nearly in your throat.
‘What was happening downstairs? Was Taehyung okay? Did he find something? If there was a struggle, surely you would’ve heard it by now, right?’
Then ultimately, as the seconds ticked on, ‘Was your boyfriend going to come back?’
At the ten-minute mark, you made your decision.
Now concerned for your boyfriend’s safety, you sprung out of bed and ran out of the room. Your body purposefully moving too fast for your mind to catch up and halt your movements in the name of self-preservation.
“Taehyung?!” You desperately called out as you practically plummeted down the stairs.
“In here!” A croaky voice answered, sounding like your boyfriend but oddly…defeated?
You correctly traced the voice to his workroom, stepping into the space and seeing a scene that swiftly broke your heart, effectively replacing all your fright with woe.
Taehyung was on his knees in front of an easel, head bowed down.
The easel held a half-done canvas.
It was a sketch of two people, a man and a woman that closely resembled you and Taehyung.
It was partly painted, the scene depicting a warm sunny day at the park that looked alot like where Taehyung had taken you for a picnic and officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You were in Taehyung’s arms, kissing his cheek as he smiled his signature box-smile. You could recall that precise moment easily, you had just said yes to being his and sheepishly pecked his cheek, embarrassed by the old man on the bench a few feet away that eyed you two like a hawk.
It was a wonderful piece of unfinished art, not only due to the sentimental value but also the artistry and time that clearly went into it.
If only there weren't angry red sloshes of paint that cut through it, ruining the picture and turning it into something that looked like a horrible bloody mess of goo and not the romantic day it was.
“I-I was going to gift this to you….on our seventh month.” Taehyung’s voice was watery.
You didn’t even know what to say.
All of his hard work and thought was simply…gone. Erased. Ruined.
It would’ve been the equivalent of someone breaking into your laptop and deleting your entire novel’s draft. What would you even do? If roles were reversed, would there even be a way for Taehyung to console you? To make matters worse, it was his gift of love to you. He didn’t make that painting for himself, a buyer, or a collection…he made it for you.
Your empathy made you almost cry for him, but you knew that would be the last thing he’d want to see right now. His guilt would only grow.
You walked further into the room and got on your knees beside him.
Wrapping your arms around him, you cradled his head in the nook between your head and shoulder while rocking the two of you. “Tae baby, I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t say anything for a while, although you felt wet teardrops on your skin.
“Who would do this? It doesn’t make sense why someone would break in, take nothing and just destroy my gift?”
You didn’t know either, but you wanted to make him feel better. “Listen, I think it was the perfect gift. It’s really the thought that counts and I’m just happy that you even thought to make me something like that. Especially in the middle of working on your own collection, it must’ve been hard.”
Taehyung pulled back, regarding you with a tearful but hopeful gaze. “Really?”
“Of course! I was literally going to just get you a watch or something. That gift kinda would have made me look bad.” You attempted to joke.
He shakily smiled, even chuckling a bit before pulling back entirely and standing to his full height. Tae then held a hand out for you, pulling you up as well.
Not wanting to be in the room anymore with that awful mess, you gradually pushed him towards the door, eventually up the stairs and into your bedroom.
You both sat on the bed, him with his head in his hands and you awkwardly suggesting yet another early night in.
But instead of agreeing and attempting to join you under the covers, Taehyung continued to sit almost painfully still at the edge of your bed.
Then, he spoke.
“Y/n, you were lying when you said that guy was probably just a figment of your imagination.”
It wasn’t a question.
He knew.
He believed you now.
–
It was now the official opinion of the house that a ghost was indeed roaming around somewhere.
You wanted to pat yourself on the back because truly, your taste in men was superior.
Taehyung wasn’t one of those horror movie boyfriends that was convinced every unexplainable occurrence must’ve had a logical explanation. It only took that one experience for the artist to admit that something weird was going on, and although he never saw the ghost himself, Taehyung believed you when you said it looked exactly like him.
You were happy that you two were on the same page…well, mostly.
Taehyung reasoned that the lookalike ghost must’ve been the one to ruin his painting.
You don’t know why, but somewhere deep within, that accusation just didn’t feel right. Without thinking much, you had told your boyfriend that destroying his gift didn’t seem like something ghost Tae would do.
Obviously Taehyung was bewildered at your sudden defense of the spirit’s character and demanded to know how you could be so sure that it wasn’t him.
Feeling that your hand was forced, you fessed up to the second incident in which you ran into the other Taehyung. You explained that he was sweet, brought you hot chocolate and even held you as you fell asleep. It was only after the real Taehyung texted you that you realized it wasn’t your boyfriend, but by then it was too late.
Your boyfriend was understandably furious.
For one, you never told him that you were cuddled and taken care of by another man, dead or otherwise. And secondly, this spirit seemed to be taking too much of a liking to you. The artist was a weird mixture of jealous and protective, following you around the house and barely leaving you alone in fear that his replica would show up and snatch you away.
You thought he was overreacting, but Taehyung's determination to get rid of the ghost only grew as the days passed.
One day you took a break from writing and went downstairs to refresh your coffee, when you paused at the sight of your boyfriend waving an odd burning stick around the living room in a fashion that somehow made sense to him.
“Sage cleanses the home of negative energy and basically tells unwanted spirits to fuck off.” He told you as if you were the idiot and not him- wildly thrashing his arm around in a puff of smoke and demanding that his evil ghost twin left the premises immediately.
You shrugged, “Just don’t set off the smoke detector, please.”
The next day, Taehyung informed you over dinner that he called a security camera company and had ordered a set to be installed in your home.
“Don’t you think that’s kinda a big fucking thing to not run by me?”
“I’m sorry baby, but I knew you wouldn’t have agreed.” He apologized without seeming even the tiniest bit apologetic.
“If you knew I wouldn’t have wanted it then why do it anyway?!”
“Because as the man of the house it’s my job to protect us and I would like to witness everything that’s going on. Next time he comes out and tries to touch you, I will be able to see it from my phone and confront him.” He then reached for his water and took a self righteous sip before muttering under his breath, “That is if the sage didn’t kick him out already.”
“Man of the house?!” You echoed incredulously. “You call twirling around with some burning twigs and yelling at a harmless ghost being the man of the house?”
“He’s not harmless! Why are you so convinced that it’s just a casper that we’re dealing with?!”
You opened your mouth to retort, but snapped it shut when you realized you didn’t really have any reason to believe he wasn’t dangerous. So you just focused on the main glaring issue, “Nevermind that. I just don’t like how you made a big decision without telling me. Are we not equal in this relationship? It wasn’t even worth consulting me about?”
Taehyung didn’t say anything.
It would seem that he understood your point, but was stubbornly holding onto his just a tad more.
Appetite ruined, you stormed away in a display of vexation.
Not wanting to go to sleep beside him either, you stayed all night in your office and tried to just focus on editing the latest version of your draft.
Somewhere along the way, you managed to fall asleep on the keyboard.
You blearily awoke hours later to the sound of the door firmly shutting.
Groggily you sat up and twisted to see if anyone else was in the room with you, all the while rubbing off the key imprints on your cheek and leftover drool.
No one was there.
When you turned your attention back to the desk, you softly gasped in surprise.
A plate of grilled cheese sat there, still hot.
Alongside it was a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
One sip and you instantly recognized the ginger-cinnamon.
It wasn’t your boyfriend who left this.
The sage didn’t work.
–
Ralph was a man of about fifty years of age.
Tall, lumbering, calloused and not necessarily easy on the eyes, he shifted awkwardly at the entrance of your delicate farmhouse as Taehyung listed off the places in the home that he’d like covered.
Ralph was to set up the cameras while you and your boyfriend went out for a quick errand.
The gallery showing was tomorrow, and so was the little afterparty that you had arranged to take place. You did so without really realizing all that you would need for hosting. The guest list was an intimate circle of seven, but given you and Taehyung were running out of groceries for even just the two of you, you figured a trip to the market was needed to properly prepare.
You rolled your eyes and waited for your boyfriend to finish his little pep talk, sighing in relief when Ralph was finally free to disappear into the living room with his bag of tools.
“Ready?” You asked Taehyung, not really waiting for an answer as you stomped past him and out the door.
He followed you wordlessly to the car.
The ride into town was stiff and awkward, neither one of you saying anything and music not even playing in the background as Taehyung drove.
You both were still angry at each other.
Well, more like you were angry at him and he was correctly trying to not poke the bear by instigating useless chatter.
The cameras were overkill in your opinion and a giant waste of money. You both were artists, which means a severe lack of steady income. You needed to be smart with what you threw cash at because no one knew if your next book or his next painting would even sell. Nothing was ever guaranteed.
You felt for him that his gift was wrecked, but you weren’t lying when you said that the thought was all that really mattered to you. You genuinely didn’t care either way, it would’ve been nice to have the painting, but it was just as nice to know that he was painting one for you.
If you were a betting woman, you would bet that this was more about Taehyung’s unfounded jealousy than anything else. Usually you would find harmless jealousy kind of attractive, but not when it went into installing cameras into your home at the “low” price of a couple hundred dollars.
You thought of this in a quiet rage as Taehyung pulled into the grocery store.
He parked, you both got out and walked inside before grabbing a cart.
“Let’s split up.” You said, your tone leaving no room for argument.
“Fine. What do you want me to get?”
“Get the drinks. They’re mainly your friends so you’d know what they’d like more than me. I’ll get some stuff for a charcuterie board.” You ordered, just wanting to get back home as soon as possible
He nodded and swiftly went over to the alcohol section as you made way into the food aisles.
You were looking at the different types of crackers and wondering what the fuck the difference was when a sudden call of your name took your attention.
“Y/n?”
The voice was light and airy, tone warm and nostalgic to the ears.
No way.
It can’t be…
You swirled around to face the owner, nearly choking on your spit when you realized your suspicions were correct.
Park Jimin was as gorgeous as ever. The cherub face was just as you recalled, somehow both ruggedly handsome and softly docile. His eyes crinkled behind a pearly smile, a small hand coming up to swiftly brush through his dyed blonde hair as he approached you.
“I thought that was you.” He chuckled. “How have you been? It’s been so long.”
You managed a wry smile.
Jimin was once your college boyfriend of one year, five months, and eight days.
But hey, who was counting?
“I’m doing okay.” You choked out, not liking how he quickly frowned at your strained tone. If there was one man you could never lie to, it was Jimin. “How about yourself? Did you open up that studio you always wanted?”
The truth was you knew he did. Before meeting and dating Taehyung, you were guilty of occasionally checking his social media. It simply couldn’t be helped. Jimin was the longest relationship you ever had. The first man you ever really loved. And your first ever heartbreak.
“Um, yeah I did! I heard you published your first book last year. I bought a few copies myself…” he trailed off sheepishly, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “It uh, was really well written. Are you um, working on anything now?”
You bit your lip, not sure how you felt about the man you were once wildly in love with reading your novel after years of not talking. Much less buying more than one copy to support you. “Y-Yes I’m writing my second book.”
He nodded, a proud expression on his face as he pursed his lips in thought.
“I’m sorry this is…weird.” He finally huffed. “I really didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
You sighed with some relief, thankful he felt the same way. “Same. After you said you wanted to date other people I really didn’t expect to say another word to you like, ever.”
Jimin laughed, “Haha, what? Your memory continues to suck, Y/n. If anything it was you who ghosted-”
“Y/n.”
A much deeper voice cut through the air, bringing all the attention to a new figure descending upon the scene.
Taehyung strode up from behind you, placing an arm around you and regarding the other man with a brooding look of regard.
“Whose this?” Your boyfriend asked, purposefully deepening his already deep voice.
You inwardly rolled your eyes, noting how the artist was practically puffing his chest and glowering at the much shorter man.
“Taehyung, this is my old friend Jimin. Jimin, this is my boyfriend Taehyung.”
The two stiffly nodded at each other, you dodging the questioning look Jimin secretly shot at you for being described as ‘an old friend’.
A pregnant pause hung in the air.
“So…how long have you two been together?”
Before either you or your boyfriend could answer, a pretty lady suddenly skipped into the aisle and grasped onto Jimin’s arm.
“Babe, I can’t find the oat milk! I thought you said- Oh hello!” She just now noticed you and Taehyung, smiling politely and not-so-subtly nudging at Jimin to introduce her.
“Oh, um, this is Molly.”
“His girlfriend! And you two are?”
“I’m Y/n and this is my boyfriend Taehyung.” You introduced. “Jimin and I went to school together.”
“Really? I never get to meet any of Jimin’s old friends! We should have a double date or something!” Molly was an over the top girl, your ears almost ringing at the volume she exuded. But she seemed nice, so you smiled warmly at her and vaguely agreed.
Another brief, awkward and only slightly painful silence.
“Actually…” You trailed off in thought, an idea forming in your head but you didn’t know if it was a good one. Yet it was too late. Before you could even backtrack, all three sets of eyes were on you, eagerly waiting for you to finish the thought. “…what are you two doing tomorrow night?”
“Was just gonna drag Jiminnie to see this new movie! We can totally blow it off though!”
“Well, my boyfriend is a really talented artist and he has a showing tomorrow night. We’d love it if you two could make it.”
You felt Taehyung stiffen beside you, but you paid it no mind.
From what you understood about showings the more people, the more eyes, the better. It was harmless, wasn’t it? Jimin bought multiple copies of your book, and you’d invite him to a gallery showing to please his over hyper girlfriend.
Even, right?
Molly beamed, asking for your number to exchange the details.
You did so, pretending not to notice how both Jimin and Taehyung bore their stares into you.
When finished, you waved goodbye to the couple as they made their way to the dairy section. You and Taehyung then continued your own shopping in a rushed manner- your boyfriend grumbling about having to get back in time for the cameras.
The ride home was a bit more talkative, with Taehyung asking how you knew of Jimin and what made you two friends. You answered the questions rather honestly, just leaving out the parts about how your friendship blossomed into something more.
You weren’t exactly trying to be deceitful. It was just that he was under a lot of stress and paranoia the last few days, you didn’t want to push his poor nerves any further. If he was willing to set up a bunch of cameras to keep some ghost away from you, you didn’t want to push your luck by mentioning that Jimin was your ex boyfriend and longest relationship.
Besides, it wasn’t like Jimin was any kind of threat. You would never entertain the idea of going back to the guy who dumped you. He also now had Molly, so clearly you both moved on.
Taehyung pulled the car into the driveway, asking if you could handle the few bags as he went in to talk to Ralph and sort out the last few steps of installation. You agreed, watching him jog into the home as you gathered all the groceries and took your time to get inside.
You beelined straight to the kitchen with the newly bought food, raising your brows when you saw Taehyung staring at something intently on the counter.
“What is it?”
Taehyung didn’t answer.
You walked up behind him and stood on your tippy toes to spot over his shoulder what he was looking at.
It was a note, in messy and hurried handwriting.
“Sorry but the cameras could not have been installed. It won’t work here. -Ralph.”
–
If there was any man on top of the world tonight- his name was Kim Taehyung.
The Bauhaus gallery was swarmed with countless people, all clamoring to gaze upon the latest Kim collection and ponder the intricate meanings behind each piece. They wore luxury clothes and drank fancy wine that you couldn’t even pronounce, their tax bracket clearly a couple pegs above yours. There was of course some idle chatter, almost every corner of the building being filled with some pretentious snob rambling about the brush strokes, artistic style and commentary your boyfriend was allegedly trying to make with his art.
Such a crowd was not something you were accustomed to.
Thus you clung to Lisa, both idly sipping at wine and watching your boyfriend from afar as he charmingly answered questions.
“You know, he’s going to make thousands of dollars tonight.” Lisa thought out loud. “These rich types will outbid each other like crazy.”
You shrugged nonchalantly. You were happy for him, and knew he deserved it but you would be lying if you said he wasn’t in the doghouse.
“Still mad huh?” Lisa correctly assumed, reading your expression. “What happened after the camera dude disappeared?”
“Taehyung was really upset and called the company to demand his money back. They refunded him entirely, apologized and even sent someone to get the company van. I guess the Ralph dude was an alcoholic and everyone just kinda accepts that he skipped town.” You explained. “I tried to calm him down but he sorta snapped at me about how I never even wanted the cameras so I was probably just loving it all.”
Lisa lowly whistled, “Damn. Well, he probably snapped about the cameras but I promise you it wasn’t just about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You invited your ex to his showing.” Lisa lectured, as if you were a child who didn’t even understand what you did wrong.
You stuttered, “B-But he doesn’t know Jimin is an ex! I told him he was just an old friend.”
She rolled her eyes, “Y/n of course he would see right through that. There's always going to be chemistry between Jimin and you, he probably picked up on it and is aware you’re not telling the complete truth about what you two were.”
“He’s just overly jealous. He wants to fight our ghost too. At this point, every man is a threat to him.”
At the mention of your ghost, Lisa’s eyes practically sparkled. “Oh I can’t wait to go back to your place! I want to feel the haunted energy for myself.”
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, “It’s just like any other home, Lisa.”
“That’s because you don’t have a psychic sense to save your life, Y/n.”
You didn’t know whether or not to be offended by that, so you decided to distract yourself by scanning the room for your boyfriend’s invited friends.
Kim Namjoon was an old boss of Taehyung that remained good friends with the artist even after he dumped his job to take up painting full time. Currently, he and his wife Jennifer were talking rather seriously to a thin-lipped curator, most likely about purchasing one of the artworks displayed.
Right across from where you and Lisa stood, Taehyung was conversing with his former coworkers; Jin and Hoseok. They appeared to be laughing about something, their lightheartedness standing out in the overly serious room of people.
If you craned your neck a little to the left, you could spot Yoongi and Jungkook hiding in a corner away from everyone else, almost perfectly mimicking you and your close friend. They both nursed their drinks quietly, occasionally sharing words but mainly just waiting out this event.
You always kind of thought that Lisa and Jungkook would make a good pairing if properly introduced and pushed. So you turned to your friend and was just about to suggest you guys walk over, when she made a face at something behind you.
“Uh oh, here comes the ex.” She mumbled.
You turned around to indeed see Jimin and Molly approaching.
Jimin wore a suit, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top to reveal some of his sun kissed chest. His blonde hair was properly done this time, brushed to the side and back to fully expose his forehead. He raised a hand and waved, rings catching the light and nearly blinding you in the process.
Beside him, Molly looked as pretty as ever in a blue sweetheart dress that complimented her figure. Yet, she looked rather irritated. She attempted to give you a smile in greeting, but it looked more like a grimace.
Jimin spoke first, “Hey, I’m so sorry we’re late. I’m hoping we didn’t miss too much?”
You wanted to be annoyed but without meaning to, a giggle escaped you.
“Things really don’t change.” You told Jimin, a knowing look simmering in your eyes. While dating, you guys were often the couple that showed up late to any event. Most people assumed that it was your doing because you were the girl, when in all actuality it was Jimin.
Jimin shamelessly grinned, “I’ve gotten better, I swear.”
You didn’t believe it for a second and he knew it.
You both shared a laugh, staring at each other fondly like old friends reliving the old times.
It was hard to believe that you were joking with the man you once thought you’d never get over or forgive. Countless nights were spent eating your feelings, hysterically crying and obsessing over all the videos or pictures you couldn’t bring yourself to delete.
But there are some people in life that as soon as they come back, it’s like they never left.
And it was almost as if Jimin never left.
You two continued to gaze into each other, lost in your own comfortable bubble when a sudden throat clearing broke the haze.
“Um, actually the showing is almost over.” Lisa informed, her and Molly visibly looking left out of the nostalgia.
Your ex had the decency to look guilty. “Oh no! I’m so sorry! Maybe we can all just get drinks? There’s a nice bar two blocks down. I can buy a round for everyone?”
“That’s sweet but we have a little after party planned back at my place. I live kind of out of town though, so it’s okay if you can’t make it.”
“No! We can make it! What's the address?” Jimin seemed eager.
You told him, him pulling out his phone to save it into his gps system.
Molly was silent all this time, which was kind of worrying as your first meeting with her led you to believe she was the bubbly type. Now that you mentioned it, it looked like she was avoiding looking at either you or her boyfriend, focusing on a spot on the wall somewhere behind you.
You opened your mouth to maybe ask if she was alright, but quickly shut it when you realized that could be overstepping some boundary.
Fortunately, Lisa seemed to have enough of this entire interaction and grabbed your arm while saying, “Me and Y/n were just going to go to the restroom! Please take a good look around and enjoy her boyfriend’s work! See you guys at the after party!”
Your friend then swiftly dragged you away, barely leaving you enough time to smile apologetically at the couple.
When you both entered the restroom, Lisa simply marched up to the sink and began fixing invisible smudges in her makeup as you shifted awkwardly beside her.
“So…” She started, looking you up and down in the mirror. “Please tell me you know Jimin is still in love with you.”
“W-What?! No way!” You spluttered.
“Y/n it’s so obvious. I actually felt bad for his girlfriend. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.” She rolled her eyes, almost disappointed in your lack of awareness.
“It’s just been forever. It’s hard to not hyperfocus on eachother, we’ve both changed so much. Also, why would the guy who dumped me out of nowhere still be in love with me?”
She released a deep sigh, “He knows he made the shittiest mistake of his life and is now regretting it when seeing you and your talented boyfriend doing so well.”
You chuckled at the thought of someone looking at your relationship and being jealous.
“Listen, just remember tonight is Taehyung’s night and fighting or not, he’s still a wonderful boyfriend overall. And Jimin is your ex who broke your heart. Inviting him to your place after this might’ve been too much. I suggest you keep your distance.”
“Lisa, thanks for the advice but I honestly was just being friendly. He seemed sorry that he missed most of the showing. Besides, I’m going to be too busy hosting to have a deep heart to heart with him or anything.” You explained, a little offended that she thought you were going to play part in some dramatic reconciliation.
A sudden announcement echoed outside the restroom doors, your ears straining to hear a gallery worker asking everyone to gather on the main floor for the artist’s speech and thus the final part of the night.
Saying nothing more, Lisa and you made your exit to join the audience.
–
The clock was nearing midnight.
Your usually quiet farmhouse of a home was not at all quiet.
Your boyfriend's friends were merrily talking and drinking, once in a while their masculine laughs would sync up and reverberate through the halls. They all conversed and lounged in the living room, the largest part of the house that could fit all of them comfortably. Yet, you and Lisa stayed in the kitchen, making the drinks and finger foods, as you indulged in harmless girl talk.
“The one with tattoos is so hot, Y/n. Please tell me he’s single!”
“Jungkook? I’m pretty sure he is. Taehyung told me that Namjoon is the only other one in the friend group that’s in a relationship.”
“Okay, so far so good.” She paused to pop a stuffed mushroom in her mouth, humming in thought. “What’s his type though? Like, would I have to make the first move? Does he like a straightforward girl? Because he hasn’t so much as looked at me tonight.”
“I’ve only met Taehyung’s friends once before so I don’t know their types or anything. I do think Jungkook looks a lot manlier than he actually is. He’s very kind but shy so you’ll have to talk to him first.” You explained while opening another bottle of wine for the two of you.
Lisa frowned at the thought, not used to being the one that had to chase.
You poured two glasses, handing her one with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I can introduce you two. It’s kind of a good thing he’s avoiding you like the plague, Tae once said he only acts like that with pretty girls.”
Your friend lit up like the fourth of july.
“Hey babe!” A familiar deep voice called out.
You looked around to see your boyfriend stepping into the kitchen, a buzzed smile on his face and a slightly glazed film over his eyes.
Moments like these made you realize how much of a lightweight your boyfriend was. It only took one or two drinks for him to get tipsy. But it was still his night and he was already home amongst loved ones, so all you could do is smile endearingly at his slightly intoxicated self.
“Yes, handsome?”
His boxy grin grew, “The boys want more beer.”
“Already?! I put out a twelve pack! People need to be able to drive home, ya know!”
He laughed, “Baby, my friends can drink a gallon each and still be able to drive home with their eyes closed if need be.”
“Well I don’t have any more beer up here. Just wine. There might be some more in the basement, though.”
He nodded in thanks, turning his back to presumably go to the basement and retrieve the drinks.
Lisa waited for him to get fully out of earshot before leaning over and dramatically whispering, “How is Jimin and that Molly girl doing?”
You shrugged, “Last time I was in there, Hoseok was making conversation with Jimin and Molly was all over Yoongi.”
“Damn, trouble in paradise?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem too bothered and she seemed a little drunk. She might just get overly friendly when she drinks.”
“And you’re still convinced that he’s over you?”
You rolled your eyes but ultimately stayed silent, aware that the couple was acting sorta strange but also not so sure that you were the cause. You took your wine in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other, motioning for Lisa to grab the rest and follow you.
When you both entered the living room, you were thrilled to spot Jungkook sitting alone on one of the loveseats. You quickly set the food down and pulled Lisa along with you, approaching him with a friendly smile meant to put him at ease. Considering the way his eyes widened at the sight of your friend, you didn’t know how successful you were.
“Hey Jungkook, it’s been a while!” You greeted.
“Y-Yeah it has been. How’s your erm, book going?”
“It’s doing okay, thanks for asking. Have you met my friend, Lisa?”
He briefly scanned your friend, nervously gulping before saying quietly, “…No I haven't.”
“Oh well, Lisa was just saying how much she liked your tattoos.” You nudged her, prompting her to say something.
She just nodded in agreement, suddenly meek.
He blushed, “Thank you.”
“Actually, Lisa, weren't you saying that you were thinking of getting a tattoo?” You pretended to think out loud, as if you weren’t outright playing them. You didn’t wait for her to answer the rhetorical question, “Jungkook, don’t you do tattoos now?”
Now on a topic of interest he was for sure confident in, Jungkook practically jumped in his seat, “Yeah! I do! I’ve only tatted myself and some friends but I hope to work on more people.”
You watched with a smirk as Lisa moved to sit next to Jungkook, her now explaining what she’d like done and Jungkook asking questions about placement, size and color.
You felt sure enough in them to leave them alone, now inhabiting your little corner as you finished your wine while taking in the scene.
Yoongi and Molly stood by the window, and were obviously the most inebriated. He was the type to ramble pointlessly when tipsy, and she giggled at every little thing he said, playfully shoving his shoulder once in a while. You knew for a fact that Yoongi was too deep in his own self-epiphanes to notice her bad flirting, either that or he was just trying to talk to anyone who was willing to listen.
Namjoon and Jennifer were sitting on the couch and talking to Jin, laughing at whatever odd impression he was attempting. Beside them on the loveseat, Hoseok was politely nodding along to small talk from Jimin. Being one of the friendliest and most calming of the group, it made sense that Hoseok was the one trying to make your ex boyfriend feel included.
Content to just watch your guests for a while, you stood by your lonesome and slowly sipped at the remnants of your wine.
Playing host wasn’t exactly your forte, so you were enjoying the little lull while it lasted. Unlike your boyfriend, your social battery tended to max out at the two-hour mark when in group settings.
And as much as you loved the people in your home (with maybe the exception of your ex and his girlfriend), you couldn’t wait for them to get out so you could take a long, hot shower and head to bed.
The stress of the last few days was really tiring you, and you just knew that as soon as the excitement of the showing and sold paintings wore off, Taehyung was going to continue his spat with you about the cameras.
When you and Jimin dated, you two were always on the same page. Fights very rarely happened. And Jimin was such a people pleaser that if literally anything slightly upset you, he would practically fall over himself to make you smile again.
Taehyung was the first boyfriend to genuinely pick a fight with you, being more stubborn than you about matters you didn’t necessarily want to back down from either. Your relationship conflict resolution skills were being tested, and you just didn’t have the patience or experience to keep fighting much longer. You would call a truce or some type of compromise, if it weren’t for the fact that there was no way to really keep both of you happy.
A few minutes passed as you pondered this to yourself.
Seemingly materializing out of nowhere, a mysterious arm wrapped around your waist.
The suddenness of it all caused you to jump and release a very unflattering squeak.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
A deep chuckle rumbled beside you, Taehyung smirking lazily before diving face first into your neck and nuzzling it in some sort of drunken stupor.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” You groaned, trying to forcefully shove his face away from you. “Where’s the beer you went to fetch?”
Your boyfriend expertly dodged your shove and dove back into your neck, mumbling against the skin something about not being able to find more drinks.
The vibration of his lips on such a sensitive spot made you want to squirm, but his halfhearted mumbles took your attention a bit more.
“No beer? I could’ve sworn-”
“Hey Y/n!” Someone interrupted with a call across the room. You looked up to see Lisa trudging over with a determined look on her face and a fogged up look in her eyes, perhaps a bit more tipsy than you remember leaving her. “Aren’t you going to show me where exactly you saw the ghost?”
Your dear friend most likely thought she was being discreet and having a normal conversation at a perfectly appropriate tone. But no, she was actually speaking way above a conversational volume, causing everyone else in the room to halt their conversations and turn to look at you.
“Ghost?” Jin laughed.
“You saw something in this room?” Hoseok inquired with a trembling voice, most likely regretting having come over. Beside him, Jimin quietly shook his head to himself.
“No way, Y/n doesn’t believe in stuff like that.” Your ex confidently informed the group.
At the sound of your past lover’s voice, you felt Taehyung stiffen beside you. The artist untangled himself from you, standing to his full height and facing the guest with an unknown expression.
“We had a little bit of a ghost problem, but it’s taken care of now.” He paused, and you could nearly hear his smirk when he went on to declare, “I got rid of it.”
Yoongi laughed boisterously, having to hold himself up with the wall to prevent falling over. “I’m sorry, but the image of little Tae boxing a little sheet with two holes for eyes is really sending me.”
Half your guests laughed at the thought. The other more believing half still stared at you inquisitively.
An awkward silence.
“Ghosts are real.” Jennifer started, effortlessly drawing all eyes to her. “I used to live in a haunted house when I was a kid.”
She put her drink down and folded her hands across her lap, suddenly immersed in thought and careful about what she was about to share.
“In my childhood home, there was a garden in the backyard. Almost everyday, at sunset, I’d look out the window and see this lady circling the flowers and humming to herself. After ten minutes or so, she would disappear into thin air. I told my parents but they never believed me.”
She paused, either for dramatic effect or to recollect.
“Until one day, my mom saw her too. And when she went out to confront what she thought was an intruder, the lady disappeared before her eyes. My mom then did some digging about the history of the house and it turns out, the previous owner was outside gardening when she had a heart attack and died.”
A pregnant pause hung in the air as everyone silently digested the anecdote.
“That’s fucking terrifying, please tell me your parents moved houses after that.” Hoseok broke the silence first, pleading with watery eyes.
Namjoon’s wife laughed, reaching for her drink once more. “How is it scary? The lady was just checking on her garden in the afterlife. However, I then grew up really interested in supernatural stuff.” She turned to you. “There’s some tell-tale signs that a home has a spirit attached to it. Cold spots, shadow figures, whispers, scary dreams and the biggest of all: always feeling like you're being watched, even if there’s no one else in the room.”
You quietly thought to yourself. Were there any cold spots in the home? No. Any shadow figures? Nope. Whispers and nightmares? Nada.
But…the last one, being watched when no one is there.
If you really focused on your intuition, you faintly felt that even now amongst all these people, you were being watched by something unknown.
Goosebumps raised on the surface of your arms.
Chills ran down your spine and you shivered, the reaction causing Taehyung to grasp you tighter against him in what was supposed to be comfort.
You felt even more cold.
“We haven’t had any of that. Really guys, it’s taken care of.” Your boyfriend told the room, effectively shutting down the paranormal subject.
You assumed Taehyung felt a bit defensive of his ghost expelling skills, either that or he genuinely wanted another topic of discussion.
You then felt a little bad, it was still his night after all and here you were unintentionally ruining it with your little ghost stories. The focus of the room should be on him and his achievements, not everyone's supernatural beliefs and stories.
“Taehyung is right, it’s all resolved. But I’d like to ask all of you to fill up your glasses one last time, and raise them with me, ” While they did that you quickly scanned the room, “Um, except maybe you, Yoongi. Feel free to sit this one out, bud.” You laughed as the drunk man just grumbled at you, defiantly snatching another beer and holding it high while swaying on his feet.
Hopefully he wasn’t the one driving home.
You cleared your throat, “I'd like to propose a toast to our own Taehyung. Everyone in this room knows it was only a matter of time before your artistic genius was recognized by the world, but that doesn’t make us any less proud than we are of you tonight. To the first of many showings! To Taehyung!”
“To Taehyung!” the room loudly parroted back, everyone thrusting their drinks of choice in the air before knocking them back.
The artist beside you laughed and shook his head, “Really, guys it’s no big deal. Just a few paintings that I’m lucky even got sold. But thanks so much for making it. Most of you-” he snapped a side eye where Jimin sat, “have supported me so much, I’m just happy to have such a great group of friends.”
Said friends all smiled and nodded, although a few caught on to Taehyung’s subliminal dig and warily looked over at your ex.
Jimin pursed a tight smile, clearly trying to be nice and not make it obvious that he was the outsider at the party. You caught his eye and shot him a sorry look, but he shook his head in what was clearly meant to say “don’t worry about it.”
Your boyfriend continued, “However! ‘Friends’ don’t really beat ‘love of my life’. So without getting into all the lewd details of how I plan to spend my night celebrating, I’m going to need you all to start clearing out,” Taehyung smirked. “Y/n is a screamer.”
“Ew!” Lisa shouted, beside her Jungkook was suddenly unable to make eye contact with you.
The older men in the room just cackled. You slapped the artist's chest while trying to hide your blood red face.
Taehyung ducked and mouthed at your ear to whisper, “Sorry baby, but you know it’s true. And don’t act like you don’t want them out sooner rather than later.”
You wanted to be mad, but understood he was tipsy and riding on the high of his showing. So instead you played along and harshly whispered to him, “I doubt you can make me scream tonight. It’s not right to be misleading to your friends.”
He tiled your head to make you face him.
Taehyungs’ left brow twitched in vexation, his lips pulling back in a little growl. He looked around to make sure the guests were distracted with finishing their drinks or saying their goodbyes to each other. When he confirmed no eyes were on you two, he secretly placed his hand at the back of your head, running his long fingers through your hair and stopping right at the ends, to quickly form a fist and pull.
It was just one short tug, but the power of it made you gasp.
You would be lying if you said it didn’t make you a little wet too.
You had no idea where this came from. He never pulled your hair. Your boyfriend wasn’t rough and was one of those really progressive artists types that viewed any kind of manhandling in the bedroom as sort of sexist. But when you peered up at him, with the doe eyes he said he loved so much, and saw the clouded nature of his gaze, you just knew that inebriated Tae was very different from sober Tae.
Black and white, really.
‘I’m in for quite the night’ you thought to yourself while biting your lip, inwardly smug at how Taehyung transparently honed in on the action.
“Um, hey I think I’ll take my leave first.” You looked up to see Jimin awkwardly shifting in front of you two, a blacked out Molly in his hold.
“Oh god! Is she okay?” You exclaimed, noting the poor girl looked dead.
The dancer chuckled, “Yeah, she just gets really hyper when she's drunk then passes out after a bit. Ironically, sleep is all she needs I guess since she always wakes up good as new. No hangover.”
“Here let me show you out. I can help put her in the car.” You offered, already detangling yourself from Taehyung. He made a small sound of protest and made move to hold you tighter.
You placed a hand on his shoulder and consoled him with a smile, “You wanted people to leave, so we should help everyone get home safe. Can you check on Yoongi and maybe see if Namjoon and Jennifer can take him home?”
He looked conflicted, carefully sizing Jimin up through his peripheral. You wanted to roll your eyes. Although tipsy Taehyung was apparently a sexy beast, he was also an immature toddler who needed to be tricked.
You got on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear, “The quicker we get people out, the quicker you get me all to yourself.”
That seemed to convince him as he reluctantly stomped away in the direction of the couple, shooting one more guarded look at the dancer.
With that you led Jimin to the front door, even helping him put Molly’s heels back on before stepping out into the driveway and walking him to his car.
Silently, he opened the car and laid her in the backseat, tucking her in with his jacket. Then he shut the door, but instead of walking around to the driver spot, he turned to you and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
“So….”
“Look, I’m sorry about Taehyung. I didn’t even tell him you were an ex but he’s just been really possessive and weird lately. It’s not just you.” You informed him, hoping to make him feel better.
Jimin just waved it off with a chuckle, “No, I get it. You’re really gorgeous, kind and talented. I also struggled with jealousy when we were together. Can’t really blame him.”
You hoped your blush wasn’t too prominent as you said, “Yeah, but you were always nice to people regardless of feeling possessive. He was just rude. Again, I’m sorry.”
“Well, you can’t really date someone breathtaking if you’re going to be an insecure prick about it.”
You gaped like a fish at the implication you were still breathtaking in Jimin’s eyes. Words were suddenly hard to come by.
It was silent for a moment, the tension between you two as thick as it can possibly get for two past lovers.
“Y/n…why didn’t you tell him we dated?”
“L-Like I said, he’s already been acting jealous and I didn’t want him to focus on that when it was his night. Besides, It’s not like-”
“I broke up with Molly.”
“…What?”
“It happened on the way to your after party, she was upset that I still held a candle for you. And yeah, I couldn’t drag her along when I never felt half of what I felt for you, for her. I just said it without thinking, terrible timing of course. But that’s pretty on brand for me, I suppose.” He attempted a joke.
You smiled politely, although you had no idea how you should feel.
He continued, “I just thought I should say sorry because the reason she was such a drunk and sloppy mess in your home was because I carelessly dumped her on the way there.”
“It’s um, okay Jimin. She wasn’t the only drunken mess tonight. I hope you two manage to stay friends.” You said, then after a beat added, “And that you find what you’re looking for.”
“Listen, I know you're with Taehyung and happy but, I think there was some kind of misunderstanding about our breakup. I’m not trying to be a homewrecker or anything, but can we get a coffee sometime and just…talk?”
You smiled, finding no harm in the offer. “Sure-”
“No.”
You gasped and whipped around to see Taehyung standing behind you, arms crossed and hell in his eyes as he glowered down at Jimin.
How did he get there without being spotted or heard?
It's like he fabricated out of nowhere.
“I suggest you get in your car, leave and never speak to her again.”
Your ex held his hands up in surrender, “Look man, I wasn’t trying anything-”
“What kind of guy goes to their ex when she’s clearly in a happy and healthy relationship, and tries to drudge up the past in the name of closure? Fuck your closure. You lost her, and now I have her. And trust me, she has better things to do than getting coffee with the guy who broke her heart.”
“Please, Taehyung-”
You were cut off.
His voice was the lowest you’ve ever heard it, eyes pitch black and face blank as he calmly finished, “It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. And if I see you again I’m going to break your kneecaps and skin you alive, you little spineless boy. Run along now. While you still can.”
The threats were so visceral and promising, coupled with a man who looked downright murderous yet somehow calm. As if he had done it before and doing it again would be more so an inconvenience than a whole life-ending ordeal.
In this moment, you didn’t know your own boyfriend and you were terrified with this new persona.
No one moved or spoke, in fear one step or word would make Taehyung good on his promise.
You and Jimin were paralyzed, like two helpless deer in the presence of a blood thirsty wolf, the only hope was to stay still and go unnoticed. You met your ex’s eyes and while he did look afraid, he was focused only on you and your proximity to Taehyung.
Jimin was fearful. Not for himself, but for you.
And while you wanted your ex to run away, you were also scared to be left alone with someone so different from your usual Taehyung.
How could a few drinks and some jealousy cause such a behavior?
“Hey what’s going on here?”
Namjoon and Jennifer were babysitting a toddling Yoongi, the couple was also making way to their vehicle when they spotted the scene. The so-called ‘leader’ of the gang was quick to pick up on Taehyung’s aggressive stance, probably prompting him to get involved.
You felt your body lighten in relief.
Namjoon was always good at calming people down and taking control of situations.
Like a switch was turned on, your boyfriend grinned at the oncomers and nodded over at the dancer. Seemingly happy as a clam he chirped, “Nothing, hyung! Jimin here was just leaving. His poor girlfriend had too much, I think.”
Namjoon didn’t quite believe that, you and Jimin still looked rigid with alarm after all. Nonetheless, he played along for everyone’s sake. “Really? Maybe you should leave now then Jimin, get her in bed as soon as possible. It was nice meeting you.”
Jimin took the hint with grace and wordlessly ducked into his car, not acknowledging anyone else as he mouthed to you “call me”.
He started up the car, then slowly backed out of the driveway, and eventually down the road.
“Dude, are you sure you’re okay? It looked like you wanted to kill him.” Namjoon asked the artist.
Before hearing whatever bullshit was going to spew out of his mouth next, you promptly whipped around and stormed back into the house, making sure to purposefully shoulder-check your boyfriend as hard as you could in the process.
What the fuck was wrong with the bastard?!
Talking as though he was some offender or even a murder, just because your ex wanted to catch up?
You were so dreadfully embarrassed! Jimin must’ve thought you lost your mind after him and went off to date some real weirdos.
If you weren’t already on a lease with the man, this probably would’ve been the part where you blocked him and made it your personal mission to never see him again.
Instead, you busied yourself in the kitchen and washed most of the dirty dishes your guests left behind. You hoped Taehyung was wise enough to leave you alone, if the jerk knew what was good for him.
About 15 minutes had passed, and the kitchen was nearly as spotless as it was before the party had started, thanks to your furious cleaning and scrubbing. The house was now silent, and you were just debating putting all your spices in alphabetical order when you heard a shuffle behind you.
You snapped around and instantly scoffed at the sight.
Taehyung was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets and fixing a sheepish look at you.
“So…that got a little out of hand.”
You barked a disbelieving laugh. “More like you got out of hand, Taehyung. Threatening people like you’re some felon! Wouldn't be a surprise if there’s a rumor spreading about me dating a serial killer now."
“Y/n, I’m sorry. But please let me make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me? Your actions cannot be undone Taehyung! I cooked and cleaned after your friends and tried to make this night special for you. I just wanted you to have a nice night and be nice, and you flip out over a platonic coffee date? Who do you think I am? A slut who will open her legs to any ex who talks to me?!”
“W-what? No- Of course not! Please don’t think-”
“What the hell am I supposed to think, asshole?! Even if Jimin still had feelings for me, it would take me reciprocating them for anything to happen! You clearly don’t trust me, and if that’s the case, then what are we doing here? Should we just become roommates or something?”
A painful struck his face, watery eyes met yours when he choked out, “Do you even hear yourself? Why would I try to fight your ex if I truly didn’t love you? You’re mine, and I love you so much it’s just…I can act a little crazy sometimes.”
You sighed, turning your back on him to lean on the sink in exhaustion.
“I thought you were different from other guys, Tae. That caveman shit is extremely degrading to not only you, but especially me.”
“I’m sorry…it’s just a primal part of me that I can’t turn off. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”
You shot a look over your shoulder at him, still pissed.
He shot his hands up in the air, as if in defense. “You can still be mad at me all you want.”
“You’re sleeping on the couch for a week.”
“Done.”
“And….And you’re forgetting all about those stupid cameras.”
He quirked a grin, unknown mirth dancing in his eyes. “Sure.”
“At the end of the week, you will personally apologize to Jimin via a phone call or letter.”
His smile dropped, your glare sharpened, “Umm..fine okay. It won’t be sincere though.”
You rolled your eyes, “Doesn’t have to be, it’s the right thing to do so you’ll do it.”
“…anything else?”
“Not for now. I’m going to bed soon so if there’s anything you need from the room, get it now.”
He wordlessly turned around, and you then faintly heard him going up the stairs.
Biting your lip in deep thought, you proceed to wipe off the last of the counters.
Could you forgive him? When he was willing to do all that to appease you?
If you were being honest with yourself, you could feel the irritation already start to melt away a bit. You hadn’t expected such a 180 in his stance, he went from threatening Jimin with murder to begrudgingly agreeing to apologize within only a matter of half an hour or so. You thought you would have to at least give him the silent treatment for a bit before you could even bargain a “sorry” for your ex. Taehyung was usually much more stubborn…
Nonetheless though, you were still upset and embarrassed about the scene.
You hated when men got violent around you, it made you feel so unsafe and small. You thought Taehyung was different, him even poking fun at the meatheads who would pull stuff like that at the local bars you would frequent while dating. So what changed?
Footsteps slowly descended back down the stairs, telling you that Taehyung had returned from your bedroom and it was safe to go up.
You left the kitchen, turned off the lights and passed through the hallway. Briefly you stopped, just short of the stairs, to see your boyfriend grumbling to himself while arranging some blankets on the couch.
A sudden and chilling thought ripped from your lips before you could even quietly ponder it.
“Taehyung…how did you know Jimin was my ex?”
He stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face you with a blank look.
“Uh, Lisa might have slipped up and told me.”
You relaxed, unknowingly releasing a breath you had been holding.
“Hmm, okay. We’ll talk tomorrow then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight baby.”
“Oh! Let me get some water first, can you check that the doors were locked?” You asked while skipping back towards the kitchen. You hated waking up with a dry mouth and always kept a glass of water on your nightstand, restless bathroom trips be damned.
You didn’t hear any response to your request, but you paid it no mind, assuming Tae probably already double, if not triple, checked the locks being the worrywart that he was.
Right next to the kitchen entrance was the basement door, and it was shut.
Yet, something stopped you in your tracks.
The light under the basement door…it was on?
“Well I don’t have any more beer up here. Just wine. There might be some more in the basement, though.”
It couldn’t be….could it?
Your intuition was hollering at you from within.
A force greater than you pulled you to the door handle.
Against yourself, you opened the door to the basement…
And choked back a horrified scream.
At the bottom of the stairs lay Taehyung.
Unconscious, pale and bleeding horrifically from some head wound that was forming an inky pool under his crumpled form.
It wasn’t your Taehyung that returned upstairs.
So...this has been sitting in my drafts for over a year lol. I do have a dramatic ending in mind and some final scenes but yea, I don't think I could finish this unless people actually wanted it so let me know if this is a plot you kinda liked? I never tried flat-out supernatural horror like this. Anyway, happy October guys! Love you all. Luna :)
#yandere bts#yandere taehyung#bts taehyung#kim taehyung#taehyung x reader#bts fic#bts x reader#yandere au#bts#bangtan boys#male yandere#taehyung fanfic#yandere taehyung x reader#kpop fanfic#taehyung fluff#yandere imagines#yandere fanfiction
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smells like teen spirit (M)
PAIRING: Jeno (NCT) + reader (female)
SUMMARY: Jeno keeps getting on your last nerve, but you still end up in his arms with your tongue down his throat.
WARNINGS: strong language; some drug use; explicit sexual content
NOTES: 8.6k words; this is part two of a rose and her thorns, but can be read as a standalone one-shot
Chicago, 1991
A tale as old as time. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
That was our life that summer. Some of us in different doses than the others.
You sat on the bed with your legs bent, resting the notebook against your thighs as you scribbled out another page of the band’s escapades.
Though there was a connection with Mark, we agreed to keep things simple for the rest of the summer. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the band. God forbid we earned a reputation like Fleetwood Mac’s.
Unfortunately, this agreement caused some awkwardness and I handled that the way I always did - with distance. If Mark couldn’t help but complicate things, then I would do him a favor and give both of us the space we needed.
It felt like shit, but I was used to being the villain.
Turning the page, you kept writing in the eerie quiet of the van. Haechan was bouncing his leg up-and-down at a mile a minute, thoroughly annoyed by Jeno’s delay. Mark was dozing in his seat, trying not to fantasize about you and the fucking heaven between your thighs, but he couldn’t help but watch you jotting down your feelings, your grievances, your hopes and your dreams.
He prayed that he was part of the latter.
The silence broke when the van door opened loudly, followed by a disheveled Jeno stumbling inside. “Goddamn, I am getting so much pussy on this trip,” he huffed, running a hand through his overgrown and severely damaged blond hair.
“Jeno, I swear to god,” you barked, scratching out the compliment you had given him at the top of the page. “If you give me an STD this summer, I will set your drums on fire.”
“You would destroy my child?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Jeno grumbled something under his breath about how you always rained on his parade of pussy and shut the doors. “Let’s get on the road,” he said irritably, shooing Haechan out of the driver’s seat and jerking the van in gear.
“We’ve been waiting for you, dumbass,” Haechan sniped. He’d been getting so annoyed and impatient he threatened to leave the bastard drummer behind and never look back. That bitch can walk, he’d declared moments before.
Mark stayed quiet in the passenger seat, sluggish with sleep. He looked to you again, watching you write in your journal and wondering what you were saying about him.
About all of them.
Jeno drove fast, but not a soul complained. The gig in Chicago was the most highly-anticipated of the trip.
The van hurtled down the highway, not stopping for several hours until you begged for a bathroom. After a quick gas station run, you put some fresh snacks into the cabinet and wrangled your hair into a bun on your head.
Jeno came in with a bag in hand and said, “I bought more condoms.”
“Good for you,” you deadpanned, wrinkling your nose.
“Although I heard Mark didn’t have to wear one,” Jeno added, tsking his tongue. “One of the few perks of being innocent and pure, I guess.”
Your voice was razor sharp. “Careful, Jeno.”
Both pleased and annoyed by your tone, Jeno asked roughly, “Did you at least remember to get your birth control?”
You wanted to shoot daggers into his face with your eyes, but refusing to afford him any looks was better. “Yeah. I got my Depo shot two days before we left.”
“How long does it last?”
“Three months.”
Jeno smiled wryly. “Well, isn’t that convenient.”
“That’s the whole point,” you mumbled. He was trying to get a reaction out of you, prodding at your buttons, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
There was a pause. “I’m ready when you are,” Jeno flirted, wiggling his brows at you.
“Who said I even wanna screw you?”
“You did. Many, many times.”
True, but no longer relevant. All things considered. You returned to your notebook and said, “That was before you became a penis petri dish of death and disease.”
“Ouch.”
My relationship with Jeno could best be described as rivalry. He never gave an inch and neither did I. It was my job to keep him humble.
And damn, what a full-time thankless job that was.
Jeno had been going out of his way to rile you up after your night with Mark. He couldn’t stand seeing you sulky. Mark’s pouting was beyond remedy, but yours could be managed with well-placed jabs.
He had you down to a science. Lighting a fire under your ass was all Jeno knew how to do. The more he prodded at you, the more flames escaped. And when you were angry, you couldn’t be sad.
Because there was nothing Jeno hated more than seeing you cry.
“Can you try to stay on beat this time?” Jeno chided, spinning a drumstick nimbly between his fingers.
Having been testing the microphone, you whipped around and snapped, “Fuck you, Jeno.”
An argument swiftly ensued, petty and heated. No surprises there. Mark and Haechan stood with their guitars and watched the back and forth with no end in sight, even as people poured into the club.
“Those two are going to kill each other,” Mark said under his breath.
Haechan scoffed. “Or make a ton of babies.”
Mark almost choked on the lump that shot into his throat.
You stomped over to Haechan, pointed at Jeno and said, “I can’t deal with this douche canoe anymore!”
To which Jeno shot back, “Just shut up and sing, ice crotch!”
Your eyes went wide with rage and you spun in Jeno’s direction, ready and willing to claw out his eyes. Haechan grabbed you by the arm and steered you back over to the microphone, officially sapped of all patience.
“In ten seconds, me and Mark are going to start playing,” he said hurriedly. “And both of you are going to look like losers if you’re not ready.”
You huffed a swear or two under your breath and gripped the microphone as Mark and Haechan got into position. Then you heard the tapping of drumsticks behind you followed by the roar of Mark’s electric guitar.
By the time the show was over, you were utterly exhausted. Between Haechan and Mark, your arms draped across their shoulders, the three of you sang tiredly along to one of your songs as the boys essentially dragged you down the hall toward the back door for some well-earned sleep.
Turning the corner, you saw Jeno with two beautiful blondes. You bristled with annoyance. They were giggling at every little thing he said like they were getting dick after, which you quickly realized was the case.
Not on my watch.
“Let it go,” Haechan said, but he knew it would make no difference.
Jeno did not deserve pussy after how badly he stressed you out. You wriggled out of Haechan and Mark’s arms and made a beeline for the drummer.
“Oh my god,” you said in a loud, obnoxious voice, greeting the girls as you cuddled up to Jeno and patted his chest. “You guys look so cute! But unfortunately, Jeno is only halfway through his chlamydia treatment.”
Wide-eyed, the girls looked at you in horror before sending vengeful expressions at Jeno, who set his jaw and bristled with anger.
You held your hand beside your mouth, pretending to whisper a secret, “Very contagious through bodily fluids.”
The pair of blondes scurried off. One of them gave Jeno the finger.
“I hate and despise you,” Jeno hissed, trudging down the corridor.
You were hot on his heels, ready to resume the argument from earlier. A moniker like Ice Crotch was not going to be forgotten. “Haven’t you had enough threesomes?”
“There’s no such thing as too many threesomes,” Jeno replied, heated. “And I’ve only had four.”
Haechan asked curiously, “You keep track?”
Jeno snorted. “Don’t you?”
“One is easy to remember. I wasn’t into it.”
Mark fell in line beside them and said, more so to himself, “I have questions.”
“I don’t,” you spoke up, backhanding Jeno’s burly arm to get his attention. “Jeno, you’ve got pussy brain and you fucked up the tempo.”
Jeno went quiet, which was the last thing you expected.
Everyone was tired and raw. We were a well-oiled machine, steaming ahead like a freight train, but with time, gears start to grind. When gears grind, they tear through flesh and bone.
I know my boys. It sounds cliche, and I agree, but I know them. We’ve been friends for so long and crossed hundreds of lines of intimacy reserved for soulmates. They can’t hide anything from me.
Especially the things they intentionally try to hide from me.
You knew you had struck a nerve, but you weren’t sure which one. You dug your heels in regardless, but you were miffed when Jeno said nothing and made for the door.
“Did he just storm off?” Mark questioned, equally bemused.
“He never does that,” Haechan said softly, turning to you.
You didn’t hesitate to stomp after him, and Mark and Haechan didn’t follow this time. When fire fought with fire, it was best to keep a distance to avoid getting burned.
The cold of Chicago’s night was bitter on your cheeks when you stepped outside and you pulled your jacket tightly round you. Jeno hadn’t jumped into the van yet. He was lingering in the lot, scraping his shoes across the asphalt as he puffed on a cigarette.
Closing the distance, you called, “The hell is going on with you?”
“Nothing,” he replied, avoiding your eyes and blowing out smoke.
“You’re out of sync and you’re acting weird.”
Jeno narrowed his eyes at you. “We were all out of sync tonight. Why am I the only one getting called out on it?”
As usual, no matter how angry he made you, your first instinct when things were too tense was to smooth his feathers. His surface was rough, but at his core, Jeno was tender. You brushed your hand down his arm and said sweetly, “Because you’re the rock…”
"We’re all built on," was going to be the end of that sentence. Unfortunately, I never got to say it.
Jeno cut you off. “I don’t want to be your rock,” he lashed out, hissing your name. “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me all the time?”
You recoiled like you’d been slapped and that was when you noticed his eyes. They didn’t belong to the Jeno you knew, but to the monster that stole his mind and would eventually give him back by morning.
Wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort, suddenly much colder than before, your breath pillared into the night like the smoke from his mouth when you whispered, “I didn’t. Until you said that.”
Jeno blinked, realizing too late that he’d hurt you.
That was the thing about me and Jeno. We both thought the other to be fearless and unbreakable, but also knew who we were at each other’s cores. I was his mirror image and he was mine. The broken kids; the kids that just wanted to be loved. The pair everyone knew to be demons, but never stopped to think how we became them.
The fallen angels.
Anger faded from his face in an instant. “I didn’t mean it,” Jeno started, flicking away the cigarette and reaching for you.
You stepped back, not wanting to be touched. “You’re at your most honest when you’re high, baby,” you said sternly, fixing him with a look that rooted Jeno in place. “Don’t lie to me now.”
Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. How could you always see right through him?
You wiped the tear that spilled down your cheek and escaped into the van, your safe place, your little haven. Jeno ran a hand down his face and cursed, “Fuck,” for hitting you where it hurt.
The rest of the night was tense and awkward, only slacking when sleep took hold. Everyone was painfully exhausted. Chicago had exceeded expectations and pushed all limits. The show was insane. The energy was incredible. I would remember that performance for the rest of my life.
Me and the boys may have been a little out of sync, but each of us gave it our all. We left nothing on the floor and held nothing back.
Haechan curled around you in the bed, keeping you warm. You claimed the bed together more often than not. Mark slept like a vampire, on his back on the floor with his arms at his sides. It was the weirdest thing you’d ever seen, but it worked for him somehow. He slept like a baby, the whistle of his snores filling the van.
Jeno sat in the driver’s seat, looking up at the stars, exhaling the smoke from a joint. He was wide awake, couldn’t sleep. An unfortunate side-effect of the shit he took to get high. The marijuana wasn’t simmering him down as hoped. He’d probably stay up all night and sleep the day away.
Glancing over his shoulder, seeing your pretty face made him smile. You looked even cuter when you slept, but it was frustrating as hell.
No one else noticed he was high but you. Did you really know him that well?
Of course she does, Jeno thought. You were his better half. That’s how it worked. He could never escape you. There was a point of no return when it came to intimacy. Not so long ago, you and Jeno soared past that point. Two reckless teenagers, young and wild, that found all their highs and lows with each other.
Jeno propped his legs up on the dash and closed his eyes, watching the memories like a movie in his head. Mark shredded the electric as if his life was on the line; probably to vent his sexual frustration. Haechan was a whirlwind of energy despite playing that boring ass bass. And you, beautiful you… Mark wasn’t kidding when he said you were a god on stage.
Chicago delivered on the show, but not the after-party. Instead of drinking and fucking the night away, Jeno was in the stuffy van watching the stars go by when he wasn’t stealing glances of you. He wanted to be in your arms, needed you to kiss him and tell him everything would be okay.
You were the fix he craved most of all.
In the time it took him to blink, dawn broke. The sun shone across Jeno’s face. He lifted a hand, shielding his eyes. He grumbled a little and turned in the seat to get comfortable, cursing at the awkward angle his back was in.
Your hand touched his shoulder gently and Jeno lurched in surprise, peering up at you. He’d never looked so weary and drained, but you could see the animal was gone from his eyes. “You’ve been up all night?” Your voice rang with compassion, and Jeno felt utterly undeserving.
He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, unable to keep them open any longer.
You tugged at him, getting Jeno to his feet and ushering him to the bed, where he basically collapsed onto the mattress. Mark and Haechan were up, crawling around in search of coffee like a pair of zombies. Meanwhile, you let Jeno situate and draped the blanket over him, tucking him in, and brushed some of his hair back from his face.
Jeno took your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “Tell me you love me,” he said in barely a whisper.
“I love you,” you replied without hesitation, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. You stayed propped over him, wanting to be close so you could be sure he finally drifted off. You left a chaste kiss on his brow and coaxed, “Go to sleep, baby.”
Mark turned away. It wasn’t jealousy he felt, just longing. Seeing you so gentle with someone you were viciously fighting with the night before made him want you more. No matter what was said and done, there was too much love in this cramped little van.
When Jeno’s breathing leveled out and his hand went slack in yours, you finally relaxed. You’d be damned if he went days without sleep. There wasn’t much you could do, but the boys had their limits and you did your best to make sure they weren’t crossed.
Without another word, you clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the key, driving out of the club parking lot and onto the main road. You found a shopping center where Mark and Haechan could run errands while Jeno was out, and you pulled in.
Jeno slept well into the afternoon, stirring when the smell of hot food filled the van. Haechan used some of the gig money to splurge on delicious Chinese takeout.
You pulled out a foldable table from behind the cabinet and stood it up on the floor. The four of you sat around it and ate in silence, stuffing your faces until your bellies were full. You and Haechan gabbed a little, but not much. Mark and Jeno didn’t mutter a single word, both of them stuck in their feelings.
A far cry from how they would be that night.
One last show in Chicago. You were back on the same stage as before. It was the first time the band would perform an additional night at a club.
Jeno and Mark were squabbling, which was a rare enough sight to see. The two generally didn’t like to fuck with each other. It always resulted in fists flying and both were surprisingly really good at scrapping.
You looked to Haechan and rolled your eyes. Your best friend was smiling, on the verge of a laugh.
“We’re doing the third set,” Jeno said firmly.
“She can’t,” Mark replied, anger rising. “Her voice is fried from last night. The third set could knock it out for weeks and we’ll have no singer.”
Jeno shrugged. “She can take it.”
You were thoroughly annoyed. “She’s standing right here,” you spoke up, folding your arms. The audacity they had. It made you bristle, because you knew it had nothing to do with your voice and had everything to do with your body.
“What do you want to do?” Mark asked, softening his voice for you.
Jeno cut in, “Don’t ask her. You have to push her.”
You shot him a nasty scowl. “Stop pushing me.”
“Or what?” He smirked.
You shivered with irritation crossing dangerously toward rage.
“I don’t think you can do the third set,” Jeno said, challenging you, his smirk deepening. “Prove me wrong.”
“I’m not falling for that reverse psychology bullshit.”
“Coward.”
A smug look washed over your face as you hissed, “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me?”
The smile fell off Jeno’s lips. “I said I was sorry.”
“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you snapped, but you definitely cared. The wound was still fresh and stung.
Haechan tilted his head when you looked at him. He was always your anchor in the rough seas of Mark and the violent winds of Jeno. “I’m with you, whatever you choose,” he said.
If I ever walked off that stage, my boys would follow. No questions asked. They would follow me into hell and back. Though the four of us would probably just live there indefinitely.
You straightened your shoulders and your tone left no room for argument. “We’re doing the third set.”
Jeno beamed victoriously. Haechan nodded. Mark gave a look mixed between concern and awestruck.
You sang until you were spent; brutally, wholly, and everything in between. Your legs felt like jelly when you walked off stage and your chest ached, lungs taut. The adrenaline, like a performance-enhancing drug, had run its course and you were officially on empty.
It wasn’t unlike you to push yourself to the absolute limit. You loved the stage. You worshiped the power that surged from your voice when you sang into the mic. Pipes for days, Haechan always said.
The dressing room was a sight for sore eyes. You dropped heavily onto one of the sofas and let your head fall back, closing your eyes. Your throat felt like you’d swallowed razors.
“Try not to talk,” Haechan said, holding up his hand when you shot him an irritated look. “I’m not telling you to be quiet. I’m suggesting you let your voice rest.”
You nodded and sunk back into the sofa again.
Mark was vibrating, the energy of the show still pulsing through him. Brimming with energy (the excess turning into courage), he walked over to you and bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow.
You smiled, knowing it was Mark without opening your eyes.
Jeno finally deigned to grace the rest of you with his presence, bursting into the dressing room and exclaiming, “Holy shit, you killed it!”
“And this is where you take all the credit,” you rasped, wincing at the sound of your own voice.
“I’ll wait till you go to bed and then I’ll take all the credit.”
You lifted your head and narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you have some ass to chase?”
Jeno licked his lips. “Nah. I only got eyes for you right now.”
“Pluck them out for all I care.”
“You wanna fuck me so bad you look stupid.”
You waved him away, settling down and closing your eyes again, and wheezed, “Have fun with your hand.”
Haechan sat beside you, picking up your legs and draping them over his lap. “I’ve never seen you so mad at him.”
“He just doesn’t stop,” you huffed. “You know when to leave me alone. Mark never pushes my buttons. Jeno just keeps fucking digging.”
Haechan chuckled. “That’s all he knows how to do.”
“Whatever.” You shrugged, feigning indifference.
Mark suddenly asked, “Do you love him?”
You sighed. “I love all three of you. He’s definitely my least favorite though.”
Mark gleamed proudly at Jeno, who scowled back.
“So, if we were drowning, who would you save first?” Haechan asked mischievously.
“Mark. Obviously.”
Mark’s grin widened, while Haechan gasped and put a hand over his heart like it was the ultimate betrayal.
“You can swim,” you said, patting Haechan’s arm over your legs. You opened your eyes and gave Jeno a vicious sneer. “Jeno’s the only one drowning.”
Jeno’s lips squared into a frown.
“What’s that mean?” Mark asked curiously, but Haechan stayed silent. He knew.
“Leave it,” Jeno warned, darker than ever.
The three of you did. Unlike Jeno, you knew when to quit.
Some people did drugs. Others did rock music. A few did both.
The boys dispersed momentarily. You were relieved when the dressing room was empty, leaving you to your thoughts and the searing pain in your vocal chords. Rubbing at your eyes, smearing your makeup, you didn’t hear someone come back in as you muttered to yourself, “God, my throat fucking hurts.”
“It’s probably raw as shit,” Jeno said, making you jolt. And roll your eyes. He cleared his throat and switched his tone to add, “Speaking of raw…”
“No.”
“You let Mark in raw,” he whined loudly.
You cut him a glare. “I wouldn’t let you raw me if you were the last man on earth.”
Jeno pouted. “Ow.”
With a scoff, you decided to turn the tables on him. “Why are you so hard for me the past few days? I can’t even brush my teeth without you humping the air around me.”
There was no shame to be found in Jeno. “I haven’t had you in weeks,” he groaned.
Your lips parted in surprise. “You’ve had every other girl in the country.”
“It’s not the same.”
You stood and crept close to him, close enough to ghost your lips over his mouth. Jeno went boneless, every inch of him fixated to you and what you would do next. He wanted you so bad he couldn’t see straight. So, you decided to yank the metaphorical rug out from under him, sniping, “You’re pathetic.”
“Are you really going to hold that against me forever?” Jeno asked, tensing.
No. It was just easier to be mad at him. That was the only way I could have some defense against the power he had over me.
“I’ll make you a deal,” you said, sliding your hands over his shoulders and winding your fingers into his hair. “Answer one question for me and I’ll forgive you.”
Jeno was one more breath away from kissing you. He knew it was a trap. You were luring him in and he was happy to swallow the bait. “Fine,” he replied in a husky voice, eyes on your lips. “Ask your damn question.”
“What are you taking?”
“What do you mean?”
You hardened your gaze on him and tugged on his hair. “Don’t play that with me. I know better.”
Jeno studied you a moment. You would keep yanking this thread until it unraveled. He pushed, you pulled. The two of you could play tug-of-war with each other’s heartstrings forever. Jeno decided it was better to rip the bandage off and get it over with it.
He reached to the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a bag, and handed it out to you.
You took a split-second look at the bag and your jaw dropped, your arms falling as you snatched it quickly. “Cocaine? Are you fucking kidding me, Jeno?”
Jeno stole the bag back in the time it took you to blink, returning it to the safety of his pocket. “We’re supposed to do drugs,” he defended, rather unconvincingly. “We’re rockstars.”
“We’re teenagers that just graduated high school with barely enough cash for fuel and chips!”
“How I spend my cut of the money is my business,” Jeno shot back.
“This isn’t about the money.” You folded your arms, scolding him like a mother would a child; oscillating between angry and worried. “You know how dangerous that shit is.”
Jeno shifted his approach too, ever your mirror. “It’s the only way I can perform, babe. If I don’t have it, I can’t focus and I get too nervous.”
You softened even more, like Jeno knew you would. “We can get you something else,” you said gently. “Something better. Safer.”
He scoffed. “With our gas and chips money?”
You sighed, accepting a temporary defeat, but you pressed, “You’re doing it to get high. Not to concentrate.”
Jeno went slack, equally defeated, and reached for your waist. “I’m just trying to have a good time. We know this won’t last. We’re going nowhere.”
You lowered your head. “I know.”
The summer was half over and we hadn’t been scouted. Hope was replaced with disappointment and eventually, disappointment would flip to resentment. We never put it into words, but it was like a cloud following us, day and night.
Jeno took your face in his hands and tipped your chin up until you met his eyes. “Let me have this summer,” he whispered sadly. “Mark got you. I got this.”
Something inside you broke a little.
Yes, when the summer was over, you were Mark’s.
But the summer wasn’t over.
Jeno smiled in surprise when he felt the warmth of your lips on his, but he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and deepen the kiss. Feeling the heat of your body against his was what he’d been craving, wanting you to burn him alive.
My first instinct always was to comfort him. I would chip away at myself and give him every piece if it meant he could use them to stitch his wounds.
Believe it or not, Jeno was my first love, but a first love at fifteen means nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was my first everything, but we just didn’t work. No matter how hard we tried. There was a mad and intense connection between us, inseverable, but in the confines of a relationship, we were wild animals forced together in a cage.
I know few will understand us. Hell, even I don’t understand how I could have so much passion and fire for someone that stretched me thin and forever kept me at the brink of insanity.
But I was beyond questioning it.
Jeno slipped his tongue in your mouth and you grabbed his hips, pulling him flush against you. His kisses were surpassing hungry and landing somewhere near ravenous. The intensity must have scared him, because Jeno suddenly parted from you and took a step back.
You rubbed your lips bashfully, not realizing you were panting until it was the only sound in the quiet dressing room. And Jeno was breathing just as heavily.
“What’s wrong?”
Jeno shook his head. “I want you so bad.”
You snickered. Here you were on a silver platter and he was the one that put distance between you.
Though you opened your mouth to say something snarky, Jeno spoke up, “But you’re going to leave me.”
Your heart sank. It dawned on you; this summer was the end to a lot of things. Youth was ending. The band was ending and with it, all of your dreams.
And the tie between me and Jeno would have to finally be severed so my life with Mark could start.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured. You didn’t want to think about Jeno and his broken heart. Or that the drugs you scolded him over were what he used to fill the void you left behind.
Jeno respected the hell out of you for having the strength to leave him. He never could walk away from you even though he knew it was for the best. You would spend your whole life trying to fix him while he would always use you as a crutch.
It wasn’t fair to either you or him.
“Mark is good for you,” Jeno said in barely a whisper, his eyes glistening.
You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about Mark.”
Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. Seeing his pain reflected back at him on your face was too much. “Get high with me.”
Your eyes went wide. “Why?”
“You’re my person,” he said, vulnerable. “The only one I’ve ever wanted to do it with.”
This was what you struggled to put into words - the hold this boy had on you. He was bottomless ocean depths.
“It’s always you and me. We do everything together,” Jeno continued, reaching for your hand and leaving a kiss on your knuckles.
You let him pull you back into his arms and asked, “What if I die?”
“I’ll bring you back,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your brow that completely melted you.
“What if you die?”
“Let me go.”
Your eyes suddenly shone with the threat of tears. “Never.”
Jeno leaned into you, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Just this once, babe.”
You paused, thinking it over. Everything inside you screamed, “Yes!” Jeno never failed to bring this side out of you - the reckless, starved one that didn’t give a damn about consequences. You always feared if that was the real you, the true you. “Just this once,” you said quietly, closing your eyes as Jeno sealed his lips to yours again.
The idea of getting high reached out to you with gentle, caressing fingertips, promising to banish the pain and numb the hurt.
Tearing himself away from you once more, Jeno walked over to the door and locked it.
Yet another first time with Jeno to add to my list.
You were caught off-guard at how fast the high kicked in and never before had you noticed how tense your body was until it wasn’t anymore. Your mind was even lighter. There was no more torment. You could feel that it was there, but it didn’t ache any longer.
The sensation was indescribable. You were whole, perfect, immortal and invincible all at once.
And that was how you found yourself on the couch with Jeno, pawing at each other like animals in heat.
“Jeno?”
“I know.”
You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your neck and asked weakly, “Am I going crazy?”
“Babe,” he said, meeting your eyes with a smirk. “You been crazy.”
You laughed and the sound was music to Jeno’s ears, making his smile widen.
Time blurred together. It could have been the next day or the next year for all you cared. All you knew was this moment with Jeno and how it lasted a lifetime.
You sank deeper into the sofa beneath Jeno’s weight. Your thighs were hooked on his hips, hands roaming his taut, muscly back. Both your shirt and his tee were somewhere on the floor, along with your bra.
Jeno kept grinding into you, each movement rougher than the last. “Fuck,” he swore, lips brushing your ear. “I just know you’re getting so fucking wet right now.”
He wasn’t wrong.
A wanton noise of pleasure escaped you and Jeno ate it up. You were burning by a thousand degrees, it was almost painful. You had never craved someone’s body on such a primal level before.
With Mark, it was love, but this? This was lust running wild with abandon.
The doorknob wiggled. You didn’t hear it over the loud thumping in your ears and neither did Jeno, who was far too busy bruising your neck whilst he kneaded your breasts, pinching your nipples to make you squirm. Haechan didn’t need to try the knob again to know what was going on. He turned to Mark, who was coming down the hall, and led him away.
“They’re working out their issues. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said hurriedly. Mark hesitated, but didn’t argue. He was none the wiser. With the way you and Jeno had been at each other’s throats, it never crossed his mind that you would fuck him.
Meanwhile, you were discovering new uncharted levels of arousal, undulating beneath Jeno, trying to match his movements, which were getting faster and harder. The drugs in your system made everything feel more intense, all-consuming. There was no tension, no insecurity, just instinct and pleasure.
Jeno was definitely waiting for you to give him the green light, and you were enjoying keeping it from him, but the throbbing between your legs was unbearable.
You planted your hands on his thick chest and pushed, making Jeno prop over you and look into your face. “Wanna fuck now?” you asked sheepishly.
His pupils dilated. “I thought you’d never ask.”
You whined when Jeno clambered off of you, standing next to the sofa and unfastening his pants. Before he drew them down his thighs, he pulled condoms from his pocket and dropped them on your lap.
“Two?” You snorted. “My lucky day.”
“One for each girl. You know, the ones you chased away from me.”
Licking your lips as his hard cock sprang into view, you grabbed him by the hips and purred, “I called first dibs on that dick years ago.”
Jeno chuckled, but his expression changed on a dime when you leaned in. He watched you drag your lips over his abs, kissing and nibbling along his happy trail. His breaths stuttered as he said, “Whenever you want it, it’s all yours.”
You peeked up at him hotly. “I want it now.”
While Jeno fitted himself with a condom, you shimmied out of your pants and underwear, and the moment they were on the floor, you turned onto your knees, braced yourself on the arm of the sofa, and arched your back, sticking your ass in the air.
He wouldn’t be able to resist it for a second.
“Fuck you,” Jeno hissed, getting into position behind you and raking his cock between your folds, gathering your slick from tip to base.
You wiggled your hips. Your brain was clouded with lust and drugs, and something purely hungry for Jeno. Like he was your favorite meal. “Gimme it,” you huffed, glancing over your shoulder. “What the fuck is taking so long?”
Jeno gave your ass a smack, making you squeak. “You need to calm down,” he chided with a grin, still sliding his length between your slit. He was so riled up his hips jerked against you involuntarily.
You reached between your legs, getting a hand around his dick and steering it into your aching pussy. Jeno let you, biting his lip and smirking at how goddamn horny you were for him.
The head of his cock pressed into your entrance and you grasped the arm of the sofa with both hands as Jeno began thrusting forward, working himself inside until he impaled you on every last inch of his girthy cock. You buried your face in the couch, biting down on the stressed leather.
Jeno gripped your waist tight and drew you to him until he was balls deep in your tight heat, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around his length. The drugs amplified everything about you; your warmth, your scent, your sounds. He barely noticed the condom at all.
When he drew back and shoved his cock back into your cunt, you lifted your head and cried, “Fuck!”
“You’re so wet,” Jeno growled, sinking in and out to hear your slick pussy welcoming him back.
You whimpered. “Fuck you and that big dick,” you mumbled, but you didn’t mean a word of it. You weren’t sure how much you could blame the drugs anymore. You wanted him to plow the living shit out of you until there was nothing left.
Jeno took that personally. As a challenge more than anything. He squeezed your waist in his hands and smacked his hips into your ass, driving his cock into your core and giving you something to really whine about.
It was all you could do not to scream as he took you for all you were worth. You fisted the couch in your hands until your knuckles ached and you threw yourself back to meet his strokes, a noise escaping on your hoarse throat with every rushed breath. Sex was a drug all its own. It just felt too damn good.
Jeno kept his hard pace, making sure he landed flush against your heat every time, and brushed his hands up your body to wrap them around your throat and tip your head back. “Yeah, that’s my good slut,” he taunted, the smack of his body colliding with yours getting louder. “She’s taking all that dick, huh?”
The sounds you made were humiliating, but they only made Jeno harder. His grip on your neck had you slack-jawed, your eyes winched closed. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him!
It wasn’t fair that he had that kind of power over my body. With him, I felt desired and powerful, and between that - untainted. Unbroken. Jeno never saw me for the damaged goods that I was. To him, I was always perfect. He completed me. No matter how unhealthy it was, I wanted it.
I didn’t need drugs. Jeno’s love was my high.
“Don’t stop,” you choked out, his hands heavy on your strained vocal chords. “Don’t ever stop...”
Loving me. Though the words wouldn’t come, Jeno knew them.
“Never, baby,” Jeno said, releasing your throat in favor of your waist, draping himself over you and burying his face in your neck. His hands wandered your breasts as he plunged in as far as he could go and stopped, leaving a few scattered, reassuring kisses across your shoulders.
Your body trembled when he bottomed out, aching with need and overstimulation. You swallowed to wet your throat, panting for air, and asked, “Why are you…?”
“You’re so fucking high, baby,” Jeno crooned, touching you gently and affectionately. “Just trust me.”
He was right. You were high on drugs and his body. You were a nerve laid bare, every brush of his hands enough to make you shiver. Your body pulsated, like you were being dangled over the edge, the pressure becoming too much to bear.
You held yourself up on hands and knees, tortured by the fact he was no longer moving inside you, but his hands playing with your breasts and his lips on your neck had your attention. The stimulation was sending more shudders across your skin, making you lean into his touch as your core throbbed for him.
“Part of you will always be mine,” Jeno whispered into your neck. “I know you’ll pick him over me, but part of you will always miss me.”
You tensed with unshed tears and cried, “I know.”
“I need you to know it’s okay,” Jeno said, turning your head and kissing you with so much pain and pleasure it knocked the wind out of you.
You kissed him back, reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair. It was a cruel curse - to love someone so deeply that was bad for you.
Jeno broke the kiss and rocked gently into you, staying in deep and lilting his cock inside your walls, the head of him kissing your cervix. Normally, you would have pushed at his hips for some mercy, but the high made you impervious to pain.
Suddenly, he thrust in hard but slow, arching his hips. You staggered out a moan and reached out to steady yourself, almost knocked off balance by his strength.
He did it again and again.
Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was hitting you with those drawn-out, domineering strokes, making you feel every inch of him slam against your sweet spot. He may have agreed to never hold you choosing Mark over him against you, but he was going to give you one final reminder of how absolute his control of your body was.
“I’m coming,” you warned, his name a mantra on your tongue as you took all he had to give. You were grateful for the roar of music coming from the other side of the wall, drowning out your cries and Jeno’s moans.
Jeno fisted a hand in your hair while the other still tugged and rolled your nipples. He kept his pace, hips slapping into your ass at a perfect rhythm, knowing you were on the edge of orgasm with the way your walls clamped down on his cock.
“Fuck!” Another brutal thrust sent you into ecstasy. You shook and swore, trying to crawl away from him, but Jeno was on you, shoving you into the couch and riding out your high.
“Good girl,” Jeno hissed, watching you writhe beneath him. He went still and tipped his head back, letting out a tiny moan.
You blinked to clear your eyes. You could feel the bruises forming in your skin as Jeno pinned you to the couch. It only turned you on more. When you realized he was still hard, that he hadn’t come, you mumbled under your breath. He was supposed to finish with you.
Jeno’s eyes flickered. Another moan escaped him as you rolled your hips, desperate for friction. He drifted his hands to your hair, gathering it all in his fists.
You sat up and went to work, fucking him as best you could in your position. Despite the condom, your pussy wanted to milk every drop of cum out of his dick. Post-nut clarity hadn’t set in. Either the drugs or the orgasm made you even more feral for this dumb boy.
“Oh, fuck,” Jeno groaned, watching you throw it back, bouncing your ass on him, taking him like a fucking champ. His abs tightened as he tried not to pound the fuck out of you. Instead, he reeled his hand back and slapped your ass, goading you.
“Come for me, baby,” you said darkly, the room echoing with the loud, wet clap of your bodies meeting.
Jeno growled a low curse in this throat. Suddenly he was on the edge, driven by your command and that tight fucking cunt.
You shrieked in surprise when he flipped you over roughly, the sound devolving into a moan when he steered his cock back into your pussy, grabbed your waist, and drilled into you like he would never get the chance again.
He didn’t last long at that pace. Jeno threw his head back and came, one moan after another tumbling from his pretty mouth, each one more ragged than the last as he emptied himself into the condom.
You brushed your hands over his thighs and hips, whispering little nothings as he came, feeling him shake like a leaf as he buried himself inside you. Once Jeno settled down, you touched his chest and asked, “Holy shit. Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” he wheezed, voice cracking, all the air knocked out of him.
Biting your lip to fight a laugh, you failed to hide the smug grin taking over your face.
“Don’t,” Jeno said weakly, rubbing at his eyes.
“You just came so hard you cried,” you teased, pinching his nipple for good measure.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
Feeling him about to pull out, you reached for his waist and held him there, joking, “I will remember this, forever and ever, and I will bring it up every time you get on my nerves.”
“You’re the worst.” He sobered, leaning in close. “And you’re the best I've ever had.”
You smiled as he kissed you, sealing his words on your lips. Then you giggled as his mouth traveled over your chest, sucking on a nipple. Your buds were still stiff and Jeno couldn’t resist.
“I see how easy it is to get addicted,” you said when Jeno got up to discard the condom. “That shit is intense.”
“Told you.”
Sitting up, you ran your hands through your messy hair. You could only imagine how you looked; makeup smeared, glistening with sweat. “You know you have to stop,” you told him, making your voice gentle.
Jeno afforded you no looks. “Eventually.”
You were too tired to argue, sore and spent in the best ways. When Jeno returned to the couch, you welcomed him with open arms, pulling him close and steering him to lay his head on your naked chest. You stroked your fingers through his hair and over his broad shoulders, and whispered, “I’ll never let you die, Jeno.”
He stayed quiet.
“You’re not allowed to leave me.”
“Stalker.”
You snorted back a laugh. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” Jeno lifted his head and nuzzled your cheek, teasing, “I just think it’s cute how obsessed you are with me.”
You kept touching him. His skin was just so hot beneath your fingertips, like caressing an open flame. “Are you really okay with dying?” you asked after a moment.
Jeno shrugged. “It’s unavoidable. I don’t see the point in sweating over it.” As he spoke, Jeno kissed at your neck slowly, curious if he could get you riled up again.
Your lashes fluttered and you shifted underneath him. Though he left you more than satisfied, the longer he kissed over your pulse and palmed your breasts, the quicker the ache in your core came back, ready to be filled up again.
Jeno reached down to cup your sex, running his finger over your swollen clit and swearing under his breath when he felt your soaked entrance, thinking how easily he could slide right back in and make you feel good. Both of you.
“If you died,” you stammered, struggling to form words as he touched you. “I don’t think I would ever smile again.”
Jeno was caught off-guard. He stopped pawing at you to look in your eyes, wondering if you realized just how heavy a thing that was to say. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he told you innocently, kissing the corner of your mouth with affection.
It was the first time you’d seen him so serious. Not hiding behind his usual humor.
Jeno was surprised when you pushed him away and reached for your pants on the floor. He watched curiously as you rifled through your pocket and withdrew a balled-up piece of paper and handed it to him.
“For the memoir?”
You nodded, watching him unfurl the page, your heart thumping harshly in your chest. “Yeah, I’m constantly jotting stuff down.”
Jeno’s eyes drifted over your words.
I can’t stand him. He infuriates me. He makes me crazy. But Jeno is the one person that knows me - the good and the bad, and accepts them both.
I love my boys, but he’s the one I don’t think I could ever live without.
Jeno peered at you with glassy eyes, shining with tears. “Damn it,” he groaned, crashing his lips on yours.
As expected, you made use of that second condom.
Jeno hooked your legs in the crooks of his arms and thrust languidly, staring down at you. Your eyes never parted as he gave you release once more, knowing when the summer was over, he would never get to touch you again.
When all was said and done, the two of you slumped into opposite sides of the sofa, soaked with sweat. Once you caught your breath and Jeno returned from tossing the condom, it was your turn to clamber on top of him, using his chest as your pillow. You rested your head on his shoulder and traced senseless patterns over his collarbone with your fingertips.
Jeno said your name. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I want, but I know I can’t give it to you. I tried.”
You closed your eyes. It would keep the tears at bay. “I know.”
“I feel sorry for you, loving all three of us. It can’t be easy.”
“It’s what I was made for,” you said softly, tightening your arms around him, lest he fly away from you and never return.
Jeno changed subjects before it broke him. “I’ve never felt so self-aware of how it feels to be young. And how it doesn’t last long.”
You nodded slightly. “This time is precious.”
“I wouldn’t say precious. Definitely fun though.”
You snickered, relieved to hear his humor coming back, but a somber feeling rushed over you. “Do you think we’ll ever get tired of it?”
“Of what?”
“The performing, the fucking, and… the drugs.”
Jeno paused. “You mean each other.”
You sighed tersely. There was no hiding it from him.
My biggest fear was that my boys would hate me. That I would be a bitter reminder of what could have been, how close we were to our dreams before crash landing back on earth, broken and bruised forever from the fall.
Jeno brushed his fingers up and down your back, and kissed the top of your head. “I don’t think we’ll resent each other if this fails, babe,” he said in a low voice. Some things just aren’t meant to be, he thought sadly. Like you and me.
“If that happened, I think I would die,” you whimpered, burrowing your face in his chest.
“Don’t talk like that,” Jeno said, running his hand mischievously over your thigh. “But stop being so afraid of death. You’ll waste your life running from something that is going to catch you no matter what.”
You tipped your head back to kiss him. “I just know the devil dreads meeting us. We’ll steal his throne.”
Jeno kissed you back hotly. “Hell yeah. I can’t wait to fuck you on it.”
You laughed.
Hard to steal something that already belongs to you, Jeno.
Copyright 2020-2024 © yutaholic (formerly zenyukhei)
All rights reserved do not copy or translate without my permission!
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I have been… biting my tongue from saying things.
Partially because I’m not “really Jewish” (on the way to it via conversion), and because I didn’t want this blog to be political.
But I realize I want this page to be a safe space. If anyone takes issue with what I’m about to say, I don’t want them on this page.
I joined the college jewish community very shortly after 10/7 and was immediately welcomed in. There was no separation between me and the girl who had gone to orthodox shul all her life and was the head of the state youth group. I was told explicitly “you are one of us. And together, we are mourning. We have lost our people and so have you.”
Still I felt no authority to speak on things as insidious as antisemitism until recently. But how many times do you have to experience an antisemitic incident until you get to stand up?
Six. The answer is six.
Since explicitly aligning myself with Jewishness, I have lost friends who told me I have “dual loyalties” in so many words. I’ve been ostracized in events because we were singled out . I’ve been followed back to my dorm room from events by people hurling genocide accusations at me- white girls wearing keffiyahs who don't know anything about the Nakba when I try to connect with them about how awful it was.
My face was used in a local “fight jew hate” campaign” where I’m in a group of people with clearly middle eastern descent. But what circulated around my campus was my blonde hair and blue eyes, with people using laughing emojis.
“This is who we’re supposed to be defending!? Bitch please! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣”
(Which is perfectly ironic because they singled out the person who wasn't ethnically Jewish and focused on her. )
Campus security and the disciplinary office knows me quite well from all the reports I've filed whether for me or other people.
I leave campus for breaks. Even though I’m returning to my highly Catholic conservative family, I breathe a sigh of relief. I don't have to look over my shoulder constantly or check myself in the surroundings I'm in. I already feel the dread about returning in January.
What hurts is the blindness- the lack of nuance- that is being given. Every single Jewish person at my school is not a self described zionist, other than that they acknowledge Jewish indignity to the land, and that there was a reason for the creation of Israel- not even justification in the current state or the matter it came about.
But they- and we- shouldn't have to prove ourselves. We shouldn't be debating if we should fundraise for Gazans (we are) in case someone accuses us of "lying about our intentions" or if we'd be pointed out as "the good jews!" They shouldn't have to have a tab open on their computer for Israeli passports, even though they desperately don't want to leave the United States. I shouldn't have to wonder whenever I'm at a synagogue "If I get killed here in a terrorist attack before being immersed in the mikvah, will I get a Catholic or Jewish funeral?"
But that never mattered. Our voices never did. Unless the antisemitism came from a high school dropout neo-nazi with a shaved head and swastika jacket, it's never going to matter.
I will never forget- even as I advocate for Palestinians, call for a ceasefire, and donate. Or any other cause where I'll be marching besides these activists I can never call well meaning.
I could go on and on about it. But I won't be able to write it out in this post.
All I know is when the counsel of rabbis ask me if I'm ready to be apart of an unpopular group, I'm going to have to fight myself from laughing at the question
#jumblr#jewish#antisemitism#tw antisemtism#jewblr#jewish convert#jewish culture#fromgoy2joy thoughts
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Flirting and Football- B. Barnes
Pairings: bucky barnes x reader
Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise
About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically
The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.
She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises.
You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.
She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.
“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”
You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.
“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.
“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”
You nod. “Wow.”
“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”
Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”
“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”
Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”
You shrug. “I had to do something.”
“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”
“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.
“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.
“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.
She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.
It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.
“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.
“What? What did I do?”
“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”
“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.
“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”
“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”
“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”
“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”
“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.
“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”
“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”
“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“I am,” Bruce confirms.
“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.
“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”
You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”
“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.
“Hey Wanda, Piet.”
Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.
“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.
“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.
“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”
“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”
“We?” you echo.
“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.
“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.
Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”
You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”
“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.
You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”
“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.
You frown as the siblings grin.
“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.
Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”
“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.
“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”
You mutter incoherently.
“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.
-
“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.
Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.
You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.
The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.
Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”
You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”
“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”
There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”
You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”
You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”
“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”
You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.
“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”
“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”
“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”
His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you.
You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”
Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.
Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”
You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.
He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”
“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.
“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.
“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”
“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.
“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”
Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”
-
The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.
Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.
The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.
You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.
Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.
“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.
You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.
“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”
“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”
Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”
Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.
“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.
He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.
“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.
“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”
“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”
You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”
Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.
You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.
“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”
Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.
“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.
“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”
Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”
Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”
“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”
Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”
“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”
Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”
You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”
“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.
“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.
You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”
“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.
“Based off of what?” You counter.
“Anything.”
“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”
Pietro clears his throat loudly.
“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.
You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”
“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”
You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”
“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.
You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”
“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.
“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”
“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”
“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”
“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”
A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.
-
Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.
You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.
Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.
“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.
“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.
“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”
“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”
You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”
There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”
Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”
“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”
You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”
“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”
You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.
“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”
There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”
“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.
“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.
You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.
“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.
“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”
Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.
“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”
You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.
“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.
“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.
“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.
“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.
“Not the same thing. Not even close.”
You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”
“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.
“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.
“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”
“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.
“We talk.” You shrug.
“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”
“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”
“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.
“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.
“It will,” Bucky says.
For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.
He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.
You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.
Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”
“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.
-
The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.
He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.
The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.
You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.
Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.
“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.
“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.
“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”
“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”
Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”
“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”
“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”
You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”
“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.
You snort. “Yeah, sure.”
Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.
Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.
His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”
“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”
“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains.
“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.
“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.
“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.
“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.
When he comes back, you’re gone.
The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.
-
You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.
You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.
“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”
“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.
“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.
“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.
“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”
“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.
“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.
“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”
“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”
You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”
“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”
“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”
��Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”
“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”
“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”
“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”
“I wouldn’t say that—”
You laugh quietly. “Sure.”
“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”
You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”
“Sorry?”
“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”
“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.
“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.
Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”
Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”
“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”
You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
“And you’re ridiculous.”
“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.
You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”
“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”
“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.
“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”
You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”
“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.
“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”
“I will know all of that,” he pledges.
You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”
A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.
-
You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably.
It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.
James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.
He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.
He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.
You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.
Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.
You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.
It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.
A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.
Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.
A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.
“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”
“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”
“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.
Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.
“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.
Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.
“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.
It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.
You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously.
“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”
“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.
You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”
“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.
“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.
“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”
Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.
“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.
“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”
You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”
“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.
You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”
He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.
He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”
You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”
Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.
“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.
You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”
You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”
He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”
The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.
“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”
“You have to invite me in,” he explains.
“What, like a vampire?”
He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”
You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.
“It's cold out here,” he reminds.
“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.
His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.
“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.
He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”
-
It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.
You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.
His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.
It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.
“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”
His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”
You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.
“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”
You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.
“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks.
You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?”
Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”
It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”
“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”
Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to,” you begin.
“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”
You nod along. “Right.”
He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.
You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.
“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.
“Yup. One more week, he says.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”
You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.
Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”
“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.
You nod. “Can we?”
“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.
“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”
“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.
Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.
“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.
“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons.
You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”
A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”
“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”
“‘Thought it was weeks?”
“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.
He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”
He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.
Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.
“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.
“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.
You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.
You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.
-
Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.
No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.
He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.
You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.
He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.
He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.
He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.
You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.
Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.
“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”
“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.
He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose.
“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.
“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.
“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”
“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.
“I can pay. It’s my food.”
“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”
You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”
Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”
You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.
Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.
Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.
“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.
You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.
“Yeah?”
Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.
“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”
You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.
“I have to go.”
“What? We just got here.”
“I have an appointment.”
“For what?”
“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.
“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”
You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.
Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.
“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”
“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”
“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.
Bruce stares at you.
You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”
“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”
Your shoulders drop.
“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.
“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.
Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”
“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”
“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”
His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.
“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”
“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.
You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend.
-
For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.
The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.
Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.
You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.
You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.
Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.
The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.
Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”
“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”
Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.
“What? Why?”
Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”
“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path.
You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.
“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”
“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.
You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”
Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”
Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”
“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.
You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.
He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”
As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.
He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.
You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.
You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.
-
You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.
The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down.
Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.
It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.
Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.
You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.
Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.
Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.
Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.
“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh.
“What? Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”
“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”
You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”
You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”
“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.
“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”
“B-both of us.”
“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”
There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”
You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.
There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.
You need to get home. You can’t move.
You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.
Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”
It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.
He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.
“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”
You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”
It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.
“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.
You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.
You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back.
Bucky pulls you back in.
“Will you take me home?”
His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.
Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.
Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.
“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.
“Why?”
You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."
“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”
He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”
His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.
You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve.
“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”
“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.
He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.
You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”
His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”
-
Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.
The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.
With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.
Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.
It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.
You’re not worried.
Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.
So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.
Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.
You’re not worried.
Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.
“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.
“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”
It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”
“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”
“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.
“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”
Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.
Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.
“I told you,” you tell her.
“He’s limping,” she points out.
“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.
He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.
You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.
It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.
Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.
“Hey, what’re you—”
Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.
“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.
You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.
“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.
“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”
“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”
“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.
He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”
“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”
His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”
You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”
“Not yet!” he proclaims.
You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.
“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.
-
You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.
He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.
He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.
If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.
He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”
You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”
“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”
“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”
Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”
“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.
“No.”
“Not even guys you like?”
“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”
“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”
You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?
I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”
Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”
“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”
Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”
“You don’t think I should?”
“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”
Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”
“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”
You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.
Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.
“Why do you care so much?” you ask.
He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”
You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”
“I try.”
You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”
Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”
You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”
“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”
The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.
You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.
“Will you?”
It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”
“Give it a chance.”
You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.
You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.
“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.
Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.
-
You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.
There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.
It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.
It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.
You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.
You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.
You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.
He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit.
Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.
“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.
When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.
“Yeah?” he responds finally.
“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.
“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”
You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.
“See?” You say accusatorily.
Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”
That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can.
“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”
“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”
“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”
She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”
“You talk about me to your friends?”
You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”
“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”
You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”
“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”
You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.
“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”
You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.
“Thank you.”
You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.
You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.
“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”
“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.
You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability.
You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.
Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.
“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”
He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.
Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.
Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.
“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”
“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”
“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.
You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.
He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”
He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.
“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”
“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.
Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Uh huh.”
He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”
“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”
Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.
“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”
“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.
“Yes. It was a good day today.”
You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.
You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.
Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”
Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”
“I just thought you’d be different.”
“How?” His brows are furrowed.
You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”
“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.
“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”
The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.
His skin flips green.
You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.
It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.
He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.
You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”
He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.
“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues. “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”
He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.
You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.
“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”
And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.
He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.
He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”
You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.
“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”
“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”
“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.
“I'll go out with you.”
His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”
You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey
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I don't quite understand if the requests are open, but I can't get it out of my head. Can you write something about Gale Cleven/reader ovulating? (with smut please 🙏🏻🙏🏻)
I really love your writing!!!😭💗
hello, babes! 😊 I tried to write the first request of the Reader ovulating and them trying for a baby with Buck being some sort of a soft!dom and I hope he's soft!dom enough in this fic haha I always imagine him super sweet and vanilla personally tbh 🙈
I had to currently close the requests because I got so many so I'm working on them atm 🙏🏻
🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞
You had a busy day running errands all around town since early morning so you sighed with relief when the evening finally came and you could take a long, relaxing bath before putting on a nightgown and go to bed to read a magazine. Your husband was in his study room downstairs where he was working on some papers for his work but he would usually join you in bed an hour before midnight to read a book as well. You enjoyed those quiet evenings the most out of the whole day.
You sat comfortably with your back resting on the pillow and opened the magazine to look for interesting articles. On one of the pages you spotted a nice advert of a new cosmetic brand. You tilted your head and bit on your lower lip, deciding you would like to try it. So, you opened the drawer of your bedside table and took out your small calendar to write down the brand’s name.
It opened on today’s date and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of a little heart that you had drawn there some time ago. That little heart could mean only one thing – you were ovulating. And because of all your errands on that day, you had completely forgotten about it.
You were actively trying for a baby with Buck. You had wanted a baby before his departure to Europe, actually – you had wanted to have his child in case he wouldn't come back. You hadn’t succeeded back then but in the end it had been for the best. If you had gotten pregnant then, Buck would have missed all of your pregnancy and the first year of your child’s life. But now he was back and the war was over. It was the best time to have a baby and you were determined; tracking your cycle, marking the fertile days in your calendar and following your doctor’s advice about the diet to increase your chances.
You put the calendar and magazine down before jumping out of the bed and fixing your hair quickly in the mirror; taking the rollers out as fast as possible and brushing the waves. Then you put some perfume on and caressed the slight creases on the nightgown’s fabric as you put on a gentle smile and walked out of the bedroom.
You went downstairs and knocked slightly upon the door leading to your husband’s study room. However, you didn’t wait for his reply because you only knocked to announce your arrival so he wouldn’t be startled – you didn’t do that to actually wait for his permission to enter. You pushed the door open and saw Buck sitting by the desk as he sighed at some paperwork in front of him.
“Baby,” you called for him softly and he raised his tired eyes at you.
“What is it, love?” He asked, gently.
“How busy are you?” You stood behind him and put your hands upon his tense shoulders to give them a quick massage. He hummed to himself at the feeling of your soft fingers squeezing all the muscle knots.
“Pretty busy,” he answered and you pouted. “What is it, sugar?”
“I’ve just realised that today’s the best day to make a baby this month,” you whispered, a little shyly. Buck looked up at you with a soft smile and you felt your cheeks heating up.
“Really?” He asked and you nodded. “Oh, well, then that is more important. Come here,” he invited you to sit on his lap as he moved away from the desk to make some space.
You sat across his thighs and threw your arms around his neck to clasp your hands behind his head. Buck pulled you closer by your hips and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon your lips. When you broke the kiss, you pressed your forehead to his and rubbed your noses together. You moved your hands to his cheeks as your fingertips caressed the thin scars scattered on his face.
“I want to have your baby,” you breathed out. “Please, I want to make you a daddy,” you pleaded.
“Don’t you worry, baby,” Buck kissed your lips again, “I’ll give my wife anything she wants,” he promised with a playful smile. “Come, sweetheart, let me put a baby in you,” he lifted you up as you squealed with a giggle.
Buck moved all the papers to the side in one swift move of his hand before placing you gently on the top of his desk.
“You want to make our baby here?” Your eyes widened at him and he froze with his hands on his belt as he raised an eyebrow at you.
“What do you mean?”
“Take me upstairs, baby,” you whined and put your foot on his chest playfully as he grabbed you by your ankle.
“You’re being a brat, Mrs. Cleven,” he warned and you chuckled. “You’re lucky that I’m so in love with you, you know that?”
“Sure, I do, Major,” you saluted and he rolled his eyes before lifting you up bridal style. You threw your arms around him and hid your face in the crook of his neck.
Buck opened the door of his study room with his shoe before taking you upstairs, taking each step very carefully because he didn’t want to drop you or fall down with you on top of him. You took that time to suck on the soft flesh below his ear.
When you finally reached the bedroom, Buck laid you down on the bed gently and admired you for a while.
“You’re glowing, baby,” he admitted.
“Yes, I am,” you nodded, “because it’s time for you to put a baby in me,” you reminded him. “So, what are you waiting for?” You panted and reached out for him as he shook his head and chuckled softly.
“I should teach you some patience,” he took his shirt off and put it neatly on the chair by the vanity table. A Major indeed – he would never just throw it on the floor.
“Perhaps. But we know you won’t because you love to spoil me,” you giggled as Buck took his belt off and put it on top of his shirt. “God, you’re taking so long,” you whined. The idea of him putting a baby in you was exciting enough but seeing him undress was making it worse.
“Alright, come here, little mama,” he finally joined you in bed as he positioned himself above you, wearing nothing but his underwear. “So impatient for your husband to take care of you?” He teased and caressed your face to get your hair out of the way.
“Just want my man to put a baby in me,” you crossed your legs behind his back as your nightgown pulled up and revealed your panties.
“Oh, I’m gonna. I’m gonna make love to you all night long,” he promised and put his big, warm hand on your womb. It made you giggle as you already imagined yourself swollen with his baby. He’d be the best father in the world just like he was the best husband and you wanted nothing more than to give him a child. It would make your family complete.
Buck joined your lips together in a sweet and gentle yet passionate kiss as he allowed his fingertips to run freely all around your body, making you shiver as goosebumps appeared on your skin. You pressed your hands to his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under your palms. You loved him so much that it was making you dizzy to have him so close and all yours – after all those long months of him being so far away from you… you had been starting to forget that your husband was a real person made out of flesh and with a heart pumping his blood, with beautiful blue eyes and golden hair, those pretty long eyelashes and an adorable smile that reminded you of a little boy. You hoped your child would have the same.
But now he was back, he was here. You hadn’t made him up, he wasn’t a make-believe lover. He was real and he was yours and yours only.
You arched your back to give him better access to your breasts as he sucked on them gently and hummed to himself as he was holding you by your ribs.
“They’re gonna swell soon, little mama,” he murmured while he kissed you all around one of your nipples and then he moved to another. “Gonna be full of sweet milk for my baby.”
“Y-yes, daddy,” you tangled one of your hands in his golden hair to pull on it gently and caress it.
Buck looked up at you with his beautiful eyes as one golden hair strand fell down on his forehead and you gasped at how pretty he looked. It made him blush a little but also smirk. His hands moved down and slid your panties off of you easily. He tossed them aside on the bed and opened your legs further as you revealed to him your glistening womanhood. You would always get so much wetter than usual during your fertile days. And so much more needy for your husband.
You reached your hands out to the outline of his hard cock, desperately wanting him inside of you already. You pulled his underwear down clumsily before he shushed you softly and pushed your hands away. He took it off on his own as it joined your panties on the side of the bed.
Gently, he grabbed you by your thighs and moved you closer to him as easily as if you were light as a feather. He was strong and you loved it – especially the way he was able to make you feel so small and vulnerable under him. Your nightgown pushed nearly all the way up while you were being pulled down to line your entrance up with his cock, revealing your abdomen to him. You moved the sheer fabric of the nightgown out of your face and watched him carefully pressing the tip of his cock to your swollen and wet clit.
A shiver went down your body at the feeling as you moaned. Your fingernails digged into his bicep as the other hand tugged on the sheets.
Buck would always take his time with preparing you for his fat cock. He never wanted to cause you any pain or discomfort. He would rub circles on your clit with his tip as your muscles relaxed and only then he would slowly start to push the length inside, inch by inch, watching carefully your every facial expression and every sigh, every moan, every eye-roll. He savoured them but he also stopped all his movement whenever he’d notice you were in any amount of pain.
Breathing heavily, he lowered himself down as he finally pushed all of his length inside and gave you a while to adjust to his size. Your thighs were surrounding his waist, pulling him even closer as if it was possible. His face loomed over yours and he put his hands on both sides of your head.
“Open your eyes, baby, keep looking at me when I make you a mama,” he whispered and you followed as your eyelids fluttered open. You gasped at the sight of his face so close, his beautiful eyes looking deep into yours as he began to thrust his hips, rutting as deep into you as he could, determined to put a baby inside of you.
You moaned and moved your hands to his muscular shoulders, digging your nails deep into his flesh at the overwhelming sensation of his fat cock stretching you out and making you feel full. You looked down for a brief moment and got dizzy at the sight of your belly bulge and his cock’s outline so deep inside of your pussy. With each thrust he was hitting a spot that was making your toes curl and tears of pleasure pricking your eyes.
“Eyes up, baby,” he crooned and you looked at his face again. “Good girl,” he praised and your walls squeezed around his cock. “My good girl,” he added, knowing perfectly well how his words were making you feel. “I’m gonna fill you up with my baby, you’re gonna be all swollen and sweet for me, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered his promises but with time his words were getting less coherent and audible as they were turning into grunts of pleasure.
Buck pressed his forehead to yours as his golden hair strands stuck to his sweaty forehead and you felt his body tensing while his hips’ movement became chaotic. He was close and you cupped his face; his cheeks pink and his full, soft lips slightly parted. He was a sight.
“That’s right, baby, just like that,” you encouraged him, “give me that, all of that, baby,” you pleaded as his spasmodic thrusts were bringing you closer to your own peak, too. “Make me a mama and I’m gonna grow your baby, I’m gonna make you a daddy,” you promised.
Buck moved one of his hands down and put it on your womb, pressing on it gently as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you could no longer force yourself to keep them open at the overwhelming feeling and a knot in your lower abdomen finally relaxing as you reached your high with a loud moan of your husband’s name. He spilled himself deep inside of you with a groan into your ear but he didn’t move an inch once your highs were gone. Still inside of you, he grabbed your thighs and moved them up to press them to your chest before joining your lips together in a sloppy kiss.
After a while you felt him softening and that was when he finally slowly pulled out but he kept your bent legs pressed to your chest in a steady grip as he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. He would usually keep you like this for at least five minutes for his seed to take.
“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he cooed to you. “Gonna be even more beautiful carrying my baby, you know that?”
“Why would I want it so bad if I didn’t?” You chuckled and he shook his head with a soft laughter. He let go of your thighs and you sat up to cling to him and pepper his blushing and sweaty face with soft kisses as your hands moved across his chest and arms to caress them. Buck put his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to kiss you all over your cheeks as well. Both of your naked and exhausted, sweaty bodies were tangled with each other as you were sitting on your bed and sharing dozens of sweet little kisses.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whispered.
“For what, sugar?” Buck moved away slightly as he cupped your cheek with his hand and raised his eyebrow at you. “We don’t know yet if we’ve made our little baby,” he smiled softly.
“No, I know. But thank you for coming home to me,” you caressed his ruffled hair to move it away from his forehead. “Thank you for being such a good husband to me.”
“You make loving you so easy, sweetheart,” he assured you. “You were right. I love spoiling you because you deserve the world.”
“I don’t want it,” you shook your head as your eyes widened. “I only want you, Major Cleven. You are my whole world.”
Visibly moved by your words, Buck laid you down carefully as if you were made of glass. He lowered himself as well, pressing a kiss to your womb and laying his head on top of it while his arms hugged your waist.You played with his hair and smiled softly at your husband.
“I hope you hear me if you’re there, little one,” he whispered into your abdomen. “You are so loved already,” Buck assured. “And so lucky to spend the next nine months under your sweet mama’s heart,” he added.
“And to have a daddy like Major Cleven,” you played along as you caressed Buck’s cheek. “I chose you the best daddy you could ask for, little bean.”
MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST
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