#ALSO will never be over the detail that they’re making a heart in that second screenshot

[nostalgic-bee]

Lumity rain scene <33

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[earlysunshines]

love at your door

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: you wake up on the couch to find out that it’s actually not your couch and oh my god why is your hot neighbor sitting across from you watching tv???

warnings: sana is a FLIRT ; reader is a loser ; sana is a losersexual ; pacing is iffy but it’s bc i wanted it to be short ; alcohol ; anything else i didn’t mention ; not proofread so prob spelling errors idk i wrote most on my phone

a/n: based off the time i got drunk and fell asleep in the wrong room… anyways my love for sana will NEVER DIE guess who’s BACK.

you wake up with a groan, face smushed against a cushion that's definitely not yours, and the first thing that hits you—aside from the dull pounding in your head—is the faint sound of a tv playing in the background. 

slowly, you crack your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. you finally realize you’re not in your room, and the couch you're sprawled out on… also not yours.

you sit up too quickly and regret it immediately, head spinning, the room around you momentarily blurred. but then it sharpens, and your heart nearly stops when you spot her. sana, your neighbor—your gorgeous, gorgeous neighbor that you’ve been eyeing since you moved in—sitting across from you on her armchair, completely unbothered with her legs tucked underneath her, eyes fixed on the tv but clearly aware you’re awake now. 

she’s holding a ceramic mug in one hand, and for some reason, that little detail makes everything so much worse.

because—how did you end up here?

you glance down at yourself and, of course, you’re still in your luigi costume from last night. the tight green tank top clings to you under the denim overalls (one strap purposely loose and falling off your shoulder because you’re desperate for attention in these trying times) which you had decided to wear in some ill-fated attempt to look “hot” while still committing to the theme. you had succeeded, at least you think, judging from the compliments you vaguely remember through the drunken haze of the halloween party. but now, under sana’s gaze, you suddenly feel a lot less confident about it.

“jesus christ,” you mutter, rubbing your temples, trying to piece together what happened. “what—”

“morning sleepy,” sana says, finally looking over at you, lips curling into a small, amused smile. “you came stumbling in after the party. i figured it was safer to let you crash here than send you back to your place like that.”

this has to be a nightmare.

her voice is casual, like this isn’t completely mortifying for you. like this isn’t the exact scenario your sleep-deprived, engineering-major brain has dreamed up in countless fleeting moments when you’ve caught glimpses of her in the hallways (well, you figured you’d be in a less embarassing scene) but now it’s real, and your heart is thudding painfully loud in your chest, and you can’t decide if you want to disappear or if you never want to leave.

(the first option might be the smartest)

you clear your throat, pushing down the urge to bury your face in your hands. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t—i didn’t mean to crash here like that. i must’ve been drunk out of my mind i— fuck, nayeon, that bitch… im sorry my friends they’re—“

“don’t worry about it,” she waves off your apology, taking a sip from her mug, her gaze briefly dipping down to your outfit before flicking back to your face. “i never knew luigi could look this good.” she adds, a smirk playing on her face that renders you weak.

you feel heat rise to your face instantly, and you’re pretty sure it’s not just the aftermath of all the alcohol you consumed last night. her words hang in the air, teasing, but there’s something else in her tone that sends a jolt through you. something that makes you suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you feel, the snug fit of the tank top and the way her eyes had lingered on your exposed skin just for a second.

“uh—” you start, but your voice comes out strained, so you clear your throat again, scrambling for a response. “thank you…?”

she grins at your awkwardness, a soft, almost mischievous smile that only adds to the rising tension in the room. “you’re welcome.”

you force a laugh, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin tingle. “right, well… thanks for, uh, taking care of me. and not letting me do something even more embarrassing.”

“more embarrassing than this?” sana raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your discomfort. she gestures toward your outfit with a nod, and you can’t help but huff a laugh this time, the tension breaking just a little.

“point taken,” you mutter, swinging your legs off the couch to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to hit. sana’s on her feet in a second, steadying you with a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm.

“easy,” she murmurs, and you freeze, suddenly way too aware of how close she is. her hand lingers just a second too long, and when she finally lets go, you feel like you can breathe again—but it doesn’t stop your pulse from racing.

her eyes dart down to the base of your neck and the intensity of her gaze is amplified.

“quite a hickey, huh?”

“what?” you had to be drunk drunk. you can’t recall anything about kissing girls, you’re not the type to be like that when under the influence. “that’s— i can’t even remember.”

“had fun, didn’t you?” sana looks back into your eyes, making you shrink despite her smaller frame. you feel sorry, you want to apologize for something you can’t even remember—you have no clue why. she’s just your neighbor. she’s the neighbor down the hall that greeted you kindly when you had moved in to town. the same neighbor that you had to blink multiple times at before realizing she’s not a fairytale princess that’s creeped out of the books.

you glance at the door, needing an escape, even though a very large part of you doesn’t want to leave just yet. but standing in her living room in yesterday’s clothes with your head still buzzing is doing nothing for your nerves.

“i should, uh, probably go,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the door.

sana steps back, giving you space, but her expression shifts into something playful as she watches you. “right. but hey—if you ever need a place to crash again, my couch is always open.”

you blink, not sure if she’s joking or if there’s more to that offer. but before you can overthink it, you nod, mumbling a quick, “thanks, i’ll keep that in mind,” before heading for the door.

and just as you’re about to step out, sana calls after you, her voice teasing, warm. “hey, luigi.”

you pause, turning to look at her.

she leans casually against the doorframe, eyes glinting with that same playfulness, and she gives you a slow, once-over before her lips curve into a smirk. “seriously. never knew luigi could be this hot.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and all you can do is laugh, a nervous, breathless sound, before quickly slipping out the door, your mind buzzing as you head back to your place.

sana always caught your eye, but now… now you’re pretty sure you’re never going to stop thinking about her.

—

the whole day you’re quite literally losing your mind. as soon as you crash onto your bed when you get back home, you cringe at how much of an idiot you are, and at the fact that you accepted every single drink handed to you by nayeon.

and then the next day, you’re still replaying the entire morning in your head—how sana’s words lingered, the way her eyes had flickered over you with that teasing smile. it’s been driving you to distraction all day. you couldn’t focus during class, barely heard a word your professor said, and by the time your last lecture ends, you’ve come to a decision.

you’re going to do something about it.

(you’re undeniably an idiot, but everyone in your circle knows that anyway.)

so after class, you stop by the small flower shop near campus. it’s not something you’d typically do—flowers and chocolate, that’s so cliché, right? but somehow it feels like the right move. sana had caught you completely off guard yesterday, and maybe it’s time you do the same.

you have a small conversation with the florist, who recommends her favorite assortment of tulips. you don’t want to do too much, so you settle with yellow tulips, their petals delicate and bright. simple, but thoughtful (you hope).

next, you pick out a small box of chocolates, nothing fancy but enough to show you’ve put some real thought into this. because somehow, leaving things the way they were feels unfinished.

you can’t possibly just leave it like that, you can’t have the only real memory and meaningful interaction between you and sana consist of you flat out drunk and at a loss for words.

you’re already a loser as it is, and especially when sana is around—whether that’s when you two both end up at the mailbox together, with you losing the ability to speak when she simply smiles and compliments you; and also the simple greetings when you two arrive at around the same time on wednesday’s and thursdays (not that you take note of it—you definitely do). 

when you get home, you scribble out a short note on a small card:

hi sana,  

thanks for letting me crash on your couch yesterday. i’m really, really sorry. 

here’s a little something as a thank you. hope you like tulips.

and chocolate.

– luigi 

you read it over twice, fighting the nervous energy bubbling up inside you. it’s playful, casual, but maybe—hopefully—it’ll make her smile. you take the flowers, chocolates, and the note, placing everything neatly in a small brown paper bag before heading down the hall.

when you reach her doorstep, your heart is pounding. you place the bag gently on the ground, adjusting the flowers one last time so they look perfect. then, you take a deep breath and knock, firm but quick, before spinning on your heel and rushing back to your own place.

you barely make it through the door before the nerves fully hit. your heart races, and you lean back against the door, letting out a heavy breath. what if she doesn’t like it? what if it’s too much?

but before your thoughts spiral too far, you hear the faint sound of her door opening down the hall, followed by the quiet shuffle of her picking up the bag.

there’s silence for a bit before you hear the door close again, earning a sigh of relief.

if your friends were to find out literally everything that had happened in the span of less than forty-eight hours, they’d tease you until you had to move out again.

—

the next night, you’re at your desk, buried in the engineering assignment youve been given that same day. something about fluid dynamics, a dense problem set that has you scribbling equations and checking graphs on your laptop. it’s not exactly easy to focus—your mind keeps wandering back to sana, the flowers, the chocolates, and really just everything about her. every time you think about her, a small smile tugs at your lips, despite the headache that’s building from the workload.

then, out of nowhere, you hear a knock at the door.

you blink, glancing at the clock. you’re not expecting anyone, and for a second, you wonder if you imagined it. but when the knock repeats, you push your chair back, setting aside your notes. still a little distracted by the assignment, you take your time getting up, stretching briefly before finally heading to the door.

when you open it, there’s no one there. just silence, the hallway empty. but as you glance down, you spot something on the floor—a folded piece of paper. your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but grin as you bend down to pick it up, already knowing who it’s from.

you unfold the note, and sana’s handwriting greets you:

so, you’re kinda cute even in that luigi costume—i couldn’t stop thinking about you

(i think you’re cute in uniform and not) 

though i have to ask—what’s with the hickey? did luigi have a little too much fun?  ;)

anyway, i liked the flowers. i liked the chocolates too. 

but i think i like the person giving them more.

you should come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. i mean, you weren’t that shy the other night ;)  

– sana <3

your face heats up instantly as you read the hickey line, hand instinctively reaching to touch your neck. there’s no way, right? you don’t remember—

then it hits you. fuck. it wasn’t a hickey. nayeon had bullied you about how you ran into something that night at her party, some broom? wall? maybe momo elbowed you? or something. you’re not the type to just fuck random girls, not when you’re loyal to your neighbor that you utter maybe three sentences a week to if you’re lucky. but the thought of what had happened that night isn’t even important because now your mind’s racing, thinking about how sana’s teasing you. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you all giddy and nervous.

you reread the note, feeling that familiar nervous excitement grow. come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. your pulse picks up. there’s no way you’re saying no to that.

without bothering to change out of your hoodie and sweats, you grab your keys, locking the door behind you as you head down the hall. your heart’s still racing, and your mind’s swirling with a mix of nerves and anticipation as you stop in front of sana’s door.

when she opens it, she’s standing there with that same playful smirk—sultry, seductive, and somehow so cute at the same time. her eyes gleam like she already knows exactly what’s going through your mind. 

"took you long enough," she says, stepping aside to let you in, her voice warm, teasing. "for a second, i thought you’d be too shy to show up."

you huff a laugh, shaking your head as you walk inside, glancing around her apartment again. “i’m– i’m not.” it sounds unconvincing, but the woman in front of you thinks it’s adorable.

she quirks a brow, then smiles at that, closing the door behind you. "good to know." she says, handing you a small glass of wine and suddenly everything is a little bit too intimate. 

the two of you end up sitting on her couch, the tv still softly playing in the background like it had been the other morning. the conversation flows easily—there’s that natural comfort between you now, even with the teasing tension that lingers under the surface.

she talks about herself and you talk about yourself too, piquing both your interests. small talk grows into something bigger and you two enjoy the newfound information you’re both learning about each other. you’re breaking the ice, maybe easing into the cold waters in comparison to splashing into it.

“so, about that hickey,” she says, leaning back into the couch, her grin widening as she glances pointedly at your neck. her leg crosses over the other and she holds the glass in her hand near her lips, a small smirk tugging at one corner. “i’m just saying, it looks a little suspicious.”

you roll your eyes, your face heating up again. “it’s not a hickey. i swear.”

“uh-huh,” she teases, clearly not letting it go. “sure it’s not.”

“apparently i hit a broom or wall—something like that.” you shake your head, laughing lightly, but there’s an undeniable pull between you two. 

the way she looks at you, the way her smile lingers a little too long, and the way her knee brushes against yours every now and then—you have to hold yourself back from saying and doing a lot of things. it’s in the way her voice lowers when she speaks, soft and reeling.

you spend the next hour just talking, laughing, sharing random stories about classes, her teasing you about your engineering homework, and you teasing her back about her terrible taste in tv shows. every time she smiles or laughs, it feels like a small victory, something you want to keep chasing. and every time you speak her eyes are in deep contact with yours, spiking your heartrate without fail.

eventually, the conversation lulls, and there’s a moment of quiet where she looks at you, her eyes softening just slightly. “you know,” she murmurs, “i’m really glad you came over. this… was nice.”

“yeah,” you say, smiling back, your heart racing in your chest. “it was.”

“i always thought you were really cute,” she says before sipping on her white wine, “but i’m not a chaser.”

“is that right?”

“unless you count me responding to your apology, then yes.”

you laugh, setting the empty glass down. 

“well,” you begin, biting your lip. “i like to pursue.”

“quite forward isn’t it?”

“you invited me over for wine, it doesn’t get more forward than what you’ve brought to the table.”

“is that so?” sana hums, tilting her head. she bites the inside of her lip, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “i think it can get more forward.”

your breath hitches in the slightest and you can tell sana’s noticed when she lets out that signature chuckle. 

“well, i think it’s time to end the night. you were working on assignments prior, no?” you frown at the suggestion.

“i— yeah, you’re right.” 

there’s a knowing smile on her lips, but you ignore it and stand up with her as she walks you to her door. 

“i had a great time pretty girl,” she puts her hand on your forearm while saying it, her touch burning your skin. “hopefully we can be much more forward next time.”

you laugh. “i like the sound of that.”

“mhm, goodnight.” she says, grinning at you before meekly closing her door.

you purse your lips before walking down the hall and reaching your door. your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it and head in, feeling a sense of regret.

…

sana hears a knock at her door ten minutes later, turning off the sink and drying her hands before walking over to see what’s up. 

the moment the door opens and sana sees you standing there, the look on her face is priceless.

“what—” she starts, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused, but before she can finish, you step forward, your hand reaching out to grab her forearm gently. you pull her just a little closer, your heart pounding as you look at her.

“i want to be more forward,” you admit, voice low, the question hanging in the space between you.

for a second, she just stares at you, wide-eyed, before a soft laugh escapes her. she gets it now. “oh, we’re moving pretty fast, aren’t we?” she teases, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “take me out to dinner.”

you grin, and she hesitates for a beat, but then she nods, and it’s enough—enough to send your pulse racing, enough for you to lean in. before you can close the distance, though, her hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing the base of your neck, and you feel her shiver as she touches you.

“you say that like,” you pause, observing the surprise and allure in her features. “like you didn’t eye-fuck me the other night.”

her cheeks flush as her fingers linger on your skin, and you catch the way she bites her lip, trying to hide her own smile. you don’t wait any longer.

you lean in and meet her lips with yours, melting into it just as she does. 

it starts soft, just a gentle press of your lips against hers, but it quickly deepens as sana lets out a quiet, surprised sound that turns into something more—something she’s clearly enjoying a little too much. her hand moves to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and the way she kisses you back sends a thrill through you.

before you know it, she’s dragging you inside, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other guiding you back toward the couch. the door closes behind you, but you barely notice, too focused on the way her lips move against yours.

when you finally pull back for air, she’s breathless, grinning like she’s just won something. “you should’ve been this forward earlier,” she teases, her thumb brushing against the side of your neck.

“yeah?” you ask, a little breathless yourself, but you can’t stop smiling.

“yeah,” she murmurs, eyes flickering down to your lips before she leans in again, kissing you slower this time, savoring it. sana is a great kisser, the type of kisser that leaves you wanting more and more. after a moment, she pulls back, just enough to whisper, “maybe you should stay a little longer.”

you can’t help but laugh softly. “you sure you can handle that?”

“please,” she says, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous look. “you weren’t that shy the other night.”

“well i was drunk and—“

before you can even finish your response, she’s kissing you again, and this time, you’re more than happy to let her pull you even closer.

[actiniumwrites]

the perfect pair [part two]

synopsis: their reaction to finding out you have a tcg card of them

characters: scaramouche, alhaitham, arlecchino, childe, and kinich x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: mostly fluff with like a pinch of angst in alhaitham’s. i also didn’t proofread these :(

notes: part one got so much love and so many of you asked me to make a part two with more characters so here you guys go <3

part one

Scaramouche:

Scaramouche sees it one day while you’re both cleaning up your shared house and you accidentally knocked over your deck, scattering the cards on the floor

The card you have of him just so happens to end up right next to his foot

He’s only ever heard of TCG in passing from other people or when Cyno was talking about it back in the tournament ages ago, but he never really cared to look into what it was

He’s immensely confused because what the fuck is his face doing on a playing card

You embarrassedly try to explain it to him, but he just glares at it for a second before raising his brows and looking at you

“This is really weird,” he says bluntly and flips it over in his hands while mumbling to himself, “at least they made me look cool.”

You just snatch it back from him and scoff as you put it away in your deck holder, explaining that you were going to show it to him later

“Yeah, whatever, I better be the strongest card in there.”

Alhaitham:

Very unamused

Although he plays with you and the rest of the group, it isn’t very often and he doesn’t care about it as much as the rest of you do

You pull it out from behind your back one day as you’re both walking home from the Akademiya

“Surprise! Look what I got, isn’t it so cool?” you beam at him, shoving the card in his face

He takes the card from your hand, his reaction not changing from his normal face as he does. He inspects it before giving it back to you, “Seriously? You got a card of me?”

It upsets you because you were really happy and it took nearly a month for the guy to make it for you

So the literal second your face falls and you start to get embarrassed, he backtracks completely

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s really cool,” Alhaitham says almost instantly.

And he isn’t lying either. Is it a little cheesy? Yes. However, Alhaitham secretly does like that you have it and care so much about him that you want to have him in your playing deck

So he grabs your hand and holds it tightly in his, knowing he now has another way of subtly bragging to everyone that he’s dating you

Arlecchino:

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she’ll say when you pull out the card to show her, “What is this? A children’s game? Did one of the children put you up to this?”

You take the card back from across the table and pout at her, “No, it’s mine. I got it because we’re dating and I wanted to have a card of you.”

Arlecchino never really understood the point of games, no less TCG of all things. So she’s understandably confused when you start talking about it

It takes you rambling about the games rules and all the little details for her to finally believe that it really wasn’t one of the kids trying to pull a prank on her or something

And she finds it endearing in a way, although she doesn’t let you know that

You notice her looking a little lost and slide the card under the table and back into the rest of the deck sitting in your hands, “Sorry, I can get rid of it if you want.”

“No, there’s no need for that. I think it’s..cute.”

Kinich:

In the nicest way possible, he doesn’t really care

You show him immediately when you get it and Mualani and Kachina totally freak out

“No way! Do they have other ones too?” they’re both more excited than he is and ask if there were any of them since they were made after the competition

Don’t get me wrong though, it isn’t that he doesn’t care, but more specifically, he doesn’t really care about the card

He’s more happy to see that you’re excited about it and that makes his heart swell

And if Ajaw tries to say anything about it, well he wouldn’t even get the chance too because Kinich doesn’t want your moment being spoiled

He’s also very secretly a little giddy over the fact that you love him so much you want to have a card of him

Childe:

The biggest tease ever

Like he literally will never let it go once he finds the card left out on your dinner table from when you were playing with a friend the night before

“Oh wow, you have a card of me? That’s so adorable. I hope you’re destroying all your enemies with my card,” he’ll say arrogantly.

Unimpressed, you take the card from his hands while he’s laughing and shove it back in the deck

“No,” you scoff and decide to tease him back, “you normally die first, matter of fact. I’ve actually been meaning to find a replacement card.”

His jaw drops and he looks at you with the biggest pout, “Hey! That’s not very nice. Who would you even replace me with anyway? There’s no way there’s a stronger card out there than me.”

“Believe me, I could definitely find one,” you smirk at him and wait as he begins to nearly throw a fit. When he really starts to believe you, you laugh and hug him tightly, “Ha! you should’ve seen your face! I’m only joking, you know. Your card is my favorite.”

He stares down at you with his blue eyes and presses a kiss to your lips, “Yeah, that’s more like it.”

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

Oh my god, sorry I’m late was so cute??????

How about a Drabble to go with that from the proposal? They’re chasing a storm and everything is like always. And they’re just standing watching the storm in the distance, the wind whipping around them and he looks at her and just knows he wants to marry her so he goes just down on one knee and asks her. (It also makes an epic video for the channel and gets millions of views lmao)

“The Fans Are Going To Love This!”

Twisters Masterlist (this piece can be read as a prequel to “Sorry, I’m Late,” but it doesn’t have to be)

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader

Summary: Watching a distant storm together, Tyler decides he’s done waiting to ask a very important question.

Author’s Note: I just realised this now makes two Twisters fics I’ve written involving a proposal. Oops! Oh well. 😇 This is (so far) my last fluffy request before delving into some angst. But I absolutely LOVED this idea! The picture came so clearly to me, I just had to give it life. (Yes, it was heavily inspired by Tyler watching Kate in that absolute beauty of a scene… shhhh. 🤫)

Warnings: Fluff (like usual lately, lol). Reader is described as having hair long enough to blow in the wind. I think that’s it!

Word Count: 738 (send help, it was supposed to be a drabble. 💀)

———————————————————————————

Swirling grey storm clouds accumulate in the distance, thunder rumbling through the earth. Sweeping winds blow your hair wildly about your face, and Tyler is captivated.

No surprise, really. He’s been captivated by you since the first time he saw you, striding up to the team in the middle of a crowded parking lot, thermos and backpack in hand, asking to join them on a chase.

The exhilaration radiating from you at the end of that day was intoxicating, warmed further by the beers everyone had thrown back in a seedy bar a mile from the motel.

Walking you to your room, Tyler debated whether or not to say something—anything—about you joining the team more indefinitely.

He was just about to speak when your lips crashed onto his.

And the rest, they say, is history.

Your gasp drags him away from his musings. “It’s beautiful,” you murmur, camera up to your eyes, finger clicking rapidly.

Tyler smiles, taking in the sight of you before him.

He couldn’t agree more.

Sunlight frames your body like a halo, the angel come down to earth he’d always wanted, but never felt he deserved.

Affection warms his heart at the thought. Now’s the time.

“Tyler!” You cry, shouting over your shoulder, camera still pressed to your face. “Tyler, do you see—“ But your voice dies on the wind the second you turn around.

There’s a rustle from the RV behind him. Then, a gasped “Oh my God!”

Knee digging into the gravel, tiny black box cradled in his hands, Tyler watches as the shock on your face slowly drains away to disbelief.

“No… Tyler, you can’t—I don’t—“

Tears form a defense in your eyes, and you blink, battling them away.

Your name drifts off his lips, vulnerable like a prayer, his heart shaking like a leaf within his chest. Blown by the very winds around them.

He should list your strengths, your attributes, every miniscule detail he adores about you. Hell, at the very least he should use your full name. But instead, the only words to leave his lips are a desperate, “I love you. Baby, I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you. I knew then, and I know now… you’re the storm I want to chase for the rest of my life.” He fumbles with the box, revealing the small, elegant diamond Boone and Dexter had helped him pick out months ago. “Will—” his throat tightens, anxiety pounding in his blood. “Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

Your tears breach the barrier, cresting and rolling in fat droplets down your cheeks. Tyler watches as your lips tremble, mouth attempting to form words without a sound. Finally, the word he’s been holding his breath for since that first night in a seedy, run-down bar, drinks flowing and tongues wagging. The word he’s on one knee for now, praying will leave your mouth.

“Yes.”

It’s so quiet, barely audible over the ever-increasing winds. But the look on your face tells Tyler everything he needs to know.

Sweet ecstasy of relief floods his entire body.

“Yeah?” he questions, just to be sure.

A wide grin splits across your face, and you step closer, arms snaking around his shoulders.

“Tyler Owens,” you lean in close, lips inches away from his own, until he’s breathing your breath. “If you’re the last storm I chase for the rest of my life, I’ll die the happiest woman in the world.”

He pulls you into a kiss, your lips soft and supple beneath his. Your fingers tangle in the ends of his hair.

Whooping and hollering startles you both out of the kiss, the rest of the Wranglers descending like vultures. They talk over themselves, tripping over their tongues.

“It’s about time, T! What took you so long?” Dani.

“Congratulations! I dibs maid of honour!” Lily.

“The fans are going to love this!” Boone, stepping closer to the two of you, camera in hand.

Tyler turns to him, the lens now pointed directly in his face. You shift in his arms, waving shyly to the fans. A blush the colour of a dying sunset rises starkly on your cheeks.

“You think so, Boone?” Tyler grins, cheekily. Then, without thinking, he’s grabbing your chin, slowly descending into a long, deep kiss, pulling the ring out of the box and slipping it on your finger to the whoops and cheers of the rest of the gang.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑙𝑒 | Austin Burler

• SUMMARY: Ashley, Austin’s sister, is checking up on her soon to be sister in law, and on her brother too before their wedding, to find out they’re both nervous wreck’s and, well… So made for each other.

• PAIRING: Austin Butler x female reader + Austin’s sister is included 🥰

• WARNINGS: nothing just fluff and most cute nervousness before wedding, maybe typos

“Oh my gosh, Y/n!” you hear Ashley gasp. You're counting down the last minutes until the ceremony. By now, your friends, who helped you with your dress and makeup, also had to get ready, so you were alone in your room. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Y/n!”

You fix some details on your dress, smiling at Ashley who also looks so beautiful in her dress. “Thank you, Ash.” As Ashley comes closer to you, she helps to adjust your veil. “How are you feeling?” she asks, noticing the nervousness in your eyes.

"Honestly?” you sigh. “I feel like my heart is about to jump out of my chest. I’m so nervous. What if... what if something goes wrong? What if I mess up, or he realizes—" Before you can even finish this sentence, Ashley stops you.

"Whoa, slow down. Let me stop you right there. First of all, nothing is going to go wrong, alright? And second you’re marrying my brother and he loves you. Like, completely, unconditionally, can’t-stop-talking-about-you loves you."

You laugh softly and nervously “He does talk a lot, doesn’t he?" Ashley nods while taking your hands in hers. "Oh, trust me, nonstop. He’s been like this since the day he met you. You should hear him when you’re not around. You’re his world, Y/n. And I’ve never seen him so happy."

Ashley’s words make your eyes filled with tears. You can’t believe you’re here, few minutes before marrying the man of your dreams forever. “Really?” you smile surprisingly at her.

“I wouldn’t joke about this. You’re everything he ever wanted. And trust me — this day is the day he always dreamed about.” Ashley was like your sister since the day one. She supports you in everything and loves you like you have always been the part of family.

“I just... don’t want to let him down, you know.”

“You won’t. Just be yourself as you are always “, Y/n, and this day will be perfect. You’ve got this, okay? And we all love you not only him!” Her hands are on your shoulders as he is looking into your eyes - with those eyes that are so familiar to Austin’s.

“Woah, thank you... really. You guys are the best thing that could ever happen to me.” you say, relieved. Ashley wraps her arms around you to pull you into a gentle hug as she doesn’t want to ruin your beautiful dress.

“Anytime. You’ll be part of family after all,” you two giggle. “Now, take another deep breath, and you will make my brother the luckiest man alive in any second.” she says and before she leaves, she turns in the door. “But first let me check on him,” she smirks making you laugh.

As Ashley knocks on her brother’s room, walking in she sees Austin adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Knock, knock. How’s the groom doing?” Austin lets out a breath, running a hand through his “Oh, you know... I’m so nervous. Like I have never been.”

Ashley smiles widely, remembering you told her the exact same thing. “Yea, definitely soulmates…” she murmurs, coming closer to help Austin with his tie. “What was that?” Austin asks as he didn’t understand what Ashley said.

“Oh, nothing. Just confirming what I already knew. You two are perfect for each other.” she replies and is done with his tie. Austin sits down on the bed with a deep sight. “I just... I don’t want to mess this up, you know? She’s everything to me. What if—“

“Nope. Don’t even go there. Listen to me, you’re not going to mess anything up, okay? You are over the heels about Y/n since the day one, do you know how I know?” Ashley looks at her brother as he furrows his eyebrows, waiting for what she wants to tell him.

“Because you never stop talking about Y/n, Austin. I’ve never seen you happier over anyone else like this. She’s good for you. And more importantly, you’re good for her. She loves you just as much as you love her, maybe even more-.

Austin smiles softly, taking notes of what Ashley says. “So stop worrying. She’s walking down that aisle because she wants to. All you have to do is be there, say 'I do,' and try not to cry much."

“No, no… Absolutely no promises on the crying part.” Austin says, pointing at the emergency tissue in his pocket. Ashley laughs, and as Austin stand up, they both hug,

“Remember, Aus, you’ve got this. You’re her everything, her friend, her partner in crime, her future husband. Now take a deep breath and let’s go make her Mrs. Butler.” Austin nods and as the clocks ticks the time of the ceremony, that is where your future begins. Your future as Mr. and Mrs. Butler.

[satorusugurugurl]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT.

I’ve been seeing so many videos about how Japanese people view prostitution wherein they don’t think that such is a form of cheating.

Can I please get JJK men headcanons of whether or not they would visit a prostitute (for the context, the boys can be single of taken)

TY

Lady of the Night

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (modern ceo au), Geto Suguru (curse user)

Warnings: Mentions of sex work, escort/prostitution, rough sex, silly gojo, blindfolds, spanking, cursing, balcony sex, contracts being bought, sold off, virginity loss, mentions of violence/blood/death/fire (all in Geto’s)

Word Count: 5,000

A/N: Wowzers, this one was intense. Please note consent is key!!! I don’t support cheating or anything, so these boys are just looking for a good time. Please know in Geto’s, there’s no SA. It’s hinted there was an attempt, but I didn’t go into details! If you’re not comfortable, please do not read!

Gojo Satoru:

Gojo wouldn't intentionally hire an escort. He would, however, order one on accident. The man is exhausted and can easily teleport home, but the tiny village he’s in is famous for its taro mochi. He finds a motel where they’re renowned for their sweet treat and books a room for the night.

The second Satoru steps inside, his blindfold is off, his shoes kicked to the side, and he's making his way for the phone to call room service. Glancing over the menu, he ordered the mochi his mouth was watering over, along with a silk robe that must be woven with gold because who in their right mind spends ¥200,000 on a robe? Oh well, it's pocket change for him.

Little did Satoru know there was a reason the robe was so expensive. The hotel he’s staying at is a love hotel. They are known not only for their delectable mochi but also for their lovely escorts. So the reason his robe was so damn expensive was because you were a part of the order. A package deal of sorts! So imagine his surprise when he opens his hotel room door expecting someone to roll in a cart with a silver platter and lid to find a woman standing in his ¥200,000 robe that barely covers your beautiful glowing skin.

“Room service~” Your sultry voice cooes as you pull the robe out a little, revealing more of your breasts.

Satoru takes one look at you before turning a bright shade of red. Then he does something no one in all your years as an escort does. He slams the door in your face, leaving you staring at the wood grain in utter shock.

“I-I’m sorry!” He sputters out, turning to stare at the door. “I-I think there's been some kind of mistake!”

Confirming that you’re at the right room, you tilt your head to the side. “This is the room I was given. Is your name Gojo? You ordered a specialty robe.” A nervous laugh sounds from the other side of the door.

”I assumed it was a robe for me to wear!’

He was slamming his head against the wall, grimacing as you burst out into a fit of giggles. Not only were you incredibly attractive, but your laugh was fucking adorable?! Satoru just wanted to throw himself out of the window without his infinity up.

You wiped at the tears forming in your eyes. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be laughing, but this has never happened to me before.”

”Yeah,” Satoru chuckled, “I guess that makes two of us.” His face was burning as his eyes lingered on the door. You laughed again louder, this time making his heart flutter. “I guess this explains why the robe was so expensive.” You barked another laugh as he slowly opened the door, leaning against the frame, grinning down at you.

”That would explain it.” You held the platter of his mochi out for him. “Sorry for the mixup. Here’s your mochi, and I’ll bring you up a robe that hasn’t been worn.” Turning back to the elevator, your movements ceased as the handsome man gently grabbed your wrist, preventing you from moving.

“Would you like to come in?” he offered, stepping to the side. “Share some mochi?” with a broad smile, you slowly nodded.

“You did pay for a night with me.”

“No, I paid for a robe, a robe that just so happens to be attached to a beautiful woman.”

“Right~ I would love to come in.”

When you first got off the elevator, you had a general idea of what the evening would entail. Sex with a customer, a hot shower, and then you would head home. You had never been more wrong in your entire life, and you were glad that you were.

You didn’t have sex; instead, you just laid in bed with Satoru tied up in the robe that he had ordered for himself. You fed each other mochi while laughing and getting to know each other. In the two hours you had with him, you had never had so much fun in your career. Gojo felt the same way; you were so easy to talk to, and you were gorgeous.

Time didn’t seem to exist in that hotel room as you took a bite of mochi Satoru held out for you. But the moment the phone rang, it pulled you out of your happy fantasy back into reality. A disappointed sigh escaped you as you answered the phone, grimacing as your manager yelled at you that he’d had another client waiting for you despite your rule of only taking one a night. Before you could argue with him, Satoru snatched the phone from your hands.

”Sorry, I’m not done; I’d like to add to my time.”

”Satoru wh—“ he cut you off by shoving a ball of mochi into your mouth, shutting you up.

”You know what, just put me down with her all night.” Your manager's excitement was audible from the phone as Gojo just told him the price for the whole night. “That’s it?” Satoru’s nose turned up. “She’s worth more than that and then some. Just charge it to my card.”

”Satoru,” He grinned, pulling you into his chest. “You didn’t have to do that.”

”You honestly think I’m just going to let you slip away? Hell no.” You cuddled into his side. “How would you feel about leaving this shitty job and becoming a sugar baby of sorts instead?”

”Are you offering to be my sugar daddy?” You teased with a giggle, running your hand up and down his chest.

”Depends. What would you say if I did offer to do just that?”

You gently straddled his hips, trailing kisses down his jawline. “Well, I would start by saying you’re too young to be one.” His cock twitched underneath the curve of your ass as you moved past his neck.

”I might be young, but I’m filthy rich.” His hands reached up, groping your ass, gently rocking you against his hardening bulge. “If you allowed me the pleasure of taking care of you, you wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing.”

Sitting back with a breathless giggle, you rocked faster. “Well, when you put it that way, I would have to be stupid to say no to the lovely gentleman who accidentally ordered a prostitute.” Satoru’s chest heaved as he watched your hands move to the robe's sash. “But there’s just one thing we should do before we proceed with this agreement.”

Your hips moved painfully slow over Satoru’s cock. He thought he might lose himself if you kept going at that pace. “Y-Yeah, fuuuck, what is that sweetheart?” With a gentle tug on the sash, Satoru stared at you in awe as you exposed your naked body to him. “O-Oh my god, you’re beautiful, so pretty.” Reaching down, you unbuttoned his pants with a purpose, taking your bottom lip between your teeth with a giggle.

”I need to show you my resume.”

The next day, Gojo returned to Tokyo with a bag full of taro mochi and a girlfriend on his arm. Ordering that robe from a tiny love hotel was the best accident he’d ever made. You couldn’t have agreed more with him,

Nanami Kento:

Nanami was a very busy man who was constantly working and valued the little free time that he had. On his days off, he liked to go out to eat and partake in a few drinks. Other times, he likes to stay at home reading a book and enjoying a glass of wine.

Living this sort of lifestyle could be very lonely at times. Typically Nanami had no problem or issue with going out on dates, but some nights he would prefer to just fuck his frustrations out. And without a partner, he found it challenging to fulfill his desires at times.

Eventually, the pent-up frustration had become too much for him to handle. So, without another choice, he called an escort service where he met you. Your first initial meeting had been a consultation of sorts. Nanami asked for your limits and what you were okay with. When he decided you would be a perfect partner, he paid you in advance, gave you a safe word, and nearly destroyed you the night you were hired.

Your hands were being held behind your back with one of Nanami’s. His other hand was forcing your head into the mattress as he fucked into you brutally. His cock hits your g-spot and cervix with every pull. Nanami Kento was like a growling beast above you as your tight, wet walls hugged him.

”That feels good, love?” He asked in a husky feral tone, his hips grinding snuggly against your ass. The tip of his cock, in turn, teased your g-spot, rubbing it just enough to stimulate the spongy spot. But there wasn’t enough pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering on. “I—“ Nanami’s hand left your head, striking your ass with a powerful strike, “asked you a question.” Another slap, this one hard enough to have your walls clenching around his veiny cock. “And when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

Nanami’s hand massaged the sting out of your ass. “Y—Yes god, yes it feels s-so good N-Nanami!” His hips rocked faster against your ass, “Oooh, Nana—”

“Kento.” A sharp growl interrupted you. “Call me Kento—” His fingers left your ass, wrapping around the tails of the yellow spotted tie he had blindfolded you with. “When I’m fucking you into the mattress.”

He tugged the ends of the tie, forcing your head back and causing your arch to deepen. The sudden change of position results in Nanami’s cock bullying the tip harshly over your sweet spot he’s been torturing for what seems like hours. You cried out as drool dripped down your chin, pooling on the sheets. Your walls were beginning to hug him in pulsing waves; you were so close. Nanami felt it, too. Releasing your hands, he grabbed your hip to steady himself as he began fucking your tight cunt like he hated her.

”Say my name, say it, scream it out loud. I want the entire complex to know who makes you feel this euphoric pleasure.”

”Kento!”

”Louder.”

”Kento!!”

“You. Can. Do. Better. Then. That.” Each word was punctuated by a fast jabbing thrust right against your cervix.

”KENTO!” Your scream bounced off the walls. Making both you and Kent’s ears ring as you came around him, soaking the sheets as he fucked you through the intense orgasm and into his own.

”Cumming!” He growled against your shoulder blade. Beads of sweat ran down his brow, dripping onto your sensitive skin. “Good girl love, take it all, take every last drop I give you.” He kissed and nipped at your skin as his cum filled you.

Once his hips had finally stilled and you could form coherent thoughts, his whole demeanor changed from a frustrated, fuming mass of a man to a gentler soul. His fingers undid the tie around your head before gently massaging circles over your aching joints. His lips trailed soft, gentle kisses over your sweat-shimmering skin. You found yourself leaning into his touch, longing for more. You were desperate to feel every inch of the man who had just fucked you within an inch of your life.

Not many of your clients liked you to do that. Leaning into them once that had quite literally finished using you. They would shove you away before kicking you outNanami Kento was different. The second he felt you shift, leaning towards his body heat, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his body, spooning you.

That first night was the start of your partnership with Nanami. He would fuck you to the brink of death before slowly reviving you with gentle kisses, words of affirmation, and aftercare. Nanami quickly became your favorite client; whenever his name appeared on your schedule, you felt as light as air.

Typically, these sorts of relationships stayed strictly professional and revolved around sex. So when you showed up to his apartment one Friday evening, ready to see the pearly gates, you were shocked to be offered a glass of wine. Not only that, but he led you to his dining room, where he pulled out your chair as he served you the delicious dinner he had prepared for just the two of you.

”I thought we’d try something a little different tonight.” He’d confessed in the low flickering glow of the candlelight. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

You agreed without hesitation, smiling lovingly. Nanami was the client; whatever he wanted to do, you’d be willing to try. You’d had several different clients and gone through so many other kinks. You liked to imagine with all of that, you had a pretty good amount of experience under your belt. Nanami, however, had surprised you for the first time in a very long time.

Some nights, he just wanted a normal, quiet dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed with you in his arms. The initial request had been a bit of a shock, but it was a good one. After that night, your visits with Nanami began alternating from rough, god-like se to sweet, gentle evenings.

Tonight was one of those mundane nights you’d grown to love just as much as the crazy, wild sex you two had. But you found yourself loving these quiet little nights a bit more where you were currently resting your head in his lap as he played with your hair. His eyes roamed over the pages of his newest book.

”Mmm, I love nights like this.” You whispered, shutting your eyes.

”I love you more.” Nanami said while turning his page, not even paying attention to the stunned expression pasted over your face. All he did was smile warmly. “You don’t have to say it back.”

”I love you too.” You answered just as fast.

”Mmm, then perhaps we should consider ripping up our contract. I would prefer to be your boyfriend rather than your client.” That was the night that you had retired, and the night Nanami deleted his account on your escorts page.

Ryomen Sukuna: (modern CEO AU)

Sukuna would purchase an escort for sure, no doubt. He'd go through a site and pick the one he thought was the most beautiful. He would then ask you to come to his apartment to complete your services. The man could fuck; he fucked you hard, deep, and fast. He took you against the door the first time you visited his apartment. Once he was done, he paid you and saw you out.

The following week, Sukuna requested you again. This time he picked up dinner before he fucked your throat while he watched a movie he'd put on for the two of you to enjoy. His large hand was rugged and pulled on your hair, forcing you to take more of him down your throat before yanking you off and giving you a chance to breathe before pushing you back down on his thick throbbing dick. When he finished, he handed you bent over the coffee face buried in your pussy, lapping at your clit.

Sukuna might have been rough and demanding, but he never once hurt you. He always ensured both of you came hard, never leaving you unsatisfied. He quickly became one of your favorite clients. Every Friday night, you'd happily skip to his condo, and every Friday, he would rock your world.

“Oh~ god fuck~!!” Sukuna snarled as you rocked back against him. “Fuuuck~” The bustling city and honking horns sounded from below as your hand gripped his balcony railing. “God, you take my cock so good~”

“Kuna~ Kuna s-so good!” you slam yourself back faster in his cock, losing yourself in the wet squelching sounds that fill your ears.

Sukuna’s hands grope at the fat of your ass, squeezing it as he pulls you harder against him. A smirk tugs at his mouth at the whimpers that shake through you. “I'll never get over how good you feel~” He groaned deeply as his hips snapped faster, his free hand rubbing circles around your swollen clit. “Maybe I should have you stay for a weekend~ maybe longer.” Manicured nails scrape over the metal of the railing as you dip your head forward. “Would you like that~? Being my live-in slut? Huh?” Pillow talk: this was just pillow talk.

“I-I'd like that a-a lot!” you sobbed as his cock hit the deepest part of you. “P-Please Kuna~ I need you.”

“Ah~ you'll get it, my queen, ~ you're gonna get a thick fucking load shoved so deep, you'll be dripping my cum out for days~.”

“Yes! Full me up! Fill me up!”

The begging tone of your voice has Sukuna wishing there wasn't a condom separating him from your wet heat. One of these days, he’ll make sure that he gets to feel all of you. For now, he was more concerned with just feeling you cum around him. He’d take care of the rest later.

“Then cum for me, my sweet little slut.” With a jab at your g-spot, you do as he commands. You scream, not caring about the people walking down below or his neighbors. All that matters in this current moment is losing yourself as Sukuna fucks you through the scream-inducing orgasm and into his own.

“Nggh! Fuckin’ slut!” His grunt of pleasure is bitten off by an almost demonic roar as his cum fills the condom.

You both rock slowly against the other, skin-hitting skin in soft—plops before Sukuna sits on his patio sofa with you in his lap. He's groaning on the nape of your neck as his hands gently massage your hips. Humming softly, you look up at the stars, wishing this moment could last forever.

Where he wasn’t a client, and you weren't an escort. The more you came to his condo on Friday nights, the more you didn't want to leave. But he was paying you for an evening, so the chances of this escalating into something more were slim to none. So you would just be thankful for the moments you had.

The night ended like every other Friday. He gave you the cash, walked you to the lobby, and kissed your cheek. “See you soon.” He said as he helped you into a taxi and waved you off.

When he said soon, you had been thinking he meant next Friday soon. But the following day? Yeah, that was a shock. You had just been called into your manager's office, finding Sukuna leaning against the wall while your manager counted big stacks of money.

“What’s happening?” The question was almost inaudible as your manager leaned back with a sickening smirk.

“This gentleman has bought out your contract, so as of this moment, you’re fired.”

“W-Wha—?!” you don't even get to question your manager as Sukuna is dragging you out. “Kuna?! What the hell is happening?!”

The man who just bought you out of a lifestyle you didn't care for cocked a pink brow. “I asked you last night if you wanted to live with me. You said yes. Buying your contract out was the next step.” He leads you to a sleek black car. “Don't think just because I bought you out of your contract means I assume I own you. You're free to do whatever you please. I enjoy your company.”

“So I can go home whenever I want.”

“Yep.”

“And if I want to stay with you?”

“You can.”

You don't even hesitate; you leap into his arms and kiss him. “Mmm, good, take me home,” Sukuna smirks, kissing you back as he loads you into the car.

“Home it is.”

Geto Suguru:

Geto was searching for a place to stay when he first met you. Back then, you weren't even an escort yet. He was looking for an inn with rooms opened; he'd been informed by one of his cult members of a curse that would be perfect for him to absorb.

At twenty years old, he walked into his first brothel, fully intending to get a room for the night. The establishment reeked of booze and sex, but it was the only place with room available, and the curse he'd just swallowed was one of the worst he'd tasted. Resting was the best thing he could do before returning home.

Once in his room, the best room in the entire building, there was a knock on the door to his room. The manager of the building shoved you inside. You hit Geto’s chest with a wince before the manager bowed his head to Geto. The man you ran into glanced over you; you were dressed in thin white garments before his dark eyes met the man in the doorway.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“A welcome gift, as a token of my appreciation of you buying our best room. I had heard you hadn't ordered any escorts, so please take her as you. She’s a virgin.” Small curses and little leeches appeared, crawling all over the man. These curses typically came from greed and lust, sucking the life out of everything. And the man was covered in them.

Geto felt his stomach twist as he glowered at the stupid monkey—another reason he had to rid the world of these parasites. This man was a disgusting creature who was selling off women like this. But for all he knew, you were just a monkey, too. There was no point for him to waste his time

“I do not need such services.” The handsome man announced, shoving you back to the manager. As he did, one of the leeches lurched for you, and you held up a hand in disgust. Suguru watched as the curse hit a barrier before fading into black ash.

So you weren’t a useless human.

”Oh, I see very well. Come girl, I can use you for the party tonight ins—“

”On second thought, it was rude of me to refuse your offer. I will gladly accept her.” The manager beamed with excitement while you glared at him in disgust.

” Excellent choice, my lord; I will leave you to it.”

The second the door to his room shut, Suguru turned to you, watching you angrily undo the sash at your waist. “Hurry up.” You barked out, voice trembling as you laid on the bed as stiff as a board.

”I have no intention of touching you.” Suguru said, tilting his head to the side with a grin. “I do, however, have questions regarding your technique.”

”Technique?”

Geto sat on the bed next to you, explaining what he had seen you do. You, in turn, told him your life's story. How you could see curses since you were a child, how your parents sold you off to repay a debt. You confided in him that you had been the errand girl for the brothel since you turned eighteen, but when the manager saw your beauty, he started insisting you begin taking customers. Now that you were twenty, he had grown tired of your denials and decided tonight would be the night he offered you for free to any willing customer.

Suguru was disgusted and offered to handle the problem, but you politely declined, stating you would stay. If you didn’t repay your parent's debt, your younger sister would be sold off next, and you refused to allow that to happen.

“I just hate for my first time to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. And once you leave, I know I'll be paraded around some more.” Suguru could see the sorrow in your eyes as you brought your knees to your chest, hugging yourself. “I wouldn't have minded you being my first customer.”

”I will confess, I have never done anything like this myself.” His cheeks flushed as he gently placed his hand over yours. “Perhaps we could be each other’s firsts?”

You were no fool; you knew this would be an ideal opportunity for women in your position. With shaking hands, you cupped Geto's face and kissed him. He was almost too stunned to react, but as you gently rubbed his shoulders, he slowly melted into your touch, kissing you back earnestly. Both of you gently removed your clothes, kissed, and ran your hands down each other's bodies, losing yourself in the other's touch. It was tender and slow. You were mapping out the other, caressing chests, legs, and lips overheated skin.

But those gentle kisses turned into desperate ones, tongues sliding gently against the other, fingers buried inside you while your hand wrapped around him, stroking him. When you were both hot and needy, Suguru gently pushed himself inside of you, pausing as you winced at the sharp sting that accompanied him. Seeing the way you wince, both pained and pleased Suguru. He felt terrible for causing you the briefest moment of pain, but he was also glad that he was the one doing it. Anyone else would have been far too rough with you, and you deserved a memorable first time.

A memorable moment that was not going to last very long because you were so tight, and he was already seconds from losing control. “G-Geto~” you whispered as he kissed your neck, up to your ear, nibbling on the lobe as he gently thrust in and out of you. “Ahhn Geto~” He whined in your ear before chuckling breathlessly.

“Suguru.” He corrected, pulling back to stare into your eyes. “Call me Suguru.”

”S-Suguru.” You tested out, and upon hearing his name pass through your lips, his cock throbbed inside of you. “S-Suguru ah, yes Suguru~.”

“My princess, so warm~ so good.” Cries of your names were whispered into the other mouth as Suguru gently fucked into you, his gentle thrusts losing the messy rhythm he had begun with. “I-I’m sorry, but I’m already close.” His confession and thumb gently brushing over your clit, rubbing the bud back and forth, had you rolling with the waves of your impending orgasm.

”M-Me too, Suguru.”

You came at the same time as the man who had bestowed you with a gift not many other girls in your profession were granted, and for that, you were forever grateful. You almost cried tears of joy when he laid down next to you, holding you close to his chest, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back, caressing you to sleep. The following morning, Geto woke you up before he left. He was bidding farewell and leaving you with his cellphone number. He was persistent on you taking it, urging you to call him if you ever needed him.

Little did he know that your call would come one week later. Rainbow dragon landed outside of the brothel, and Suguru came bursting through the doors, eyes dark in fiery fury as he scanned the entryway finding the scumbag monkey that was a pathetic excuse for a manager cowering behind the bar. Suguru ignored him and bounded up the stairs, heading to the room you had first met.

Opening the door, he froze, finding you sitting on the bed, face swollen and bruised. “Princess?” He spoke softly, not to startle you. “What happened?” You motioned to the corner of the room where an unconscious man lay, a fork jammed into the side of his neck.

”My manager sent a customer to me without my knowledge. The man attacked me, but I fought him off before he could get what he wanted.” Suguru released one of his curses before pulling you into his arms, attempting to shield you from the gruesome sight of the man’s death, But you watched from over his shoulder, never once blinking.

”I’m taking you home with me.” His tone and words left no room for argument, not that you would. “Let’s go.” He lifted you into his arms, carrying you down the stairs, ignoring the whispers and glances in your direction. Before he took you outside to where Rainbow Dragon was waiting, he stopped turning towards the bar where the disgusting human who had betrayed you cowered. “Princess, what shall we do with him?”

You turned, one eye swollen shut, as the other burned with rage. “Kill him.” Suguru smiled coldly, releasing more curses that swarmed around the man. His screams filled you with joy as Suguru sat upon the back of his dragon, holding you close to his chest. As the cursed spirit took flight, you peered down as several girls and patrons escaped the building before it erupted into blue flames. “Worthless monkeys.” You spat out, cuddling into Suguru’s chest.

The next day, Geto happily watched as Nanako and Mimiko braided your hair while other members of his found family spoke with you. Suguru had made sure to get your sister away from your parents before he took care of them as he’d done to his mother and father. Your sister would be placed in the care of one of his devoted followers while you stayed by his side.

“Suguru,” You called out, smiling sweetly as you broke away from the girls. “What are you thinking about?”

He kissed your head, “Just admiring your beauty.” He took one of the braids the girls had done and kissed it. “I’m truly a lucky man.” You smiled this time, kissing him on the lips.

”I think we're both lucky.”

”That we are princess, that we are.”

[stellar-haikyuu]

rhythm of the game ☆ kita shinsuke x reader

synopsis: third-year reader is the inarizaki band leader. they have always admired kita from afar, but never had a reason to talk to him—until now. details: fluff, ~1.2k words, gn! reader, relationship leading towards romantic. warnings: none!

Doing one last run through your lists and music sheets, you excuse yourself from the band room to search for the volleyball team’s new captain.

Semestral planning and club application season have kept you and the other third years busy over the summer break. With the myriad of teams that Inarizaki’s orchestra band plays for, you’ve also had to coordinate and schedule meetings with them.

Naturally, your band conductor—who happens to be your best friend—immediately assigned you to the volleyball team. 

“If you’re lucky, you might see him again,” she had teased, a knowing look in her eye. You heart fluttered a little at the possibility of seeing your crush. It’s been a while. 

When you walk into the gym, you’re hit with some sense of comfort. The gym has felt like your third home for the past three years. The band practice room claims second place, of course.

As always, the Miya twins are off in a corner bickering about something. A few other team members surround them, either entertained or concerned. Suna, without fail, is documenting everything.

You look around for the coaches, but they are nowhere to be found.

Looks like I’ve gotta ask the members myself.

But before you approach them, a glimpse of white, fluffy hair in the corner of your eye catches your attention.

Make no mistake, it’s Kita Shinsuke who enters the gym. He pauses mid-step, noticing the commotion.

You wonder what he’s going to do next, but then his eyes lock onto yours.

Woah.

Many have shared how incredibly unnerving it is to be under Kita’s direct gaze. It’s like a quiet force that measures you in an instant.

You’ve heard the whispers from the team members themselves—how his eyes seem to say everything before he opens his mouth. 

The intensity of his deep, brown irises catch you off guard, but they’re not as terrifying as everyone says. In fact, something changes as the seconds pass by. You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but his eyes seem to soften.

“Good afternoon,” he greets you with a perfect bow. 

You snap out of your trance to return the gesture. “Good afternoon, Kita-san!” Before you introduce yourself, he surprises you.

“You’re the band leader this year, right?”

How did he know?

“Y-yeah.” You stammer. Your interactions with him have been limited to fleeting glances and short nods. The extended attention leaves you a little flustered.

“Well, congratulations,” he says, a small grin lighting up his face. “You deserve it, after all yer hard work.”

He smiled at me. He congratulated me. Hard work? Has he been watching? Why is he telling-

You realize you’ve been staring for a bit too long.

“Th-thanks, Kita-san,” your voice shakes a little, almost revealing your internal giddiness. “Means a lot.”

Just then, you notice the number on his jersey.

Number 1. 

The captain’s mark.

A gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Is somethin’ the matter-”

“You!” You look up at him again, pointing at his shirt.

Kita’s eyes widen a little. You’ve never seen that expression on his face before, but you don’t blame him; even your sudden exclamation takes you aback.

“It’s- you’re the captain this year?”

“I…I am,” Kita’s composure falters for a moment.

“Oh my goodness, really?” Your excitement bubbles over, unable to remain contained.

“Ya seem real…happy about it.” He notes, eyebrows lifting.

“‘Course I am!” You beam at him. “I’ve always seen how good ya play, even if it’s practice. You’re so reliable, on and off the court.”

You see him open his mouth to respond, but you can’t help yourself from continuing.

“Dunno if this makes sense, but you keep the rhythm of the game going. You know exactly how to keep yer members in check. It’s just- I’ve always thought ya were the perfect choice. Like you deserve it, y’know?”

When you finish rambling, a deafening silence hits. You glance around to see that the entire gym has gone still. 

The twins are literally frozen mid-argument, Atsumu’s collar clenched in Osamu’s grip. The rest of the team, even the coaches—who’ve somehow appeared unnoticed—are staring.

Suna’s even pointing the camera at you and Kita.

Oh my god.

You look back at him, heat creeping up your neck. “Ah. Sorry, Kita-san. I may have overdone it. But, uh, what I meant to say was, congrats.”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and for the first time since you’ve known him, Kita Shinsuke lets out a laugh. Soft and warm.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Your cheeks burn, trying to ignore the weight of everyone’s stares.

Somehow, Kita reads your mind.

“Alright, everyone, please start your warm ups,” he addresses the team. “Suna, please put the phone away.”

Immediately, all heads turn the other way, the Miya twins’ argument seemingly forgotten. Suna begrudgingly shoves his phone back into his pocket as footsteps start to echo around the gym.

“Thanks,” you exhale, grateful for the reprieve. 

“So, what brings you here today?” Kita inquires and you nearly facepalm.

“Ah.” You pause to clear your throat. “Came to ask about the new captain, but I guess I figured that out on my own.”

The corners of Kita’s eyes crinkle slightly. “Looks like it.”

“Yeah.” You huff in amusement before continuing. “Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up. The band will be comin’ by next week to observe practice. The newbies need to get a feel of the game.”

He hums in approval. “Sounds good. I appreciate the effort you all put into it.”

“Thanks.” You lower your voice. “We’ve also gotta prep for Atsumu’s background music request during his serves.”

Kita sighs with a hint of fond exasperation. “He’s been talkin’ about that for weeks while practicing his jump floaters. Hope it’s not too much trouble.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s kinda fun. Boosts morale, anyway.”

“Alright.” He nods thoughtfully. “As long as you say so.”

Before the conversation ends, an idea pops into your head.

“Wait, Kita-san?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want a theme too? For your serves?”

Kita looks genuinely startled, like a deer caught in the headlights. You think it’s kinda cute.

“Me? I don’t think I need one.”

You shake your head insistently. “Aw, come on! You do pinch servin’ right?”

“Yes, but, I’m sure you already have a lot on your plate. I don’t want to stress you out.”

“Kita-san,” you say his name firmly. “I wanna score it.” 

The absolute conviction in your voice causes a silence to settle between you both. You wonder if you’ve broken him.

“I’m- no, we’re here to back you up.”

When did I get this bold?

You can hear your heart beating in your ears as you wait for his response.

“You’re sure?” His voice wavers a little, but you pretend not to notice.

“Yeah. Promise.”

Kita holds your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you can look away. 

Then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile that feels like staring at the sunrise.

“Alright,” he replies with a lighter tone. “I’m sure you’ll come up with somethin’ great.”

The corners of your mouth instinctively tug upward as he continues.

“Besides, I’m not the only one here who keeps the rhythm of the game goin'.”

masterlist

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Don’t cancel me for this, y’all, but I’ve seen a lot of politically charged posts about RDR (as I should; games about outlaws and the corruption of big and small government are and always will be inherently political), but one thing has really bothered and stuck out to me the most, especially in male-dominated spaces in the fandom. The idea that the Arthur Morgan in this day and age would be a raging MAGA conservative—I’ve gotten so, so many posts about it on my TikTok today, and this is finally me snapping. Here are a few arguments I’ve heard for this. “When he hears that the Democrats want to take his guns, he’d say hell no to that.” “He’s from 1899; you really think he would vote for a Black woman?” And my personal favorite: “Arthur says in-game he doesn’t engage in politics.” I’m not going to go through each of these and explain, in detail with evidence from the games themselves, why I think these are the dumbest takes I’ve ever heard in my life. In a space I hope is more open to this discussion, I hope you’ll join me.

1.) The gun control issue. I know, I know, this one seems pretty obvious; I mean, he’s a red-blooded American man and cowboy. How could anyone possibly think for a second he’d be for the party of gun control?? While this is true, you know what’s also true? The fact that he lost a child to gun violence. Now, of course we don't know exactly how Isaac and Eliza were killed, but judging from the time and efficiency, we can assume they were shot. Now let’s get away from assumptions. Arthur mourned the loss of his son, felt the agonizing, intense pain of losing a child, and said that it changed him forever, hardened his heart. Do we really for a second think that Arthur would listen to the story of Sandy Hook, Parkland, Uvalde, and countless others and say, “No, guns are more important.”? Absolutely fucking not. Not only has Arthur felt that loss, that pain, but he is deeply empathetic; hearing the testimonials of children in these buildings, families that lost their babies, would be more than enough for him to understand and push for common sense gun laws. The erasure of Arthur Morgan's trauma of losing his son and the erasure of his empathy for children and families is rampant in political spaces of the fandom; to simply assume that because Arthur is an outlaw, in modern times he would be this “don’t tread on me.” “Cares more about guns than kids” kind of guy is asinine to me. Even if he hadn’t felt that loss and that pain, there are multiple times in the game where he is given a deeper understanding of things he has never experienced; he becomes angry at that pain inflicted, takes the mission with Charles and the Bison, and hears about the vaccines being diverted from the reservations, and the Black doctor (I think he’s a doctor) you meet in Rhodes. Once he heard these stories, these testimonials, or saw the pain, the hardship, he was quick to step in and do something to make a change. He would not value weapons over the lives of people, as we can see from the game.

2.) This one is always fun to see because it assumes that Arthur is inherently racist. Now, I’m going to state one of my least favorite but still valid arguments: he has minority friends. This is very true; look at Charles, Lenny, Javier, and Tilly. Here is why it’s one of my least favorite arguments: you can have minority friends and still be racist, sexist, homophobic… Having friends doesn’t make you antiracist, so what makes Arthur antiracist? One camp interaction stands out to me the most in regards to this, the one with Tilly when they first move south. Tilly comes to Arthur in specific to talk about how nervous she is being so far south; she understands that the south is a dangerous place for dark-skinned people, especially the location they’re in. Arthur, while he tries to soothe her, pointlessly at first, claiming that it's a good place to run from the law, also understands this, almost immediately changing his tone and telling Tilly not once but twice that e personally will keep her safe, that she has his word that he personally will keep her safe; a man that has hate in his heart for POC would not do that, ever. Another interaction is one with Lenny, where Lenny points out that Arthur wouldn’t notice the difference in the more southern states because the worst they’ll do to him publicly is say that he is friends with POC (less soft than that, watch the clips of it on YouTube if you want the full dialogue), whereas for Lenny the worst that can happen to him publicly is a lynching (which he states all the way back in chapter one where he almost was lynched). Arthur is not ignorant of racism; he knows that it exists—I hate the whole “Arthur doesn’t know about racism.” Because he does, and saying he doesn’t is an insult to his intelligence and awareness of the world around him. He knows racism exists; he personally just cannot fathom it; he cannot picture himself perpetuating racism (again, see the scene in Rhodes with the Black man), which is where I think that confusion that people say he doesn’t understand it comes from—he isn’t confused by racism; he’s confused why that man assumes he’s racist, because in his head he simply can’t fathom being bigoted.

This one has two parts, so bear with me. This also assumes that Arthur is sexist; the argument I see for this is the one-off comment he makes to the working girl at the saloon, "I didn't know I was talkin' to a lady." Was this an ok statement? No. Does it make him a raging sexist? Also no. Let's look at his relationship with Sadie; he does not underestimate her because she's a woman; he trusts in her and her abilities with unwavering confidence, so much so that he entrusts the safety of John, Abigail, and Jack to her. Now let's look at the camp interactions, one of which Arthur states that he sees no difference between men and women (bi king) and that most are bad, but some are worth loving. A man who is a raging sexist would never say something like this; he would never equate men and women, but Arthur does see them as equals. I see a lot of people point out that Arthur is far more protective of the camp girls than most, but this isn't because he sees them as less than him; he just understands that a lot of them lack the ability to fully protect themselves (Love you, Tilly and Mary-Beth). He isn't quite as protective of the women that he knows with confdence can and will protect themselves with confidence, but even then he will stick up for them if needed. Arthur Morgan is a protector of women, which is so incredibly important today and back then.

3.) Here’s my favorite. Arthur doesn’t engage in politics. Looking at this in terms of the game, he absolutely does engage in politics; he has opinions on rights and the government; that is, in fact, political—he doesn’t vote, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make political statements or isn’t even unintentionally political. Now let’s look at this in the frame of today. Being non-political in 1899 and being non-political in 2025 are two wildly different things; politics has changed drastically in the last almost decade where thngs have circled back around to be voting for or against human rights, and from my evidence above, Arthur would be voting for those rights. In modern times it is almost impossible to be nonpolitical; I dare say it's impossible. Everything now has politics attached to it; that argument is their gotcha moment because they don't understand that, which is why they make the argument in the first place.

So, why does this matter? Arthur is a pixel outlaw in a fictional setting of 1899 America. I guess in the grand scheme of life it really doesn’t, but in fandom culture it absolutely does. Many people, including myself, come to fandom spaces to escape, to cope with things from their past or events of the day, to chat about characters, and to share theories and art, and so on. Imagine someone who lost a child, sibling, or friend to gun violence logging on for their daily dose of distraction only to see someone making points as to why a character who is comforting to so many people wouldn’t care about the death of their lost loved one, just guns. A POC or member of the LGBTQ community doing the same and seeing arguments as to why Arthur is homophobic or racist. Seeing something like that is in fact harmful; taking things and stretching them to fit your narrative despite the actual source material pointing in the opposite direction requires erasure and explaining your own personal biases publicly. Someone stating that Arthur is a racist is just them stating that they themselves are a racist or that they themselves care more about guns than lives—as we’ve seen, the public stating of controversial things or overall morally reprehensible ideals when gone unchecked spirals and spreads, and soon we have a space of people who will openly state bigoted things and push the people in the fandom here for reasons of a shared enjoyment for whatever reason or the people who use things to cope or as a distraction out of the space, effectively ruining it and potentially the outlook on the content of the game. Fandom spaces shouldn’t tolerate bigotry, and lots of Red Dead fans have been expressing bigotry lately, and these people have started to go completely unchecked. It bothers me; it always will, even if it is just a silly cowboy game.

[lovetaroandtaemin]

Soul Like Me

Joshua Hong x Reader

Word Count: 6,037

Genre: Angst, some fluff, non idol AU

Rating: Some adult themes, MINORS DNI!

Summary: You and Joshua have been friends for most of your life, and you thought that you always would be. Turns out, your feelings for each other are stronger than you thought, but love isn't always enough to keep a relationship strong.

Content Warnings: Breakups, suggestive content (making out but nothing more), brief mentions of body image struggles, some allusions to previous traumatic experiences but nothing detailed, alcohol as a coping mechanism, other unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentioned sex but no smut, angst with no happy ending.

A/N: This is my second submission for the Angst Olympics collab! As always, if you enjoyed this fic, make sure to check out the other fics in the collab masterlist, linked here! There are so many incredible writers participating, so make sure to show them some love!

Taglist: @xomakara, @notyourjaem, @heechwe, @shadowkoo, @okiedokrie-main, @chugging-antiseptic-dye

Fic is under the cut.

Joshua Hong was one of your favorite people in your life for most of what you remembered of it. The two of you met at school when you were kids, and as the years went by, you only grew closer. You laughed together, cried together, and lived your lives together. All of your fondest childhood stories included him. No one made you laugh like he could, and he was the first person that you turned to when you needed someone to talk to, whether you were depressed because of a breakup or stressed out because you got into yet another argument with your mom. Joshua was your best friend, your rock. Every moment with him made you feel like you weren’t alone anymore, like you were finally understood. You loved him, even when you didn’t quite know what that meant yet.

You finally realized that you were in love with Joshua when the two of you were in college. After a particularly difficult breakup, he was the one that helped you pick up the pieces of your heart that were shattered by yet another careless man that you’d allowed into your life in the hopes of finding the love of a lifetime.

When the breakup happened, you’d been dating Chan for almost a year, and the entire time, you were certain that he was as in love with you as you were with him. However, you tended to be proven wrong in only the most heartbreaking ways every time you were even remotely sure of something. This time, your perception of Chan was shattered when the two of you got into a particularly heated argument and he let it slip that he’d only started dating you because of a bet with his best friend.

Chan’s admission hurt you deeply, to say the least. So, you threw him out of your apartment, screaming at him that you never wanted to see him again while holding back tears. Then, you picked up your phone and called Joshua, asking him to spend the night at your apartment with you. Your best friend was at your door in minutes, knocking loudly and yelling, “It’s Josh! Let me in!”

You hurried to open the door and responded, “It’s ten o’clock at night! Are you trying to get noise complaints?” Though, the smile on your face when you saw him was proof that you weren’t actually upset with him.

“Fuck noise complaints,” he said with a laugh while struggling to hold the ridiculous number of bags in his arms. “All I care about is cheering my best friend up.”

“Thanks for coming, Josh. Seriously, I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you.”

“It’s no problem. You know I’ll always pick up when you call. All I ask in return is that you help me carry these bags. They’re heavy, and I don’t want to drop anything.”

You took the bags that he handed you and stepped aside so that he could enter your apartment, asking, “Holy shit, did you bring your entire house over?”

“No. I brought a lot of snacks, though. I also brought a few DVDs and a deck of playing cards, since I figured you’d probably want something to do to take your mind off of whatever happened. Now, what happened?”

“It was all a bet,” you said, fighting back tears as you started to remember your earlier argument with Chan.

“What do you mean?”

“We got into a fight about something stupid, and he told me that he only asked me out because of a bet. He never loved me, at least not as much as I loved him.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you started to sob, and Joshua pulled you into a tight hug. As you cried into his shoulder, he rubbed your back and whispered soft reassurances, and you relaxed just a little bit in his hold. As your breathing evened out, you couldn’t help but think that you wanted to be held by Joshua more often. Your best friend made you feel safe and cared for in a way that Chan never could have, even if your now ex had given enough of a shit about you to try.

Once you were feeling better, you spent the rest of the night watching the movies that Joshua brought with him. While you watched them, the two of you talked about everything except for the pain that had caused you to invite him over in the first place.

When the conversation started, you were just making snarky comments about the movie you were watching. As time went on, though, the conversation got a bit more serious, and you turned to Joshua and asked, “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, silly? I’ve known you since we were kids.”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to like me, though.”

“Oh, come on,” Joshua responded with a slightly frustrated sigh. “Don’t start with that, (Y/N). You’re amazing.”

You smiled slightly as you said, “Thanks, Josh,” knowing that you’d spend hours arguing if you didn’t relent right then.

As you thought about the way Joshua so casually complimented you, like it was second nature for him to care for you, an all-too-familiar rush of butterflies filled your stomach. Well, the giddy nervousness itself was familiar at least. Experiencing it as a reaction to your best friend hugging you while telling you how amazing he thought you were, however, was not. Sure, you’d always thought that Joshua was good-looking, anyone that had eyes did, but you’d never really thought of him in any way that wasn’t strictly platonic before.

Joshua was your best friend, for fuck’s sake. You couldn’t have feelings for him. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he got uncomfortable around you and your friendship ended? The thought alone terrified you, so you decided that you would keep your mouth shut and hope that the feelings went away.

In an attempt to focus on anything but the growing tension in the room, you turned to Joshua and asked, “Did you bring enough stuff with you to stay the night?”

“I always do.”

You softened when he spoke, responding, “I know I already said it, but thank you. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably still be upset,” he said with a laugh. “Seriously, though, I’ll always be here when you need somebody. What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

Right, he was your friend. Nothing more. No matter how badly you now found yourself wanting more.

After brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas, you went to your room to go to sleep, while Joshua settled in your guest room. You tried your best to fall asleep, you really did, but instead, you just stared at your ceiling and thought about Joshua. It was funny, really. The harder you tried not to think about him, the more he consumed your thoughts. It was like the universe was determined to make you want him, regardless of whether he even wanted you in the same way.

Eventually, your exhaustion won over your anxious mind, and you did fall asleep. That didn’t mean that you escaped from your newfound feelings, though. Even as you slept, you were bombarded with thoughts about your best friend in a number of scenarios that friends weren’t supposed to picture each other in.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of bacon and the sound of Joshua singing along with the music playing from his phone. You’d always loved his voice, so hearing it immediately after you woke up was a pleasant surprise. You slowly walked into your kitchen, hoping not to disturb him, but when he heard you coming, he stopped singing and turned the music off. With an exaggerated pout on your face, you asked, “Why’d you stop?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Josh, when have I ever indicated to you that hearing you sing bothers me?”

With a shy smile on his face, he replied, “You haven’t.”

“And you know me. I would tell you if something you did bothered me, right?”

“Right.”

“So, hearing you sing does not bother me.”

“Ok.”

With a grin on his face, Joshua restarted the music, and the two of you sang along together until breakfast was ready. As soon as the eggs and bacon were done cooking, you each fixed a plate and sat down at your kitchen table. Once you were comfortable, you said, “Seriously, thank you for being there for me last night. I don’t think I tell you enough just how much I appreciate your friendship.”

“You don’t have to thank me, (Y/N). We’ve been over this.”

“Yes I do. I was a wreck last night until you came over.”

“If you really wanna thank me, you can enjoy your food.”

You were quiet after that, knowing that you’d never win. You couldn’t really be upset, though, since you knew that he was speaking from a place of love. He always spoke to you from a place of love.

After the two of you finished breakfast, you said, “You know that the fact that you cooked means that I’m doing the dishes, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But that’s how we always do it when you spend the night. Whoever didn’t cook washes the dishes.”

“Unless I’m spending the night because you’re upset about something. That’s when I do both so that you get to relax.”

“That has never been the rule, and you know it.”

“Well, it is now.”

“But why?”

“Consider it a bribe. I do the breakfast dishes, and you tell me what you were so upset about last night.”

“I was upset about breaking up with Chan,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And I know that, but the way you were acting was different. It wasn’t just ‘I just had a bad breakup’ sad. I think there was something else going on.”

“But there wasn’t.”

“(Y/N). I know you, and you know as well as I do that’s bullshit. Come on, talk to me. Did I do something wrong?”

With a defeated sigh, you responded, “No, you didn’t.”

“Then what’s going on? You got all quiet last night out of nowhere, and you looked like you were thinking about something.”

Finally, you relented and said, “I’m just having some new feelings that I don’t know how to process. Can we talk about it another time?”

Joshua softened at your explanation and replied, “Yeah, of course. I’m still doing the dishes, though.” Then, he laughed and stood up from the kitchen table before you could get another word in. As he walked away, you realized that the butterflies in your stomach were back. Every moment with him was making you want him more, and you hated yourself for it. Yet another reason to not tell him, you supposed at the time.

It took a couple of months for you to give in and tell Joshua that you liked him, even though you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t from the moment you realized it. Ironically, you confessed your feelings on a night that was very similar to the night that you realized you had feelings for him in the first place. He was spending the night at your apartment, and while one of the worst movies you’d ever seen played on your television screen, you sat with him and talked about how ridiculous the movie was.

“I will never understand how you always manage to find such terrible movies,” you laughed.

“Hey! I don’t think this one is all that bad,” he retorted. “Besides, you were just talking about how fun it is to watch.”

“Yeah, because it’s fun to make fun of!” you defended. “The acting is mediocre at best, the sets look like they were made by a bunch of bored kindergarteners, and the plot makes no sense! What about that isn’t fun to laugh at?”

“I guess you’re right.”

As the movie’s ending credits flashed across your tv, the room went silent, and you quickly got lost in your thoughts. The butterflies in your stomach had returned, a sensation that you were growing increasingly familiar with, and irritated by, as your feelings for Joshua grew. You were driving yourself crazy trying to move on, but nothing worked. It was like your heart was out to get you, and you couldn’t understand why.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Joshua say your name and ask, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, hoping that he wouldn’t notice that you still weren’t entirely focused.

Of course, he did notice, and he said, “I know that look. It’s your thinking look. What’s going on?”

With a defeated sigh, you asked, “Do you remember the new feelings I mentioned when you spent the night after I broke up with Chan?”

“Yeah, I think so. Why?”

“Those feelings are still there, and it’s getting harder to ignore them.”

“Then don’t ignore them. Talk to me about what’s going on.”

That was when you finally admitted, “I realized the night that Chan and I broke up that I like you. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and if the fact that I have feelings for you makes you uncomfortable, I will happily distance myself until they go away. I just-”

“Stop right there. I am not uncomfortable, and I do not want you to distance yourself from me. That is the last thing that I want. Ok?”

Joshua’s calm demeanor despite your admission made you feel slightly better, so you said, “Ok.”

“Now, what was that about you having feelings for me?” he asked, a teasing smile forming on his face.

“You heard what I said,” you answered with a soft laugh.

“Does that mean that this is a date?”

“I don’t know. Do you want it to be a date?”

Joshua pretended to think for a moment before he answered, “Yeah. I think I do.”

“Then yes, it is.”

Without wasting any more time, Joshua cupped your face in his hands and kissed you just like he’d wanted to do his whole life. You didn’t know this, but he’d been interested in you for a long time, and he’d spent far more time than he cared to admit hoping that someday you would feel the same. Now that he knew that you did, he definitely wasn’t going to waste any time.

As you melted into Joshua’s touch, you found yourself wondering why the hell it took you so long to finally confess. You couldn’t get too upset with yourself, though, considering that you now knew that he wanted you too. Still, you couldn’t help but feel like a little bit of an idiot for not shooting your shot sooner.

It didn’t take long at all for Joshua to deepen the kiss and tangle his hands in your hair. A soft moan left your mouth, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted him. But, just as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your phone started to ring.

You groaned in annoyance as you let go of Joshua to check your phone. When you saw your mom’s contact photo pop up on the screen, though, you let out a loud laugh before leaving the room to take the call.

While you were in the other room talking to your mom, Joshua sat on your couch and wondered why the fuck he waited so long to tell you that he liked you. As he thought about it a bit more, though, he realized that it was because he was terrified of losing you as a friend. After all, he’d known you for most of his life, and you’d always been there for him when no one else cared enough to be. He didn’t think he could handle losing that friendship if you didn’t feel the same way or if the two of you did get into a relationship that didn’t end well.

When you came back into the room after calling your mom, Joshua smiled at you and asked, “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, everything is fine. My mom just wanted to ask if I’m still going to my sister’s place for dinner tomorrow.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. I also asked if you could come with me, and she said yes. Do you wanna come to family dinner this week?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“Awesome, I’ll let her know. Later, though. I wanna spend more time with you first,” you said before you kissed him again.

As your relationship with Joshua progressed, you couldn’t believe how almost perfect it seemed to be. He never made you feel unloved when you were with him; he was always doing little things to show you just how much he loved you. Even your family adored him, which was a pleasant surprise, considering they’d never liked your previous partners much. Joshua grew especially close to your niece, who called him her best friend and cried whenever it was time for him to leave family events that he attended with you. You loved the way he seemed to fit into your life, despite any minor problems that the two of you had, like both of you being too stubborn to let petty arguments go.

If anyone had asked Joshua about his relationship with you, he would have told them that it was almost perfect. Sure, he loved you, and he was elated that you loved him too, but there were a few things that worried him. The main one was that you didn’t let him in like he thought you needed to. He understood that there were things that you were reluctant to ask for help with, especially your admittedly poor mental health, but all he wanted was to be there for you. Not knowing what else to do, he decided to just talk to you about it.

One night, you were sleeping over at Joshua’s apartment, and he figured that it was a good time to have the conversation that he thought the two of you needed to have. So, while the two of you were lying in his bed, he asked, “Honey, can I talk to you about something?”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“I’m really worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ve noticed that you tend to push me away when you’re upset. It kind of feels like you don’t trust me to be there for you, and that hurts, if I’m being honest.”

With a sigh, you replied, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just worry about bothering you. You already have so much going on. I don’t want to add on and stress you out more, you know?”

“Hey, I understand that, but you could never bother me, my love. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Please just let me be there for you.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey,” you said as you pulled him into a hug and buried your face in his neck, yawning as you relaxed in his arms.

With a soft laugh, Joshua asked, “How about we get some sleep, honey?”

“No, I don’t wanna,” you complained.

“I heard you yawning, lovebug. You cannot convince me you’re not tired.”

“I’m always tired. I wanna stay up and talk to you.”

“I mean, so do I, but we also need sleep. Please, baby? For me?”

With an exaggerated sigh of frustration, you laughed and said, “Ok, but only because I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After that, you and Joshua both went silent as you dozed off together, satisfied with the results of your conversation and hopeful that your relationship would be ok.

Your relationship was not, in fact, ok. Sure, you made some progress in letting Joshua in more, but it was a long, difficult process. Especially when you thought about all of the ways that previous partners had left you completely broken and unable to truly let people see all of you. You wanted to be better for Joshua’s sake, though, and you knew that an important part of that was trying to prove to him that you really did trust him. Easier said than done.

No one could say that you didn’t try to let Joshua in more, but there were always going to be situations where you held back. You did tell him when you were hurting, but you didn’t always tell him why, especially if he was the reason that you were upset. In your mind, there was no point in starting an argument because you were certain that you were overreacting when he upset you anyway. You also tried to the best of your ability to hide it when you were struggling with deeper issues, like the lingering memories of your exes that kept you up at night and all of the very detailed reasons that you hated your appearance, because you knew that there was no way for him to help you.

The other problem was that he was pushy when he thought that something was wrong. He refused to stop asking you what was wrong until you snapped, and then he blamed you for the argument that ensued, like the entire problem hadn’t started with him not listening when you told him you didn’t want to talk about whatever was wrong. It drove you insane, but you knew that there probably wasn’t much that you could do to fix it. So, you shoved the resentment down until there was nothing but happiness and love remaining, at least when it came to what everyone else could see.

Joshua could tell that you still weren’t letting him in, but he couldn’t understand why. All he wanted was to be a shoulder for you to cry on, and after a while, he wondered if you still wanted the same. Sure, he understood that there were some things that you weren’t comfortable with talking about, but he couldn’t wrap his head around why you lied about being ok when it came to the simpler things, like getting into fights with your sister or the times that he knew you were upset with him. He had no idea how to approach the situation, though, which only upset him more.

The other thing that worried Joshua was your tendency to rely on less-than-healthy coping mechanisms to handle some of your more serious problems. At one point, before the two of you had started dating, he’d noticed you leaning on alcohol a bit too much to numb the pain, and he’d successfully encouraged you to stop drinking. But, there were other concerning things that he noticed that he really didn’t want to think about, especially when he considered the reasons you probably had those particular coping mechanisms. Instead, he tried to focus on the fact that you really did seem to be getting better when it came to finding healthier outlets for your emotions.

When you and Joshua spent Halloween together a few months after your three-year anniversary, you knew that it was probably the beginning of the end for your relationship. You didn’t want that to be the case, but you couldn’t help but think that something was going to go wrong.

You were proven right when the two of you went to a play at a theater in your city and got into an argument in the middle of the theater’s lobby. Almost since the play had begun, you felt overwhelmed, but you desperately tried to ignore it for Joshua's sake.

It didn’t take long after the show ended for you to start really panicking, but Joshua still wanted to take pictures with the rest of the cast before he left. So, you said, “I need to step outside, but I’m not trying to rush you. You keep getting pictures; I just need a minute.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Baby, it’s ok. I just need to step out. You go ahead and get the pictures that you want.”

“Are you sure? I-”

“Just fucking go,” you snapped before you walked out of the theater.

Joshua didn’t understand why you didn’t want him with you when you got overwhelmed. He was your boyfriend, for fuck’s sake, so why were you so against him being there for you? Did you not trust him? Did you still buy into that bullshit about bothering him? He had no idea, so he decided to talk to you about it once you were away from the theater.

While you stood outside, trying to fight back the anxiety that threatened to bubble over into a full-blown breakdown right outside of your city’s theater, you found yourself wondering how the fuck your relationship with Joshua got so bad. When the two of you first got together, you’d made a promise to each other to work together and love each other no matter what. As time went on, though, you noticed the distance between the two of you growing to the point that you didn’t know if you could continue trying to bridge the gap.

Joshua never did talk to you about the problems at the theater. Instead, he decided to ignore the situation and hope the two of you could get better. It was only a matter of time before his hopes and yours would be shattered.

The day that your relationship with Joshua finally ended was the day that you fell apart, though it wasn’t just because of the breakup. It all started when you got into an argument with your sister that left you feeling angry and confused. When she finally left your apartment, you felt like she hated you, and you needed support. So, against your better judgement, you called your boyfriend and asked him to come over.

Joshua was at your door in an instant, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and started to sob. It hurt him to see you in such a vulnerable state, but he knew that he couldn’t change the way your family treated you, no matter how badly he wanted to. So, he did the next best thing: holding you close and giving you a safe place to process your emotions. He didn’t know that he wasn’t as much of a safe space for you as he used to be, but at that point, you had no intention of telling him that.

As you cried, you found yourself thinking about the absolute train wreck that was your life. Your family treated you like you were nothing to them unless they wanted something from you, past heartaches haunted you more than they should have, and all you wanted was to fall back into your previously established unhealthy coping mechanisms. Of course, you knew that they were unhealthy, but you didn’t care. After all, they were pretty fucking effective.

Once you’d cried all you could, you let out a sigh of defeat and said, “I need a drink.”

“No, you don’t. You know that’s not a good idea.”

“I don’t really care right now, honestly.”

It killed Joshua that you seemed hell bent on destroying yourself. He knew that you struggled, and he understood. Hell, considering how long you’d known each other and the things that he’d seen you go through in your lifetime, he was pretty sure he knew you better than anyone else did. Despite the fact that he understood, however, he couldn’t just sit by and watch you throw all the hard work you’d put into getting better down the drain.

“Baby, you’re not drinking.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to fall back into a bad place!”

“I’m already there. It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it fucking matters anymore.”

“Does the fact that I care about you matter?”

“Of course, it fucking does.”

“Then act like it.” You were quiet after that, but he continued, “All I want is to be there for you.”

“What if I don’t want you to be there for me?” you snapped, exhausted and overwhelmed from the day you’d had and not wanting to keep fighting with him.

The moment the words left your mouth; you knew that you made a mistake. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and you waited for Joshua to say something. In the end, he just sighed and said, “If that’s the way you feel, we don’t have to do this anymore.”

You started to tear up as you said, “Wait, please. I didn’t mean-”

“Stop lying to me, (Y/N). I can’t take the lies anymore.”

With that, Joshua walked out of your apartment, and you cried yourself to sleep that night for the first time in years.

When you woke up the next morning, you opened your phone to a message from Joshua. You really didn’t want to open it, but you hated ignoring people. Especially the man that you still loved.

Joshua: Just so you know, this doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you anymore. It just means that we both need to heal so that we can treat ourselves and each other better. You’re still my best friend, and I still want to be a part of your life. Ok? Y/N: Ok. Thanks, Josh. Joshua: How many times do I have to tell you not to thank me for caring about you?

You didn’t respond to his message after that. You couldn’t, really. All you wanted to say was that you loved him, and you knew that he didn’t want to hear those words from you anymore.

For a while after you broke up with Joshua, things were ok between the two of you, at least for the most part. Your relationship wasn’t exactly the same as before, of course, but you still considered him one of your closest friends and made a conscious effort to include him in your life. He appreciated that greatly and did the same for you, which made you happier than words could say. After all, you knew that you could be ok with not being in a romantic relationship with him, but losing him as a friend would have killed you.

As time went on, your greatest fear came true. You found yourself getting sucked into surprisingly heated arguments with Joshua more frequently than you ever did when you dated him, and after a while, you started distancing yourself, tired of fighting constantly. On top of that, you struggled more with your mental health than you originally anticipated after your breakup, which made you want to pull away from your now ex even more.

When you finally realized that your friendship with Joshua had run its course, there was no huge argument, with screams to fuck off and accusations of lying about the love the two of you once had for each other. The end of your friendship was much less explosive than that. However, that didn’t make the last texts between the two of you any less painful.

Y/N: Can I ask you something? Joshua: What is it? Y/N: Do you want to talk to me? Joshua: I do, but it hurts. Y/N: I understand. Should I give you some space?

There was no response after that, and that was how you knew that one of the longest-enduring friendships of your life was over.

Not having Joshua in your life hurt you more than you ever thought it could. Sure, you knew that it would be painful if it ever happened, but you honestly underestimated just how painful it was to lose the man that used to make you feel just a little bit less alone. Every time you saw something that made you think of him, you felt like you were going to start crying. You thought about calling him constantly. You still found yourself starting to type messages to him that you knew you couldn’t send, because you knew that he didn’t want to read them anymore.

One of the main ways that you dealt with losing Joshua as a friend was throwing yourself into new friendships and putting far more effort than what was necessary into rekindling and maintaining old ones. You lost sleep texting friends that lived in different time zones. You spent most of your free time either glued to your phone as you talked to your friends or organizing hangouts with your friends that were close enough that you could see them sometimes. After a while, every moment of your free time was filled by other people. You had absolutely no time for yourself, but that was by design. If you were alone, you’d spend too much time thinking about the pain that still threatened to swallow you whole.

Joshua wasn’t faring much better than you were. You’d hurt him deeply, but that didn’t change that he still wanted you in his life. In his mind, you’d showed him time and time again that you didn’t want the same from him, though, so after a while, he stopped bothering to reach out. Instead, he spent more time with his friends and family, and he also found himself getting sucked into his own less-than-healthy coping mechanisms, like drinking. Yes, he knew that he was a hypocrite for leaning on alcohol to handle difficult emotions after expressly telling you that it was a bad idea, but he didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was numbing the pain.

It was a random Saturday night when Joshua found himself at the club once again, desperate to forget you. Instead of dancing like the friends that he’d arrived with, however, he tended to just sit at the bar and drink until he could barely remember his own name. It probably wasn’t the safest choice he could have made, but goddamn, it was effective when it came to numbing the pain. At least, it was until he looked up and saw you walk into the club.

You hated it when your friends decided to drag you out to random clubs that you’d never been to. You understood why they did it, of course, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed the experience. Still, you tried to put on a happy face for their sake. After all, you were pretty sure they were tired of you talking about how much you missed Joshua. You were tired of talking about it too, if you were being honest with yourself. However, you were also relieved that you slowly seemed to be getting over him.

All of your progress in moving on seemed to go away the second you spotted Joshua sitting at the bar, cocktail in hand. From the moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to leave the bar, go back to your apartment, and sob until you were too tired to stay awake. You knew that your friends would never allow that, though, so instead, you made your way to the dance floor.

While you were dancing, a man you’d never seen before caught your attention. He was gorgeous, with elegant features that made you stop and stare for what was probably far too long, and based on the fact that he stared at you the exact same way, he was just as interested as you were. From the moment that you made eye contact with him; you knew that he was the perfect distraction for the night. So, you approached him and introduced yourself.

“I’m Jeonghan,” he said. “Do you wanna dance?”

“That sounds great.”

With a smile, Jeonghan took your hand, and the two of you started to move in time with the song that blasted through the club. You knew that he probably wouldn’t be interested in you beyond one night, but you didn’t care in the slightest. All you cared about was not being alone anymore, even if you were fairly certain that there was no hope of a lasting connection with the person that dulled your loneliness for the night. But then again, you never really did know what the universe had in store for you.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please like and reblog! If you wanna be tagged in future works, fill out the taglist form here! If you want to check out my other works, check out my main masterlist. If you want to see what else is in the works, you can check my upcoming works list! If none of that interests you, or there's something specific you want to see, feel free to send a request via my asks or dms!

Thank you again for reading. I hope you have a lovely day!

[jinx-xxed]

hey love, I found your acc really randomly and I’m in love with your writings oml. If you feel comfortable with it, I want to request a commandmentleader!meliodas x goddess!Reader from 3000 years ago ( female or not idk) so reader basically is Elisabeth but with for example her actively fighting or something like that. ( I’m sorry if it’s not really detailed, englisch is not my first language.) 🤍

Heart of Battle

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Hello hello, thank you so much for the request!! I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get around to it omg 😭😭 I’m very glad you like my work and I hope you enjoy this one!! Also sorry if any plot points are wonky, it’s been a while since I’ve had a refresher 🫠

Summary; Taking matters into your own hands sometimes isn’t the best idea.

Content; Goddess reader, Stigma era Meliodas, first Holy War, angst to soft fluff, battle, blood and injury, protective Meliodas, you disobeying orders, fighting demons, Meliodas saves you, he cleans you up afterwards

Wc; 1.9k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Where is she?”

The flaps of the commanders tent open to reveal Meliodas, his brows scrunched with confusion as he peers around the space, clearly looking for someone. His great sword is still strapped to his back, fresh from a recent battle he won to the surprise of nobody. The three generals inside the tent—two humans and a fairy—are gathered around a map scattered with different little pieces to represent their armies and the ones of their enemies. They’re spread out in such a way that it’s hard to tell if one or the other has the upper hand.

“Who, sir?” One of the human generals asks.

The other smacks his breastplate, a knowing smirk on his face. “The goddess, obviously.”

Meliodas nods. “I’ve looked all over camp but I don’t see her. Do you know where she is?”

The fairy hums. “I think last I heard she was heading to some place in the west. Around here?” He floats down towards the map and puts his finger on a little village. One that’s completely surrounded by dark purple figures.

Meliodas feels something in his chest sink as he looks at that map. The area the fairy pointed to had been blocked off by Stigma troops because it became so overrun with demons that nobody was able to get in—it was too dangerous. He remembers how upset you’d been when the order to not go near the west had been announced earlier that day.

“There are still people there! People who need our help. I can do it, I can save them.” You had protested.

You’d been shot down instantly. Everyone told you it wasn’t worth the risk and that you’d die if you tried, including him. He’d made you promise you wouldn’t attempt anything before he left on a recon mission. You looked him in the eyes and told him what he wanted to hear; he should’ve known better than to trust your word. You’ve always been too kind, too willing to put others before yourself, and now you’ve done it again. Perhaps for the last time.

Fear surges up inside of Meliodas so fast he feels dizzy. He curses loudly before turning on his heel and running out of the tent. As soon as he’s outside, his wings of darkness are unfolding behind him and he’s blasting into the sky. He feels the worried gazes of comrades down below, wondering what sent him into such a frenzy, but he’s gone so quickly that no one can linger on it.

He’s never doubted your abilities, he knows how strong you are. But he also knows when and where to pick battles and he knows that this is far too much for you. The closer he gets, the more he can feel you, his second half. He can feel how much you’re struggling, how quickly your strength is diminishing. It makes him use his power to boost him forward, the wind blasting against his body.

He just hopes he’s not too late.

» ☆ «

Blood is sticky on your skin.

You have no idea what’s yours and what’s the demons’ anymore.

Massive, hulking bodies lay strewn all around you and yet when one goes down, it seems there’s two more to replace it. You don’t know how long you’ve been fighting for, your mind instead focused solely on the survivors that huddle in the safety of a small ditch behind you. There’s only four of them—a man, a woman, and two children. None of them are related but they’re the only ones who managed to survive the massacre that happened throughout the area.

You wish you could’ve gotten here sooner, that you could’ve done more. You wish Stigma would’ve been more generous with their troops instead of giving up immediately, deeming this spot unworthy of their help. You also wish you were stronger so that the endless onslaught of demons wasn’t so daunting and you weren’t on the brink of collapse.

You can’t even escape anymore, your wings long since cut and torn, blood turning the white feathers red. Your only choice now is to stay and fight until whatever bitter end is going to meet you and hope the demons will be too focused on your corpse to notice the survivors.

You explode a demon in a flash of golden light, sweeping an arc of power through another. Their roars are deafening against your ears, their steps thundering against the ground beneath you and making your already shaky stance even shakier.

You know you should’ve listened, everybody told you the risks weren’t worth it. But leaving innocent people to die at the hands of the demons without even trying to save them didn’t sit right with you. You’d only told a few when you left, word no doubt spreading quickly across the camp. You were gone by the time anyone could stop you, heading out entirely on your own on what many would call a suicide mission. Even Meliodas had told you to stay put earlier, giving you that stern look of his as he did.

You have no doubt that he’s angry at you and you wonder if he’s back from his own mission yet. If he’s learned of your fate.

You’re torn from your thoughts when one misstep puts you in the hands of a gray demon. You let out a choked yell as the thing roughly grabs you by your wings, bunching them together and crushing them further. You wriggle and squirm as you’re lifted higher and higher, your chest heaving with the effort and pain. You try so desperately to ignite your powers but all you get is a few golden sparks at your fingertips. You’ve used everything you have.

Tears mix with the blood and soot on your face, blurring your vision so you can barely even see the thing about to deliver your death. It stares at you curiously, its teeth clicking together at the prospect of a tasty meal. Some of the demons around it grumble and whine, wanting some for themselves. It’s like being dangled above a pit of hungry lions, all ready to tear you apart.

Just as the gray demon’s mouth opens, its attention shifts to something in the sky. There’s a surge of dark power so strong you can feel it in your core, the hair along your arms rising. Then, in the blink of an eye, the demon that holds you is split in half. It lets out a guttural, pitiful moan as it begins to fall, its clawed hand releasing you at last. You barely even register the fact that you’re falling, your consciousness hardly holding on from the pain drumming throughout your body. You just manage to see all the other demons around you suffer the same fate—a clean slash through their middles that sizzle afterwards with black fire.

You prepare for the ground to meet you, to obliterate the rest of your bones, but you fall into familiar, strong arms instead. You manage to blink through your tears and look up to see Meliodas, his green eyes full of concern while he takes in your sorry state. “Just in time, huh?” He says gently, a sort of sad expression on his face. You know how much he hates seeing you hurt, and how much he hates the fact you did this without him. He sighs. “We need to get out of here before the demons regroup.”

“Wait- the survivors-“ you choke out, no longer having the strength to do anything else.

Meliodas turns to look at the four peeking their heads out of the ditch who found safety in the fact that the roars of the demons have finally gone quiet. They seem wary of him when he walks up to them and he finds he has little patience when you’re actively dying in his arms. He bluntly tells them of a safe path to the east, one that will lead them to a camp that’s full of soldiers and other survivors. Once he at least makes sure they’re heading the right way, he jumps into the sky and begins his flight back to the Stigma base.

Meliodas holds you tightly while being careful of your multitude of injuries. His warmth is a welcome comfort, one that allows you to relax just the slightest bit.

As soon as he lands back in the Fairy Kings Forest, he’s demanding a healer and buckets of water. When people see your sorry state, they’re quick to listen. You’re brought to a quiet, secluded area lush with soft flower beds and shade provided by the trees, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the camp. Meliodas lays you down gently, your head propped up on his legs while a fellow goddess kneels down beside you. A soft golden glow emanates from her hands, spreading warmth throughout your body as her powers slowly but surely heal you.

Your breathing becomes easier, the massive gashes along your limbs steadily close. Meliodas tries to wipe off as much of the blood and grime as he can in the meantime, using gentle movements with a warm rag as you lay there. It’s all very peaceful, a needed respite after the hell you’d gone through.

You’re not sure how much time passes before the goddess is finished. You only notice when the hum of her powers disappears. “There, she should be fully healed. She’ll just need plenty of rest and nutrients in order to make a full recovery.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done. Thank you.” Meliodas replies with a nod. The goddess gives a small bow before taking her leave.

There’s an uneasy silence that stretches between the two of you, heavy with the words waiting to be said. You keep your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re more than content with lying there in the flowers and forgetting how much of a failure you were today. But that’s not an option, of course.

“I told you not to go there.” Meliodas begins, his voice uneasy with his emotions. “Everyone knew it was too dangerous. Including you.”

You huff a breath through your nose, finally opening your eyes to meet his. “Mel… you know I couldn’t just leave it. We need to try and help everyone we can during this war or else there won’t be anything left.”

“That territory is basically like a dead zone because of how overrun it is. You were insane to go there alone for only four people.” He insists.

“Yes but that’s four people who will get to live another day, who may make the decision to join the cause and help us.” You retort. You take his calloused hand into yours, his thumb instantly rubbing along the back of your hand soothingly. “I know it was reckless of me and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have worried everyone- worried you like that.”

He looks at you for a moment, tracing your features with his eyes. He sighs in defeat and you smile, knowing you’ve won. He leans down to kiss you, the messy blond strands of his hair tickling your face. The kiss is quick and sweet, simply a confirmation that you’re still here. He straightens himself and holds your cheeks lovingly in his hands. His head tilts. “Promise me next time you decide to do something so stupid you’ll bring me along?”

You laugh, taking one of his hands and bringing his knuckles to your lips. “I promise.”

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy VI

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) ->chapter map

VI.

-Stewing in agony after the awkward ending to your otherwise pleasant encounter with Professor Wick, you spend the whole rest of the weekend working on a miniature diorama of a little girl living in the desert with a pet jackalope. It’s actually been a while since you made one, and by the time it’s done you do feel a little more sane. 

A psychologist might have said something about reclaiming the innocence from a conversation you wish had gone differently, or perhaps a longing for girlhood in which you did not have to worry about every conversation with a man turning into a sexual pitfall. Either way, the end result is cute, and weird, and you add it to the shelf with all your other little scenes. 

You are aware that most of your art comes from the bottomless well of dissatisfaction inside you. A part of you fears that if you ever did manage to get your shit together, you might not make art anymore. Maybe someday you’ll beat the game, retire to a cottage in the countryside, and fill your time with paint by numbers and talking to your numerous cats…

Until then, you’re currently living the glamorous life of No Sex In The City…and you have to go to work. 

-A week later, it seems Matt has decided to ignore Wick’s directive, or at least has decided they’re not mutually exclusive. He is meeting your eyes again, even shooting you a shy smile before class begins. It’s silly, what a thrill this gives you, like a glitter bomb gone off inside your heart. Perhaps after spending all weekend torturing yourself over Professor Wick, it just feels good to flirt with someone who is almost your own age. 

Or perhaps you’re a fickle creature in need of an intervention. 

Matt sits with you again under your maple tree, and even though you’re both quiet souls, it is surprisingly easy to talk to him. You talk about where you’re from and your families. You learn he moved here from out of state with his band mates, and that he never really had a happy home life.

He lets you flip through his sketchbook, and with every page you feel yourself softening towards him by the second. He really is very talented, and on top of that his drawings have a dreamlike quality that sucks you in. 

You pause on a two page spread filled with dark black lines and color. It’s a Chagall-esque bird’s eye view of a little town, houses and businesses, people going about their day, a bridge, a forest by a rolling river. It’s a seemingly happy and complex composition, until your eye settles on a pale form by the river bank far in the corner, a woman lying naked and alone in the cold. For some reason an uneasy, icy feeling creeps through your veins. Is she dead? 

“What is this, Matt?” you ask, taking in the details again. 

He seems to panic a little, reaching out to take back his book, closing it and tucking it into his backpack. “It’s just a dream I had,” he tells you, shaking his shoulders like he’s got the creeps. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

So you change the subject, but you still wonder. 

-Maybe Professor Wick was unfairly harsh to Matt, but you’re heartened to see the young man seems to have decided to rise to the challenge. He doubles his effort in his drawing, taking Wick’s direction and then some–the result would be stunning, but he runs out of time. The study is only half finished after three hours, and you can tell from your elevated place in the center of the class that he is miserable about it. 

“Wick is going to fucking annihilate me,” he mourns as you stand beside him looking at the drawing, now dressed in your robe. 

Critique is at the end of the week, and the students are allowed to work on their drawings on their own time until then, but they’re not allowed to take pictures of you for reference for obvious reasons of privacy. You’re afraid he’s right, and your heart goes out to him. He seems like such a sweet young man, and you don’t understand why John seems to have it out for him. 

“How much time do you need?” you ask under your breath, conscious of the man in undertaker’s black at his desk across the room. 

“I dunno. A couple hours?” he laments, and you elbow him to keep his voice down. 

“I could help you.” Finally understanding, he shoots a look with those wide dark eyes over at the teacher, before returning his attention to you. Those plush pink lips part with surprise, and you tell yourself that you’re not offering to do this because he’s the prettiest [and the saddest] boy you’ve ever seen. 

“You’d do that?” 

“You’re really talented, Matt. I want you to succeed.” 

He looks at you through his long hair like no one has ever said anything like that to him before. “That’s…really nice of you.” 

“Maybe I’m just vain,” you deflect. “This is going to be your best work...if you finish it.” You think you can tell that he has it in him to be great at this–maybe no one has ever given him that last nudge before. 

Maybe Wick knew what he was doing, being tough on him? 

Could be, but mostly, it felt like he was being a jerk, and you don’t want Matt to have to go through it again.  

----

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[blackhairedjjun]

late night returns - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst with a happy ending, actor!yeonjun x non-celebrity!reader, exes to lovers | word count: 855 | warnings: mentions of being stalked (by tabloids)

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - OVER?: after a mutually reluctant (and unwanted but necessary) break-up, the sender calls/visits the receiver and tells them that they’re still in love with them. (requested by @seolis-world)

author's notes: seoli!! this ended up longer than planned, nag-enjoy ako masyado haha. your trope choice allowed me to bring out my celebrity!yj x non-celebrity!reader thoughts, which are some of my favorite hcs to think about! (also actor!yj after seeing the behind the scenes of the minisode 3 trailer haha) i hope you like this!

‘Love Like Hydrangeas’ Star Choi Yeonjun Stuns in New Red Carpet Photos “Like a Fairytale Prince”: Netizens React to Viral Photos of Choi Yeonjun

you sigh as you read the social media headlines on your phone. yeonjun does look like a fairytale prince, and you admire the embroidered details of his dark suit while zooming in on the latest batch of photos from his new movie premiere. a heaviness settles over you while you scroll through photo after photo, remembering the first time he showed you that same suit weeks before: “i look handsome, right?” he asked you, and when you said yes, he let out a soft laugh that filled your heart to bursting.

that moment in his apartment feels like a lifetime ago, and all it took was one leaked image of the two of you from a tabloid photographer making the rounds on fansites. yeonjun’s agency went overtime trying to do damage control, and it was a miracle that your identity was never revealed. but once the storm settled down, you and yeonjun sat down not in his room but at the agency office. the two of you needed to break up, you both agreed, for your safety and his 一 and with a lingering embrace and one last kiss, you left.

tears prick at your eyes and you toss the phone back to your nightstand; the clock there reads 2:16 am. you cocoon yourself in your blankets, turn to your side, and shut your eyes. you want to sleep, because at least in your dreams you can escape from reality for a little while. yet the more you wish for sleep to come to you, the more it eludes you, and the restlessness only grows worse as you turn from side to side in your bed over and over again.

buzz!

you jolt up at the sound of your apartment doorbell. you have no idea who the hell is calling for you in the middle of the night, but at least it distracts you from your restlessness.

you open the door a crack. “who’s th一”

it takes a second for you to recognize the tall man in a dark hoodie standing in front of you. the dimness makes it hard to see his figure or his features, until you realize that they look all too familiar...

you immediately you throw the door open and sink into yeonjun’s arms. you sob into his chest, your body shuddering from the force of your tears, and he holds you even more tightly as his own tears stream down his face.

“i missed you,” he says, his voice hoarse. you haven’t heard the sound of his voice in weeks, and it only makes you cry even harder.

eventually your sobs calm down to quieter tears, and when you let go of yeonjun you can still see the tear tracks running from his eyes. with your hands still in his, you tug him inside the warmth of your apartment, and there he pulls you into his embrace once more.

“how did you...” you begin, your voice muffled into his hoodie.

“i snuck out.”

“you shouldn’t have...”

yeonjun kisses the top of your head once, then twice, then again and again. his kisses are feather-light and you sigh at his touch. “i love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “i n-never stopped loving you. i don’t一 i can’t do any of this without you. i miss you so much...”

your arms are around his waist and you give it a gentle squeeze. he rubs circles down your back and you hum. his touch sends waves of calm through your body, the heaviness you once carried slowly leaving you.

you recall the red carpet photos you were just looking at and your bliss is interrupted by a million questions. does anyone else know that he’s here? what happens when his agency finds out? or when his fans find out? are you really getting back together or does he just miss you? how would you even navigate the tabloids, the endless stream of gossip? you try to bury yourself even more in yeonjun’s arms but he doesn’t miss the quickening of your heartbeat.

your thoughts are interrupted by another kiss on your head. yeonjun moves you to the foot of your bed and cradles you as you both sit there, a hand making its way through the tangle of your hair. your arms perch around his neck and you nuzzle into him.

“i’ll protect you, okay?” he says. his voice is quiet yet solemn like a prayer. “i can’t... i can’t lose you again.”

you pull away to meet his gaze and you see the same shine in his eyes that you always loved. he gazes at you with such tenderness, and behind his firm words you see the affection that underlies them. he needs you, and you need him just as much too.

“i love you too, jjunie... please don’t leave me.”

“i promise i won’t.”

you still don’t have the answers to your questions, but you’d rather leave then unanswered than have yeonjun leave you again.

[untoldstar]

Your writing is addictiveeeee. Can u do ur ocs reaction to being cheated on by reader? Im so down bad for jesse 😫 hes just a lil guy who wants to be loved! Sue me!

The yanderes reaction to you cheating on them

Thank you smmm🫶 but fr I’m down bad for Jesse as well even tho he’s a lil psycho🫠

I can make a part two for the rest of the oc’s if anyone’s interested I just usually go for these oc’s because they’re the most popular and seem like a common favorite.

warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, yandere themes, murder, stealing appearance and changing appearance (not reader), nsfw content, imprisonment, keeping reader locked up.

find out more about these characters here.

Ava (yandere best friend)

She’d go off the rails. She’ll cry and sob her heart out. she won’t talk to anyone except for you. Her phone is filled with missed calls and worried messages from her family and friends. Everyone gets so worried they start showing up at her apartment door but she’s too busy crying into her pillow waiting for your call or to hear your sweet voice outside her door.

She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Just please please don’t leave her.

Even if you already moved on and decided to be with your partner she’s still stuck on you and obsessing over how to get you back.

She’d go over every detail of the physical traits of the bitch you cheated on her with and tries to match it. What did you even see in them? they’re nothing compared to her!

Doesn’t matter. She’ll do whatever it takes. She’ll go as far as dying her hair, getting new piercings if they had any, changing her makeup, changing her entire wardrobe.

You’re absolutely mortified when she shows up at your doorstep looking like your partners lost twin.

Theo (yandere boss)

All his past paranoia will come right up to the surface. He’s always wanted to lock you up so no one would look at you so. No one would breathe your air. He didn’t want anyone to have the pleasure of even looking at you.

And you’ve finally given him a reason.

He has you cooped up in his mansion with no way of getting out. You’re always watched and monitored. Most of the week he’s working from home to be around you. Clothing you, feeding you, bathing you. He won’t let you out of your sight for a single second.

And every time you ask about your partner he’d smile softly and tell you to not worry about them. They don’t mean anything to you anymore.

Because they’re not here anymore.

Warner (rich yandere)

He can never be angry with you. No never~

But he will give you the punishment you deserve.

And he has certain methods for punishment like having you tied up to his bed and leaving you all alone in a dark lonely room with a vibrator strapped to your cunt.

You’re not truly alone of course, he’s always watching you with the cameras he set up.

Howw else is he supposed to stop the vibrator right when you’re about to cum?

Other than making you struggle for his forgiveness he also has to keep you busy while he gets rid of your little problem. He’s hurt people for you before and certainly has killed them but he’s never gotten to this level of cold blooded torture.

He spills their blood while in a trance like state, he’s absolutely drenched in their blood and the scene is gruesome enough to have his body guards who have seen many similar things while working with him not withstand this particular scene.

But you won’t know any of it, you don’t have to. They’re a distant memory by the time he’s back home in brand new clothes and looking as sharp as ever. Some of that rage is still simmering under that cool exterior though so he’s not quite finished with you yet.

Yandere bully

You’re not even in a relationship the guy tortures you on a daily basis! but he saw you get all blushy and smiling while another guy was teasing you in the hallway.

You never blush when he messes you what the fuck is that about?

That’s as good as cheating in his delusional mind.

He starts clinging to you everyday even more than before. Scowling and glaring at any guy who passes you by like a guard dog. You’re too focused on his asshole behavior to notice that you haven’t even seen the guy since.

You’ve heard students around you murmuring about a student who’s been in such a bad accident that he can’t even walk anymore. So many broken bones, swollen flesh, he might have even gotten a brain injury. Poor thing can’t even come to school anymore.

You never made the dots…

bonus! Yandere tentacle monster

Nom.

Let’s not forget this guy is an actual monster the second that guy gets on top of you on the bed he has already devoured him.

He walks toward you with an icy expression while wiping the blood off his mouth not paying any mind to your mortified expressions.

“You could’ve of at least brought a proper meal pet. That tasted absolutely terrible. I’d much rather eat you instead~”

the person reader cheated with knowing they’re absolutely fucked no matter who the oc is:

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act I: the arrival

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ wordcount: 5.2k

↳ series masterlist

A wave of relief swept over you as the crisp, refreshing breeze of late October kissed your cheeks. The train ride to Cromer Ridge had been a seemingly endless ordeal—stuffy, suffocating, and filled with doubts that gnawed at your tenacity. Every mile of the journey was shadowed by second-guessing and an almost unbearable longing to turn back. Yet, deep down, you knew there was no returning to the life you had left behind. Starting over was daunting, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your spirit. But you also knew it was time to release the past, to embrace the opportunity for renewal. Though your unfamiliar surroundings felt discouraging, you steeled yourself to take the first step forward.

Your first task upon arriving at your new home was clear: find a job. The urgency of the times was palpable, and the job board near the platform was already surrounded by a crowd of weary, determined faces.

A sigh escaped you as your shoulders slumped in quiet defeat. The list of available positions read like a declaration of exclusion. Coal miner. Machinist. Bricklayer. Though the words “No women inquirers” weren’t printed, the message was clear. And who would hire you anyway? You were a woman, expected to secure financial stability through marriage—or, if desperation struck, by selling yourself in ways too degrading to voice. Your only skills were the domestic trifecta of sewing, cooking, and cleaning—skills instilled in you by a mother who saw no greater purpose than preparing you for marriage, a means to lighten the financial burden of an unwanted daughter.

Just as hopelessness began to settle in, something caught your eye. At the far end of the board, a single yellowed flyer flapped in the breeze, its ink faded and edges curling. It seemed forgotten, avoided even, as the crowd conspicuously steered clear of that corner. Curious, you stepped closer, your heart inexplicably quickening. The faded words were difficult to make out, but you pieced them together as best you could:

Live-in housekeeper needed. Inquire at the Park Estate.

⸺

“Excuse me, sir, can you tell me how to get to the Park Estate?”

The lively chatter and rhythmic clinking of shot glasses halted. One by one, the tavern’s patrons turned their attention toward you, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. The bartender froze mid-motion, his dishrag suspended above the bar as he gawked at the wide-eyed newcomer who had dared to ask such a question.

“What business do you have there?” he asked, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust.

“I’m inquiring about a position there,” you replied, the words tumbling out sheepishly as the weight of the room’s gaze settled on you. “The one posted at the rail.”

A ripple of murmurs coursed through the crowd.

“Someone really oughta take that flyer down.”

“I heard that’s how he gets his victims—lures them up there with promises of work, then poof, they’re never seen again!”

“You know, he harvests human limbs for the black market! That’s how he keeps that eyesore of a castle funded.”

“Did you hear what the butcher’s wife said? She swears she saw Count Park skulking around town weeks ago, creeping like a ghost!”

“No way. He wouldn’t dare come down here. He knows he’s unwelcome. That’s why he stays up there, feasting on stray cats and whatever he can find.”

The whispers swirled, growing darker with every utterance. The stories painted a picture of a man—or perhaps a creature—that was nothing short of monstrous. The rumors about Count Park were wild and fantastical, their macabre details echoing the haunting bedtime tales your grandmother once told of strange creatures lurking in the shadows, snatching disobedient children to devour.

The bartender hesitated, his brow furrowed. You didn’t know it then, but you’d made a mistake by asking about what the townsfolk referred to as the “Dead End of Cromer Ridge.”  Park Estate was no ordinary home; it was a brooding castle perched on the edge of town, shrouded in mystery and whispered fear. No one dared to venture close, and few could even confirm whether Count Park was still alive. Some said he’d gone mad with grief after the death of his wife, his isolation breeding festering darkness. Others insisted he had dabbled in Satanic rituals, turning himself into a vampire—a bloodthirsty creature doomed to stalk the night.

Every tale was more grotesque than the last, but one truth remained constant: the very mention of his estate sent a chill down the spines of the townsfolk.

After a long pause, the bartender finally relented. “Straight down, take a left at the old sign, and head west. It’s a steep climb—I doubt it’ll be easy to make it up there.”

You murmured your thanks and quickly exited, trying not to let the hushed gossip of the patrons unsettle you. But as you stepped into the cold evening, a sense of unease lingered. The townspeople weren’t just unfriendly—they seemed haunted, consumed by fear of the Count. And their fear had a way of clinging to you, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

⸺

The bartender hadn’t exaggerated—the hill was brutal. Each step felt heavier than the last, your calves burning as fatigue clawed its way into your limbs. The path grew darker with every stride, the last rays of sunlight vanishing beneath the horizon, leaving only the oppressive gloom of night. In the distance, the castle loomed, stark and unwelcoming against the dusky sky. Its jagged silhouette seemed carved from shadow, a brooding presence that radiated unease.

As you drew closer, doubt began to fester. A small voice in your mind whispered to turn back, to abandon this unsettling journey. Something about the air felt off—thick and heavy, as though it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken warnings. Perhaps the townsfolk’s sinister murmurs had worked their way into your head, or perhaps it was the creeping dread that came with nightfall. Yet, no matter how many reasons you found to retreat, one undeniable truth remained: you’d come too far to turn back.

The promise of a warm bed, of shelter from the biting chill, was enough to propel you forward. Where else could you go? Who else would take you in? Pushing your unease aside, you pressed on, even as every instinct screamed otherwise.

The moment your foot touched the porch, an icy shiver raced down your spine. The boards groaned beneath your weight, the sound sharp and accusatory in the oppressive silence. The castle’s windows were boarded up, their blackened edges like gaping scars. The wind howled through unseen cracks, coaxing eerie creaks and groans from the ancient structure, as though it were alive and watching. The bushes lining the walkway were disturbingly pristine, their neatness at odds with the house’s decayed and foreboding aura. If not for their immaculate care, you might have thought the place was abandoned.

Your breath hitched as you reached for the door. The metal hoop of the knocker was freezing against your palm, and for a moment, you hesitated, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. With a trembling hand, you lifted it and knocked, the sound reverberating through the still night like the toll of a bell. A death bell, perhaps. 

You stood there, waiting. Seconds stretched into an eternity, the silence amplifying every stray sound—the rustling of leaves, the creaking of old wood, the faint whisper of the wind. Your nerves began to fray, and just as you were about to knock again, a sudden noise made you whip around.

A crow landed on the railing with a thud, its black eyes glinting like polished onyx. It tilted its head, staring at you with an unnerving intensity, as though it were delivering a silent warning: Turn back. Leave now.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. The journey here had already cost you too much, and the thought of retreating to nothing—a cold, inhospitable town, a life of uncertainty—kept your feet rooted in place. Even as dread coiled tighter around your heart, you remained, the weight of your decision pressing heavier than ever.

You jolted as the grand doors creaked open, the deep, groaning sound echoing in the stillness. The noise rooted you to the spot, your pulse hammering in your ears. Until this moment, you hadn’t stopped to consider who would be behind the door. What sort of person lived in a place like this? Why was he so hated? What if the rumors were true—what if he was dangerous?

Your imagination conjured a monster—sharp yellow teeth bared in a sinister grin, hollow eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, leathery, pale skin stretched tight over angular bones. His voice would be guttural and broken, a sound that carried only misfortune and dread. You sucked in a breath, bracing yourself for this creature to appear.

But the door stopped after only opening slightly, leaving just a sliver of darkness visible beyond. No figure emerged, no silhouette loomed. Silence followed, heavy and expectant.

“Hello?” you called, your voice trembling.

There was no response. You hesitated, glancing back down the shadowy path you’d climbed. The idea of retracing that perilous journey in the dead of night frightened you. Desperation flared within you, pushing you to speak again.

“I saw your ad on the job board. For a housekeeper? I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” you began, the words spilling out quickly. “I-Is the position still open? I’ve been cooking and cleaning all my life. I can stitch a warm coat in two days, and hats, gloves, and scarves in less than one. I noticed your bushes—they’re well cared for. I know a lot about gardening; my father taught me—”

The door suddenly widened, cutting off your nervous rambling. A rush of frigid air spilled out, carrying with it the faint scent of damp wood and aged stone. You hesitated, then stepped inside, expecting warmth to greet you. But instead, the chill intensified, the air biting at your skin like icy needles.

The man who had opened the door had vanished, his presence already dissolved into the shadows. The heavy doors groaned as you pushed them closed, their weight demanding your full effort.

Turning back around, you finally took in the house. In the dim flicker of candlelight, the interior revealed itself in pieces, like a dream shifting into focus. The grand entryway was vast, yet suffocating, the kind of place that seemed to watch you back. The floor was a checkered sea of black and white marble, cracked in places and dulled by time. A massive staircase dominated the space, its dark oak banister coiled like a serpent rising toward the upper floors. The air smelled faintly of wax and mildew.

Dust clung to every surface, turning once beautiful furniture into ghostly relics. A cracked mirror hung crookedly on the far wall, its gilded frame tarnished and webbed with cobwebs. A dark red, velvety tapestry drooped sadly from its mount, its colors faded and threads unraveling. Scattered across a long wooden table were odd, forgotten items: loose buttons, dried ink bottles, and what appeared to be a single leather glove, stiffened with age. Despite the grandeur, the house felt as though it had been abandoned to the passage of time, its opulence rotting away in quiet decay.

You held your chest tightly, your pulse quickening as you tried to quell the unease clawing at you.

“Eighteen dollars a month.”

The voice came from above, low and rich like the stroke of velvet against bare skin. It was smooth, refined, and utterly at odds with the house and its rumors. You snapped your head up, your eyes darting toward the staircase.

There he was. A figure stood at the top of the stairs, his silhouette cloaked in the shadows. He was too far away to make out clearly, his back turned to you as he rested one hand lightly on the banister.

“You start tomorrow,” the voice continued, steady and composed, though tinged with something you couldn’t name. “Do not wake me. Your quarters are down the hall to your left.”

With that, he was gone, disappearing into the upper darkness as quickly and silently as he’d appeared.

You stood there, rooted in place, the chill of the house seeping into your very bones. The unexpected smoothness of his voice lingered in your mind, disarming in its elegance. And yet, it wasn’t enough to shake the oppressive weight of the home, with its decayed grandeur and shadows that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking.

Your quarters, tucked away at the far end of the hall, were modest compared to the rest of the house—but that was to be expected for the help, you supposed. The space was sparse yet functional, its simplicity offering a quiet reprieve from the unsettling grandeur outside its door.

A soft white bed stood against the wall, its quilt worn but clean, promising a much-needed rest for your aching body. Beside it, a small desk sat neatly, complete with an oil lamp and a sheaf of blank paper, an unspoken invitation to write letters you weren’t sure would ever reach anyone. A large armoire dominated the opposite corner, its dark wood polished to an eerie sheen, its brass handles shaped like twisting vines. Though you had packed light, the armoire’s cavernous emptiness made your belongings seem smaller still.

You settled into the room cautiously, smoothing your hand over the quilt as you perched on the edge of the bed. Despite its simplicity, the room felt...off. Perhaps it was the silence that hung so heavily in the air or the faint chill that lingered, despite the walls being thick and the windows shut tight.

Your mind churned as you tried to make sense of everything—the decayed opulence of the house, the cryptic demeanor of the Count, and the strange, fearful gossip that followed his name. What kind of man was he, truly? You realized with a sinking feeling that you still had no idea what he even looked like. The thought nagged at you, stirring up an unease that clung to the edges of your thoughts like cobwebs.

The strangeness of it all—the place, the person, the situation—was unnerving, and yet, there was a small part of you that whispered it was too late to turn back now. The journey had been long and unforgiving, and there was no guarantee of shelter if you left.

Your body, however, had little patience for your anxious mind. The weight of the day bore down on you, and your fatigue eventually overpowered your worries. You stretched out on the bed, its softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. As your eyes fluttered closed, the strangeness of the house loomed over you, lingering in your thoughts like a shadow.

But soon, the stillness of sleep claimed you and the unsettling mysteries of your new life were left to haunt the night.

⸺

You awoke just as the first rays of dawn slipped through the cracks in the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the room. To your surprise, you felt well-rested, the ache of yesterday’s journey soothed by the quiet stillness of the night. The house, with all its looming shadows and unsettling whispers, had not disturbed your sleep.

Sitting up slowly, you stretched your arms overhead, feeling the stiffness melt from your shoulders. A yawn escaped your lips as you rubbed the lingering drowsiness from your eyes, the warmth of the quilt still clinging to your skin. For a brief moment, the morning felt almost normal—peaceful, even.

But as your feet touched the cold floor, that fleeting comfort dissolved. The air in the room was still and heavy as if the house itself had been holding its breath while you slept. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching, waiting.

Shaking off the thought, you steeled yourself for the day ahead. Whatever the peculiarities of this house or its master, you had work to do.

In the cold kitchen, you set the tea kettle over the fire, the soft crackle of the flames breaking the otherwise oppressive silence. As you watched the water begin to simmer, a thought crept into your mind: should you prepare a cup for the Count? It seemed polite, perhaps even expected, but then you remembered his firm instruction not to wake him.

Maybe he simply valued his solitude—or his sleep. You could understand that; mornings were a sanctuary for some. Still, the uncertainty of your role gnawed at you. What kind of man didn’t even outline what he wanted from his housekeeper? You glanced at the kettle again, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

You reassured yourself that time would bring clarity. By nightfall, surely, you would understand his routine and expectations. For now, you took comfort in the steady rhythm of small tasks, grounding yourself in the familiar while the unfamiliar loomed just beyond your reach.

As you moved around the kitchen, its grandeur dulled by the thick coat of dust, the scale of your work became painfully clear. The counters, once polished to a gleaming finish, were now layered with grime. A tower of mismatched dishes teetered precariously in the sink, their surfaces streaked with stains that told of long-neglected meals. The pantry was nearly bare—just a few stale loaves of bread, an old jar of jam, and some long-forgotten tins tucked into the corners.

You sighed, shaking your head as you rummaged through the cabinets. At least there were some spare biscuits, and with the tea brewing steadily, you’d make do for now. A trip to town for supplies seemed inevitable, though the thought of braving the peculiar townsfolk again didn’t thrill you.

After nibbling on the dry biscuits and sipping the hot tea, you wandered through the halls, taking in your new surroundings. Even as the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon, the house remained shrouded in shadows. The wooden panels nailed over the windows blocked most of the light, forcing you to rely on the flickering glow of the few lit candles. The air felt thick and heavy, the faint scent of mildew lingering in the corners.

The living room, if you could call it that, was a chaos of clutter. Melted candle wax had pooled and hardened on the floorboards, books lay scattered across the furniture, and a once-elegant rug was curled at the edges, its patterns obscured by dust. A broken clock leaned precariously against a wall, its glass face cracked and the hands forever frozen in time.

You crouched down to scrape some of the hardened wax from the floor, the task already feeling endless. A sigh escaped your lips. Yes, there was much work to be done—more than you had expected.

But as daunting as it seemed, you reminded yourself of the warmth and security that this place, for all its strangeness, provided. Rolling up your sleeves, you resolved to tackle the disarray piece by piece, determined to bring some semblance of order to the house. Whatever secrets this place held, at least you’d have the satisfaction of a clean floor beneath your feet.

⸺

The afternoon had slipped away, and your work felt far from done. The kitchen and dining room had consumed the better part of the day, leaving your back aching and your hands stiff. The thought of tackling the grand living room and foyer loomed over you like a heavy cloud. You’d been busy with the senseless tasks of cleaning and reorganizing, but there were still errands to run. The idea of facing more work in the house was enough to make you pause. 

You slipped into your warm coat, wrapped a scarf tightly around your head, and stood at the door, pausing for a moment. You glanced up the staircase, half-expecting to see a glimpse of your master. But there was only silence. No movement, no sign of him. Perhaps he was still asleep. 

With a loud sigh, you grabbed your purse and stepped out into the chilly air, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. The path down to town felt long, but it was a welcome distraction from the house and the work that awaited you when you returned.

The journey down the hill felt longer today, your never-ending thoughts slowing your steps. You passed the same familiar buildings, the same curious eyes peering at you from behind the small shops and homes, but today, there was a different sort of tension in the air. You knew the townsfolk still whispered behind your back, their words like echoes of a story you couldn’t quite grasp. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the task at hand: groceries. Yet, their comments continued to swirl in your mind.

“Don’t meet her eyes, she carries his curse within her,” one of the shopkeepers muttered under her breath to a customer as you walked past. You caught only fragments of their conversation, but the few words you did hear made you shudder in place. 

Their whispers were distinct—filled with warnings, judgments, and fear. It was as if the townspeople saw you as a shadow of the Count, carrying with you a dark energy that left them uneasy in your presence. Their words wrapped around you like a curse, as though you, too, were tainted by something malevolent. They spoke of you as if you were a mirror of the Count’s darkness, forcing them to avert their eyes and steer clear of your path altogether.

You pushed yourself forward, determined to finish your task. The items you needed weren’t difficult to gather, but the weight of their gaze made everything feel heavier. You hurried, and by the time you reached the shop’s counter, you realized you had forgotten a few things, the very basics that had slipped from your mind in the rush of the day.

With a sigh, you made your way back to the estate, the basket of groceries now even more cumbersome. The long hill back up to the house made your legs ache, but it wasn’t just your body that felt worn—your mind too felt numb, with feelings of anxiety and uncertainty making it impossible to think about what to do for dinner. 

When you returned, the sun was already making its way down, and the house was as silent as before. You set the groceries down in the kitchen, eyes wandering over the untouched spaces, the dust that still lingered.

You quickly got to work, preparing a simple dinner for yourself and your master. The faint smell of burning wood and the steady crackle of the fire filled the air, offering you little comfort as you set the table for one. The clink of the dishes was the loudest sound in the room, your own heartbeat keeping time with each dish you placed.

As you adjusted the final details on the table, you heard the soft creak of the door. The flames flickered unexpectedly, casting dancing shadows across the room. A chill swept over you, settling in the pit of your stomach as the temperature seemed to drop with his arrival.

You turned, and there he stood, filling the doorway with a presence so striking it almost stole your breath. His gaze locked onto you, and the cold that had crept in from the draft seemed to melt away, replaced by something much warmer—an almost familiar tension that pulled at your chest, making it harder to breathe.

He wasn’t what you had expected. His appearance was nothing like the monster the townspeople had whispered about. There were no signs of age or decay, only ethereal beauty—as if he was sculpted by some divine hand. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain, with a soft glow that seemed to catch the dim light from the candles. His dark, glossy eyes were like deep pools, glinting with a mystery that held your gaze far longer than you intended. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones added to the sharpness of his face, giving him a sense of quiet nobility, yet there was something undeniably otherworldly about him.

He lingered at the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—shock, maybe, as though he hadn’t expected you to be there. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, and the weight of his gaze made your shoulders tense. Your fingers found the hem of your apron, fidgeting as you tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he seemed to catch himself. His posture straightened, and his expression softened, the sharpness of his gaze retreating behind a veil of composure, as though he’d realized he might have given too much of himself away.

Your heart pounded as you thought of what to say. Gathering your courage, you managed a small, polite smile. "Good evening, sir," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I prepared some soup and fresh bread. I thought it might be to your liking."

He approached you slowly, each measured step echoing in the room, the sound of his heels against the wooden floor making your chest tighten with anticipation. As he drew nearer, the air seemed to shift, heavier with every step. Just as he reached your side, he stopped abruptly, his gaze dropping to the dinner you had so carefully prepared.

"Thank you," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating like a soft hum that seemed to linger in the stillness. There was a pause before his eyes flicked back to you, and his next words came softly but firmly. "What is your name?"

The weight of his presence pressed against you, and your nerves heightened as you whispered, “Y/N, sir…” You kept your voice low, unsure whether to meet his gaze or keep your eyes lowered. The tension prickled at the back of your neck, your hands clasping tightly before you.

He didn’t sit immediately but instead lingered at the head of the table, his long fingers idly tracing the wood of the chair. When he finally spoke, his voice was commanding yet smooth, every word material.

“I apologize for meeting you so late,” he began, his dark eyes briefly glancing at you before settling on the untouched bowl before him. “I work well into the night and, as such, must sleep during the day.” His tone carried authority, leaving no room for argument.

He picked up the spoon, stirring the soup languidly, the movement unnervingly slow. “You’ve done well so far,” he remarked, the faintest trace of approval in his words. “The dining room is spotless. It has been far too long since I dined in here. My work consumes my time, leaving my poor estate neglected.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as it flicked back to you. “Cleanliness is paramount. My work demands focus, and I will not tolerate distractions. I trust you will uphold these expectations.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hope to please you and exceed your standards.”

His jaw tightened subtly, and for a moment, you worried you had misspoken. But he continued, his tone precise. “As I said, I cannot tolerate distractions. You are not to enter my workspace or my chambers. The entire upstairs is off-limits. There are valuables there that require privacy and care.” He hesitated briefly, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “There is little up there that requires your attention.”

The restriction struck you as strange, but you nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Your duties,” he continued, his tone crisp, “include daily cleaning, maintaining the estate grounds, and running errands in town as needed. For groceries and supplies, bring back receipts, and I will reimburse you with your pay.” He paused, his voice growing softer but no less firm. “There are also a few rules you must follow.”

“Yes, sir?” You straightened slightly, bracing yourself.

“Firstly,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I am not to be disturbed during the day. My rest is crucial, and interruptions will not be tolerated unless it is a matter of life or death.”

“Yes, sir,” you said quickly, nodding.

“Second…” He cleared his throat, “Do not touch the wooden planks. The windows are boarded up due to a previous mishap, and unfortunately, there aren’t many architects nearby to fix it.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And finally,” his voice dropped lower, carrying an ominous edge, “do not venture outside after sunset. The forest is dangerous—predators prowl in the dark. You would do well to heed my warning.”

A chill coursed through you at the severity of his words, the weight of his warning making it clear he meant every syllable. “I understand,” you murmured.

He gestured toward the table before finally lowering himself into the chair. “You’ve done well today,” he said, adjusting the napkin in his lap with methodical care. “I trust you’ll continue to prove yourself capable.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, your voice steady despite the unease curling in your chest.

He picked up the spoon again, swirling the soup without taking a bite. The hesitation made you anxious—had you made the wrong choice of meal? Your mind raced back to the town, chastising yourself for forgetting to stop at the butcher. You watched as the vegetables spun lazily in the broth, but his expression remained impassive.

“That will be all for tonight,” he said abruptly, his tone cool. He set the spoon down, folding his hands over the edge of the table. “You may take your dinner to your quarters.”

“Goodnight, sir.” You nodded, retreating with careful steps, the weight of his presence lingering long after you exited the room.

⸺

You eased your tired body onto the mattress, but sleep eluded you. The encounter with the Count played over and over in your mind, every word, every glance dissected in the stillness of your room. There was something peculiar about him—his aloofness, the subtle weight in his voice, the way he seemed to measure his every movement.

What exactly did he do? He hadn’t mentioned it, though whatever it was must be lucrative, given the grandeur of the estate. Yet, that same home felt hollow, like a gilded cage rather than a place of comfort.

Your thoughts wandered to his appearance—so striking, so unexpected. He was undeniably beautiful. How could someone so captivating hide away in such a bleak and isolated castle, so far removed from the rest of the world? And why was someone who seemed so young living alone in such a vast and lonely estate? Where was his family?

And then there was that look he gave you—just for a fleeting moment, but enough to unsettle you. It was as though he was disappointed upon seeing you, his dark eyes carrying a strange mixture of pain and defeat. You couldn’t name it precisely, but it lingered in your mind, an odd tension you couldn’t shake.

Everything about him was odd—the house, his demeanor, his rules. And yet, there was something magnetic about him that kept your thoughts tethered to him, even as your body begged for rest. It would be no surprise if you dreamed of him too. His image lingered in your mind like a shadow cast by moonlight—too vivid to ignore, too enigmatic to understand. You closed your eyes, trying to banish the thoughts, but his face remained, carved into the fabric of your imagination as you fell deeper into sleep. 

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act II: the count ➜

[aritsukemo]

HELLOOOOOO IT’S MEEEEEEEE

GENSHIN REQ FOR KAZUHA WITH A READER WHO’S SICK & THEY’RE CHILDHOOD BESTIES <33

THANKUTHANKUTHANKU IF U DO THIS I JS FNSKDNNDKSKSNDKSKSKDKSKX

LOVE UR WORKS BTW <333333‼️🥰💕💞

Sickly Hallucinations | Kaedehara Kazuha

Kazuha Kaedehara x Sick reader ( @nursedflowers / @kazusys )

Summary: After being bedridden for days, it seems that you have started to hallucinate the worse thing possible; your dead best friend.

Warnings: Reader is sick, and because of that, snot is mentioned in a sorta detailed way. Abstract descriptions ahead ( I don't know why I describe the simplest things the way I did.. ) Reader is also avid on believing they're hallucinating seeing and hearing Kazuha. ( Spoiler Alert, they're not ) A lot of crying and reader breakdown more than once, but there's a happy ending I swear! With all that said, you have been warned! <3

A/N: HERE IT IS NURSED, AFTER WAY TOO LONG OF MAKING YOU WAIT!! 😖 I'm sorry if this is not up to par. I had an idea going into this but completely lost it by the end so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense or the ending seems suddenly or anything! I truly didn't mean for it to end up that way!

"This is so stupid!" A frustrated cry sounded throughout the bare room, bouncing off the walls—the metal swords on the wall in particular—and resonating throughout the ear canal's of a certain platinum blonde who was, partially, the reason for such anger.

"You almost had me there at the end. You truly are skilled with the blade, Y/n," He complimented politely. If anyone else was in the situation with the future leader of the prestigious Kaedehara Clan helping them up and blowing sweet words in their ear, they'd probably swoon, even with the rumors of their deteriorating fortune making one believe that his flowery words were for mere show. Even if it was true, none of that mattered to you. In fact, in the face of such petal-soft kindness, your blood boil over like a raging inferno.

But despite that, all you could muster to do to that soft face dressed in a gentle smile was a gruff at it and mumble, "Shush," to which your kind friend spared you the courtesy of giggling in your face and instead silently complied to your wish...only to immediately go against that wish seconds later.

"I mean it, truly. If it were a situation where you and I were fighting for real as enemies, for example, and stood forth one another wielding our blades for the sake of our own ideals, you surely would've bested me."

You found yourself frowning at his statement. Enemies? The thought immediately stained it's ink on your heart and made it clench from the poison. If something so obscene were to occur in some hell-filled alternate reality, you doubt you'd be able to lift your sword in his direction or even stare him in the eyes with hues darkened by hate. Not Kazuha. Not your dear friend who seemed to be the only one willing to befriend someone such as yourself—who's family was feared all across Inazuma due to built up rumors and fabrications people have thought up over the millennia.

..But you couldn't say that to him. Especially not after a defeat so embarrassing that your parents surely would turn their noses away from disappointment at your meek swordsmanship.

And so, you decided to play nonchalance and roll your eyes, mumbling out an uncaring, "Whatever.. As if that'd seriously happen."

"And what if it did?" He egged on as innocently as a little kid asking their parents how they were created. You found your mouth moving before your mind could process and filter your words, causing this aggressive affirmation to leave your throat.

"It wouldn't. I'd never let that happen."

"You can't control fate, Y/n. If me and you parted to walk different paths—" And you cut him off—something you've never once done to him before.

"It wouldn't happen! I'd strike down the Shogun myself before I'd even think of raising my sword to you for anything other than a friendly display of our swordwork!" And you pause, your face growing wide at the surprise of your own words. Kazuha's face seems to mirror yours, albeit he still managed to keep his expression civil and appropriate even when it started turning into a cherry blossom tree.

"..I feel the same way," He confesses sheepishly before his smile returns and he brings his finger to his lips and spoke in a lowered tone, "But, lets keep that amongst ourselves. 'Wouldn't want our parents carrying our words away, now would we?"

And to spare the little dignity you had remaining, you turn your face away—which was burning to the point of tingling—and nod your head.

"Ye- Yeah..whatever."

A gruff, nasally hack resonates from the depth of your chest, shooting itself up your congested throat and forcing itself outwards which caused a bit of that congestion to splatter into the tissue you had curled into your hands. As you came up for air, you glanced down only to immediately revert your gaze away from the snotty liquid—which was definitely not the color it was suppose to be—that had now coated the once clean tissue out of fear of throwing up the little bit of lunch the Traveler insisted you eat.

It had happened yet again. This counts the..what? Seventh, maybe ninth time you've daydreamed about the dead since you fell bedridden? It raises the question of why? Why is it that you're thinking about him now of all times? Why were these memories only now flooding your mind years after his death? Deep down, you knew the answers but chose—no, refused to acknowledge them. You've done that a lot since the day you found out he died. Maybe that's why this is happening at a random time such as this. Maybe it's simply because your mind and body has been weakened by this devilish illness.

Whatever it was, you hated it, and even more so you utterly despised your mind for bring him up after so many years just to make you suffer even more than you already are. You despised it for making you remember his face in such vivid detail. His laugh, his smile, his gorgeous rubies for eyes—all of it.

But, unfortunately, hating something doesn't make it go away. No matter how upset you get, your mind still makes it's way back to the cool touch of his hand caressing yours as he'd direct you on hard-to-master sword maneuvers. It went back to the peaceful warmth his hugs would bless you with whenever you snuck into his room during one of your sleepovers to cuddle after a nightmare you had.

It was all so stupid, you thought. More so now that it seems that your daydreams have turned into full blown hallucinations.

"You look worse for wear, my dear friend," His soothing voice, deepened from maturity, echoed in your ears. You closed your eyes and laid back down. If you didn't amuse it, the illusion would surely grow bored and go away.

Even with the plan in mind, it was difficult to follow through with your words. Upon hearing the familiar tune of his warm chuckle, you find yourself biting your lip. Even after so many years, it still sounds the same. It still holds that sense of tranquility that has brought you peace many times in your childhood.

..But you suppose the reason as to why makes sense. After all, many hallucinations are stemmed from the hallucinator's memories. Of course it'd sound the same as you'd remember it'd be.

"I'm sorry, did that upset you? Please believe me when I say I had no ill will behind my comment, dear. You still look as radiant as you did when we were kids."

Your lip is starting to bleed from how hard your digging your teeth into the supple skin. It stings, but the pain doesn't stop you from doing it. You can't stop. You need to distract yourself and not think about anything pertaining to him. That's the only way this delusion will—

You suck in a breath. One sharp, airy, and shaky and caused by the startling feeling of snowflakes falling upon your exposed skin. Though you pretended to not notice it, you found yourself shocked by the feeling of his fingertips freezing your once burning skin over just as it did when you were younger.

..But how was it possible? Hallucinations shouldn't feel so real, right?

"Y/n, can you look at me? I wish to cherish the sight of your face after being stripped of it for so long," The request came as a tender plea and you found your body conflicted upon hearing it. Part of you wanted so desperately to indulge in your delusions—to let it sweep you away and never bring you back—and yet the more reasonable part of you was screaming at you to do everything and anything but but listen. Your mind was at a bloody, cold war with itself and it thrashed your body every which way until it reacted by setting everything ablaze.

The heat shot up your body and in a desperate attempt to quell the uncomfortable feeling, you curled into yourself—curled away from the cooling touch—until your knees hit your chest. Your effort was quickly proven to be futile as the flames continued it's assault on your organs—your skin—where it went about scorching away every last drop of air in your lungs before finally reaching your face. It heated the already warm blood in your veins, causing them to singe your poor flesh. It soon became an unbearable wildfire that your mind couldn't put out no matter how much it drowned the flames in watered down thoughts—not cooling no matter how many tears were shed.

"Don't cry.." You felt it again. Against your will, you felt those snowy fingertips cool the firestorm that was running wild under your skin for just a moment as they wiped at your now wet face. Even worse when it's accompanied by warm words in your ear that told you, "You don't have to cry. Not anymore. I'm here.."

And in a moment of vulnerability, you unconsciously indulged in your delusions and began to scream, "No you're not!"

You suck in a sharp breath—and thick snot in the process—as you shakily repeat in a quieter tone, "No you're not.. You're dead. ..Kazuha is dead!"

"Kazuha is..what?"

Your dumbstruck utterance echoed through the ears of everyone at the table—that of which included your father, who's face only further sullened upon hearing it.

"Kazuha is..dead," He repeated, although it sounded as if he was forcing himself to. As if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

"He was trailed all throughout the city by samurai after his confrontation with the shogunate. When they finally cornered him, he drew his blade. I heard the battle was a hard one fought..but he..—"

"You're lying," You muttered.

"I'm not," Your father retorts before pausing and sucking in a breath, "Look, Y/n. I know that this is hard for you to accept deeming how close you two were, but—"

"You're lying," You repeat, this time much louder. As if your words had been turned up by a speaker, "..You're lying," You repeat. Shaking your head roughly to the point where your hair slips from behind your ears and falls messily down and around your face as a result. It was a silly thought, but it was as if your hair were trying to spare your pride, your dignity, by shielding your face from the onlookers that so happy to be your close family.

"Y/n, please.." Your mother stands to her feet, perfectly poised even at times like this, as she strides across the room and up to you. The haori and tail end of her kimono flows elegantly in her wake, making her look like some goddess walking along the sun—not that you cared to bear witness to any of that.

Her soft, smooth fingers—never once laid hands to a sword—slide along one shoulder to the edge of the other where she then pulls you close to her chest. She was even kind enough to rub circles into your back for a moment before whispering, "Don't do this.. Not here."

Her words were paper thin which quickly tore soon after she began speaking, proof that she was desperately trying to keep her own emotions in check herself..

But her shaky composure didn't register to you nor did her sincere words or genuine sadness. Your ear took in what she had said and your brain tore it apart and gave it an entirely new tone and overall meaning. One that was rather insincere in the face of your obviously grieving state. One that made it seem as if she didn't care for the news. Or rather, she cared more about saving face than anything else and that angered—no, infuriated you. Like a furnace with too much wood inside of it, a fire roared inside you and soon made your body unbearable hot.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had pushed your mother away with all your strength.

"Shut up! You don't get to tell me how to act in a time like this!" Your father and uncle immediately shot up. Racing over from where they once sat to your mother on the ground and helping her up like the damsel she was. Your father then turned to you, his eyes filling with his own fiery fury.

"Y/n! Control yourself! How you're acting right now is unfit of our name!" He commanded, and his words hit you like a ton of bricks to the face.

You just couldn't wrap your head around any of it. How your family stared on at you in shock as if you had just committed some heinous crime. How none of them had so much as a frown or a tear rolling down their cheek. How they're fussing at you as if your entire world didn't just fall apart over a few simple words.

You couldn't grasp how they managed to stay so composed when the world was beginning to turn grey before your eyes. You didn't understand it and that's what overwhelmed you more than anything else. It was all too much to handle. You felt like you had just been letting go to be swept away by a sea of flames. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to scream or sob. You couldn't decide on anything in that moment, in fact.

And so, you acted on the first thing your body could muster to accomplish and that was to run. Shooting up from your seat, you turned and bolted out of the room, ignoring your father screaming for you to come back..

Silence seeps into the room once again, chasing after the ghost of your echo until it took over the entire room once again. You waited, listening as best you can with your own thundering snivels drowning your ears like a river that was once blocked by a dam...but you heard nothing. You found yourself letting out a shaking sigh of relief as you realize that it was finally over. It seemed that the hallucination was finally gone.

Or so you thought.

"..Is that what you've been believing all this time?" That sigh of relief is immediately sucked back in through your stuffed nose. Along with the warm breaths against your ear, his icy touch returns, and this time, it had been lowered down to your waist.

You feel icicles dig into your flesh just hard enough that you're unable to remove them—which you suppose that, to the typical person, his grip would be near bone-crushing.

But again, it makes sense. It makes sense that he knows that you've gotten stronger over the years. It makes sense how he knows exactly how tightly to grab you without going to far and causing his touch to hurt. It makes sense because he isn't actually here. This is all in your head. Just your imagination..

It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just—

"I was trying to avoid this, but since I now know what taints your thoughts and prevents you from welcoming me into your arms with stride, I have no other choice.. Please, forgive my roughness this once."

Another gasp leaves you—a painful one that sliced through the depths of your achy, red, irritated throat in order to get out—as you're suddenly flipped on your back and pinned before you can fight back. Not knowing what else to do, your nails come up to desperately dig into the icebergs that envelope and cool your fiery cheeks.

"Y/n," He sings your name just as he did when you two were kids. It only makes the fire grow inside you, and ultimately, cause the dam inside you to burn over and allow water to seep through the gap made all over again.

The flurry of sadness is overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as how you felt when you first heard the news of his sudden and untimely death. That said, you were completely overwhelmed and found yourself begging, pleading with your hallucination, saying, "Stop.. Please go away.. He's gone. I've accepted that a long, long time ago so please—!"

"Y/n," Despite feeling as though you were falling, spinning, tumbling in the air, his voice easily made your landing feel soft and relieving, like pushing out a much needed breath you didn't know you were holding in, "Open your eyes and all will be made clear. You'll be at peace that way."

"No! I'm not going to! You can't make me!"

You refuse to let your mind trick you. You're not letting all that effort—all that work you put into building that dam over and over again—be for nothing!

You aren't opening your eyes. You can't..because if you do and he's not there, this fire inside you will turn into something untamable and the dam will crumble and never be able to be built again. Your mind would be a complete disaster that you wouldn't be able to reconstruct for at least a century or two.

After a while, you hear him sigh but you quickly force it out through one ear. Unfortunately as soon as you do that, his voice is shoved into your other ear once again.

"So stubborn.." His voice was vibrated by the chuckle that was weaved into it. It sounded so inviting, so addictive, but—against your subconscious will—you threw it out of your head as more of his florid words soon came to replace the ones lost, "It seems you truly haven't changed..mentally anyways."

The icebergs on your skin were, at last, removed from your face, but you were given little time to relish in your relief before you felt a weight lift off your body, your bedside dip, and those icy fingers make contact with your sensitive scalp.

"Having you in my arms like this brings me back," He said softly, "I remember...it would almost always rain whenever I visited your home and despite how often it happen, you'd always be petrified of the sounds the rain produced," You feel his fingers glide through your hair, separating the strands with his fingers with ease as he continued.

"After everyone went to sleep, you would always sneak into the guest room where I resided and I'd end up holding you just like this until you fell asleep," He then chuckles, and in doing so, puffs his breath against the shell of your ear, "Your parents would always get so upset about it, but that never stopped you from doing it. Nothing ever stopped you from doing as you pleased..so why allow your own fear to do so now?"

"Shut up—!" "You were the bravest person to me when we were kids, Y/n," He confessed, cutting you off, "You were just like your swordsmanship; no matter what you were taught otherwise, your blade always followed the same technique you created for yourself. It never changed, no matter the opponent or obstacle it faced."

"Shut up!" You yelled, yet it came out more of loud croak due to how hoarse your throat was at that point. You were like a scared little kid under the covers all over again. The only difference now was that it was harder to hide, at least in this moment with the ghost of your dead friend cuddling your backside and whispering nostalgia into your ears.

"You were strong. And you still are, I can tell even after all these years apart from you," He said, "So please, show me that bravery once again. Take the last step and look at me. Please.."

You don't know what happened. You had been so hellbent on doing the opposite of what he asked for this entire time only to obey at the last moment because of a slight tremor in his tone. You had been persuaded into obedience by a slight crack in his voice. A mere whimper. You had threw caution to the wind—at the risk of your mental and physical health—simply because of a past urge to comfort your best friend in his rare moment of weakness.

Your eyes twitched before your mind could process what you were doing. Eyes once sealed tightly by your tears—which were serving as your last line of defense at this point and your last chance to rethink this, flip back over, and continue to ignore the voice in your ear until sunrise—crack open, allowing the light of your to seep into your vision of who know how long of not being able to.

And when it finally happened, when you finally opened your eyes and were able to see the light again, you were reduced to hysteric sobs. It wasn't because you had been proven right though. It was even worse, you had been proven wrong. Kazuha laid right beside you alive and in the flesh. He looked just as he did all those years ago and you just couldn't bear the sight without breaking down.

At least now you can properly relish in the feeling of his touch—in the feeling of his arms caging around you—without feeling as though you were deluding yourself.

"You..dumb idiot.." You sniffled out as his grip on you tightened, "You big..dumb moron.. You had me thinking for so long.. I grieved over you..for so, so long.. I-"

"Shh, shh.." He shushed, his lips now tickling your forehead with his cool breath and fluttery words as he mumbles into your skin, "I'm sorry, my dear. I never meant to cause you such pain. Never. If I had the choice, I would've found you a long time ago.."

He mumbled other things as well, but you honestly could care less what he had to say at this point. Not even if he professed a hidden motive to end your life. You couldn't bring yourself to care about anything, not when you've finally been able to prove that dreadful thought you pushed in the very depths of your mind wrong. Not when such a heavy weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Not when the warmth that surrounds you has finally been confirmed to be from the one you had longed to see, feel, and reminisce with for literal ages.

The only thing you were listening to, at this point, was the thoughts telling you to stay like this in his arms and let his voice serenade you for an eternity.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx