#Get ready for the angst flood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

won4kiss · 1 month ago

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﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ────TO ALL THE BOYS I’VE LOVED BEFORE.

SYPNOSiS. you and park sunghoon were close friends until high school changed things. when your best friend began dating him, you realized your feelings for sunghoon ran deeper than friendship—a letter you wrote a long time ago makes its way to park sunghoon, what will happen when he asks you to fake date him? could you ignore your past feelings or will this go horribly wrong.. INSPIRED BY TATBILB.

୨୧ PAiRING. ex-bestfriend’s ex boyfriend! park sunghoon x fem! reader, jock! sunghoon x academic! reader.

୨୧ GENRE. highschool romance, fake dating, mostly fluff, very minimal angst. non!idol au. she fell first, he fell harder, happy ending!!

୨୧ WARNiNGS. profanities, kissing, karina being annoying ngl.. yn being indecisive, overthinking, not proofread.

୨୧ WORD COUNT. 10,456 / 10.4K

𝓟𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗟i𝗦𝗧 ﹕ i like me better, lauv, goodnight n go, ariana grande, boyfriend, ariana grande, new romantics, taylor swift, somebody to you, the vamps, fine line, harry styles, japanese denim, daniel caesar.

NOTE. thank u guys sm for all the support on the teaser!! i’m not too happy with this but i hope u guys enjoy reading this ^^ i literally love the movies sm so i HAD to write smt for tatbilb ☝️🤓 i strongly recommend reading the teaser before this!!

IT’S JUST AN ORDINARY AFTERNOON, OR SO YOU THINK.

you’re in your room, organizing the clutter on your desk that’s been piling up for years—old notebooks, random receipts, ticket stubs from movies you don’t even remember watching.

a wave of nostalgia hits as you sift through bits and pieces of your past—buried beneath a pile of loose papers, you find it: the letter. that letter.

the one you wrote to park sunghoon all those years ago.

your breath catches in your throat as you stare at the crinkled envelope, your heart beating faster as memories rush back. you’d almost forgotten about it—almost.

with your hands trembling, you pick up the letter, reading the words scribbled across the front.

his name, written in your messy handwriting, brings back a flood of feelings you thought you’d buried for good.

this letter holds all the emotions you couldn’t say out loud. it’s a part of you—a vulnerable, painful part that you’ve kept locked away for years.

you’re tempted to rip it apart, to destroy it like you should have back then.

but before you can make a decision, your phone buzzes on the desk beside you.

a message notification from your younger sibling—who’s supposed to be helping with errands—pulls your attention away.

“hey, can you drop off the mail for me? i left a bunch of letters on the kitchen counter. thanks!”

you groan, glancing at the clock—you don’t really have the time to run errands right now, but you suppose it won’t take long.

tossing the letter back into the pile, you get up, grab the stack of letters from the kitchen, and head to the mailbox.

the evening air is cool, and you take a deep breath, trying to clear your head.

it’s just a letter, you remind yourself. it’s in the past—sunghoon is in the past. he and karina are in the past.

you drop the letters into the mailbox without a second thought.

it isn’t until much later—when you’re getting ready for bed—that the realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

the letter—sunghoon’s letter.

panic floods your chest as you bolt upright, your heart pounding in your ears.

you scramble to your desk, frantically shuffling through the papers, looking for the envelope. but it’s not there. it’s gone.

you feel sick.

“no, no, no…” you whisper to yourself, your mind racing in denial.

you couldn’t have misplaced it could you?

you had placed it in the pile, the pile you just dropped into the mailbox. the letter—the one meant for no one—is on its way to park sunghoon.

the next morning, you’re a mess.

you hardly slept, your mind replaying every worst-case scenario over and over.

what’s going to happen when sunghoon reads the letter? will he think you’re some weirdo still pining after him? will he laugh at how pathetic you must seem?

you can’t stop the panic from rising, no matter how much you try to calm yourself down.

by the time you’re at school, you feel like a bundle of nerves, anxiety if it were a physical form.

you avoid everyone, keeping your head low as you rush to your first class, hoping to make it through the day unnoticed.

but fate doesn’t seem to care about your plans.

you’re at your locker, rifling through your books, when you feel someone approach you from behind.

the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. slowly, you turn around, and your stomach drops— park sunghoon is standing right there.

his tall figure leans casually against the lockers, his eyes locked on yours, unreadable.

you’ve seen that cool, calm expression a million times before, but now it makes your palms sweat.

“hey,” he says, his voice smooth and silky, just like always.

you blink, trying to keep your expression neutral. “oh…hey, sunghoon.”

he’s quiet for a moment, and the tension in the air thickens—you can tell he’s holding something back.

finally, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the letter. your letter.

“so—uh..i got this in the mail yesterday.”

your blood runs cold as your eyes lock onto the familiar envelope in his hand. the world feels like it’s tilting, and all you can think is, this isn’t happening. this can’t be happening.

“i wasn’t expecting something like this,” he says, raising an eyebrow, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “you wanna explain?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out.

what are you even supposed to say? that it was a mistake? that you didn’t mean to send it? that the feelings you wrote about years ago were just a phase, long since forgotten?

sunghoon waits, watching you with that calm, intense gaze that makes your pulse race.

he’s not giving anything away, not yet. you can’t tell if he’s mad or confused or if he’s just messing with you.

but you know one thing: he’s not letting this go.

finally, you manage to speak. “i… i didn’t mean for you to see that.”

sunghoon tilts his head, looking intrigued. “no?”

“no,” you say quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it was a long time ago. i wrote it…a while back. i never meant to send it.”

there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe?—but he doesn’t let it show for long. “so…you don’t feel this way anymore?”

you freeze.

how do you even answer that? the truth is…complicated—you hadn’t thought about those feelings for a long time, at least not consciously.

you thought you were over it—over him. but now, standing here with him holding your deepest secrets in his hands, all those old emotions are bubbling up to the surface, making you second-guess everything.

“i…” you start, but the words stick in your throat.

sunghoon watches you closely, his gaze sharp and focused. it’s the same look he used to give you when you were younger, the look that said he could see right through you.

he always knew when something was bothering you. he always knew you.

“you don’t have to answer right now,” he says, his voice softer than before. “but…we need to talk about this. you can’t just drop something like this on me and expect me to ignore it.”

you nod, feeling your stomach churn—you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you stay silent, hoping the ground will open up and swallow you whole.

but sunghoon doesn’t move. he just keeps standing there, holding the letter between his fingers, as if waiting for something.

then, as if sensing your discomfort, he sighs and folds the letter, tucking it back into his jacket.

“look, y/n,” he says, his tone more relaxed now, “i’m not mad or anything. it’s just…unexpected.”

you nod again, your throat dry.

sunghoon pushes off the lockers, taking a step closer, his presence is overwhelming, making your heart race.

“we’ll figure this out,” he says, his voice low and steady. “but for now, let’s just…talk later. after school?”

you swallow hard, nodding once more. “yeah. after school.”

he gives you a small, reassuring smile before turning and walking down the hallway, leaving you standing there, dazed and overwhelmed.

your mind is spinning, replaying everything that just happened, and all you can think is: what now?

the day feels like a blur after your confrontation with sunghoon.

every class drags on as your mind races through every possible outcome of that letter being in his hands.

when you get called on during your calculus class, you barely manage a coherent answer, your usual sharpness dulled by the storm in your head.

normally, being the top student in your class—the one everyone goes to for homework help or notes—gives you some confidence.

but right now, nothing seems to calm your nerves—not even acing the quiz that’s handed back to you.

all you can think about is what sunghoon wants to “talk about” after school.

you’re already dreading it when the final bell rings.

as you head toward the meeting spot—outside the gym, where you know sunghoon will be after practice—you can’t stop the tight knot forming in your stomach.

the hallway buzzes with activity, people passing by in crowds—athletes are huddled in groups, chatting loudly about the upcoming game, and among them is sunghoon—blending in perfectly.

he’s talking to his friends, tall and confident in his varsity jacket, his hair slightly messy from practice.

the sight of him makes your chest tighten—he’s the type of guy who seems to have it all: popularity, athletic skill, and that natural charm that draws people in.

you, on the other hand, are the complete opposite—known for your academics rather than your social life.

the two of you haven’t even spoken in years, not since that rift grew between you after his breakup with karina.

and now, you’re about to dive into a conversation that could make things a hundred times more awkward.

you stand a few feet away, hesitating, until sunghoon notices you.

he gives you a small, almost secret smile, and breaks away from his group, leaving his teammates behind.

“hey,” he says casually, as if the two of you talk every day.

you manage a shaky smile. “hey.”

sunghoon gestures for you to follow him around the corner, where it’s quieter, away from the lingering crowd.

the tension between you is thick, and the air feels charged with unspoken things.

you hug your books closer to your chest, trying to find the right words, but it’s sunghoon who speaks first.

“i thought about what you said earlier,” he starts, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

his expression is serious, but not in an intimidating way—more like he’s trying to work through something in his head.

“and i get that the letter was from a long time ago, but…i think there’s something we could both get out of this.”

your brows knit in confusion. “what do you mean?” sunghoon sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“look, ever since the breakup with karina, i’ve been getting a lot of…questions. people keep assuming things, especially with you being involved, since you were friends with her. it’s getting annoying.”

you frown, not liking where this is going. “what kind of things?”

he shrugs, but his eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. “people think you’re the reason we broke up.”

your heart skips a beat. “what—me?”

“yeah,” he says, his tone casual, but you can see the weight behind his words. “there’s this rumor that i broke up with her because of you. that we had this…thing going on behind her back.”

you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “that’s ridiculous. i barely even talked to you after you guys got together.”

“i know,” he says, his eyes softening. “but you know how high school is. people talk.”

you groan, rubbing your temple. this is exactly the kind of drama you’ve always tried to avoid, keeping your head down and focusing on school.

“so…what does this have to do with the letter?”

sunghoon straightens up, his gaze sharp. “i think we can use this to our advantage.”

“use…what?” you ask, your voice wary.

he gestures between the two of you. “the rumors. the letter. look, if people already think there was something between us, then why not just lean into it? we could pretend to date for a while. it’d shut people up, and i wouldn’t have to keep explaining myself to every person who asks about karina. and maybe it’ll get people off your back too.”

you blink at him, processing his words. “you want to pretend to date? like…fake dating?”

he nods like an excited puppy, as if it’s the most logical solution in the world. “exactly. it’d be easier for both of us. we’d keep it simple—just enough to make people believe it.”

your mind reels at the suggestion—you’ve seen this happen in movies, read about it in books, but this is real life.

and the idea of pretending to date sunghoon feels…absurd. sure, it might get people to stop talking about karina and his breakup, but what about you?

you’ve spent years keeping your feelings buried, and now he wants to parade around as if you’re together? that sounds like a recipe for disaster.

“sunghoon,” you start, your voice cautious, “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?” he asks, looking genuinely confused.

“because it’s…weird,” you say, struggling to find the right words. “we haven’t even been friends for years. what makes you think anyone would believe we’re suddenly dating?”

he smirks, leaning in slightly. “because we used to be close. people know that. it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch.”

you bite your lip, still unconvinced. “but…what’s the point? i mean, won’t it just make things worse when people find out it’s fake?”

he shrugs again, that easygoing confidence still radiating from him. “maybe. but by then, it won’t matter. they’ll have moved on to the next piece of gossip. besides, it’s not like we’d have to keep it up forever. just long enough for things to blow over.”

you hesitate, your mind spinning with possibilities.

on one hand, the thought of faking a relationship with sunghoon makes your stomach churn with anxiety.

but on the other hand…it could solve a lot of problems—maybe it would keep people from asking about karina.

maybe it would give you a chance to finally move past all the old feelings that have been resurfacing ever since the letter.

but it’s risky. too risky.

“i don’t know,” you say, your voice uncertain.

sunghoon watches you for a moment, then steps closer, lowering his voice.

“look, i know it’s a lot to ask, but think about it. this could be good for both of us. you wouldn’t have to keep dodging questions about karina, and i wouldn’t have to deal with everyone assuming things about us. plus,” he adds with a slight smirk, “it might even be fun.”

you give him a skeptical look as you scoff in disbelief. “fun?”

he grins, that playful glint in his eyes you remember so well from years ago.

“yeah. i mean, we used to be friends, right? it’s not like we don’t know how to get along. we can make it believable.”

there’s something in the way he’s looking at you, that spark of the old sunghoon—the boy who used to make you laugh, who used to confide in you late at night during sleepovers, before everything got complicated.

for a moment, you’re reminded of how easy things used to be between you two. how natural it felt.

maybe…just maybe, this could work.

you take a deep breath, weighing your options—it’s crazy. it’s beyond risky, but it might be the only way to fix this mess.

and if it’s just pretending, then what’s the harm? you’ll just have to keep your real feelings locked away—like you always have.

“okay,” you say finally, your voice steady. “let’s do it.”

sunghoon’s smile widens, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’ve made the right choice. he holds out his hand. “deal?”

you hesitate for just a second before shaking his hand. “deal.”

the next few days pass in a whirlwind of rumors, whispers, and carefully orchestrated moments.

word spreads fast that you and sunghoon are dating, and the school is buzzing with curiosity.

everyone seems to have their eyes on you—especially since you’re not exactly part of his social circle.

the jock and the ‘nerd’, the golden boy and the brainiac—it’s a combination that no one saw coming.

but you and sunghoon play the part well, you walk together in the hallways, sit next to each other during lunch, and even hang out after school for the occasional “study session.” to everyone else, it looks like the real deal.

you’re careful to keep things light and casual, just like sunghoon said.

no hand-holding or public displays of affection—just enough closeness to make it believable.

but as the days go by, you start to notice little things—the way sunghoon looks at you sometimes, his eyes lingering a bit too long.

the way he laughs at your jokes, even the ones that aren’t particularly funny. and the way your heart skips a beat whenever he smiles at you.

it’s all pretend, of course. it has to be—but sometimes…it feels too real.

as the days turn into weeks, the fake dating plan takes on a life of its own.

you and sunghoon settle into a routine of sorts—walking to class together, sharing lunch, and spending time after school.

it’s strange at first, pretending to be something you’re not, but soon it becomes almost second nature.

you’re surprised at how easy it is to fall into this rhythm with him, despite everything that’s happened between you, there’s a familiarity that lingers, reminding you of how things used to be when you were best friends.

sometimes, when you’re alone with him, it almost feels like no time has passed at all.

but that’s the problem, isn’t it? it’s too easy. too comfortable. and that’s when the lines start to blur.

it starts with the small things. like how he goes out of his way to find you in the mornings before school.

at first, it’s just part of the plan—he says you need to be seen together—but then it becomes something more.

his texts in the evenings aren’t just about “keeping up appearances” anymore; they’re full of little comments about your day, things that make you smile when you’re lying in bed at night, staring at your phone.

and then there are the moments when he touches you.

it’s never anything big or obvious—just his hand brushing against yours as you walk, or his arm slung casually around your shoulder when you’re sitting together during lunch.

each touch sends sparks through your skin, leaving you wondering if he feels it too.

but the biggest change comes one afternoon after school.

you’re sitting in the library, books spread out in front of you as you try to focus on an upcoming exam.

you’ve always been good at studying—quiet places like this are your sanctuary—but today, your mind is elsewhere.

you’re thinking about sunghoon, about the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, and how it’s making it harder to remember that this is all just pretend.

the sound of footsteps approaching snaps you out of your thoughts.

you glance up to see sunghoon walking toward you, that familiar soft smile on his face.

“hey,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

you raise an eyebrow. “you do realize this is the library, right? i thought jocks weren’t allowed in here.”

he chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “i’m full of surprises. besides, i thought you might need a break.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your face. “i’m studying, hoon. you know, that thing people do when they want to pass their classes?”

he shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “yeah, but you’re already the smartest person in school. you can afford to take a break.”

you sigh, closing your book. “i can’t believe i’m saying this, but fine. what do you want?”

he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. there’s something different in his eyes today—something softer.

“i was thinking we should go to the movies this weekend.”

you blink in surprise. “the movies?”

“yeah. you know, that place where people go to sit in the dark and pretend they’re not awkwardly sitting next to strangers?”

you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. “why?”

he shrugs again, but there’s a playful glint in his eye. “why not? we’re supposed to be dating, right? might as well go on an actual date.”

you hesitate, your heart racing. “sunghoon, this was supposed to be lowkey. we agreed we wouldn’t do anything that would make it seem… too real.”

he raises an eyebrow. “it’s just a movie. we’re not getting married or anything.”

you bite your lip, feeling a strange feeling of excitement and anxiety building in your chest.

the idea of going on a date with sunghoon—even a fake one—makes your stomach do flips.

but you remind yourself that this is all part of the plan. it’s not real. it can’t be.

“okay,” you say finally. “but don’t expect me to share my popcorn.”

he grins, his smile lighting up his face. “deal.”

the weekend comes faster than you expected, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of the movie theater, feeling more nervous than you’ve felt in a long time.

you can’t figure out why—this is just a fake date, after all.

but there’s something about the way sunghoon looks when he arrives, wearing a casual jacket and that effortless smile, that makes your heart skip a beat.

“you ready?” he asks, his eyes glinting with amusement.

you nod, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. “yeah. let’s get this over with.”

sunghoon laughs and leads you inside, where you buy tickets and snacks.

you’re still trying to act nonchalant when you sit down in the theater, but the darkness and the closeness between you make it harder to ignore the way your body reacts to his presence.

his arm brushes against yours as he settles into his seat, and you can feel the heat radiating from him.

the movie starts, but you barely pay attention.

your mind is too busy racing through thoughts of sunghoon—how close he is, how easy it would be to just lean into him—your heart pounds in your chest, and you silently curse yourself for letting things get this far.

and then, halfway through the movie, it happens.

sunghoon shifts in his seat, and without thinking, his hand finds yours in the darkness.

his fingers curl around yours, gentle and warm, and for a moment, you freeze—your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest.

you glance at him, but his eyes are focused on the screen, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

as if holding your hand wasn’t something that would send your mind spiraling.

you tell yourself to pull away, to remind him that this is fake—that this can’t mean anything—but you don’t.

you let your hand stay in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, and for the rest of the movie, you don’t move.

the walk home is quieter than usual, you and sunghoon walk side by side, but there’s a new kind of tension between you.

neither of you mention the hand-holding, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re both trying to pretend it didn’t happen, or if you’re both too afraid to bring it up.

when you reach your house, you stop at the front door, turning to face him. “thanks for the movie,” you say, your voice soft.

sunghoon smiles, but there’s something different in his eyes—something you can’t quite read. “anytime.”

for a moment, you just stand there, unsure of what to do next—there’s a beat of silence, and then, before you can stop yourself, you speak.

“sunghoon…this is all still pretend, right?”

he looks at you, his expression unreadable. “of course.”

you nod, forcing a smile. “good. just wanted to make sure.”

but as you turn to go inside, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed. something you might not be able to control.

the next week is filled with more of the same tension.

every time you and sunghoon are together, it feels like the air is charged with something you can’t quite define.

the lines between what’s real and what’s fake are starting to blur, and you can’t stop thinking about the way his hand felt in yours.

you know you shouldn’t be thinking like this.

this was all supposed to be an act—a way to get people off your backs—but now, with every passing day, it’s becoming harder to keep up the facade.

you’re starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more going on here, maybe he feels the same way.

and then, one afternoon after school, everything changes.

you’re at your locker, packing up your things, when you hear footsteps approaching.

you glance up to see karina standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and her eyes fixed on you.

your heart sinks.

it’s the first time you’ve seen her in months, and the look on her face is anything but friendly.

“we need to talk,” she says, her voice cold.

you swallow hard, nodding slowly. “okay.”

karina steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “what the hell is going on between you and sunghoon?”

you freeze, your mind racing—you’ve been so caught up in your fake relationship that you haven’t even thought about how this might look to karina.

she’s your ex-best friend, after all—and sunghoon is her ex.

“i…i don’t know what you mean,” you stammer, but karina isn’t buying it.

“don’t play dumb,” she snaps. “i know something’s going on. you’re always together now. you’re even going on dates.”

you open your mouth to deny it, to explain that it’s all just pretend, but the words die in your throat.

how are you supposed to explain something like this? that you’re fake dating her ex to get people to stop talking about the breakup? that it’s all just a lie?

but before you can say anything, karina cuts you off.

“just…tell me the truth,” she says, her voice softer now. “are you in love with him?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

the answer should be simple—no, it’s all fake. but as you stand there, looking into karina’s eyes, you realize that you don’t know the answer anymore.

and that terrifies you.

karina’s question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating, the hallway suddenly feels too small, the walls closing in around you.

your mind races, trying to figure out how to respond.

you’ve spent so long convincing yourself—and everyone else—that this relationship with sunghoon is fake, but now you’re not so sure.

you’re not in love with him… right? you can’t be. this is just pretend. it has to be.

but when you look at karina, her eyes full of hurt and suspicion, something twists in your chest.

you didn’t want to hurt her—yes, it was her who cut you off, but you still cared for her deeply.

you didn’t want to make things complicated, but now, everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“i…” your voice cracks, and you bite your lip, struggling to find the words. “karina, it’s not like that.”

she narrows her eyes, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “then what is it like? because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’ve been sneaking around with sunghoon behind my back.”

you shake your head quickly. “no, no. it’s not like that at all. we’re not—” you stop, realizing that you can’t just blurt out the truth.

that it’s all fake. it would make everything worse, wouldn’t it? how could karina understand that this whole thing started as a way to avoid drama? you know you need to tread carefully.

“we’re not sneaking around,” you say finally, choosing your words carefully. “it just kind of…happened. but it’s not what you think.”

karina’s expression softens for a moment, and she looks at you with a mix of confusion and hurt.

“then what is it? were you planning this while we were friends? i thought we were friends back then. best friends.”

you flinch at her words, the guilt hitting you hard—there was a time when you and karina were inseparable, when she was the one you confided in about everything—except your feelings for sunghoon.

and that’s what ruined everything, isn’t it? you never told her how you felt about him. you kept it buried, hoping it would disappear, but it didn’t.

“i didn’t want to hurt you,” you say quietly. “i never meant for any of this to happen. after you and sunghoon broke up, i thought… i thought it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

karina lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

“well, it does matter. and now i’m stuck watching my ex-boyfriend and my ex-best friend play house together like none of it ever meant anything.”

her words sting, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

part of you wants to explain everything—to tell her that this was all just fake, that none of it is real.

but there’s another part of you, a part that’s starting to realize that maybe, there’s more truth to this fake relationship than you want to admit.

before you can say anything else, karina steps back, her face hardening. “just…do me a favor, okay? be honest with yourself. if you’re in love with him, own it. don’t pretend it’s all some game. because it’s not.”

with that, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest.

you spend the rest of the day in a daze, karina’s words echoing in your mind.

be honest with yourself—how are you supposed to do that when you don’t even know what’s real anymore?

sunghoon hasn’t said anything about the way things have been between you lately, but you can feel it—the shift.

the way he looks at you differently, the way his touches linger just a little too long, the way he seems to genuinely care about what’s going on in your life.

it’s more than just pretending now—at least for you.

but the big question for you is: does he feel the same way? or is this all in your head?

later that evening, you’re sitting in your room, staring blankly at your textbooks, when your phone buzzes on the desk—it’s a message from sunghoon.

“wanna grab ice cream? need a break from all this studying.”

you hesitate, staring at the screen, the last thing you want is to spend time with him right now, not when everything feels so confusing.

but part of you knows that avoiding him won’t solve anything—if anything, you need to confront this head-on.

you need to figure out what’s going on between you, whether it’s real or not.

“sure,” you text back, your heart thudding in your chest.

the ice cream parlor is quiet when you arrive, the soft buzzing of the freezer and the scent of sugar filling the air.

sunghoon is already there, sitting at a booth in the corner with two cones in front of him.

he grins when he sees you, waving you over.

“i got your favorite,” he says, pushing a cone of double scooped strawberry ice-cream towards you.

you smile, sliding into the booth across from him. “thanks.”

for a moment, everything feels normal again. the two of you sit there, eating ice cream and talking about nothing in particular—school, classes, his upcoming game.

it’s easy, comfortable, just like it used to be—but underneath the surface, there’s something simmering, something that’s been building for weeks.

you decide to break the silence, you couldn’t avoid this conversation any longer.

“sunghoon,” you say, setting your cone down. “we need to talk.”

he raises an eyebrow, but there’s no surprise in his eyes. it’s like he’s been expecting this.

“about what?” he asks, though you can tell he already knows what you’re going to say.

you take a deep breath, your fingers fiddling with the napkin in front of you. “about… us.”

sunghoon leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

his expression is unreadable, but there’s a stiffness in his posture that wasn’t there before.

“what about us?” he asks, his voice quiet.

you hesitate, trying to find the right words. “this whole fake dating thing… it’s starting to feel like more than just a game.”

his eyes flicker with something—surprise? amusement? you can’t tell.

“go on,” he says, his voice softer now.

you bite your lip, the words catching in your throat. “i guess what i’m trying to say is… i don’t know if i can keep pretending. it’s getting harder to tell what’s real and what’s not.”

there. you’ve said it. you’ve put everything out in the open, and now all you can do is wait for his response.

for a moment, sunghoon is silent, his eyes locked on yours—the tension between you is almost unbearable, the air thick with unspoken words.

finally, he lets out a soft sigh, leaning forward.

“i’ve been thinking the same thing,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you think you’ve misheard him. “you have?”

he nods, his eyes searching yours. “yeah. at first, this was just supposed to be for show, but… i don’t know. it doesn’t feel fake anymore. not to me, at least.”

your breath catches in your throat. “so… what does that mean?”

sunghoon reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. his touch is warm, steady, and it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“i think it means that maybe we should stop pretending,” he says softly. “and figure out what this really is.”

you stare at him, your mind racing. is this really happening? is sunghoon—your fake boyfriend, your old best friend, karina’s ex—actually saying that he wants something real?

“are you sure?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiles, that familiar playful glint in his eyes. “yeah, pretty. i’m sure.”

the rest of the evening passes in a blur.—you and sunghoon talk—really talk—for the first time in weeks, peeling back the layers of your fake relationship and exposing the real feelings that have been hiding underneath.

it feels strange, scary even, to admit that you’ve both developed feelings for each other. but it also feels…right.

when he walks you home later that night, the air between you is light, free of the tension that’s been building for so long.

as you stand on your front porch, there’s a moment of hesitation—an awkward pause where neither of you knows what to do next.

but then, without saying a word, sunghoon steps closer, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear with a soft glint in his eyes.

your breath hitches, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers linger against your skin.

and then, before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his.

the kiss is soft, hesitant at first, but it quickly deepens, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer.

it’s like everything you’ve been holding back—the tension, the uncertainty, the feelings you’ve been too afraid to admit—finally breaks free.

when you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“that didn’t feel fake,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

you laugh softly, your hands still resting against his chest. “no. it didn’t.”

the next morning, you wake up with a strange sense of peace.

for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re pretending—you don’t have to put on a show anymore, don’t have to act like your feelings for sunghoon are anything less than real.

but as you get ready for school, there’s still a small voice in the back of your mind—a nagging worry about what happens next.

how will people react when they find out that your “fake” relationship has turned real? and more importantly…how will karina take it?

you push those thoughts aside as you walk into school, determined not to let anything ruin the fragile happiness you’ve found with sunghoon.

but as soon as you step into the hallway, you realize that avoiding the truth isn’t going to be that easy.

because standing by your locker, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, is karina yet again.

the moment you see karina standing at your locker, your heart drops.

her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes narrowed in a way that tells you she knows.

she knows that whatever you had with sunghoon, fake or not, is no longer just a game.

there’s no avoiding this confrontation now—you’ve already crossed the line, and karina is here to make you deal with the fallout.

you brace yourself for what’s to come, walking toward her with your head held high.

inside, though, your stomach twists into knots—you’ve always hated confrontation, and this one feels worse than any argument you’ve ever had before.

“hi,” you say cautiously when you reach her, trying to sound calm.

but karina’s face is unreadable, her eyes cold as they lock onto yours.

“so are you two serious now?” she asks, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

you flinch, feeling the weight of her words hit you—you expected her to be angry, maybe even furious, but this—this quiet, detached version of karina—is worse.

it’s like she’s shutting down, not giving you a chance to explain or apologize.

you take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “karina, i didn’t plan for any of this to happen. it just—”

“it just what?” she cuts you off, her voice rising slightly. “it just happened? you didn’t plan on falling for him, but you did anyway?”

you bite your lip, unsure of what to say—she’s right. you didn’t plan for any of this, but that doesn’t make it any less painful for her.

and it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty.

“i really didn’t want to hurt you,” you say softly, but the words feel empty, even to you.

karina lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.“you know, for a long time, i thought we could go back to how things used to be. that we could just…move past everything. but i guess i was wrong.”

she looks at you, her eyes filled with disappointment. “i thought you were my best friend. but you’ve been hiding this the whole time, you didn’t even have the decency to tell me that you saw him that way.”

your heart clenches painfully in your chest. “karina, i wasn’t lying. i didn’t know—”

“didn’t know what?” she snaps. “that you had feelings for sunghoon? that you were using him to make me jealous? or did you just not care about how i’d feel once you finally admitted the truth?”

tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to break down here, in the middle of the hallway.

“please—it wasn’t like that, i swear.”

karina stares at you for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. “maybe it wasn’t. but it doesn’t matter anymore. you made your choice.”

with that, she turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, a hollow ache settling in your chest.

you want to run after her, to fix things, but you know deep down that this isn’t something that can be fixed with an apology.

you’ve lost her for good now—your best friend—and you don’t know if you’ll ever get her back.

later that day, you’re sitting with sunghoon at lunch, but the usual lightness between you is gone.

you’re distracted, your mind still replaying the conversation with karina over and over—you can’t stop thinking about what she said, about how badly you’ve hurt her.

sunghoon notices. he always does.

“you okay?” he asks, leaning closer to you, his voice low and concerned.

you nod, but it’s a lie. “yeah, i’m fine.”

he doesn’t believe you, of course. “come on, don’t lie to me. i can tell something’s bothering you.”

you let out a sigh, pushing your food around on your tray without eating. “i talked to karina this morning. she’s…not okay with us. with what’s happening.”

sunghoon frowns, his expression turning serious. “what did she say?”

you shake your head, trying to brush it off. “she’s just…hurt. i don’t blame her. i’d feel the same way if i were in her shoes.”

sunghoon is quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place.

“so what does that mean? do you want to stop? end this?”

the question takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you don’t know how to answer.

do you want to stop? would that make things better with karina? or would it just make everything worse?

“i don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “i just don’t want to hurt her anymore.”

sunghoon’s jaw tightens, and you can see the tension building in his posture.

he’s frustrated, but he’s holding it back—for now. “so you want to throw everything away because karina’s upset? what about us?”

the words hang in the air, and you feel a lump form in your throat—he’s right. it’s not just about karina anymore.

it’s about you and him—and whatever this thing between you has become.

but how do you choose between someone you loved as a friend and someone you might be falling for?

“i don’t want to throw anything away,” you say quietly. “but i don’t know how to fix this.”

sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “look, i get that karina’s your friend, or at least she was, but we can’t keep pretending like we owe her something. we didn’t do anything wrong. she broke up with me, not the other way around.”

his words make sense, but they don’t take away the guilt gnawing at you. “i know, but—”

“but what?” he snaps, cutting you off. “are you going to let her decide how we live our lives? is that what this is about?”

you flinch at his tone, the sudden harshness in his voice catching you off guard. “no, of course not. i just…i didn’t think things would get this complicated.”

sunghoon lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “well, guess what? things are complicated. that’s life. but you can’t just run away every time something gets difficult.”

his words sting, and you feel a surge of defensiveness rise in your chest.

“i’m not running away,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. “i’m just trying to figure out how to do the right thing.”

“and what’s the right thing, huh?” sunghoon challenges, his eyes flashing with frustration.

“because from where i’m standing, it seems like you’re more worried about what karina thinks than what we have.”

you open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat.

you don’t know how to explain it—how torn you feel between your loyalty to karina and your growing feelings for sunghoon.

it feels like no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt.

“maybe we rushed into this,” you say softly, the words barely audible.

sunghoon’s expression hardens. “so what are you saying? you want to call it quits? pretend like none of this ever happened?”

you bite your lip, hating the way his words cut into you. “i don’t know, sunghoon. i just need time to think.”

there’s a long pause, and you can feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you. finally, he stands up, grabbing his bag from the floor.

“take all the time you need,” he says coldly. “but don’t expect me to wait around forever.”

and with that, he walks away, leaving you sitting there alone, the ache in your chest growing deeper by the second.

the next few days are torture—sunghoon barely speaks to you, and when he does, it’s short and distant, like he’s putting up a wall between you.

it’s painful, watching the person you’ve grown so close to suddenly shut you out.

and as much as you want to talk to him, to apologize, you’re not sure if you even know how to fix things.

karina��s words still haunt you, and the guilt you feel for hurting her hasn’t gone away.

but now, there’s something else—something worse. the fear that you’ve lost sunghoon, too.

it’s late one evening, after another day of tense silences and awkward interactions, that you decide you can’t take it anymore.

you grab your phone, your fingers hovering over sunghoon’s contact—for a moment, you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest.

what if he doesn’t want to talk? what if he’s already decided that it’s over?

but you can’t keep avoiding this, you need to confront it head-on, like he said.

taking a deep breath, you type out a message.

“can we talk? please.”

you don’t expect him to respond right away, but to your surprise, your phone buzzes just a few seconds later.

“meet me at the park.”

your heart races as you grab your jacket and head out, the cool night air biting at your skin as you walk to the park where you and sunghoon used to hang out.

it’s quiet when you arrive, the dim streetlights casting long shadows across the grass.

and there, sitting on a bench near the playground, is sunghoon.

he looks up when he sees you, his expression unreadable. you walk over slowly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“hey,” you say softly, sitting down next to him.

“hey,” he replies, his voice flat.

for a moment, neither of you says anything—the silence stretches between you, heavy with everything that’s been left unsaid. finally, you break the tension.

“i’m really sorry, hoon,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

sunghoon lets out a sigh, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“it’s not about hurting me. it’s about whether or not you actually want this with me.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening. “i do. i really do.”

he looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—truth, maybe. “then what’s the problem? why are you so afraid of just…being with me?”

you bite your lip, struggling to put your feelings into words. “it’s not that i don’t want to be with you. it’s just…everything with karina, and the rumors, and—”

“forget the rumors,” he says firmly, cutting you off. “forget karina for a second. this is about you and me. no one else. so what do you want?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

what do you want? the answer is so simple, yet so terrifying at the same time.

“i want you,” you whisper, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

sunghoon’s eyes soften, and for the first time in days, his expression relaxes.

he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. “then have me—stop pushing me away.”

tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you nod, squeezing his hand tightly.

“i’m sorry. i won’t do it again. i promise.”

he gives you a small, reassuring smile. “we’ll figure this out. together.”

and just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on you for days lifts, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you.

things aren’t perfect, and you still have a lot to work through, but for the first time, you feel like you’re on the same page.

like maybe, this thing between you is real—and worth fighting for.

in the days that follow, things between you and sunghoon slowly begin to settle back into place, but there’s still a lingering sense of tension, like the calm before a storm.

you’re relieved that the two of you have talked things through, but the issues with karina—and your own guilt—haven’t magically disappeared.

you and sunghoon are careful around each other, more hesitant than before.

there’s still that spark, that undeniable chemistry, but the shadow of karina��s disappointment and the strain from the confrontation hang over everything.

and although sunghoon seems more open, there’s a subtle distance between you—like he’s holding something back, unsure if you’re really committed this time—protecting himself from a possible heartbreak.

it’s not until the night of the big game that things come to a head.

sunghoon has been talking about this game for weeks.

it’s the biggest one of the season, and the entire school is buzzing with excitement—you’ve never been much for sports, but you know how important it is to him, and even though part of you is still unsure about everything that’s happened, you want to be there for him.

you arrive at the stadium just as the game is about to start, the stands packed with students, teachers, and parents.

the energy in the air is buzzing with excitement, and you feel your nerves start to buzz as you scan the field for sunghoon.

he’s already out there, warming up with his team, looking confident and focused, like the whole world revolves around him in that moment.

a part of you can’t help but admire him.

he’s always been effortlessly good at everything—popular, athletic, the guy everyone wants to be.

and yet, despite that, he’s always been more than just the “jock” to you, he’s sunghoon—your friend, your fake boyfriend, and now…something more. something real.

but as you sit down in the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you, you can’t shake the uneasy feeling in your chest.

you haven’t spoken to karina since that day in the hallway, and the thought of her finding out about you and sunghoon—about how things between you have changed—makes your stomach churn.

you’re still deep in thought when the game starts, the crowd erupting into cheers as the teams take the field.

you try to focus, but your mind keeps wandering back to karina, back to the conversation you had with her, and back to the guilt that’s been gnawing at you ever since.

the game is intense, and sunghoon is in his element, moving across the field with a kind of grace and power that’s impossible to ignore.

every time he scores, the crowd erupts in cheers, and you find yourself clapping along with everyone else, despite the turmoil in your heart.

but then, with just a few minutes left in the game, something happens.

one of the opposing players slams into sunghoon hard, sending him crashing to the ground.

the crowd gasps, and your heart leaps into your throat as you watch him lie there, unmoving.

for a moment, everything around you goes silent, and all you can focus on is sunghoon, lying on the field in pain.

you don’t even realize you’ve stood up until someone grabs your arm, pulling you back down.

“he’s fine,” a voice says from beside you. “he’ll get up.”

but you can’t relax—your mind races with fear and worry as you watch the coach and the team trainer rush out to help him.

sunghoon slowly sits up, wincing as he moves, and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. he’s hurt, but he’s okay.

still, watching him in pain stirs something inside you—something more than just concern for ‘a crush’.

it’s the realization that you care about him more deeply than you’ve allowed yourself to admit.

you’ve been holding back, too scared to fully commit, but now, seeing him like this, you know that you don’t want to lose him—not over karina, not over anything.

after the game, you wait for sunghoon outside the locker rooms, pacing nervously.

you’re still shaken from watching him get hurt, but there’s something else weighing on you now—something more urgent.

when sunghoon finally emerges from the locker room, he looks tired and a little worse for wear, but when he sees you standing there, a smile breaks across his face.

“hey,” he says, walking over to you with a slight limp. “you waited.”

“of course i did,” you say, trying to smile, but the worry in your voice betrays you. “are you okay?”

he shrugs, trying to play it off. “i’ll be fine. just a bad hit.”

you bite your lip, your eyes searching his face. “sunghoon… i’ve been thinking.”

he raises an eyebrow, looking slightly confused. “about what?”

“about us. about…everything.” you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “i know i’ve been all over the place lately, and i know i’ve hurt you by not being clear about what i want. but i’ve realized something tonight.”

sunghoon watches you closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. “and what’s that?”

you step closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“i don’t want to keep pretending that this doesn’t matter—you matter to me, sunghoon. i always have—more than i’ve let myself admit. and i know things are complicated with karina, and the rumors, and everything else, but… i want to be with you. for real.”

there’s a long pause, and for a moment, you’re terrified that you’ve said too much, that maybe you’ve pushed him away for good this time.

but then, slowly, a smile spreads across sunghoon’s face.

“you mean that?” he asks, his voice soft.

you nod, your eyes locked on his. “yeah. i do.”

sunghoon lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you know, i’ve been waiting for you to say that for weeks now.”

before you can respond, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms—his hands are warm against your back, and you can feel his heart beating against your chest as he holds you tightly, like he’s afraid to let go.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs into your hair. “not unless you want me to.”

you close your eyes, burying your face in his shoulder as relief washes over you. “i don’t want you to.”

the next day, you wake up feeling lighter than a feather, light— the same lightness you’d feel after binge watching all the harry potter movies with sunghoon back in the day, the same lightness after you two swore to stay best friends forever—the same lightness you felt as sunghoon and you went back-to-school shopping together for the first day of highschool—the lightness of sitting in the ice-cream booth together—like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

for the first time in weeks, you’re not filled with anxiety or doubt.

you’ve made your decision, and now you’re ready to move forward—with sunghoon, with whatever this relationship might bring.

but that doesn’t mean everything is resolved.

later that afternoon, you receive a text from karina.

“we need to talk.”

your stomach tightens as you read the message—you knew this conversation was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

you’ve been dreading it, but at the same time, you know it’s necessary.

you can’t keep avoiding her, and you can’t keep pretending like everything is fine.

you meet karina at a quiet café on the edge of town, your heart pounding as you walk through the door.

she’s already there, sitting at a table near the window, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee.

when she sees you, she gives you a small nod, but there’s no warmth in her eyes.

you sit down across from her, your nerves jangling. “hey.”

“hey,” she replies, her voice unreadable.

for a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable.

you can tell that karina is still hurt, and you don’t blame her.

you’ve been avoiding her, too afraid to face the truth of what’s happened between you.

finally, karina breaks the silence.

“i saw you and sunghoon together last night. after the game.”

your heart skips a beat. “karina, i—”

“i’m not mad,” she interrupts, surprising you. “at least, not anymore. i’ve had time to think about it, and i’ve realized that… i can’t control what happens between you and him. it sucks, and it hurts, but i can’t keep holding onto something that’s already gone.”

you blink, taken aback by her honesty. “you’re not mad?”

she sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “i mean, yeah, it hurts seeing you two together, but… i can’t keep being angry. it’s not fair to either of us.”

you stare at her, unsure of what to say—you’ve been bracing yourself for an argument, for karina to lash out at you, but instead, she’s…letting go. she’s accepting it.

“i’m sorry,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion. “i really never wanted to hurt you.”

karina gives you a small, sad smile. “i know. and i believe you.”

for the first time in weeks, you feel a sense of relief.

maybe things between you and karina will never go back to how they were, but at least you’re not leaving things unresolved—at least now, there’s a chance to heal.

the days that follow feel like a fresh start.

you and sunghoon grow closer, your relationship deepening as you finally let go of the doubts and fears that have been holding you back.

there are no more rumors, no more pretending. it’s just the two of you, and for the first time, that’s enough.

you still see karina from time to time, and though things are awkward at first, there’s a sense of understanding between you now.

she’s moving on, too, in her own way, and while your friendship may never be the same, you two are still trying your best to make the most out of it—to forgive and heal together.

one afternoon, as you and sunghoon sit together on the bleachers, watching the sunset after his practice, he turns to you with a grin.

“so,” he says, nudging you playfully. “are you ready to stop pretending we’re just fake dating?”

you laugh, leaning against his shoulder. “i think we’ve been past that point for a while now, hoon.”

he smiles, his eyes soft as he looks down at you “good. because i don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

you smile back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest as you rest your head against him.

for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—no more pretending, no more doubts.

just you and sunghoon, and the future ahead of you.

a few days later, it’s the championship game, and the energy in the stadium is like nothing you’ve ever experienced.

the stands are packed with students, parents, and teachers, all buzzing with excitement as they watch the final moments of the game unfold.

the score is tied, and there’s only one minute left on the clock.

you’re sitting on the edge of your seat, next to karina your heart pounding in your chest as you watch sunghoon move across the field with lightning speed.

his eyes are locked on the ball, his focus razor-sharp, and you know—this is his moment.

this is what he’s been working toward all season.

“come on, sunghoon,” you whisper under your breath, your hands clenched into fists as you lean forward.

the crowd is on their feet, everyone holding their breath as sunghoon makes his move.

he dodges one defender, then another, running through the opposing team with ease—and then, with just seconds to spare, he takes the shot.

the ball soars through the air, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped.

everyone watches in stunned silence as the ball flies toward the goal…and lands perfectly in the back of the net.

the crowd erupts into cheers, the sound so loud it shakes the stadium, and you jump to your feet, screaming in excitement.

sunghoon has done it—he’s won the game.

on the field, his teammates rush toward him, lifting him up onto their shoulders as they celebrate their victory.

sunghoon is laughing, his face lit up with pure joy as he’s carried around the field—but even in the middle of all the chaos, his eyes are searching for something—or someone.

then, you see it—his gaze locks onto yours from across the field, and in that moment, it’s like no one else exists.

the cheers, the noise, the celebration—it all fades away as sunghoon looks at you, a wide smile spreading across his face.

you felt a soft nudge beside you, making you turn to face the girl who you’d been spending time with recently.

“babe—what are you waiting for? go!” she shouts excitedly making you run down the stands to congratulate sunghoon.

without a second thought, he jumps down from his teammates’ shoulders, running toward you with a determination that makes your heart race.

before you can even process what’s happening, he’s in front of you, sweeping you into his arms and lifting you off the ground.

you let out a startled laugh as he spins you around, your feet dangling in the air. “sunghoon, what are you doing?”

but he doesn’t answer. instead, he pulls you close and kisses you, his lips warm and soft against yours.

the world around you melts away, and all you can feel is him—his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breath mingling with yours, the sheer joy radiating from him.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, and you can’t help but laugh.

“you’re supposed to be celebrating with your team, you know.”

sunghoon grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “i’d rather celebrate with you.”

you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face is impossible to hide. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah, but you love me anyway,” he teases, setting you back down on the ground.

you playfully slap his arm, shaking your head. “go celebrate with your teammates. you earned this.”

but sunghoon just shrugs, pulling you closer. “they can wait. right now, i just want to be with my girlfriend.”

your heart swells at his words, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by how much you care about him.

this is real—so much more than the fake relationship you started with.

you’re no longer the girl from the beginning of highschool, locked in her room writing letters heartbroken at night.

now, standing here in the middle of a roaring crowd with sunghoon holding you like you’re the only person in the world, you realize just how far you’ve come together.

you smile, leaning in to kiss him again, your lips brushing softly against his. “okay,” you whisper against his mouth. “but you better go back to them soon, or they’re going to start wondering where their star player went.”

sunghoon laughs, the sound warm and full of happiness. “fine. but don’t go anywhere. i’m not done celebrating with you yet.”

you laugh too, your heart light as you watch him jog back toward his teammates, the smile on his face never fading.

the crowd is still cheering, the excitement still there, but all you can focus on is the way sunghoon keeps glancing back at you, like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

and in that moment, you know—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

no more pretending, no more doubts. just you, sunghoon, and the love you’ve both fought so hard to find.

❝ PLEASE REBLoG AND LiKE .ᐟㅤ 💌

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @shawnyle @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @pockyyasii @iluvnikism @wonsprincess @rikibwn @niawonn @nineooooo @onlyjjong @isa942572 @jiryunie @ikeulove @bunnihhoon @lucycarlisleswife @whateverhoon @coqhee @rkivesfilm @aanniikkaa @moon3verland @moon368 @httpenhoon @mimismenu @enhastolemyheart @wrongbathroom : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

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briefinquiries · 3 months ago

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Tyler Owens x Reader: Don't Take Him

Request: Anonymous said: "hi! oh my gosh i love your tyler x reader writings so much. could you do one where the reader is watching the tornado wrangler's livestream while they're chasing and suddenly it cuts out & she's worried something happened to tyler? with just fluff and angst and all that? thank you <3"

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst

A/N: I'm afraid i'm officially down bad for tyler owens (and glen powell). send help.

The notification popped up on your phone while you were cooking dinner in the kitchen.

The Tornado Wranglers started a live video. Watch it before it ends!

You rolled your eyes and smirked. Tyler and his stupid channel, you thought.

After wiping your hands on a dish towel, you swiped your thumb across the notification, letting it take you to their feed.

Boone’s face was the first you saw. His goofy, contagious grin flashed across the screen. “Alright, it’s rollin’,” he said, flipping the camera to show Tyler in the driver’s seat. “How we feelin’ today, T?”

Tyler beamed, his smile causing his eyes to crinkle the way you loved so much. As annoying as it was to constantly be competing with tornadoes for Tyler’s affection, you had to admit that his passion was admirable.

“Oh, we’re feelin’ pretty good, Boone– why don’t you show the viewers what we’re chasin’ today!”

The screen panned over towards the windshield, showing the storm ahead. The footage was a little grainy, but the impending storm in the distance was obvious.

“Ain’t she a beaut?” Boone marveled.

“Now y’all got fireworks last week– this week what do you say we give rockets a go?” Tyler said, just as Boone turned the camera back on him.

“Idiots,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head. You rested your phone against the utensil jar, propping it up so that you could continue to maneuver around the kitchen and listen at the same time.

After a while, you got lost in the recipe you were trying, tuning out your boyfriend and his friends.

“Alright, Boone– Lilly?” Tyler said as you continued to chop the vegetables on the cutting board in front of you. “You ready?”

“Oh, I’m ready!” you heard Lilly chime back.

“Here we go, folks– as always, don’t try this at home!”

You briefly turned your attention back towards the video as they began actively driving into the tornado, your view limited to Boone’s shaky camera work as Tyler’s driving undoubtedly turned chaotic.

To avoid motion sickness, you looked back towards the food in front of you.

“She’s gettin’ close, boys!” Lilly yelled.

You heard their collective cheers and hollers.

“Anchoring time–” Tyler said.

There was a brief pause before you heard Boone. “Hit the button, T–”

“I am hitting the button,” Tyler said firmly.

“Tyler–” Lilly said. It was the hint of urgency in her tone that had you looking back towards your phone again.

“It’s jammed–” Tyler said. “Here, gimme the screwdriver.”

Boone had clearly ceased thinking about camera angles. All you saw was the edge of Tyler’s face in the corner of the screen.

“Tyler, we gotta lock it down–”

“I know, Boone. I’m tryin’ here– the damn button’s stuck again.”

“Guys–” Lilly warned.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the frame.

“Guys, it’s getting closer.”

“I know–” Tyler said. “Boone, move your hand.”

“C’mon, man, let me try–”

“I’m telling you, it’s stuck–”

“Look out!” you jumped at Lilly’s sudden scream, followed by the sound of a loud bang, that echoed even through the screen.

“Oh shit–” Boone yelled, camera flying.

You grabbed your phone urgently, but all you could see was the ceiling of Tyler’s truck. Suddenly, gear was flying through the screen– almost as if the truck was flipping. You held your breath, panic and dread flooding through your entire body as you watched helplessly.

“Hang on to someth–” Tyler’s voice was suddenly cut off along with Boone’s feed.

The Tornado Wranglers live stream has ended.

Even after their video went dark, you continued staring at your phone– like you were hoping Boone would pop back up any second, laughing like this was some sick, twisted joke.

Except you waited– and waited, and Boone never popped back up.

And neither did Tyler.

Frantically, you pulled up your contacts and clicked on Tyler’s name. You had an unspoken agreement that no matter what he was doing during a chase– if you called, he answered.

So that’s exactly what you did.

But your nerves weren’t settled. In fact, you stopped breathing all together when Tyler’s phone went straight to voicemail– something he swore he’d never do.

Hoping that he just had bad service, you called a second time– and then a third. But each time you heard Tyler’s voice telling you to leave a message at the beep, you felt the pool of panic inside of you rising higher and higher.

“C’mon Tyler,” you muttered to yourself.

Stupidly, you let your hopes get up when Lilly’s phone actually rang. But when that went to voicemail too, your hopes just about shattered. You didn’t even bother to try Boone– he may have been the camera guy, but he almost never had his own phone within reach.

After your fifth attempt to reach Tyler, you finally did leave a message.

“Hey, it’s me. I was watching the livestream when it cut out and I–” your voice cracked, causing you to stop and take a shaky breath. “Listen, I just need to know that you’re okay. So please call me back.”

With that, you hung up the phone, setting it on the counter after finally realizing it probably wouldn’t be beneficial to try calling him a sixth time– no matter how badly you wanted to. You stared ahead out the window that was over the sink. It was blue skies where you were– just a few wispy, thin clouds overhead. Nothing that remotely resembled what Tyler had just driven through.

You didn’t even know where he was chasing today. You’d meant to ask when he’d called you last night from his motel room, but you’d gotten distracted by the dog whining to go out and ultimately forgot. Now, you had no way to contact him and no idea where he was…

Suddenly, a sob bubbled in your throat. Before you could filter or control it, you were letting out a shaky gasp– shoulders shuddering as you gripped the edge of the counter and doubled over.

You felt it everywhere– from your mind down to your toes, your entire body reacted to the cruel, impossible idea of something happening to Tyler.

Maybe he was fine, you told yourself. Maybe Boone just dropped his phone and the feed cut– But even as the thought crossed your mind, you knew it was ridiculously unlikely. You saw those things go flying– you heard Lilly’s scream.

Maybe the car flipped, maybe it was crushed.

Maybe Tyler was pulled right from his seat, tossed into the oncoming storm.

Maybe he was hit with flying debris, his body mangled and bruised and broken–

“No,” you whimpered to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no– please– please don't take him, please don't take him.”

You weren't even sure who you were pleading to, all you knew was that you couldn’t imagine Tyler not being okay. He was the strong one– always steady, always certain. He was your rock, the person you leaned on for absolutely everything. And the idea of him being hurt somewhere was unfathomable. Tyler didn’t get scared– Tyler didn’t get hurt. Tyler drove into oncoming tornadoes and stayed strong.

To your absolute despair, all you could do in the upcoming hours while you waited for any sort of news, was hope to God that was still the case.

Eventually, you found a home on the kitchen floor– back against the cabinets and knees hugged tightly to your chest to try and withstand the dread raging inside of you.

…

Tyler put his truck in park outside of the house before running a hand through his damp, windblown hair. After the day he’d had, he’d never been happier to be home.

It wasn’t the first time he’d flipped in the truck. Thanks to the roll cage, they wound back upright with next to no damage– but Tyler knew it’d been his fault. The stupid rods had malfunctioned again– something Tyler had been meaning to take a look at for the past month. Except every time they got stuck, he’d managed to fix the jam before the storms actually hit. But this time, he’d been too late.

Luckily, his two passengers were even bigger adrenaline junkies than he was. The truck had barely landed back on its wheels before Boone was hollering and pounding his fist against the ceiling in excitement. And Lilly wasn’t far behind him. Meanwhile, all Tyler could do was look down at his shattered cell phone and hope to hell you wouldn’t need to reach him for the rest of the night.

As soon as Tyler walked through the front door of your shared house, he noticed signs of you everywhere. The lamp near your reading chair was turned on, and the blanket you always used was strewn across the couch messily. He noticed the mug resting on the coffee table, thinking to himself that it was almost certainly half full of the tea you always insisted on making at night but never finished.

He smiled to himself, as he bent over to untie his muddy boots, eager to spend the rest of his night holding you close.

He had barely managed to toe off his final boot when he heard shuffling from the kitchen.

“Tyler?”

He could instantly tell that something was off– your voice sounded so muffled and choked up.

“Hey,” he said, turning to offer you a smile. But it faded from his face at the sight of you. Your body was trembling, shoulders slumped and arms wound tightly around yourself. Your eyes were bloodshot and puffy from what looked like hours of crying.

“Baby?” he said.

In response, you covered your mouth and hunched over just in time for a sob to escape your lips.

Instantly, Tyler’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“Hey,” he said, hurrying forward. He hesitated, hands hovering near your shoulders. He’d never seen you like this– so fragile and broken and obviously devastated over something. But he had no fucking idea what it was– which meant, he had no fucking idea how to fix it.

Your hair had fallen in your face, but he could still see the tears rolling steadily down your rosy cheeks as you gasped for air.

“Hey,” he repeated gently, tilting his head down so that he was closer to your height.

“I-I saw– And I thought–” you stammered frantically, jumping to the next sentence without finishing the first.

In that moment, Tyler decided against his earlier hesitation and risked reaching for you. Just standing there and watching you fall apart went against every instinct he had– he wanted to protect you, keep you safe from anything that could cause this kind of harm.

But as soon as his hands grazed your shoulder, Tyler knew that he’d made the wrong choice. The moment he made contact, you lunged forward– hands planting themselves on his chest before you gave him a shove.

“You asshole!” you yelled through a sob.

Tyler staggered backwards– more from being caught off guard by your sudden burst of anger, than from how hard you pushed him.

But he barely had time to recover before you were lunging for him a second time. Using what little energy you had, you shoved him again. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” you shouted.

Tyler took a simple step back, eyes scanning the length of you– trying to decide what the hell he should do. When you attempted to push him for a third time, your arms barely had any energy left in them.

“Hey–” he breathed, gripping your wrists when they landed on his chest a fourth time.

“Let go of me!” you yelled, wiggling from his grasp. “You’re an asshole, Tyler!”

“Stop,” he begged, releasing your wrists to wrap his arms around your shoulders. You fought his hold, fists colliding with his chest instead. But this time, he didn’t let go.

“No!” you sobbed, but he could already feel you slowing down. Not like your shoves or fists hurt before, but with each pound, the impact grew lighter and lighter.

“Stop,” he repeated, forcing you to his chest, despite your resistance. You were pushing him away– but everything about your demeanor screamed that you needed his comfort.

Finally, whether it was his persistence or your exhaustion, you gave up fighting and let your body melt against his.

Tyler planted one palm between your shoulder blades firmly and used the other to cup the back of your neck, anchoring you to him securely. As soon as Tyler tightened his hold on you, you erupted into a fit of sobs– like all the dam inside of you needed was just a little bit of pressure to break. The trembling turned into violent shaking, and you began gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.

And Tyler had no fucking idea what to do–

So, he did the only thing he could do, which was hold onto you tightly and let you stain the front of his plain gray shirt with your tears.

“I got you, baby,” Tyler whispered as he pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head. “You’re okay, I got you.”

Eventually, he heard you take a ragged breath and pull away just enough to look up at him. Tyler cupped your jaw with his large hand and used his thumb to stroke your cheek. “Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You bit down on your quivering lip before speaking. “I-I was watching– I was watching Boone’s livestream when it cut out– and then, your phone– I couldn’t reach you. I- I called like– so many times, but you didn’t answer– I thought– I thought something had happened– I thought you were hurt– or-or worse–”

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled, guilt spreading through him at the thought of you having to see whatever got streamed from the accident earlier. He was the reason you were so distraught in your shared kitchen at eleven o’clock. He was the reason your eyes were red rimmed and swollen. He was the reason your cheeks were stained with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I was gonna get a phone call– from the hospital or- or your mom or something– I didn’t think you’d- I didn’t think you’d come home, I thought you died,” You broke on the last admission, like something inside of you had cracked. You collapsed in on yourself, hunching over and wracking with heaving sobs.

Tyler pulled you back into his embrace, like he was the only thing preventing you from drowning. Gradually, his soft touch and gentle murmurs brought you to the surface again.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he repeated, lips ghosting along your temple. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“But- the truck– it flipped–”

He nodded above you. “It did– I couldn’t get the screws bolted down in time. But we have the cage, the truck rolled right back upright. Everyone is fine. I mean, Boone might have a few loose screws, but there’s no tellin’ if that’s from the rolled truck–”

Your tone immediately hardened as you sharply pulled back again. “Are you seriously making jokes right now, Tyler?”

And truthfully, Tyler wasn’t entirely sure how to react. He looked down at you pathetically, chest aching to see you so upset. You being this angry with him was uncharted territory.

“You could have died!” you said loudly. “I know you think you are, but you’re not invincible, Tyler! This isn’t some movie where you get to drive into tornadoes completely unscathed ten times out of ten. This is our lives! I-I mean, what the hell were you thinking?”

”Everything’s okay–”

“Everything is not okay! I’m not okay! Do you know how helpless I felt? Watching that stupid livestream? I tried to call, but– but you didn’t answer, I couldn’t do anything but wait here! I mean, what if that had been me? What if you’d seen a video of me crashing my car– and then had no way to reach me? What if you had to spend all night wondering if you were going to get a call that I was dead in a ditch God-only-knows-where?”

For once, Tyler had no response. Because the truth was, he knew everything you were saying was right. He’d be equally angry and frustrated and horrified if the tables were turned.

You wiped the tear falling down your cheek, lip quivering. “I– I can’t live in a world without you in it, Tyler. I really can’t–”

In the deafening silence, he sighed. “I know,” he said quietly, stepping forward to bring you back into his embrace. He was surprised when you willingly let him wrap his arms around you, head falling to rest on his chest.

Tyler’s hand ran through your hair. “I know. I’m okay, baby. I’m right here, I got you.”

He was okay. He was alive and he was right here– you could hear his heartbeat beneath you– feel his breath against the side of your neck. He was alive and unharmed.

You kept your eyes closed and tried to memorize the sound of his heartbeat. You let it seep into the cracks of your heart and heal whatever had been broken in the last few hours of worrying– wondering if he was alive. You focused on the way his arms felt around you– impossibly warm, and so, so safe.

Gradually, your breathing and your mind slowed. Until all that was left was Tyler.

Your voice was shaky when you finally pulled away. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you exhaled. “I didn’t like not being able to reach you.”

Tyler’s hand stroked your hair gently, “Baby, I’m so sorry I made you worry– my phone broke when we rolled. I’ll get a new one tomorrow, I promise.”

You nodded slowly and placed your hand against Tyler’s chest.

“You okay?” he asked.

You blinked a few times, realizing how tired you were. “Yeah–” you said, nodding. You felt Tyler’s heartbeat beneath your palm.

Each beat reminding you that he was here and he was alive and he was okay.

“Can you–” your voice cracked slightly, making you wince. “Can you please just stay with me the rest of the night? I just–” you glanced down at the floor, embarrassed to admit how much you needed him. “I just need to be close to you tonight.”

Tyler’s eyes softened. “Of course, baby. Where else would I be?”

You nodded slowly.

Tyler grabbed your hand and led you towards the couch. He took the blanket you’d left sprawled out from earlier and wrapped it around your shoulders before pulling you down beside him. He laid back against the cushions and made a spot for you. Without even hesitating, you curled up between his legs and rested your head back against his chest.

“I need you to promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. “I know you love chasing, and I’d never ask you to give that up, but I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

You felt Tyler sigh beneath you, his chest rising and falling steadily. “I promise.”

“And I need you to promise me you’ll get those damn screws fixed. That’s like the third time this month you’ve told me that they’ve jammed.”

You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled softly. “I will. Believe it or not, I didn’t like rolling in my truck, either.”

You lifted your head from his chest so that you could get a good look at Tyler’s face. Even after all these years with him, he still managed to leave you breathless.

“Well then maybe it’s time you take a break and just stay home for a little while,” you teased, lips curling into a soft smile.

The corner of Tyler’s lips tugged upward as his green eyes sparkled under the dim light. “You know what, that might not be a bad idea.”

You raised your eyebrow skeptically. You knew you shouldn’t get your hopes up, and yet, that was exactly what you did. “Really?”

Tyler’s hand tucked a loose strand of your hair from your face before his thumb grazed across your wet cheek. He nodded sincerely. “Really.”

You were a mess– eyes puffy, lips cracked. You were exhausted and so shaken up from everything that had happened. And who knew how long Tyler would have to put extra effort into helping make you feel safe.

But right now, wrapped in his embrace on your shared couch, all you needed was him.

#tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #twisters imagine #twisters fanfic #twisters fic #twisters #tyler owens x reader imagine #tyler owens x reader fic #twisters x reader #twisters x reader fic #twisters x reader imagine

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kingtomura · 8 months ago

Text

Arcade

Summary: There's nothing worse than getting ditched by your so-called friends on a Friday night. Well, maybe the asshole complaining about your skills at the arcade has that beat. Tomura Shigaraki knows how to make one hell of a first impression. word count: 8.5k Part three to Good Girl and Bloodline Content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, quirkless AU, fluff, angst, virginity loss, virginity kink, corruption kink, mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral (f! receiving), praise, strict parents, toxic parents, smut with plot, protected sex, piv, overstim, tomura talks you through it, if you know what i mean, reader is kinda bad at games sry, mdni crossposted to ao3 | Part 4 is here!

You meet him on a Friday.

The mall is crowded and filled to the brim with groups of friends, chattering, laughing – wondering what to get into for the night. You’re just trying to find your group. They said that they would meet you here almost an hour ago, but no one has shown up.

Bitterly you kick the small rock in front of you, officially accepting the fact that you had been ditched and decide it’s too early to go home. It’s a Friday night for pete’s sake. You walk aimlessly through the mall, only pausing when the noises of video game lasers and hyper dance music flood your ears.

The arcade. Of course you could kill some time there, people go there alone all the time. No one would think you were out of place and effectively ditched.

You make your choice, beelining for the upgraded rendition of Pac Man and slipping in a coin to start it.

The excitement was short lived as you remembered that the game isn’t as easy as you remembered. Whatever, you take your leave and try for a game you hadn’t played before. Something simple with muted colors. It’s fun, but a little difficult. You find yourself getting lost in it, the sounds drowning out the bustling of the arcade.

You huff as you lose another round and reach down, ready to drop a coin and start up again when you hear an annoyed groan coming from behind.

“Can I help you?” You ask, giving the guy a once over. He wore all black with ashen hair and ruby red eyes that shone with annoyance.

“Yeah, you could find another game to suck at.” He scoffs, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Irritating.

You take the challenge. “Oh yeah? Well let's see you try it then, since it’s so easy.”

He shrugs, brushing by you and inserting his own coin into the machine, the beeps of the game starting up and filling tension between you.

This guy… was good at the game — as much as you hated to admit it. He blew through the enemies with little to no trouble and easily passed your place in the game. Ending it all with one final blow to the boss and snagging the new high score right before your eyes.

To say you were embarrassed was a little less than an understatement, but you wouldn’t let him know that. So, you double down, brows furrowed and standing proud.

The mystery man turns back to you, carmine eyes gleaming in triumph over his easy win. “See? You suck.”

You bristle at his blunt insult and bite back. “Yeah, well I only tried this game today! You think you're so good, why don’t you try to beat me at a game I'm good at.”

He looks you over, eyes dragging from your head to the converse on your feet, before turning back around towards the game and dropping another coin into it.

“No thanks.”

This asshole… you don’t know why you're fighting this battle, you don't even know this man! But it would be a lie if you didn’t think it was entertaining —- in an annoying way, of course.

But you take your loss and give up, moving on to the next game. It is something silly and bright, but also difficult. It's easy to get lost in and you find yourself aggressively tapping the buttons, inevitably losing the game and huffing off to find the next one.

You choose a first person shooter this time. Originally a two player game, but you play on your own — taking down zombie after zombie as you try (and fail) to progress to the next stage.

You groan as the game over screen mocks you for what feels like the thousandth time that night and fight to keep from banging your head against the screen in frustration.

“You’re doing it wrong,” a low voice speaks from behind you and you can already feel your anger flaring. “It’s all in the aim.”

“Yeah, well, what do you know?” You ask bitterly, watching as the same asshole from before puts a coin in and starts the game up again.

He makes it look so easy, getting headshot after headshot as he easily advances to the next rounds. There was a moment you swore he would lose as a mob of zombies crowded him, but he hit a flammable container in the background, causing an explosion and killing all of the zombies.

The winning screen lit up his pale cheeks in a red hue, giving him a faux flush of color making the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

You can’t bite back your sigh of defeat this time, the losing streak getting to you. “Did you come over here just to show off? I can do without that, thank you.”

He only shakes his head, putting in another coin and starting the game up again. You stare blankly as he hits the two player button and hands you a gun.

“No, let me show you why you’re not winning.” It's spoken like you asked him for advice and you know damn well you didn’t, but you take the gun anyway because you had no reason not to.

Muttering a taut fine and gearing yourself up for more humiliation, you stand tall and hold the plastic gun up to the screen, ready to shoot incoming enemies.

You jolt when you feel the guy come up behind you, placing his hands over yours and moving them so that you have a better grip on the weapon.

It was so quick and so natural your cheeks began heating for a reason completely different from your earlier embarrassment.

He was so warm, his hands were warm and calloused and you could feel the heat of his body radiating onto your back as he invaded your personal space to show you how to hold the plastic gun.

Your heart hammered against your chest but you forced yourself to keep your eyes forward and face neutral.

It was much easier said than done, you realize as he leans in, his soft hair tickling your ear as he spoke, guiding you through the mini tutorial of how to shoot the zombies.

Everything he said went in one ear and out the other as you could only focus on the low vibrato of his voice, explaining as his fingers ghosted over yours, casually helping you shoot.

The smell of fresh linen and what you could assume was citrus shampoo flooding your nose, making you dizzy as you struggled to listen. You wanted nothing more than to lean back into this stranger, fully feel the warmth of his chest against your back and run your fingers through his soft locks. But you didn’t.

You will yourself to focus on the sounds of the game and his technique, knowing that you will probably be playing the game soon and didn’t want to look silly if your skill remained the same.

Unfortunately, he pulled away sooner rather than later, taking all of his extra warmth and citrus scent with him.

“Do you get it now?” He asks, rasp in his voice having genuine curiosity and you nod, ready to try your luck at the game now.

It seems like his tutoring wasn’t in vain and you both pull out a win, scoring high enough to place your names on the screen.

You can’t hide your excitement from your first win of the night, turning to your new companion as he looked over the other high scores on the board.

“So, what’s your name?” You ask, riding the high of the win and letting the confidence of it guide you. “Because I don't think it would be DustKing like your high score says.”

He gives a small laugh, something tiny and barely there – a mere blow of air through his nose — and looks at you. Those carmine eyes send heat rushing to your cheeks again and spreading to the tips of your ears.

“Tomura.” Is all he gives and you nod, giving him your name and turning back to the arcade game again.

“Wanna give it another try?” You offer, and he gives you a small smile back, dropping a coin into the machine and starting up another round.

“Sure.”

And suddenly, being ditched on a Friday night by your so-called friends isn’t so bad.

—---------------------

The next time you meet Tomura, it is on a saturday afternoon.

The arcade is already bustling with people and the noise almost makes you turn on your heels and walk away. But you don't, instead white hair and dark clothes catch your eye and your feet move before your mind can catch up with the actions.

“Hey!” You greet, a little too chipper and a little too close.

Tomura looks down at you, eyes dropping to your shirt and then back up again. You weren't sure if he had been checking you out or trying to size you up. It makes you falter a bit as he goes back to his game, effectively ignoring you.

The behavior is odd, but you try not to let it bother you. The last time you met the both of you played the silly zombie game until the arcade closed — there was no way he didn’t remember who you were.

You feel a little out of place and the tiniest bit hurt as you take a step back, ready to find any other distraction in the arcade to erase this from your brain.

“Um, okay, bye then—” You start, but you’re cut off by Tomura’s groan. He lost the game and it's difficult to hold back the laughter.

“God, you’re such a distraction. You made me lose!” He barks, riling you up.

Your brows furrow in frustration, you’ve barely said two words to the guy. “How did I make you lose? I just got here!”

“Yeah, and you're being all distracting, with your little shirt and your jeans. What do you want?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? The statement is lost on you as your anger takes the forefront. “Don’t blame me because you’re off your game today.”

“I will blame you, because it’s your fault.”

“Whatever, Tomura. Since you’re done losing at this game, why don't you try one you;ll need real skill to play?” you challenge and hope he takes the bait, the irritated narrowing of his eyes shows that he will and you bury your giddiness inside.

“Fine, I'll try it.”

Tomura loses. Bad. And you can't stop the tears from crowding your eyes as you laugh at his misfortune.

“No, why did you rush out so fast?” You hear Tomura’s low growl of annoyance and continue, “This is not that kind of game! Slow and steady wins the race, you know.”

Wiping the tear from your eye, you try again, dropping a coin and gearing up for the next round while Tomura sits beside you, seething. The game starts up again and it's bright and inviting. You strategically tap at the buttons, ensuring that your duck character can make it across the street safely.

It's only when you hear the splash of the fallen duck next to yours that you break out into laughter once more, accidently tapping the button and sending your duck into the open road, ending the game for you both.

“This game is rigged!” Tomura protests, frustration palpable and scowl deep on his face.

You only shrug, knowing it's not an easy game, “Well, I'm sure you’d say that about any game you aren't good at.”

“That's a lie.” He states. Blunt and firm. This guy… He’s so rude, but so cute. You want to bite him.

“It's not,” You keep your voice light as you tease, not wanting to push him too far. “You don’t have patience so of course you would lose.”

“I could beat you at other games.”

This piques your interest, brows flying up. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He shrugs, irritation all but dissipated. “Mario Kart. 200cc. It takes patience and it’s not rigged.”

You take the bait, fingers twitching in anticipation, “Sure, but look where we are. There is no Mario Kart here.”

The look tomura gives you makes you wonder if you’d asked if the sky were blue. “I have Mario Kart at my house. Stop by and I'll kick your ass at it.”

You are stubborn, and decide fine. If he wants to be cocky, then you could bring him down a notch. “Alright, let's go and we'll see.”

He nods and you both take off, leaving the noise and excitement of the arcade behind.

Tomura was not lying when he said Mario Kart required patience.

You were currently in his room, on his bed as you try and fail to correct your character's position on the race track. You were stuck against a wall and slowly turning the opposite way, meanwhile, the other karts whip past your character — mocking while you firmly sat in dead last.

The small laugh Tomura gives is enough to send you into a rage. Standing up, you grip the controller with force, twisting and turning with it as if it would give you more control over your character. It did not.

“Oh, come on!” You shout.

“You have to use your brakes at this speed.” Tomura supplies, his character crossing the finish line and cheering at its win.

Your frustration is blinding because once again, those large, warm hands were covering yours, Tomura’s low voice filled with amusement as he guided your character to the finish line.

Embarrassment wasn’t enough for what you were feeling. Not only did you talk shit and lose, but you needed help from him again.

He pulls away and you fleetingly think it’s too soon, watching as Tomura grabs his own controller and flips through the options. “We could try a slower cc. 200cc is brutal to newer players.”

“You knew that and you still let me play it?” He clearly set you up, you bitterly realize as you sit next to him on the bed, watching the screen.

“Yeah, for all I know you could have been a prodigy. You weren't though, so it’s nothing I have to worry about.”

“Hey!” You scold, smacking his arm and grabbing the controller. “Fine. Let's do 50cc and see how good you are.”

Tomura shrugs, plucking the item from your hand and getting more comfortable. “Sure, but don’t think slower races will mean you’re better.”

The next race goes about the same as the first one, but at least this time your character sticks to the road and you’ve even placed higher this time. Eighth place! Take that.

“Impressive,” Tomura drags, voice stripped of malice and insults. It was a small feat, but still better than twelfth place.

It's hard to keep your excitement down, a stark contrast to Tomura’s reserved demeanor. You’ve only met him recently but he's already perfected the way to get your feathers ruffled and rile you up.

“Yeah, well I'm going to buy the game and practice on my own. Just wait, you’ll be in last place soon.” You had the gaming console, but never this game. It wouldn’t be too steep of an investment.

Tomura hums, pondering a moment before responding, “You could always just come over and practice. No need to waste the money when I have it.”

His words make you pause, slowly realizing where you are and who you're with. Some guy you met at the arcade — in his home, in his room, playing video games. How did that happen so fast? Your parents would kill you.

“I guess.” You look around, suddenly wanting to find anything else to focus on that isn’t the man beside you. Now that you think about it, you’ve never really been alone with another guy before. Especially not in his room. Sure, you had all kinds of male friends, but never any this close. It made you… nervous. And warm.

Very warm. Something that spread from the pits of your abdomen and crawled its way back up into your cheeks.

You hoped Tomura wouldn't notice your blush and searched your brain for any way to get out of this situation.

But then he was speaking again and god, was his voice always this low?

“Do you want to go another round?”

“Huh?” You stammer, looking over and it was a mistake because you were forced to notice how close you two were sitting, on his bed of all places. You shake the thoughts from your head, “y-yeah, we should play another round.”

You reach for the controller and Tomura stops you, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“Hey, what's your problem?” Blunt. Rude. Fucking cute.

It's settled. You hate this man.

His brows furrowed as he moved closer, examining your face as if he could peer into your mind with his eyes alone. It made you want to shrink away, but that would only make his observation worse.

“Are you... getting nervous?” Your eyes widen at the words and you pull away completely, shaking your head,

“No! Of course not.” You cross your arms in a huff and absently wonder if you could take your leave now.

“You are,” he decides, a slow grin creeping across his face, “Why?”

You're sure the ground will open up and swallow you whole if you just wish hard enough for it. Maybe then Tomura would back up out of your personal space and shut up.

“I'm not nervous.” You bluff, praying he won’t see through you.

“I know why.”

You brace yourself for mortification.

“It’s because you know you’re going to lose.”

He has that smug smile on his face and it hits you.

He has no idea. Tomura doesn’t get it — he thinks you’re upset about the game and not the fact that you can smell the citrus of his shampoo and see the flecks of black in his red eyes.

God, maybe he’s an idiot.

You want to kiss him.

“Don’t be nervous,” he assures, giving you a little smile and grabbing the controller again, “I’ll walk you through it.”

There was something about Tomura’s choice of words that made you think maybe, just maybe, he had a little more of an idea about your mood than he let on. You press your thighs together, praying it was subtle, and mentally push away the arousal you began to feel at his low tone of voice.

“Sure.”

The next round you both play goes the same as the others. Tomura winning and you barely breaking the top ten. Your frustration was becoming palpable as it no longer was fun to see your character cry at the end of the match.

“We don't have to play anymore.” You look over at Tomura’s words and he’s stretching, eyes closing at the movement. You can't help but notice the sliver of his exposed abdomen as he reaches up.

You get a glimpse of his lithe figure and feel your mind begin to wonder what the rest looks like, but cut your thoughts short as he adjusts and meets your eyes again.

You should get out of here before you embarrass yourself.

“Where are you going?” Tomura questioned, the minute you stood to leave.

“Um, home? It’s getting late.”

“Not that late. C’mon, it’s a Saturday. You have somewhere to be or something?” He’s getting up and you can only assume it's to get another game. You are correct because he turns to show you the case and it’s of a white goose. “This game is more fun.”

You look at the time on your phone and shrug. He's right, it's not that late — there should be no harm in staying a little longer.

So you do.

And it’s worth it as you both watch two geese in the game with excellent teamwork terrorize a farmer.

“Okay, you distract him and I’ll take his hat.” You were on a mission and Tomura indulged you, making his goose honk while yours swooped in, effectively stealing the hat and allowing you both to progress to the next level.

“Hah! I knew that would work.” You feel elated as you watch the geese move on, waddling across the screen and into the next area, “And you’re not so bad yourself, for a goose.”

Tomura huffs a laugh, shallow and light before turning to you, “I carried you that round, but okay.”

You haven't known each other long, but he already knows his way around getting you riled up.

The comment makes you turn so that you are better positioned on his bed, one leg still hanging off the end of it while trying not to puff your cheeks. You would be fighting a losing battle if he saw how riled up you were.

“Hey, I’m the one who told you where the picnic blanket was!”

“Okay? And who brought everything to the blanket?” he leaned forward, invading your space and challenging.

You didn’t back down, both of you so close, almost nose to nose. “You. but only after I found everything.”

The distance between the two of you was slim, and the air was heated, his crimson eyes looked down at you with that smug smirk on his lips and you wanted to bite him.

Or kiss him.

Whichever came first.

Tomura followed your line of sight and it only made his smug expression worse, if that were even possible — yet neither of you backed away. His lips parted like he was on the edge of saying something, but was cut off by the peppy chime of your phone’s ringtone.

That seemed to dissipate some of the tension between you two as it caused you to back away and scramble to find your phone on his bed.

Once you’ve gotten it and answered, there’s the familiar voice of your mother on the other end, worrying about where you are and questioning when you would be home, standard practice for her. After many reassuring yeses and “i’ll be there soon”’s you are finally free of the call, now knowing that you have to wrap this up and head out.

“Who was that?” Tomura questioned and his voice seems loud in the quiet of the room.

You turn back to him and his eyes are waiting, expecting. He’s not doing anything but looking at you and it still feels like he can see all of you, as if you’re naked and bare, exposed completely.

“My mom.” You can’t help the small shrug of your shoulders, feeling a little embarrassed at how uncool it could look to have your parents keep tabs on you all the time.

“Aww,” Tomura coos, and it's said more like an afterthought, something to fill the air as he leaned forward — finally, finally closing the distance between you both and kissing your lips.

It shocks you as you feel the soft cotton his duvet hit your back, Tomura’s lips still pressed to yours as he pushed you down. They were rough but so warm, just like the rest of him, and your hand seeks his hair, finally indulging in the urge you’ve had to touch it since you’ve met him.

He groans when you give it a tug and you whimper when he bites your lip a little too hard. It drives you crazy and Tomura wastes no time in deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping over yours as his hands slide up your shirt. You let out a gasp when he cups your breast, taking a sensitive nub between his forefinger and thumb. The feeling has you mewling into his mouth and arousal soaking your panties.

It doesn’t take much to get you riled up, especially since the furthest you’ve ever gone with a guy is a kiss here and there.

Tomura crowds your senses as he hovers over you, caging you below him as he sits between your spread legs. Your heart races as you keep your eyes squeezed shut, you don’t know how far you’re going to go, but you definitely did not think you would be losing your virginity today.

He pulls away, lifting his shirt up and over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor of the room. You waste no time taking in the new sight of his exposed chest, desperate to reach your hands out to touch.

But Tomura was back down again before you had a chance to, his mouth making its way down your jaw and neck leaving kisses and licks in its wake. It’s sensitive, especially when Tomura sucks right on a particular spot on your neck, making you cry out.

“D-don’t leave a mark.” You stutter, words nearly lost to the pleasure.

“Why not?” The warmth of his tongue licking the area he’d just sucked on was making you shiver.

Your hands were gripping his shoulder, desperate for any kind of grounding. “Because my parents. They would k-kill me.”

Tomura hums, seeming to take your concern into consideration before pulling away. You’re worried you’ve blown it and ruined the mood, but he just tugs at your shirt.

“Get this off.”

You can feel the heat on your face, from the kissing, but now you feel it burn more as you gaze at the man above you. The words make you stall, process what's going on — what you should do.

No one’s seen you without a shirt, especially not in this situation, but honestly? Who cares. You’re an adult, you can and will make your own choices.

There’s no one else in this room but you and Tomura, so when you sit up to remove your shirt and bra, catching Tomura’s eyes scan your newly exposed body, you can’t help but smile at the chill of excitement that dances down your spine.

It makes your heart flutter so you pull him back into a kiss and back down onto the bed, fisting your hands in his ashen locks again and savoring the groans he made.

Tomura makes his way down again, taking your right breast into his mouth and tweaking the nipple of your other with his free hand. The sensations are overwhelming and you moan, arching your back and trying with all you had to pull Tomura closer.

He obliged by lowering his hips and grinding down against you, the press of his erection against your clothed cunt drives you wild. Tomura comes back up, claiming your mouth again and he is demanding as he deepens the kiss, giving you everything you wanted and more.

You wanted to take it further, needed to take it further, but you weren’t sure how to progress from making out. Telling Tomura you were a virgin would probably make things awkward and you were going to lose it if everything ended here.

Tomura pulls away to look at you, flushed and red while you ponder what to do with your hand placement. You decide to wrap them around Tomura’s neck, pulling him close enough that he rests his forehead on yours.

Your breaths intertwine as you both stare at each other in a daze.

“What?” He asks first, breathless and curious.

You cut your eyes to the side, hoping your scoff came off as unconcerned instead of wildly nervous, “Nothing! Nothing..”

Your tone is not lost on Tomura as he narrows his eyes, gears turning in his head and piercing gaze seemingly looking through you and into your deepest thoughts. “Why are you being shy like a virgin?”

The way you purse your lips gives you away and you do everything to avoid his gaze, which is hard when you’re both so close to each other.

“Oh my god, you are.” There’s a whimsy excitement in his voice and suddenly, embarrassment is creeping its way back into your mind, “why didn’t you say so?”

You look up as Tomura pulls back, his smile open wide on his face, ill hidden elation buzzing in his words.

There’s your innate need to defend yourself and your honor rising up again and you can’t stop yourself. So what if you’re a blushing virgin. “Yeah, so? Aren’t you?”

His shoulders give a small shrug, “Maybe.”

Then he’s down again, lips next to your ear as his hands trailed down your waist, leaning goosebumps in their wake.

“Have you ever made yourself cum before?” He asks and you can feel his smile against your ear.

Embarrassment has officially taken the forefront of your mind as you weakly shake your head no, “I’ve tried, but when I get close the feeling goes away.” Might as well be honest since it can’t get more vulnerable than this.

Tomura hums, one hand reaching to take your hand in his, “I could show you how, if you want.”

You feel his hand drag yours lower, down your body and to the hem of your pants and stop, waiting for a response. It feels like your nerves are in overdrive and you writhe below him in anticipation, nodding your head, “P-please.”

Tomura pulls away, taking his warmth with him as he reaches down to unbutton your pants, removing them and leaving your panties.

“You’re soaked.” He muses, causing you to whine in anticipation. “Show me how you do it.”

And you do, slipping your hand under your panties and biting back a moan as your middle finger rubbed circles on your clit. You were dripping wet so your fingers glide easily and the feeling makes your eyes close.

It's a song and dance you are familiar with in the heated nights of your bedroom. Trying and failing to make yourself cum because you’ve read about it, it’s supposed to feel good, but you just can't get there.

Tomura watches on, absently palming his erection and watching you touch yourself. As much as he wanted to reach down and help you out, there was something about seeing you whine and writhe in his bed that made his brain wild.

You were getting close and you knew because there was that familiar sensation of heat pooling in your lower belly, it was a pressure that got more and more intense as you chased after it, but every time, your hands would get tired and you would lose it. And with the momentum gone, you lose the orgasm.

Your furrowed brows went from aroused to frustrated within the span of a second as, once again you’ve unintentionally denied yourself release.

“Fuck,” Tomura breaths, hand now fully in his sweat pants as his breathing picks up, “you were close.”

“I know!” You whine, unsure what to do now, but Tomura has a few things in mind. He pulls his hand from his pants, not wanting to ruin his own orgasm and hooks his fingers on both sides of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them to the side.

You were fully exposed and the only thing keeping you from pressing your thighs together and holding your dignity close was Tomura between them.

You wish he wouldn’t look so much, but he does, drinking up the sight of your exposed cunt and licking his lips. You’re about to call him out of it before he dips back down, capturing your lips in his and it distracts you.

It distracts you so well that the press of his thumb over your slick nub makes you cry out, the pleasure sudden and better than you imagined. Tomura devours your moans, rubbing slow circles onto your clit and easily picking up where you left off. Your hands find purchase on his back and your toes curl at the sensation.

He had just started, but it was just right and you couldn’t stop yourself from arching your back, desperate for more and overwhelmed by the stimulation.

“T-tomu..” You moan as you feel the horizon of warmth again and bury your face into his neck.

“Yeah,” his lips are by your ear again and you close your eyes, fully focusing on the feeling of his thumb working your clit and his low voice in your ear, “Just let go for me.”

And it all hits you, pussy pulsing in pleasure as you come undone, your cries muffled by your face in his shoulder. It feels like the end of a long marathon as the bliss spreads through your body like a warm blanket.

You could only lie there as Tomura pulled away, kissing your sternum and all the way down until he was at eye level with your cunt. The action confuses you because he had just made you cum so why was he..?

“What are you doing?” You ask, confusion muting the buzz in your head.

His eyes meet yours, mischievous glint in them sending the butterflies in your stomach wild. “We’re not done yet.”

And before you could question the man further he dips down, warm and wet tongue meeting your slit and diving into your slick entrance. The action makes you jolt, keening at the sensation and thighs reflexively closing against Tomura’s head. This action only spurred him on further as he lapped and dipped his deceptively long tongue in and out of your wet entrance, sticky slick walls clamping down on him as he sloppily ate you out.

He was relentless as he drove your pleasure up the wall — blowing your previous orgasm out of the water with this new sensation.

“Fuck, tomu — fuck its..!” You can’t form a coherent sentence because the pleasure was only building and building, giving your brain no time to catch up with your words. Your hands immediately found purchase in his hair, the soft ashen locks grounding you as he continued his actions, unbothered by your tight grip.

Tomura decided to move up, licking his way from your hole to your clit, the overstimulated bud was next on tomura’s list as he lapped and kissed your bundle of nerves.

The actions make you cry out, mind muddled as your body tries to figure out if you want to be closer or further away from the sensations. You don't have much time to reach a conclusion either as Tomura sucks your clit and your second orgasm of the night quickly builds up and spills over, making your back arch from the bed and your legs shake in pleasure.

It feels like your mind is completely blank as tomura gives your cunt a final lap and your clit one last kiss before returning to meet your eyes again.

You were face to face now and watching him grin down at you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had made a deal with the devil himself as your mind swam in the pleasure radiating throughout your body. It all felt surreal, and your eyes naturally closed, enjoying the feeling of your second climax.

“Aw, don’t tap out on me now, I haven’t even given you the final boss yet,” you hear Tomura coo, finally moving to remove his sweatpants and boxers and oh—

You watch his cock bob between his legs and panic internally as you wonder how the hell that would fit inside of you.

It’s like Tomura could read your mind, because his laugh brings you back to the present, “don't worry about it, promise it’ll fit.”

You don't know if you should trust him on that, but you do — mentally preparing yourself as Tomura leans over you and into the drawer of his bedside nightstand. He pulls out a square foiled packet and it’s in that moment you realize – no, he was not a virgin and only humoring you.

You don't have much time to dwell on it though because in no time he has the condom on and is lining himself up with your entrance.

The nerves are making themselves known as the reality of your situation starts to set in. The thoughts don’t flood your mind for long because Tomura takes your chin in his hand, demanding your undivided attention as he slowly pressed into your cunt.

The pressure of the stretch makes you whimper and your eyes reflexively close, but he was only getting started. It was the somewhat soothing feeling of Tomura’s thumb stroking your cheek that kept you grounded and able to withstand more of the stretch.

Little by little, Tomura pushed on, guiding you with his words and reassuring you that it wouldn’t hurt for long. He was right up against your ear, the familiar smell of his shampoo bringing you comfort as your bodies intertwined.

“That it,” he guided, voice low and hips still as he bottomed out. You felt so full. It was a sensation you’ve never imagined and could only whine as tomura started to pull back. “I’m gonna move now.”

Even though the pain was there in the initial thrusts, there was also the feeling of dull pleasure, slowly growing and growing until the previous pain had all but gone away and now you were floating in ecstasy as Tomura’s thrusts began to speed up.

You gripped at his forearms as he gained momentum, hips rocking into yours and making you moan.

“You like that?” he husked, lips brushing your throat as his hips snapped forward and hit a particularly sensitive spot inside.

“F-fuck, again, do that again,” you cry and Tomura focuses his attention right where you want him to. The feeling is euphoric as you feel a different kind of coil tightening in your lower abdomen. A feeling that makes your toes curl and your thighs tense and it's hit again and again.

Tomura lets out a low groan, his own pace becoming unsteady as time went on. “You’re so tight..” he murmured, reveling in the feeling of your slick walls clamping down on him, “‘s like you’re sucking me in.”

You’re nearing the end again, you can feel it, but you don't want to be. This all felt so good. “Tomu, I-I’m—”

Tomura cuts you off, pulling away to look you in the eyes, his ruby red gaze was hypnotizing. “Just let go, I’ve got you.”

And you do, that’s all it takes for you to tip over — mind rushing in bliss as your heart fluttered at his words.

You felt this orgasm deep in your bones, the overwhelming feeling of clarity and contentment settling within you as you were now along for the ride, enjoying Tomura’s increasing erratic pace while he chased his own orgasm.

“Oh, fuck—” he pants, following behind you with his own climax. His eyes were squeezed shut as he rode it out, slowing to a stop and dropping his head onto your shoulder.

The heavy breaths between you were the only sounds in the room as you stare at his ceiling — noticing the faded out green stars above. So faint you were sure they had been placed there years and years ago. It brings a warmth to your chest, something new among your many new feelings you’ve felt today.

“Next weekend,” Tomura starts, still sounding a bit winded as he pulls out — and you wince at the soreness, the pain not really something you were prepared for — and lays next to you, “Next weekend we’ll rematch in Mario kart. I’ll help you get better.”

You smile, the buzzing excitement making you flush, “Okay, let’s do it.”

The next morning is one that leaves you with a forming pit in your belly. It is a Sunday morning, and Sundays are the day’s your family loves to enjoy a homemade breakfast and sit together at the table like a loving family.

And they were loving! Loving and observant.

You felt as if your parents knew. Like they knew where you had been yesterday — somehow seeing through your foolproof lie of hanging out with an old school friend, but things were quiet.

Everything on this Sunday morning had been proceeding as normal. Your parents were sitting across from you, none the wiser and laughing about a show they watched last night while you were out.

It did not feel real. It felt like there was something you were missing, as if they were omnipotent and knew your every move. Knew that you were no longer their shining star child, that you had been up to things that were everything but innocent.

You feel the same, physically. Maybe a little sore from how rough Tomura had gotten, but other than that, normal.

“Sweetheart,” your father’s voice calls you, cutting through your paranoia, “could you pass me the syrup, please.”

And you do, maybe with too much haste, but he does not comment on it. Instead he just pours the sugary liquid onto his pancakes and continues. “So your mother and I were thinking,”

Oh, god. They knew.

“We know you’re taking a semester off, but if you aren't happy with that college, we could look into other’s for you.”

Your shoulders relax. It’s just college talk, again. That was talk you could handle.

“Um, yeah. That’s okay with me. I could always use more options.”

Your father smiles, “That’s our girl. Always so flexible with her options. We know it takes a lot of strength to take a break, but you did. We’re so proud of you.”

The smile that graces your face is pitiful and filled with guilt that you prayed was not obvious. They really saw the best in you, no matter how suffocating they were. so it’s only right you follow the path that they lay out for you.

“Our girl could never do any wrong,” your mother chimes in, chipper and full of admiration, “you’re just so smart.”

You only nod, now trying to tune them out as they go back and forth, discussing possible college they believed would be best for you.

It really makes you wonder just how far that love and pride stretched when their angel of a daughter strays against what they expect of you.

—-------------------------

And not even six months later that same love and adoration is tested, put on the line and shown bare as your enraged parents look down at you.

The same parents who doted on you about how much you made them smile. You who had made them so proud and apparently brought them so much joy.

It’s suffocating as you sit right back on the very same couch where it all started, listening to a lecture from your mother about the woes and pains of having such a disobedient unruly child.

Even though you’re an adult.

Even though you can make your own decisions about your life.

It’s maddening having to listen to your once so meek and complacent mother go on and on about how she would have never snuck around with some boy she’s only known for a few months. How she would never lie to her parents about her whereabouts and how it’s just unheard of that you would turn your location off.

You shake your head, they wouldn’t understand. Your father wouldn’t even look at you. “Mom, please..” you start, wanting to offer anything to break up the nonstop lecture.

“I just don’t understand!” Her voice is so high it’s nearly a yell, and your mother makes it a point to never yell. “He’s just a man! Why would you put yourself and your future at risk for some guy?”

“He’s not just some guy.” You mumble and curse yourself for trying, they would never see it your way.

There is a buzz from the phone in your pocket and you habitually grab for it, pulling it from its place and you are not given a chance to check the notification before your mother snatches the device from your hand.

“And no phone! This damn phone is the root of all your problems in the first place.”

Disbelief mars your features as the constant drilling catches up with you. “You can’t do that!”

She only folds her arms across her chest, head tilted in challenge, “I can’t? Watch me. You’re lucky we haven’t put you on the street yet with how irresponsible you’ve been.”

It’s hard to understand what’s so irresponsible about taking birth control and practicing being safe. But you knew it was deeper than that. It was deeper than the boy and it was more than sex.

They hated the lack of control they had over you and how it waned with every passing day.

“So, what, was this guy supposed to be the love of your life? Someone you would just run away with and expect to support you?”

Your mother’s voice grates on your ears and you just wish for this conversation to be over, you want this entire thing to be over and done with. “I don’t know. Maybe.” The defeat is evident in your voice and you shrug. “Can I go now?”

They are beating a dead horse at this point and you’re over it.

To your surprise, no one stops you as you rise, allowing you to take your leave before the tears clouding your vision could fall.

The defeat you feel is deep and you can’t even muster the energy to slam your door shut, opting for a quieter close. The fragile click of your door was so soft and it felt as if you were made of glass. To slam the door would only make you shatter into a million pieces onto your bedroom floor.

How foolish of you to think there could ever be a world where you had autonomy in a house filled with hawks.

Your bed greets you with its cozy warmth and you allow yourself to fall apart there, letting out all of your despair and frustration into your pillow and leaving the pieces of your soul to be picked up in the morning.

It’s been a week.

A long, boring, drawn-out week.

You are without your phone, without wifi and without your parents car — so you couldn’t go anywhere if you tried.

It’s been a long week of nothing, not even from Tomura. You assume he can put two and two together and figure out something has gone wrong. The thought brings you a little peace, but not for long.

You barely leave your room and barely say two words to your parents. The isolation is… lonely.

Even if you went out to the living room to watch television, you run the risk of running into one of your parents — and you can really do without another lecture. The only thing on your mind this past week has been Tomura. What was he doing? Did he pick up on your silence? Last time he showed up at your house, but that’s not happening this time around.

You sit up from your bed, realizing that sitting around rotting away would drive you mad, and look to your window. The sun was setting and dusting the rest of the world in pretty orange and pink hues. It would be nightfall soon, and you don't think you could spend another night in this room, alone.

So, against all better judgment, you open your window, look back to listen for any suspicious footsteps — the lack thereof giving you the greenlight — and climb out of your window, stumbling on to the ground as you try to regain your footing from the drop.

You weren't sure where your feet were taking you, but you didn't care, the feeling of fresh air against your cheeks was all you really needed for a clear head.

Your feet lead you to the mall, the start of all your problems and the beginning of your independence.

It felt strange, seeing all kinds of happy faces throughout the mall. Blissfully unaware of their freedoms and enjoying their night. The jarring feeling pushes your feet to the familiar route, flashing colors and blaring music of the arcade greeting you.

It’s comforting, in a way. But you didn’t bring any money. You didn't bring anything but what you were wearing so you could only look around, watching friends and couples alike laugh together.

There's an area near the back of the arcade with tall barstools and empty tables. You decide to take a seat there and sulk on your own. At least you were no longer trapped in your room, forced to watch your four walls while the days passed you by.

You were in a daze, tracing the brown lines on the wooden table with your eyes, until someone interrupted you by sitting right next to you. You turn to face the culprit, less than friendly words on your tongue and ready to let whoever have a piece of your mind.

But you stop in your tracks as ruby red eyes look down at you.

Tomura.

He was here, next to you and your heart fluttered at the realization.

“What’s your problem?” He joked, rasp in his voice comforting to your ears.

You don’t stop yourself from pulling him into a hug, his black hoodie soft and familiar. “How did you know I was here?” You mumble into the fabric and miraculously Tomura understands you.

“I didn’t.” The admission causes you to pull back, looking up at him through your long lashes. “None of my calls or texts went through, and I tried to stop by but your dad was suspiciously outside.” He brings a hand to your head, brushing your hair back and giving you a small smile. “I still like coming here, so I did. Something to pass the time. Ironically, I saw you walk by.

You hum, fighting the pout that wanted to make its way onto your face. “They took my phone. They took everything, even the birth control pills. I can’t keep living like this, Tomura.”

“I know.” He responds, soothing your nerves even with his presence. “I can get you another phone.”

The suggestion only makes you shake your head, it doesn’t tackle the real underlying issue.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time before they find that too. We’ve seen that they aren’t above going through my things. It’s hell. I can’t do it anymore.”

This seems to make Tomura ponder, taking your words in and running them through his mind for a solution. His expression is fixed when he looks back at you.

“Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t go back home.” He elaborates, “Come stay with me. My place is big enough, it shouldn’t matter.”

You are shaking your head before you realize, pulling away from him with a stern look. “No, no I can't do that. I can’t impose on you like that.”

Tomura gives you a halfhearted glare. “It’s not imposing if I'm offering. They’re assholes, and I'm usually home alone anyway. Well, besides Kurogiri.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, “C’mon, just go home tonight, pack a bag and then meet me here tomorrow. Can you do that?”

There was no other option you would want more so you nod, giving a short okay as Tomura presses his lips to yours.

It's set — by this time tomorrow you will be free.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #mha x reader #my works #tomura shigaraki smut #shigaraki smut

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mcrdvcks · 16 days ago

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i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1900 - with you i'm free

chapter summary: Logan meets you again in a small town in Pennsylvania. Only this time, you are married to another man, but your marriage is far from perfect.

word count: 11.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is a bit darker than the other chapters, past and future, so this'll probably be a 'one off'. please read the tags! the domestic violence isn't described too heavily, but there are still some descriptions and scenes involving it. you've been warned!

warnings/tags: angst, mentions of brushing hair, outdated mindsets on women, domestic violence, bruises, cheating, blood, character death

series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4

Logan found himself in a small town in Pennsylvania 20 years later. Victor was doing who knows what, he wasn’t sure if he even cared, so he was alone, once again.

Coal mining was the primary job in this town, so he found himself doing just that. After work, the guys would go to a nearby bar and get drunk, go back home, and repeat it all over again.

This was his second week here, and the guys finally learned that he only came along to do one thing- drink.

You walked into the dimly lit bar, the smell of tobacco and cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air. The men, mostly miners from the town, were crowded around tables, drinking and laughing loudly after a long day of work. The sound of clinking glasses and rough voices filled the room, but your eyes were drawn to the man sitting at the bar, quiet and distant.

He didn’t look like the others—he wasn’t laughing, wasn’t part of the group. He just sat there, nursing a glass of whiskey, his dark eyes focused on the amber liquid as if it held answers to questions he wasn’t ready to ask. Something about him felt familiar, though you couldn’t place why.

You hadn’t intended to come inside. George was already drunk somewhere in the back, and you knew what that would mean when he got home. But something pulled you toward the bar, toward him. You made your way over, hesitating for just a moment before slipping onto the stool beside him.

“You new in town?” you asked, your voice soft but cutting through the noise around you.

The man didn’t look at you right away, but his hand tightened slightly around the glass. His jaw clenched, as if the sound of your voice had struck something deep inside him. Slowly, he turned his head, and when his eyes met yours, the world seemed to tilt for a moment.

It was like a punch to the gut, a shock that ran through both of you, though you couldn’t understand why. You had never met him before, but his eyes... those eyes. Dark, haunted, and yet filled with something familiar, something you couldn’t explain.

Logan stared at you, his mind racing. It couldn’t be. But it was. You were here, sitting right next to him, alive. Different, yet the same. His chest tightened, the memories flooding back—your face, your smile, your laugh. The way you had slipped away from him, twice now.

He hadn’t expected to see you again. Not after the last time. But here you were, as real as the glass in his hand.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended. “Just passing through.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious about the stranger beside you. “Passing through? Not many people come here unless they’re looking to stay a while.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you again, lingering this time. It was you, all right. Same voice, same damn spark. He could feel his heart pounding, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he should just get up and walk away. He didn’t know if he could handle this—losing you again.

“I’m not lookin’ to stay,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink, hoping it would calm the storm inside him.

You smiled faintly, noticing how closed-off he seemed. “Seems like you’re fitting in already, though,” you joked, nodding toward the men in the back. “That’s my husband back there, George. One of the miners.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at the word ‘husband,’ though he didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Of course, you’d have a life. It was always like this. But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Is that right?” he replied, not really asking. He glanced toward the group of men, catching sight of George, loud and drunk, waving his glass around like he owned the place. A man like that didn’t deserve you. But Logan stayed silent.

“Yeah,” you said softly, looking down at your hands. “He’s… something.”

There was a heaviness in your voice, something that told Logan more than your words ever could. He recognized that tone—the one you used when you were trying to hide the truth, trying to make things seem better than they were.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Logan just stared at his drink, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now. You were married. You had a life. He didn’t belong here. But he couldn’t just walk away. Not again.

“Y/N.” The sound of your name from his lips was barely a whisper, but it felt like it echoed through the bar. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“How… how do you know my name?” you asked, frowning in confusion. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t introduced yourself.

Logan cursed inwardly, realizing his slip. He hadn’t meant to say it, but your name had come so naturally, like it always did. “I, uh… heard someone call you that when I came in,” he lied, quickly looking away. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You blinked, but before you could question him further, George’s booming voice interrupted.

“Y/N!” he shouted, stumbling toward you. “What’re you doin’ at the bar? Get over here!”

You flinched slightly, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Logan noticed immediately, his eyes darkening as he glanced between you and the drunk man. He didn’t like the way George looked at you, the way he called for you like he owned you.

“I should go,” you muttered, standing up quickly, the warmth between you and Logan fading as you stepped away. “It was nice meeting you…?”

“Logan,” he said, his voice low. “Name’s Logan.”

You smiled faintly again, nodding. “Logan. Well, take care.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he couldn’t put into words. This wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to you. But life had never been fair, had it?

As George draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the group with a roughness that made Logan’s blood boil, he clenched his fists under the bar. He wanted to stand up, walk over there, and tear that man’s arm off. But he stayed where he was, the ring in his pocket feeling heavier than ever. The ring he never got to give you.

You were gone again, and Logan was left with the bitter taste of whiskey and the familiar ache of loss.

---

George never really allowed you to do much, he wanted you to be the ‘perfect wife’ and the ‘perfect mother’, but he always said that last part to you with such hatred.

Some nights, while you silently cried yourself to sleep, you wondered if you were broken, and that maybe you deserved it. Not ever getting pregnant, having an abusive husband- not that it was rare, most of the guys’ wives went through the same things too.

One day, you were out doing errands, getting some things to make George his favorite dinner in hopes you wouldn’t end up with another bruise on your wrist like yesterday, when you saw him. Logan, from a few nights ago.

He was smoking a cigar against a brick building; he should be at work with the rest of the men.

You paused, your breath catching for a moment as you saw him. Logan. He looked out of place, leaning against the wall like he didn’t belong in this time or this town. His eyes, sharp even from a distance, locked onto yours the second you stepped out of the store. It was like he knew you’d be there, as if he had been waiting.

You hesitated, then made your way toward him, the worn handle of the basket digging into your palm as you gripped it tightly.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” you asked softly, your voice carrying just enough over the sound of the bustling street.

Logan took a long drag from the cigar, his eyes narrowing slightly, and shrugged. “Took a break. Figured I needed some air.”

You shifted awkwardly, glancing around before lowering your voice. “If George finds out you’re not working…”

He scoffed, the sound rough, almost amused. “George ain’t my boss.”

His words hung in the air, and you knew he was right. George might run things at home, but out here, Logan didn’t answer to anyone. You, on the other hand… your life was different.

Logan’s eyes flicked down to your wrist, where the bruise from yesterday’s outburst was still visible, even though you’d tried to hide it with long sleeves. His expression darkened instantly, the casual air gone in an instant.

“He do that?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

You swallowed, tugging the sleeve down further. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “I just—George gets frustrated sometimes.”

Logan pushed off the wall, stepping closer, the smell of smoke and leather surrounding you. He was close now, too close, and you felt your heart quicken—not in fear, but in something else entirely.

“Frustrated?” Logan repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “That what you call it?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. What were you supposed to say? That it was normal? That the other wives had it worse? The words died in your throat, and instead, you turned your head, focusing on the basket in your hand. “I should get going.”

But Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you slip away that easily. “You don’t have to put up with that, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice softer now. His hand brushed your arm, barely a touch, but you felt it. Felt it everywhere.

Your breath hitched, and you looked up at him, finding those dark, intense eyes watching you closely. “I… I should get home,” you said again, but the words lacked conviction this time.

Logan didn’t argue, but the look on his face told you that he wasn’t letting this go. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You didn’t protest as he fell into step beside you. The two of you walked in silence for a while, your steps in sync, even though neither of you said a word. It was like that night in the bar—the unspoken connection, the weight of something you couldn’t quite name hanging between you. But this time, there was no crowd, no drunken laughter. Just you and him, and the quiet tension that seemed to grow with every step.

When you reached the edge of your street, you stopped. “You don’t have to walk me the whole way,” you murmured, glancing toward your house, where George’s silhouette was already moving around inside.

Logan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at you, his gaze lingering on the bruise again before his eyes met yours. “You ever need someone to talk to,” he said quietly, “you know where to find me.”

Your heart clenched at the offer, at the way he said it like he meant it. You nodded, unsure of what else to do, and turned to leave.

But as you stepped away, his hand brushed yours again, just for a second. It was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder that there was something here—something neither of you fully understood but couldn’t deny.

You walked inside, feeling his presence behind you even after the door closed, knowing that things had just shifted, that something had begun. And it scared you. Not because of George, not because of what it might mean if you were caught—but because of how much you wanted it. How much you wanted him.

---

Over the next few days, Logan stayed close. You saw him more often—sometimes at the store, sometimes on the street—but always watching, always aware. He didn’t push, didn’t say much. But his presence was a constant, a quiet offer of protection that you hadn’t asked for but found yourself relying on.

It was late one evening when it finally happened. George had been out drinking again, and when he came home, it was worse than usual. You flinched as his hand caught your wrist, yanking you toward him as he slurred something about dinner not being ready on time.

You would’ve left the house if you could, but you couldn’t. Not when George was glaring at you like that, his drunken eyes wild with the sort of rage that had become all too familiar. You knew exactly what was going to happen tonight. It wasn’t new—this quiet dread that wrapped itself around your throat, choking off your breath. Running had never worked before, and by now, you had learned there was no use in trying.

George's grip on your wrist tightened painfully as he muttered something under his breath. The way he yanked you close made your heart race, not out of fear, but from the exhaustion of enduring it. He wasn’t done with his tirade—his words slurred together, complaining about dinner, the house, everything. It didn’t matter. Nothing you did ever seemed to be enough.

As his fist balled around the fabric of your dress, you stared blankly at the floor, your mind drifting elsewhere, anywhere but here. To the street outside, to the market, to Logan. The quiet man who’d appeared in your life without explanation. You didn’t know why, but when you thought of him, you felt something different—something dangerous but soothing all the same. A flicker of rebellion, of hope, that you hadn’t felt in so long.

George shoved you toward the kitchen table, grumbling about the cold food, about you being lazy, about anything he could think of. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the table, but didn’t say a word. You never did, not when it got like this.

But Logan… he had noticed. He had noticed the bruises, the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, the way you avoided eye contact. He wasn’t like the other men in town. He wasn’t one to turn a blind eye. You remembered his intense gaze lingering on your wrist, the bruise that you couldn’t quite hide. You remembered the way he had spoken to you softly, almost like he cared.

That thought gave you strength now, as George barked another order, telling you to clean up the dishes. Your body moved mechanically, but your mind stayed somewhere else. You could almost feel Logan’s hand brushing against yours again, the briefest touch when he’d walked you home the other night. It had been so subtle, but it had sent a jolt through you—a reminder that there were still things you could feel, still things you could want.

The night dragged on, just as it always did, but when George finally passed out in his chair, snoring heavily, you slipped outside. The cool night air hit your skin, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in. You weren’t going far. Just a few minutes of peace. Just enough to remind yourself that you were still alive.

You walked slowly down the empty street, your eyes scanning the shadows. You didn’t mean to, but your feet led you toward the alley where Logan had been smoking that day. It was a habit now, searching for him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And then, there he was. Leaning against the same wall, his broad figure half-hidden by the dim light of the streetlamp. His cigar glowed faintly in the dark, and as soon as he saw you, he straightened, eyes narrowing with concern.

“Y/N,” Logan said softly, stepping toward you. His voice was rough but gentle in the stillness of the night. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your throat felt tight, and your chest ached with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you just walked closer, until you were standing right in front of him, your head tipped back slightly to meet his gaze.

Logan’s eyes flickered over your face, taking in every detail—the bruise that had started to fade but was still visible on your wrist, the exhaustion that weighed down your every movement. He didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to. He knew.

Without a word, Logan reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck in a way that was more comforting than anything you’d felt in years. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him. Just for a moment.

“Y/N, you don’t have to stay there,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Not with him.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the truth of his words cutting deeper than anything else. You didn’t want to stay, you didn’t. But leaving wasn’t as easy as it sounded. George was… dangerous. You didn’t know what he would do if you tried to leave him. And besides, where would you even go? You had nothing. No money, no family. Just an empty house that felt more like a prison with every passing day.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own admission.

Logan’s grip tightened slightly, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted to help, wanted to tear you away from that life, but he was fighting something inside himself too.

“You always got me,” Logan said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Always.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. You didn’t know what to say. The part of you that was practical screamed that you couldn’t rely on him, that you shouldn’t get attached. But the other part, the part that had been buried deep beneath years of heartache, wanted to believe him. Wanted to fall into him, to take whatever comfort he could offer.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached up, your hand trembling slightly as you rested it on his chest. You felt his heart beating under your palm, steady and strong. Logan’s breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He never did.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet street. “I don’t know what to do.”

He let out a slow breath, his forehead resting against yours now, his warm breath mingling with yours. His free hand came up, his thumb brushing your cheek softly, tracing the path of an unshed tear.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he said gently, his lips so close to yours that it took everything in you not to close the distance. “But whatever you decide… I’m not lettin’ you go through this alone. Not again.”

Your heart ached at his words—his promise. The unspoken connection between you felt stronger than ever, and before you knew it, you were closing that distance, your lips brushing against his in a hesitant, tender kiss.

Logan froze for half a second, but then his arms were around you, pulling you closer as if he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he could remember. His lips were rough, but his kiss was gentle, full of restraint. You could feel the years of longing behind it, the pain of lifetimes lived and lost, but also the desire—the need that neither of you could ignore any longer.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan’s eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice ragged, his forehead still resting against yours. “This ain’t right. You’re… you’re married.”

“I know,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath. “But I… I don’t care anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened for a moment, like he was trying to fight it, but then he cursed softly under his breath and kissed you again, this time with more desperation, more need. His hands tangled in your hair, his lips claiming yours in a way that made it clear this wasn’t something either of you could stop now.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to.

---

The next few days blurred together, a dangerous mix of stolen moments and whispered promises. Logan was always there, watching over you, his touch lingering on your skin long after you parted. You knew it was wrong, knew that it would only lead to more heartache, but you couldn’t stop. He had become your anchor, your escape from a life you couldn’t bear anymore.

It wasn’t long before you were meeting him after dark, slipping out of the house when George was too drunk to notice. The kisses became longer, the touches more urgent.

Soon, it wasn’t just nights you were seeing him. It was after George left for work, during Logan’s lunch breaks, or anytime he could sneak away from the mine. You’d meet in the same alley, or sometimes he’d find you waiting in a small park just outside town. The secrecy of it all—the sneaking around, the stolen moments—it was reckless, but neither of you could stop.

Logan wasn’t the kind of man who talked much, but the way he looked at you, the way he held you—like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—it said enough. His hands were always gentle, so different from George’s, even though you could feel the strength behind them. That raw, unyielding strength that was so uniquely his.

One afternoon, Logan met you in the small clearing just past the main street. It was a rare moment when George was working late, giving you a little more time than usual. You leaned against the large oak tree, your back pressed into the rough bark, and waited. It wasn’t long before Logan’s figure appeared in the distance, his broad shoulders tense, eyes scanning the area out of habit.

As soon as he spotted you, his shoulders seemed to relax, and he made his way over, his footsteps heavy but quiet in the dirt. When he got close enough, you smiled softly, your fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress, a nervous habit you’d picked up over the last few weeks.

“Thought I’d lost you for a minute there,” you teased, keeping your voice light, though there was a real fear under the surface. Every time you saw him, there was a tiny part of you that worried it might be the last.

Logan gave a half-smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not that easy to lose me, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, trying to read what was going on in his head. He seemed… tense, more so than usual. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice softening as you stepped closer, close enough to touch him, but not quite daring to yet.

Logan’s gaze flickered down to you, and for a moment, you saw something in his eyes—something old, something heavy. But he shook his head, as if brushing it off, and reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though you could tell he wasn’t. He was never fine.

You reached out, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Logan.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you, before he finally spoke. “It’s just… this,” he said, his voice low, almost pained. “I don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m already hurt,” you whispered, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of those words. The bruises, the fear, the nights spent lying awake, wondering if George would snap—it had become your normal, and you hated it.

Logan’s expression didn’t change much, but his jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark flashing behind his eyes. He stood still, his hands loose at his sides, and for a second you thought maybe you’d gone too far—that maybe admitting this would scare him away, make him walk off into the night and leave you standing there alone.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Logan exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound quiet but loaded with restrained anger, like a simmering fire just barely held in check. His hand—rough and warm—reached out to settle on your arm, fingers curling gently around your elbow. It was a simple touch, but it grounded you in a way that nothing else did.

“I’ll handle it,” Logan said, voice low, rough. His words were more than a statement—they were a promise, weighted with meaning you couldn’t quite untangle.

Your heart skipped at the way he said it, quiet but firm, like the solution was already decided, and there was no point in questioning it.

“You can’t,” you whispered, not because you didn’t believe him, but because you knew how dangerous George could be. And if Logan went to him—if George found out about the two of you…

Logan’s thumb brushed once along your forearm, slow and deliberate. “I’ve handled worse,” he muttered, gaze never leaving yours. There was a sharpness in his eyes now, something fierce. You didn’t know what he’d been through in his life—just that it was far more than you could imagine.

A part of you wanted to tell him not to get involved, but the other part—the part of you that had been breaking under George’s hand for years—wanted to let Logan do exactly what he was offering.

You bit your lip. “If he finds out…” You trailed off, but Logan understood. Of course he did.

He stepped in closer, so close that the rough wool of his shirt brushed against your dress. His hand shifted from your arm to the back of your neck, his fingers resting there firmly, possessively, but with the same strange tenderness he always showed you. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” Logan murmured, voice steady.

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. And when you looked into his eyes—dark and steady and filled with something raw and unyielding—you thought maybe you could.

Your hand rested flat against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the worn fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat strong beneath your palm, steady and unrelenting.

“He won’t stop, Logan.” Your voice cracked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “He’ll just—he’ll come after me, after us.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Let him try,” he said, the words edged with a quiet menace that sent a chill down your spine.

It should have scared you, the way he said it—like violence was something inevitable, something he didn’t shy away from. But instead, it made you feel… safe. Safer than you’d felt in years.

The night air around you was cool, but standing this close to Logan, you felt none of it. His hand slipped from your neck down to the small of your back, his touch warm and steady through the fabric of your dress.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you didn’t move away.

Logan’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “I ain’t gonna pretend this is right,” he said, voice rough but quiet. “But I ain’t gonna pretend I don’t want you, either.”

His words hit you hard, sinking deep into your chest. You hadn’t realized how starved you were—how badly you needed someone to see you, to want you. And Logan… he saw everything. The bruises, the fear, the exhaustion. And still, he looked at you like you were worth something.

You swallowed thickly. “What happens if he finds out?”

Logan’s expression darkened. “He won’t.”

The finality in his tone left no room for doubt, and for a moment, all the fear that had been building inside you loosened, just enough to let you breathe.

Without thinking, you reached up, fingertips brushing along the edge of his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. Logan’s eyes closed briefly, like the small touch was something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. When his eyes opened again, they were darker, filled with a need that mirrored your own.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, like a man starved for something he couldn’t name. His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You melted into him, the fear and exhaustion slipping away, at least for now. His kiss was everything—an escape, a promise, a lifeline.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan rested his forehead against yours. His hand lingered on your waist, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Just say the word, Y/N,” Logan whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Say the word, and we’ll leave. Tonight.”

Your heart ached at the offer—at the thought of running away with him, leaving everything behind. But it wasn’t that simple, and you both knew it.

“I can’t,” you whispered, hating yourself for the truth of it.

Logan’s grip on you tightened briefly, as if trying to hold onto something he couldn’t keep. But when he spoke again, his voice was steady.

“Then I’ll stay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Until you can.”

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. For the first time in years, you felt like you weren’t alone.

And that—just that—was enough to keep you going. For now.

---

One of the local churches was having a retreat set up for the women in town. Clara had been talking your ear off about it at Sunday church, spouting how excited she was to get out of the house.

You listened half-heartedly, but really you were thinking about what a perfect excuse it was to flip this into a lie for George.

You told Logan you couldn’t run away with him, but that didn’t include spending these few days with him, maybe off somewhere in a nearby town.

Most of the women in town were very religious, and at times you felt like an outsider. You didn’t believe like they did, but you kept up a perfect front to make them believe you felt the same way.

“Maybe we’ll have another sewing circle this time. Whaddya think?” Clara asked, a wide grin splitting her face as she held her hat against the October breeze.

You gave a noncommittal hum, tugging the sleeves of your dress down to cover the faint bruises on your wrists. “Maybe,” you murmured, though your thoughts were far from sewing circles and prayer sessions.

The retreat was perfect. It would get you out of George’s reach—at least for a couple of days—and give you the time you so desperately craved. More than anything, it meant time with Logan.

Clara didn’t seem to notice your distraction. “It’s always good to get away, you know? Some of these girls say the Holy Spirit really speaks to ‘em up there.” She gave you a knowing look. “Sometimes, you just gotta leave it all behind for a bit.”

You forced a smile. "Maybe that's what I need."

Clara squeezed your arm, oblivious to how you tensed. “See? That’s the spirit! Now you just gotta convince your husband.”

You swallowed thickly. George wouldn’t care about a church retreat if it kept up appearances. He didn’t pay much mind to you unless you were standing in his way—or if dinner wasn’t on time. A couple of days without you underfoot? He’d probably welcome the peace.

Later that night, after George had his fill of supper and slumped into his chair with a bottle, you tested the waters.

“You remember Clara?” you asked, keeping your tone light. “She mentioned a church retreat this weekend. Thought I’d go.”

George barely glanced up. “What for?”

“Some of the other women are going too.” You folded your hands together tightly, hiding your nervous fidgeting. “It’s just a few days. They’ll be praying and sewing... nothing much.”

George grunted, shifting in his chair. “You ain’t skippin' out on Sunday dinner.”

You bit your lip, nodding quickly. “No. I’ll be back before then.”

He waved you off with a lazy flick of his hand. “Fine. Just be sure you ain’t runnin' off to waste money.”

Relief washed over you so fast your knees felt weak. You ducked your head, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” before slipping into the next room. It had been easier than you expected—maybe too easy. But you weren’t about to second-guess it.

---

The next day, you told Logan.

You found him where you always did—leaning against the brick wall near the alley, a cigar pinched between his teeth. He straightened the second he saw you, his sharp gaze sweeping over you like it always did, searching for signs of hurt.

“I told George I’m going to the church retreat,” you said quietly, stepping close enough that the warmth of him reached you. “It’s this weekend. I’ll have a couple of days...” You let the words hang between you, heart pounding as you waited for him to understand what you were really saying.

Logan’s jaw ticked, his expression hard to read. “You sure?” His voice was low, the sound of it like gravel underfoot.

You gave a small nod. “It’s the only way I can get away.”

He exhaled through his nose, looking past you for a second before his eyes settled back on yours. “Where’s the retreat supposed to be?”

“About an hour north,” you said. “But... I’m not going there.”

Logan’s lips twitched, something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”

“Yeah.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I wanna be with you, Logan. Just for a couple of days. Somewhere... away from here.”

The smirk faded, replaced by something heavier, something that settled deep in his eyes. “You know what you're askin’, darlin’?”

You nodded. “I know.”

He didn’t move for a long moment, just stood there watching you with those steady, knowing eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for you—his hand slipping under your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb brushed along your jaw, and the touch made your breath catch.

“Where do you wanna go?” Logan asked, his voice rough but gentle.

“Anywhere.” The word slipped out before you could stop it, and you hated how desperate it sounded. “Just... not here.”

Logan gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Alright,” he muttered, the barest flicker of emotion crossing his face. “Meet me at the train station Friday night. I’ll take care of the rest.”

---

Friday came quicker than you expected.

The afternoon dragged, tension curling in your stomach as you packed a small bag. You kept everything simple—a couple of plain dresses, your brush, and the few coins you’d stashed away in a tin under the floorboards. You told yourself it wasn’t permanent. You’d be back in a few days, and everything would go back to how it was.

At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

When the sun began to set, you told George you were leaving. He didn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Just don’t come back actin' all high and holy,” he muttered.

You gave a quick nod, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

---

The train station was quiet when you arrived, your breath fogging in the cold night air. You spotted Logan almost immediately, standing near the platform with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He wore the same tired expression he always did, but when his eyes found yours, something softened in his gaze.

“You made it,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand found yours, rough fingers wrapping around yours like they belonged there.

“Yeah,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

Logan gave a small nod toward the waiting train. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

You boarded without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind you as the train rumbled to life beneath your feet. Logan led you to a quiet corner of the car, his hand never leaving yours.

As the train pulled away from the station, you glanced out the window. The town grew smaller, the lights fading into the distance until there was nothing but the dark, open night stretching out ahead of you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe.

Logan’s arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. His warmth bled into you, steady and unyielding, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

“You alright?” Logan asked quietly, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Yeah. I am.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly ease as you settled against him. His arm was solid and steady around you, a quiet strength that made you feel secure. The train rocked beneath you, the rhythmic clattering on the tracks filling the silence. You closed your eyes, letting the sound and the warmth of Logan's presence wash over you.

For the first time in what felt like years, you could relax—if only for a little while.

"You got enough for a few days?" Logan asked, his voice gruff but soft, as if he was trying not to push too much too soon.

You nodded, pulling your small bag closer to you. "Yeah. Just the basics."

Logan gave a small grunt of approval. "We'll stop by a place I know, out of the way. You’ll be safe there."

"Safe..." The word hung in the air between you, heavier than you meant it to be. It felt like a luxury you hadn't been allowed for a long time, and the thought of it made your chest tighten.

Logan’s thumb stroked absently along your arm, a small gesture that grounded you. He didn’t press you for more, didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. That was the thing about Logan—he didn’t pry, didn’t demand anything from you. He just was. It was one of the reasons you felt drawn to him, why you kept finding yourself in his orbit.

But there was still so much you didn’t know about him. He’d never mentioned a family, never talked about where he’d come from or how he ended up here. There was a deep well of mystery around Logan, and sometimes you could feel it, the weight of something unspoken between the two of you. But you didn’t push him for answers either.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against his shoulder, the scent of cigar smoke and pine surrounding you. “Where are we going?”

"There's a place, up in the hills," Logan said quietly. "A cabin. No one's been there in a while. We'll be alone."

Alone. Just the two of you. The thought sent a ripple of excitement and fear through you, your heart skipping a beat. The idea of leaving everything behind—even if just for a few days—felt like a risk. But wasn’t that what you wanted? A break from George, from the town, from the suffocating weight of a life you never really chose.

“You sure about this?” Logan asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. “About… us?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your decision settle in your chest. It wasn’t just about getting away anymore. It was about choosing him, even if it was only for a little while. A choice that could never be undone.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, like he was looking for any hint of doubt.

Logan’s expression softened, just a fraction, and he gave a slow nod. “Alright.”

The train continued its steady rhythm, carrying you further away from the life you knew and into something unknown. You couldn’t think about what would come after—about George, about the retreat, about the women who would notice your absence. All you could think about was Logan, and the way his hand held yours, like he didn’t want to let go.

---

The cabin was quiet, nestled deep in the woods where no one could find you. Logan hadn’t been lying when he said it was out of the way. You hadn’t passed another soul on the journey here, and the solitude felt like a blanket wrapping around you, warm and comforting.

Logan pushed the door open, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The inside was simple—rough wooden furniture, a stone fireplace, and a bed in the corner, covered in a faded quilt. It wasn’t much, but it felt safe, isolated from the rest of the world.

“You can get some rest,” Logan said, setting your bag down near the bed. “Fireplace works, and there’s wood out back if it gets cold.”

You nodded, glancing around the room before your eyes settled on him. “Thank you.”

Logan’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing across his face before he nodded. “Don’t gotta thank me.”

There was a silence between you, not uncomfortable but full of things unsaid. You wanted to ask him more—about why he was helping you, about what he really wanted from all this—but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his arm.

“Logan…” you started, unsure of where you were going with it.

He turned to face you fully, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, then closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

“I just… I needed to be with you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “You got me,” he murmured, his voice rough but sincere. “For as long as you need.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It wasn’t soft or tentative like you thought it might be—it was hungry, desperate, like you’d been holding back for too long.

Logan’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and the world outside the cabin seemed to disappear. There was no George, no town, no expectations. Just you and Logan, and the fire that burned between you.

---

Later, as the fire crackled in the hearth and the two of you lay tangled in each other’s arms, you stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing with everything that had happened.

Logan’s hand trailed idly along your arm, his fingers brushing over the faint bruises you’d tried so hard to hide. His touch was gentle, but you could feel the tension in him, the quiet anger simmering beneath the surface.

“I’ll kill him,” Logan muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “If he ever touches you again.”

You tensed, your breath catching in your throat. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he growled, his grip on you tightening slightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

You turned to face him, your hand resting on his chest. “It’s not that simple…”

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something raw and painful in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite understand. But then he shook his head, exhaling slowly. “I just don’t wanna lose you. Not again.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but before you could ask what he meant, Logan leaned down and kissed you again, silencing your questions.

The kiss was rough, full of unspoken things—promises, regrets, desires that neither of you could fully articulate. His lips moved against yours like they were trying to drown out the past, to focus only on the here and now. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers digging into his skin, wanting to hold on to this moment for as long as possible.

For now, you didn’t want to think about George. You didn’t want to think about the bruises you were hiding, the lies you had to keep telling to survive. You wanted to focus on Logan—the way his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his breath, the way he made you feel alive.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing heavy, Logan stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. His hand brushed your cheek, and for a moment, the roughness of him softened, like he was letting his guard down.

"You should rest," he murmured, his voice low, but there was a strain in it, like he was trying to hold something back.

You shook your head slightly. "I don’t want to rest. I want to stay here with you."

Logan’s eyes searched yours, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your skin for just a second longer than necessary.

“You know this can’t last,” he said quietly, the weight of the truth settling between you both.

You nodded, the ache in your chest growing. “I know.”

You had always known it couldn’t last. This was just a moment stolen from the real world—a fantasy that couldn’t survive the harshness of the life waiting for you back home. But that didn’t stop you from wanting it. It didn’t stop you from wanting him.

Logan’s hand found yours again, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt almost protective. He hadn’t let go since you’d arrived at the cabin, as if he feared you might slip away if he did.

“I wish it could be different,” you whispered, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Logan was silent for a long time before he spoke. “Me too.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but there was still a chill in the air, an unspoken tension lingering between the two of you. You could feel it in the way Logan’s thumb stroked absentmindedly across your knuckles, like he was trying to ground himself—trying to ground you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice softer now. “Helping me, I mean.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly. When he looked back at you, his eyes were hard to read. “Because you deserve better than him.”

It wasn’t a full answer, but it was the closest he’d come to telling you why. You weren’t sure if he was holding something back or if he just didn’t know how to say it. Logan wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and you’d never pushed him for more than he was willing to give.

You nodded, accepting his answer for now. “Thank you.”

Logan’s eyes softened at your words, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t gotta thank me, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into him. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to just be. No pretending, no worrying about what came next. Just this—just him.

---

The morning light filtered through the small windows of the cabin, casting a soft glow on the wooden floor. You woke to the sound of birds chirping outside and the comforting warmth of Logan’s body beside you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay like this, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful.

Logan stirred beneath you, his arm tightening around your waist as he woke. His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

You smiled, the corners of your lips tugging up. “Morning.”

Logan gave a quiet grunt in response, shifting slightly beneath you. His hand was still draped over your waist, his fingers rough but warm against your skin. He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable in the soft morning light, like he was trying to figure out if this moment was real.

“You sleep alright?” he asked, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

You nodded, brushing your fingers absently along his collarbone. “Better than I have in a long time.”

Logan gave a small hum, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that—your body curled into his, the outside world forgotten.

It felt fragile, like if you moved too quickly or said the wrong thing, it might all shatter.

“Gotta admit,” you murmured, “it feels strange waking up like this.”

“Yeah?” Logan's lips twitched, just barely. “Strange good, or strange bad?”

A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Good,” you whispered. “Strange in a good way.”

He held your gaze, something flickering in his eyes—something like relief. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same quiet intensity you’d come to expect from him. Logan wasn’t a man who wasted words, and that suited you just fine.

The clock on the mantle ticked steadily, marking the minutes passing in this stolen moment. You let out a soft breath and rested your chin on his chest, tracing invisible patterns on his skin with your fingertip.

“What time do you think it is?” you asked, though you didn’t really care about the answer.

Logan turned his head slightly toward the window, where the early morning sun was just beginning to peek through the trees. “Still early.”

“Good.” You nestled closer, unwilling to let the morning slip away just yet.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just ran his hand up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. The motion was soothing—so different from anything you’d known in your marriage. With George, everything felt like an obligation, a duty. With Logan... it felt like choice.

Logan’s breath stirred your hair as he spoke again, his voice low. “You thinkin' about goin' back?”

The question hit you like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading out in every direction.

You hesitated, your fingers stilling against his chest. “I don’t know.”

Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could feel the tension creep back into him. “If you don’t want to... you don’t gotta.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his hand still resting against your back, though his grip tightened slightly. “It could be.”

You shook your head. “He’s my husband, Logan.”

Logan exhaled hard through his nose, and you felt the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “That don’t mean you owe him anything.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and it tugged at something deep inside you—something that made you want to stay, to never go back to the life you’d left behind.

But it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

“I have to,” you whispered. “At least for now.”

Logan was silent for a long time, his hand resting heavily on your back. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, almost reluctant. “You know where to find me if things get bad.”

It wasn’t a promise, not exactly—but it felt like one.

“I know,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his shoulder.

Logan’s hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. “You got somethin’ to say, darlin’, just say it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to find the words. “I just... I don’t want this to end.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. Logan’s grip on you tightened, his expression darkening.

“It won’t,” he said quietly, and there was a fierceness in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

You pressed your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Promise?”

Logan’s breath was warm against your skin. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Y/N. Not this time.”

Something about the way he said it—like there was more weight behind those words than you could fully understand—made your chest ache. But you didn’t push for more.

Instead, you kissed him.

It was slow this time, tender in a way that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. Logan kissed you back just as softly, his hands cradling you like you were something precious.

And for a little while longer, you let yourself believe in the possibility of happiness.

---

The days you spent at the cabin away from everything with Logan were the closest you think you’d ever get to heaven.

But of course, it had to come to an end. Logan walked you back to your house, keeping to the shadows where the trees thickened along the road. Luckily, George wasn’t home yet, but you knew he’d be back soon. On Sundays, the men from the mines always went to the bar after church, spending what little money they had on whiskey before heading home for dinner.

Logan stopped a few steps short of the porch, his expression unreadable. His heavy boots crunched against the dirt, and he tilted his head, listening for signs of anyone nearby. It was quiet—just the soft rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant caw of a crow.

“Looks clear,” he muttered, glancing toward the road. Then his eyes were back on you—sharp, like he was committing every detail of this moment to memory.

You stood there, one hand gripping the hem of your plain cotton dress, the other clutching the shawl draped over your shoulders. It was getting colder, October creeping in around the edges.

Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest. “You sure you’re good?” His voice was low, rough as gravel.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered, but the words felt thin, like paper stretched too tight.

His eyes flicked over your face, lingering on the bruise near your jaw that hadn’t quite faded. You saw it—the way his knuckles twitched like he wanted to tear something apart, or maybe someone. But Logan knew better than to push this conversation again. You’d had it more times than either of you cared to count.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he said, quieter this time, but no less serious. “If things get—”

“I know.” You cut him off gently, giving a small nod. “I know where to find you.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. The porch steps creaked under your weight as you climbed them slowly, heart heavy in your chest. You reached for the door, but before your fingers touched the worn wood, you felt his hand wrap gently around your wrist.

You turned, meeting his gaze.

“You ain’t alone in this,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist. It was the kind of touch that made your knees weak—steady, solid, full of unspoken promises.

“I know,” you whispered, holding his gaze a second longer than you should have. Then you pulled your hand free, feeling the cold settle in the space where his warmth had been.

The door clicked quietly behind you, sealing you inside.

---

It was well into the afternoon by the time George came home. You’d set the table with what little you had—a pot of boiled potatoes, bread that was more crust than loaf, and a pan of cold pork you’d managed to stretch out since Friday.

George slammed the door behind him, the stench of sweat and beer clinging to his clothes. He tossed his flat cap onto the chair and grunted as he sat down heavily at the table.

“Where’s the roast?” he asked, eyeing the measly spread with disapproval.

“There wasn’t any.” You kept your voice even, steady, though your hands trembled slightly as you placed the food in front of him.

George gave you a hard look, his lip curling in disgust. “Useless,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the sharp retort that burned on your tongue. Fighting him would only make it worse.

He ate in silence, the scrape of his knife against the plate the only sound in the small kitchen. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed his chair back with a loud scrape.

“Goin’ to bed,” he grumbled, already halfway out of the room before you could respond.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you stayed still, standing in the middle of the kitchen long after the sound of his boots thudding down the hallway faded.

It was always like this. A dull, suffocating ache—day after day, night after night. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you had the strength to keep pretending.

---

It was well past midnight when you slipped out the back door. The cold bit at your skin, and you pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you made your way down the dirt path leading into the woods. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the clearing where Logan was waiting, his broad frame leaning against a tree trunk.

He looked up as you approached, his keen eyes catching the moonlight.

“Figured you’d come.” There was no smugness in his tone—just quiet understanding, like he’d known all along that you wouldn’t be able to stay away.

You stopped a few feet from him, your breath clouding in the crisp night air. “I couldn’t do it,” you admitted, your voice small.

Logan pushed off the tree and closed the distance between you in two strides. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, firm and grounding. “You ain’t gotta explain.”

You looked up at him, heart aching with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his chest.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath, the quiet strength in the way he held you—like he’d fight the whole world just to keep you safe.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Logan’s grip tightened. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night stretched on around you, silent and still, as Logan’s hands roamed up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes.

“You stayin’ tonight?” he asked quietly, his breath warm against your hair.

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Just tonight.”

Logan didn’t argue. He never did.

He took your hand, lacing his rough fingers through yours, and led you deeper into the woods—away from the house, away from the life you were supposed to live.

And for one stolen night, you let yourself believe it was enough.

---

When you got home later that night, around 3 in the morning, everything looked normal. The lights in the house were all off, and it was quiet.

You hung your shawl on the hook by the door when you heard the clink of a bottle. Your heart sank. George was awake.

The small kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the dying embers of the fire. George sat slouched at the table, a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his hand. His eyes were dark, glazed over with drunken fury. You could tell by the set of his jaw, by the way his knuckles gripped the bottle too tight, that this wasn’t going to end well.

“Where’ve you been?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, his steps heavy as he moved toward you.

“I went to clear my head,” you said softly, keeping your voice calm, steady, though your heart pounded in your chest. “The air helps me sleep.”

George narrowed his eyes. “That so? 'Cause Johnny’s wife told me somethin' different. Said she didn’t see you at the church retreat.”

You froze. You had been at the retreat—briefly—but it was a cover for your meeting with Logan, and Johnny’s wife must’ve been one of the few people you didn’t see. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words stuck in your throat.

“I was there,” you managed, though you knew it wouldn’t matter.

George took another step toward you, his voice rising. “Don’t lie to me!” His breath stank of alcohol as he spat the words at you, the anger radiating off him like heat. “What were you really doin’, Y/N? Who were you with?”

Your stomach twisted in fear as his hand shot out, grabbing your arm hard enough to make you wince. “George, please—” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know you weren’t there. Where the hell were you?” He shook you, his grip tightening painfully around your arm.

You winced, biting back a cry. “I told you, I was there.”

But George wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you, and a dangerous look settled across his face. “You been sneakin’ around on me, haven’t you?” His voice was low, deadly now. He released your arm with a shove, sending you stumbling back a step. “You think I’m stupid?”

“George, I’m not sneaking around,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm even though your pulse was racing. “I just needed some air. I—”

His hand moved faster than you expected, backhanding you hard across the face. Pain exploded through your cheek, and you stumbled, clutching the side of your face as tears sprang to your eyes.

“You think I don’t know?” George hissed, his face twisted with fury. “You’ve been leavin’ me here, goin’ off, God knows where. You ain’t foolin’ me, Y/N.”

You took a shaky breath, tasting blood where your teeth had cut your lip. “George, please—”

But he was already moving, crossing the small kitchen in two heavy steps. You saw the glint of metal before he pulled the shotgun from the corner near the door. Panic seized you.

“George, no—” Your voice broke as you held up your hands, trying to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The small kitchen felt like a cage, the walls closing in around you.

George leveled the shotgun at you, his hands shaking slightly but his eyes wild with rage. “You think you can just leave? You think you can just run off whenever you please?”

You felt like you were drowning, your heart pounding so hard in your chest it hurt. “I wasn’t leaving,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t—George, please, put the gun down.”

“Shut up!” he snarled, taking a step toward you. “You’re lyin’! You’ve always been lyin’, and I’m done with it.”

You were shaking, trying to think of something, anything that would get through to him. “I’m your wife,” you said quietly, desperately. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I—”

But the words didn’t matter. Nothing you said would stop this. You could see it in his eyes—the cold, determined look of a man who had already made up his mind.

For a moment, everything felt frozen. The ticking of the old clock on the wall, the crackling of the dying fire—it all seemed too loud, too slow. George’s finger twitched on the trigger.

And then, in an instant, the world shattered.

The shotgun blast was deafening, the sound tearing through the small kitchen like thunder. You didn’t even feel the impact at first—just a sharp, searing pain that spread through your chest, knocking the air from your lungs.

You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you as you hit the floor hard, the cold tiles pressing against your cheek. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, blood pooling around you.

The room swam, your vision dimming as you tried to focus, but all you could see was the dark shape of George standing over you, the shotgun still smoking in his hands.

---

Logan heard the shot before he smelled the blood.

His body reacted instinctively, his enhanced senses kicking into overdrive. He’d been lying awake, his thoughts consumed by you, when the sound echoed through the still night. There was no mistaking it.

His heart lurched in his chest, and without thinking, Logan bolted to his feet, running toward your house, his mind racing with fear. He knew. He knew it was you.

The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air as he neared the house. Logan’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the door slightly ajar, the soft light spilling out into the dark.

He pushed the door open, his claws already unsheathed.

The sight that greeted him froze him in place.

You were lying on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out around you, your breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. And standing over you, his face twisted with something like confusion, was George.

Logan’s vision blurred with red.

He didn’t think—he just moved. In a blur, he was on George, his claws slashing through the air. There was a sickening crunch as the bone tore through flesh and bone, and then George was on the ground, lifeless.

Logan didn’t care. His only focus was you.

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your body, desperate to stop the bleeding, but there was too much. The wound was too deep. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough, desperate. “Stay with me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, but it was hard to focus. Everything felt distant, like you were floating just out of reach of the world. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Blood bubbled at your lips.

Logan’s face hovered above yours, his expression shattered. “Please, darlin’, hold on. Just hold on.”

You coughed, the pain in your chest unbearable, and for a brief moment, your eyes met his. The world was fading fast now, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Logan...” you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears you didn’t even realize had fallen. “I’m here,” he choked out. “I’m here.”

You smiled weakly, even as the darkness closed in around you. “I… I love you.”

Logan’s breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he could somehow hold you to this world. But you knew, just as he did, that this was the end.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Your chest ached, not just from the pain but from the weight of those words—the weight of knowing this was goodbye.

And then, everything went still.

You felt Logan’s hand in yours, the warmth of his touch lingering even as the world around you faded into darkness.

You weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

You were free.

Logan knelt there, holding you long after the last breath left your body, his heart breaking all over again.

in this chapter logan is 68 years old and reader is around 21-24 years old.

just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time

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callmedaleelah · 2 months ago

Text

modern!sukuna ryomen x shy!reader

sometimes hurtful comments are inevitable, trying to understand that it was a light joke doesn’t make the hurts gone

warnings : dom!sukuna, sub!reader, angst to comfort, no (y/n) mentioned, writing in second person pov, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

The hum of the car engine filled the air, a constant, soothing sound that contrasted the swirl of nervous energy churning in your stomach. You sat quietly in the passenger seat, hands folded neatly in your lap, fingers gently twisting the fabric of your dress. Sukuna, as always, looked completely unbothered. His focus was on the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel while the other draped over the console between you.

You stole a glance at him, feeling the usual mixture of awe and intimidation that his presence brought. Everything about him was sharp—his jawline, his eyes, his mind. He commanded respect without even trying, a force of nature that made people fall in line without question. It was no wonder that people at work feared him, or at least treaded carefully around him. Sukuna was known to be tough, short-tempered, and damn near impossible to please. Yet somehow, with you, he was different. You didn’t always understand why, but you knew he liked the way you were—quiet, obedient, a perfect contrast to his dominant personality.

Today, though, was different. Today, he was taking you to meet his work colleagues for the first time. Sukuna rarely mingled outside of work, and when he did, it was with a close-knit group of men who, like him, commanded attention. You were nervous. Not because you didn’t want to meet them, but because you wanted to make a good impression. You didn’t want to be the weak link, the one who couldn’t handle the intense atmosphere that undoubtedly followed Sukuna wherever he went.

“Don’t worry about them,” he had told you earlier, his tone dismissive, as though your concerns were trivial. “Their opinions don’t matter.”

You knew he meant it, and that should’ve been enough to ease your nerves, but it didn’t. You wanted to make him proud. You always wanted to make him proud.

As the car slowed at a stoplight, Sukuna finally broke the silence. His voice was deep, low, commanding your attention. “Listen,” he began, his eyes still on the road ahead. “There’s a few people you’ll meet today.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes fixed on him, waiting for more. You’d never met any of his colleagues before—he liked to keep his personal and work life separate. Today was an exception, and that only made you more anxious.

The car came to a stop outside the restaurant. Sukuna parked, cutting the engine, and silence fell over the space once more. You immediately reached for the rearview mirror, checking your reflection. The soft makeup you’d applied earlier was still intact, but you felt the need to freshen up, your nerves spiking as the reality of meeting his colleagues hit you again.

Your eyes drifted to the red lipstick in your bag—the one Sukuna loved. It was bold, a stark contrast to your usual soft and neutral colors, but whenever you wore it, he always told you how beautiful you looked. His favorite. You applied a fresh coat, feeling a small boost of confidence as the rich color bloomed on your lips.

“I’m ready,” you said softly, turning to him with a nervous smile, hoping for his approval.

Sukuna glanced at you, but instead of the usual compliment, his expression darkened. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as they fixed on your lips. The shift in his mood was instant, the tension palpable.

“You’re not going to get out of the car with that red lipstick,” he said, his voice low and stern.

Your smile faltered, confusion flooding your mind. His tone was sharp, like a blade cutting through the air between you. “B–but why? Don’t you like it?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of his intense gaze.

Sukuna leaned closer, his frown deepening. His thumb reached out, brushing lightly across your cheek in a gesture that should’ve been comforting, but his words held a firm edge. “I do. I really do. But that’s only for me to see. You can’t let them see you in that sexy color, with those sexy lips, woman.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Sukuna’s possessiveness wasn’t new, but it still had the power to catch you off guard. He wasn’t asking. He was telling you, and there was no room for argument. But you didn’t understand. You had worn it for him—for his approval, for his eyes. Didn’t that matter?

“But… I wore it for you,” you said softly, your fingers trembling slightly as you fidgeted with the hem of your dress. “You said I look beautiful with this color.”

Sukuna’s small smile faded entirely, his expression growing serious. He cupped your face in his large hand, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched. His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. “You heard me, babe,” Sukuna’s voice was a deep rumble, his words deliberate, “you can’t let them see you in it. And I don’t want to repeat it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you swallowed hard, nodding in quiet submission. This was what he liked most about you—your ability to listen, to follow, to do as he said without argument. It was one of the reasons he kept you so close, why you were the one person in his life he softened for. But now, in this moment, all you could feel was the sharp edge of his possessiveness.

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip for a brief second before he pulled back, releasing your face. His gaze lingered on you, his frown still etched into his sharp features. You bit your lip, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in your chest. You hated feeling like this—unsure of yourself, second-guessing every move. You’d wanted to look good for him, to make him proud, but instead, you felt small under the weight of his stern gaze.

Sukuna was already shifting to get out of the car, unbuckling his seatbelt with a practiced motion. Before he could step out, he threw one more comment over his shoulder, the tease in his voice barely masking the possessiveness underneath. “Unless, of course, you want to seduce my friends and see their boners, it’s up to you.”

Your face burned at his crude words, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. You quickly turned your head, pretending to rummage through your purse for the makeup wipe, desperate to wipe the lipstick away. Your fingers trembled as you found the small packet, your mind racing. You could feel the hurt settling in your chest, heavy and unshakable, as you quickly wiped the bold red from your lips. You didn’t want to argue with him. You didn’t want to push back. But his teasing words had stung, leaving an ache that you couldn’t quite shake.

The glossy shade of your natural lips returned as you swiped a clear gloss over them, trying to regain a bit of composure. The red had made you feel bold, confident. Without it, you felt exposed, vulnerable, like a shadow of yourself.

Sukuna had already stepped out of the car, moving with his usual confidence. He didn’t look back as he rounded the vehicle to your side, but you knew he expected you to follow without question. By the time he opened your door, you were doing your best to smooth the hurt expression from your face, forcing a small, polite smile.

You stepped out of the car, your eyes instinctively dropping to the ground as you adjusted your dress. Sukuna extended his arm toward you, and you immediately took it, your hand resting lightly on his bicep as he led you toward the restaurant entrance. His presence was a double-edged sword—comforting, yet overwhelming. You were always aware of the power he held, the way he dominated any room he entered. Now, as you clung to his arm, you wondered how much his colleagues would see you as an extension of that power or if they’d see you as something weaker, something softer.

As you neared the door, Sukuna’s hand briefly tightened on your arm, pulling you a bit closer. “You’re with me,” he said, his voice low, meant only for you. “Don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. Just remember that.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar warmth of his control wash over you, comforting yet confining at the same time. You’d grown used to it by now—the way he shielded you, the way he wanted you all to himself. His approval was all you wanted, and even now, despite the ache in your chest, you clung to the hope that you could still make him proud.

As you stepped into the restaurant, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The room was filled with the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses and cutlery, and a sense of sophistication that immediately made your nerves spike again. Sukuna, as usual, was unbothered. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on a table near the back, where a few familiar faces were already gathered.

“There,” he muttered, nodding toward the group. You recognized them immediately from his earlier descriptions. Toji sat with his arms crossed, his muscular frame practically commanding the entire corner of the restaurant. Suguru leaned back in his chair, a small, knowing smile on his face as if he was already reading the situation before you even approached. And then there was Satoru—impossible to miss, his striking features and confident grin setting him apart from the rest. Nanami, however, was more subdued, quietly sipping his drink, his sharp eyes barely lifting from the table as you and Sukuna approached.

The moment you stepped closer, you could feel their eyes on you—curious, assessing, waiting for your next move. Your grip on Sukuna’s arm tightened, and he gave you a slight glance, as if to remind you to stay close.

“Finally,” Toji said, his voice rough and unapologetic as he eyed Sukuna. “Thought you were ditching us.”

“Had to bring the girl,” Sukuna replied, his voice cool and detached, though there was a possessiveness in the way he spoke about you. He pulled out a chair for you before taking his own seat, his hand brushing lightly against your back as you sat down beside him. The simple touch grounded you, reminding you of your place at his side.

Suguru’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than the others, his smile widening slightly. “You must be special if Sukuna’s bringing you around us.”

You blushed under the attention, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table as you fought to keep your composure. Sukuna shot Suguru a sharp look, one that immediately silenced whatever teasing comment might’ve followed. His gaze shifted back to you, a silent reassurance in his eyes.

Satoru leaned forward, his grin playful, clearly enjoying the tension. “So, Sukuna’s finally letting us meet the girl, huh? I gotta say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you’d find someone who could handle you.”

“Shut it, Satoru,” Sukuna growled, his voice holding an edge of warning.

You lowered your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You weren’t used to being the center of attention, especially not in a group like this. It was overwhelming, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t quite belong. But as always, Sukuna’s presence grounded you, his dominance over the situation a reminder that you were under his protection.

The rest of the meal went by in a blur of conversation, laughter, and occasional teasing. You stayed quiet, content to observe and take in the dynamics around you. Sukuna’s hand remained close, whether on your back or brushing against your arm. It was his way of keeping you anchored, reminding you of your place at his side. And despite the tension and occasional embarrassment, there was a certain comfort in knowing that, as long as you were with him, you didn’t need to worry about what anyone else thought.

The car ride was quiet, far too quiet for Sukuna’s liking. Normally, after a social event like this, you'd be filling the space with small comments—complaining about how overwhelming it was, laughing about someone’s joke, or complaining about how tired you felt. But today, you sat curled up in the passenger seat, eyes glued to the window, your lips pressed in a tight line. There wasn’t a single word from you.

He glanced over at you a few times, wondering if it was just the usual post-social exhaustion. He knew that meeting new people drained your energy, and today’s lunch had been a lot, with all of his friends and their partners gathered. But something about your silence didn’t sit right with him. You weren’t just quiet—you were withdrawn, avoiding him in a way that made the back of his neck prickle with unease.

But he kept quiet, not wanting to push. Sukuna knew better than to force anything out of you, especially in this state. Instead, he waited. He was good at that—waiting until the moment was right, until you were ready.

The tension in the air between you two was palpable as you both walked into the house, neither of you saying much. You immediately went to the bedroom, slipping out of your shoes and beginning to take off your earrings. Sukuna watched you for a moment from the doorway, his brow furrowed in thought. Something was definitely off.

He headed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower, letting the water run over him as he tried to shake off the nagging worry that gnawed at him. Maybe he was overthinking. Maybe you were just tired. Maybe…

But when he came out, dressed in the pajamas you’d picked out for him—something soft and comfortable, a stark contrast to his usual sharp attire—he found you still sitting at the vanity, quietly putting away your jewelry. The air between you was still thick with unspoken tension.

Sukuna approached you, standing behind you and leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. He looked at your reflection in the mirror, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of your face. “You’ve been too quiet,” he murmured, his voice low as he gently wrapped his hands around your neck, massaging the tension out of your muscles in that way you always liked. He could feel the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you seemed to tense even more under his touch.

You sighed softly but didn’t look up at him. “I’m just tired,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your head slightly to place a small, soft kiss on his jaw.

It wasn’t convincing, and Sukuna could feel it. He could see it in the way your eyes darted away, in the way you avoided looking at him in the mirror for too long. Something was wrong, and it was gnawing at him, but he didn’t press. Not yet.

When you moved to the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, Sukuna followed you, sitting beside you, his eyes still lingering on your face, searching for something—an explanation, a sign, anything. His mind raced, thinking over the events of the day, trying to figure out what could have caused this shift.

“Was it because I didn’t let you wear the red lipstick?” he asked suddenly, his tone cautious. His eyes softened as he waited for your response, wondering if he had unintentionally hurt your feelings. He knew how much you liked wearing that shade, and he had been the one to tell you to tone it down today. But that couldn’t be it… could it?

You barely glanced at him, shaking your head. “No. I’m just tired.”

You turned your attention back to your phone, and Sukuna felt a flicker of frustration in his chest, though he quickly pushed it down. You were always quiet around new people, but this… this was different.

“Can you come cuddle me, please?” you asked suddenly, your voice softer now, almost fragile.

Sukuna let out a soft sigh, shaking off his thoughts. Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe you just needed some time. He slipped into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, spooning you from behind. He could feel the tension in your body, but he didn’t say anything, just rested his chin on your shoulder and held you close.

As you lay there, curled up in his arms, Sukuna couldn’t help but think about the lunch, about how you’d avoided his gaze, how you’d been distant the whole time. He knew you better than anyone, knew when something was bothering you. And though he tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that you were just tired, the feeling in his chest told him otherwise.

But for now, he held you close, his hand gently rubbing your arm, trying to soothe the unease he felt creeping up inside him. He knew you’d talk when you were ready.

The morning after that quiet night, Sukuna woke up to find your side of the bed cold and empty. He groaned, instinctively reaching for his phone and finding a text from you:

Morning, love. Pilates class today! Didn’t want to wake you—see you later! xx

Sukuna buried his face into the pillow with a huff, feeling a strange bitterness creep in. Normally, you’d rouse him with soft kisses, lingering hugs, and sleepy whispers before heading out. Today, though, you’d slipped away quietly. The day already felt off.

Later that evening, Sukuna returned home, still feeling the nagging sting of the morning. The house was peaceful, and as he stepped into the living room, there you were—curled up on the couch, reading the new book he'd bought for you last week. You had your reading glasses on, a sight that never failed to make you look irresistibly cute. Sukuna couldn’t resist; he leaned down, kissing your cheek and giving you a soft peck on the lips.

“Hey,” you greeted him warmly, looking up from your book. “Hard day?”

Sukuna only groaned in response, plopping down next to you on the couch, his expression still a bit grim.

“You left me alone in bed this morning,” he mumbled, his voice laced with playful complaint but also something deeper.

“Sorry,” you said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “I had pilates class.” Leaning over, you kissed the corner of his lips, hoping to soothe his mood. “I’ll go get dinner ready. You can shower in the meantime.”

Sukuna’s eyes lingered on you as you moved toward the kitchen. His frustration from earlier lingered, but he pushed it down and went to shower, letting the warm water relax his tense muscles. When he came back, refreshed but still unsettled, he found you arranging his dinner on the table. The aroma filled the room, and he approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss to your neck. You giggled, your usual light-hearted response, telling him to sit and enjoy his meal.

But as Sukuna sat down, his eyes scanned the table, and his brows furrowed. There was only one plate. He looked up just as you placed a glass of water in front of him, and then you sat across the table with a soft smile, hands resting on your lap.

“Where’s your plate?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

“Oh, I already ate before you got back,” you answered with a smile, trying to appear nonchalant.

Sukuna’s gaze darkened slightly, his jaw tensing. “Why?”

“I was… hungry?” you replied, your voice unsure.

Sukuna took a slow sip of water, trying to calm the growing frustration in his chest. “Yeah, no. You never miss a chance to have dinner with me,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You fidgeted in your seat, the weight of his stare making you feel small. “But I was hungry, Kuna…”

He exhaled sharply, setting his glass down. His voice was quieter now but firmer, edged with concern. “You fell asleep on this table once, waiting for me after overtime. Your stomach hurt because I took so long, but you didn’t eat until I got home.” His words hung heavy in the air. “Now you’re telling me you couldn’t wait?”

Your smile faltered. The light mood you had tried to create dissipated, and you saw the shift in his expression. He knew something was wrong, even if you didn’t want to admit it. You had never been one to open up easily, but Sukuna also knew when to push, especially when you were hurting.

“I was just hungry,” you repeated, but your voice was weaker this time, barely above a whisper, your eyes lowered like a kicked puppy.

Sukuna reached across the table, his large hand gently squeezing yours. His touch was soft but commanding. “Tell me what’s really bothering you.”

You hesitated, unable to meet his gaze. The words you had been holding onto since yesterday weighed heavily on your tongue, but you didn’t know how to explain it. You knew he had been joking, but his offhand remark had hit you harder than you wanted to admit.

Finally, after a long pause, you spoke, your voice small and shaky. “I didn’t like what you said yesterday. About the red lipstick…”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, listening intently as you continued, the words spilling out faster now.

“When you said I could wear it if I wanted to seduce your colleagues... it made me feel like a slut.” Your voice cracked slightly. “I just wanted to wear it for you—because you said it makes me prettier.”

Sukuna's face softened immediately, his hand squeezing yours a little tighter, pulling you closer. “Okay, babe,” he murmured, his voice deep and calm, cutting through your hurried explanation. “Breathe. You’re talking too fast.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your confession still heavy in the air. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“No,” Sukuna said firmly, cutting you off. He stood up, tugging your hand gently, and you followed his lead until you were seated on his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He tilted your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes. His gaze was serious but full of warmth and understanding.

“If you ever hear me say something like that again, you can slap me right there and then. Do you understand?” His voice was low, each word slow and deliberate, as if he needed you to truly take in every syllable.

You nodded, feeling shy under his intense stare, but a warmth spread through your chest at his words.

He brought your hand to his face, guiding your fingers to gently rub his cheek. “I never want you to feel like that again,” he whispered, leaning in, his lips brushing softly against yours before deepening the kiss. His hands held you securely, and for a moment, all the tension, the doubt, and the hurt from the past few days melted away.

In his embrace, you finally felt understood, his kiss telling you all the things words sometimes couldn’t.

#daleelah writings 🐭#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk au #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you

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iveleftitwithyou · 7 months ago

Text

casual | paul lahote x reader smut

NSFW | 18+ | minors DNI | word count: 2.38k

warnings: smut, dom!paul, slight angst, mention of fighting, i think that's it?

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i asked you guys if i should post this now or incorporate it into ruderal, and the result was overwhelmingly to post it now, so here it is with some plot adjustments! i've been OBSESSED with this song by chappell roan and knew i needed to make it into an imagine, although this song is probably about a woman lol. highly recommend listening to the song as you read this. this is my first time EVER writing smut so i hope its not too bad - as always, let me know what you think :)

ALSO this is in an alternate timeline where the guys are all like 21+ and so is y/n :)

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Paul’s hand lingered on your thigh as he drove the winding road back to Forks, his thumb rubbing small circles on your outer leg. the radio hummed with a song you couldn’t manage to pay attention to, instead focusing your gaze on the motion of his finger on your bare thigh. while you assumed the gesture was meant to comfort you, it did a lot more than that. you hoped that the darkness would obscure Paul’s peripheral vision enough for him to not realize you were ogling his muscular arms and unusually large hands. his veins protruded in a way that drove you crazy for some reason, and as much as you were still upset with him, you couldn’t help the rush of hormones that flooded at the sight.

Embry had made some stupid joke about you at the bonfire at Emily's that night, a common occurrence when you hung out with the pack. he didn’t mean anything by it, you joked around with each other like that all the time, but Paul had been extra sensitive for the last few weeks as he spent more hours on patrol. Victoria’s looming presence and the mystery murders happening around Washington meant the reservation needed increased protection, and the men in the pack had to step up. Embry’s comment led to a fight where the pair both phased, snarling and snapping until they both came to their senses and things went back to normal. you hated when Paul shifted because of you, even if it was just indirectly your fault like it was tonight.

you two were meant to be casual, despite Paul having imprinted on you, as you had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and weren’t ready to commit to someone again. you’d been seeing each other casually for months, hanging out, and getting to know each other better. as much as you were hesitant to let him into your life completely, you couldn’t deny your attraction to Paul. he’d been nothing but a gentleman thus far, bringing you flowers on dates, opening doors for you, and following your boundaries to a T, terrified to mess anything up with you. of course, his physical form was unlike anything you’d ever seen - you were lucky that he preferred to hang out without a shirt on. things had gotten hot and heavy between you two a few times but hadn’t gone farther than some very intense making out. though, the way Paul’s hand touched you now was enough for you to throw those boundaries out the window; you wanted him - no, needed him.

you focused your eyes back on the road in front of you, only being able to see as far as the truck’s dim headlights illuminated. breathe in, breathe out, you reminded yourself, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach. you were unsuccessful, and it didn’t help that Paul’s hand was inching closer and closer to your hips.

suddenly, his hand snaked further inward and his grip tightened, engulfing your inner thigh. your breath hitched, and you unsuccessfully tried to mask it as a cough. you saw Paul smirk out of the corner of your eye, but he didn’t look over at you.

you once again reminded yourself to breathe as the ache between your legs became more apparent. his hand loosened its grip and continued its journey towards your core. half of you thought about stopping him purely as punishment for fighting with Embry, but the much louder other half wouldn’t dream of it right now.

you couldn’t help but let out a small groan as his hand finally reached your jean shorts, his fingers tracing the seam that ran between your legs. the slight pressure he applied drove you absolutely crazy as you wished for more friction.

the sound that escaped your lips seemed to do something to Paul as he let out a breathy groan of his own. “alright, that’s it,” he mumbled, turning the wheel toward the side of the road. he must have known exactly where you were because he easily pulled the truck behind a set of bushes that obscured most of it from the road. any passerbys, which were few and far between at this time of night anyway, wouldn’t notice the vehicle.

almost as soon as he slammed the gear shift into park, his lips were on yours. he kissed you with a passion you’d never felt before. you melted into his lips, reminding yourself for the third time that night that if you didn’t start breathing, you would pass out. he gripped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as you continued to make out. his other hand traveled down your arm, to your hip, and unbuckled the seatbelt you’d been wearing. in one swift, but slightly awkward motion, he disconnected your lips for a brief moment and grabbed each side of your hips, pulling you across the center console onto his lap. you were careful not to lean too far and hit the horn with your back as you settled onto him, silently thanking Paul for owning such a spacious truck. your knees settled on either side of his legs.

as you sat down on his lap, you brushed his hardening length with the same seam of your shorts his hand was just on, eliciting a quiet moan from both of you. impatient, Paul once again gripped your scalp and slammed your lips together. you allowed your hands to slip underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the outline of the muscles on his bare abdomen. this feeling, combined with the warmth radiating from his bare skin, drove you insane.

“take- it- off-” you mumbled in between kisses, tugging the hem upwards. you were unsure of where the forwardness came from, but you didn’t stop long enough to be embarrassed.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he snarked half-jokingly but obliged.

the moonlight streaming in from the windshield was just enough for you to be able to see the outline of his pecs and abs, and you really couldn’t help but stare.

“like what you see?” he chuckled, noticing your eyes widening at his physique.

you nodded, unable to form words, instead opting to smash your lips back together with all of the strength you could muster. you’d had enough of looking flustered - you wanted to take initiative.

you raised your hips again, pushing your abdomen against Paul's and lowering yourself onto his member. you rocked your hips back and forth as he moved his lips down your cheek, then your jaw, and eventually to your neck. the friction as you continued to grind against him elicited a low growl against your neck as his lips attached to your skin. you moaned embarrassingly loudly as he sucked at the delicate skin, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sheepish. in fact, the only emotion surging through your body right now was pure desire for the god-like man leaving a series of hickeys on your neck.

“Paul, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you whined. you knew you’d regret letting him do it in the morning but right now you wanted nothing more than for him to mark you as his. you wanted to be his.

“don’t want anyone else getting any ideas. you’re all mine,” he retorted, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. his were almost completely black with lust. “say it.” he commanded, holding your jaw tightly in his hand. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m all yours, Paul” you panted, your hips continuing to move back and forth on Paul’s lap as you stared into his dark eyes. despite your relationship still being undefined, truer words had never been spoken.

“good girl. now shut the fuck up and get back in the passenger seat.” his harsh words did nothing to discourage you from obeying as you scrambled to sit back where you were a few minutes prior. this was a side of Paul you had only seen when he was angry: dark, commanding, dominating. usually, you would have to try to calm him down when he got like this, but right now, you were very much enjoying him telling you what to do. you already missed the warmth of his body on yours as you climbed back over to the other seat, but you instinctually knew better than to voice your complaints right now.

Paul leaned across the console, reaching his hand between your knees and under the seat to move it back as far as it would go. once he was satisfied with that, he reached across your lap and pulled the reclining handle, his other hand helping to lower the seat back slowly so you weren’t sent flying backward.

“scooch back” he ordered again, and you moved your hips backward on the seat, supporting yourself with your elbows on the very edge of the seat near the headrest.

you were confused as he opened the driver-side door and hopped out of the truck. you watched as he opened the passenger-side door, it becoming clear now what his plan was. you pulled your knees towards your chest as he climbed back in, kneeling on the floor mat in front of you. god damn, this truck was spacious, and you were incredibly grateful for that right now.

his large hands fumbled to unbutton your shorts. he pulled the zipper down and you lifted your hips, followed by your legs, so he could slide them off. not wanting to wait another second, he pulled your underwear to the side and connected his thumb to your clit. you let out a loud gasp at the sensation and he chuckled proudly, knowing how good he was making you feel. Paul rubbed small, tight circles on the sensitive nub for a few seconds before you felt a finger dip into your wet folds. a guttural moan escaped your throat as you finally got the sensation you had been waiting for since his hand had rested on your thigh earlier in the night.

he added a second finger shortly after and continued to pump in and out of your heat, his thumb continuing its circular motions on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building inside of your core, and it was almost euphoric knowing it was Paul making you feel like this.

“Paul, i’m gonna-” you moaned, getting close to the edge. “what the fuck?” he’d removed his fingers altogether upon hearing this and you were not happy about it.

“patience, princess.” he chuckled, making eye contact with you once again as he raised his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. you were still pissed at him for teasing you like that, but the sound he made as he licked your wetness off himself almost made it worth it. almost.

“let’s take these off, shall we? or should i rip them off?” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear.

“don’t you dare,” the one rational brain cell you had left replied, lifting your hips for him to slide them off like he did the shorts. you liked this pair. Paul held your hips back down as he spread your legs open, leaning his torso over the seat until you could feel his breath between your legs, amplified by the wetness that had come with the teasing.

“god, you look so fucking good” he took a second to admire the sight before him before he groaned lustfully and connected his tongue to your cunt. he made quick work of finding all the right spots to hit, causing your legs to tremble and your eyes to roll back in your head. at this rate, you wouldn’t last long, but you never wanted this moment to end.

“oh, fuck,” you moaned as he continued to circle the sensitive nub with his tongue. you had never felt this connected to someone before, not any of your exes. no one had ever made you feel as good as Paul was in this moment. as he continued the motions of his tongue, you realized Paul was perfect for you in every way, including this one. it was like pre-nut clarity.

you felt the pressure building up again, somehow even stronger than last time, unable to contain your moans. “fuck, Paul, i’m gonna cum” you groaned, arching your back against the seat as Paul continued to hold your hips down harshly against it. you figured there would be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought of him marking you up even more only exacerbated your growing orgasm.

“cum for me, princess” Paul mumbled against your clit, giving you permission to let go. it only took a couple more swipes for you to come completely unglued against his mouth.

Paul gradually slowed down his motions, guiding you through your orgasm as your hips attempted to buck against his face, craving the stimulation. eventually, your brain started to function again, and the first thing you thought was that that was definitely the best orgasm you’d ever had. you couldn’t tell Paul that, though - it would boost his ego way too much, and he already had a huge one to begin with. the second thought that went through your head was that you were ready for Paul to be your boyfriend. no man could eat you out that good and get away from you.

he admired his work as you panted in front of him, a smirk of pride on his face. he loved knowing he was the one who made you feel so good. he raised himself up on his knees to hover over you, one arm resting on the seat to support himself as the other snaked behind your back to pull you to his chest. you wrapped your arms around his back, settling your face in the crook of his neck. your breaths were soon in time with each other, basking in the body heat radiating from the both of you.

you could have stayed like that forever, but after a few minutes, Paul pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. he seemed deep in thought before he smiled and opened his mouth to ask you a simple question: “is it casual now?”

------

part 2 here :)

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runariya · 3 months ago

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The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 1

summary: After being sold to a dangerous wolf hybrid at a secret auction, you find yourself bound to him in a game of control and obsession. pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DDDNE, angst, violence, trauma, hybrid trafficking, JK is an Alpha, nud!ty, hormone suppressants, b!ting, blood, sniffing, the obsession is slightly showing, murd€r, gun, branding, fainting, lmk if I forgot smth - THX word count: ~ 1.8K

a/n: why would I give you a sneak peek when I could just gift you the first chapter? hihi 🤭 the chapters to this story will be as short as this one...soooo....and PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CHANGE YOUR SETTINGS, I CAN'T TAG SOME OF YOU 😭

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You haven’t slept in days, haven’t felt right in yourself for even longer, but somehow the adrenaline still floods through you, keeping you wide awake, on edge, your senses sharper than they’ve ever been, catching every little movement around you like your life depends on it, which is truly does.

It’s hard to believe that just two months ago, you were innocently walking down the street, not paying any attention to the blacked-out car with its door wide open or the figure standing across the pavement pretending to be on the phone. You had no idea then that you’d soon wake up miles away in another country, surrounded by other cat hybrids, far from the only home you've ever known.

You’re not stupid—you know exactly why they took you, what they’ve got planned, what they want from you. Even so, you stubbornly refuse to accept the grim future they’ve laid out for you.

The factory hall you’re crammed into now, in some grubby back room with the other hybrids, is every bit as filthy as your once-pristine black fur. What was once sleek and soft is now matted with dirt, so vile it makes you want to gag.

You’ve overheard the men who dragged you here talking about some hidden annual auction, where dangerous men from all over the world come to bid on the likes of you. Ever since, the other hybrids have been breaking down, sobbing and begging, their wails so relentless you feel like your brain is going to explode. Yet you stay quiet, ears pricked, your senses locked on every faint sound coming from behind the door.

Soon enough, they come for you all, shoving you roughly through the corridor you were brought down earlier, though this time they steer you down a different path, lining you up on a shabby makeshift stage. The construction site-style floodlights beam down so harshly that you can’t keep your eyes open for long, the brightness overwhelming and painful.

Through your squinting eyes, you catch glimpses of the men gathered in front of the stage—some muttering quietly to each other, others smoking as they lazily size up each woman. You search for even a hint of kindness in their faces, but of course, there’s none to be found—only cold stares from the most powerful predator hybrids. You feel completely exposed, even with clothes on, so vulnerable that it’s a wonder you don’t simply keel over from the intensity of being watched.

The auction starts soon enough, but it drags on endlessly, until finally, you’re the last one to be put up for bidding. It’s a shock when your price rockets past the others by millions. What doesn’t surprise you in the least is when a dangerous wolf hybrid steps forward to claim you. You knew, from the moment they snatched you off that street, that your life was always headed straight to hell.

When you arrive at your supposed new ‘home’, the wolf hybrid, who had you driven in a separate car from his, two golden retriever hybrids—one male and one female—greet you silently, as the wolf hybrid barks out “Get her ready, run all the tests.”

They bow nervously to him with obvious fear, muttering, “Yes, Alpha,” before leading you stumbling over your own feet away.

They scrub you clean, working the conditioner into your fur, detangling the knots that have formed over time. It ought to feel soothing, and on some level it does, but the very fact you’re being ‘prepared’ for something you can’t even begin to imagine keeps you from feeling any real sense of comfort. They run a barrage of tests—urine, blood, checking for illnesses like STDs—and though there’s some relief in knowing you’re healthy despite your malnutrition, the fear never leaves you. Your tail, now soft and groomed, curls tightly between your legs, trying its best to shield your bare chest from their prying eyes.

Once they’ve finished prodding and poking you, they dress you in clothes that fit a little too well, and when your fur is finally dry, they lead you up several floors until you reach the penthouse.

The space is shrouded in darkness, save for the twinkling lights of Busan’s cityscape outside. Every surface, from walls to ceiling, is dark and gleaming, with deep brown furniture blending into its shadows, the only touches of light come from minimal brass-coloured décor scattered sparingly around the room. The golden retrievers push you silently to the centre, where the wolf hybrid lounges lazily on a leather sofa smoking a cigar, his eyes fixed on you, never wavering. The retrievers do nothing more than bow silently and exit, leaving you alone under his cold gaze.

His stare penetrates you, inspecting every inch of your trembling body from your twitching cat ears down to your feet, while the heat from the nearby fireplace stings your fragile skin. You try to lower your gaze to the floor, hoping to escape the intensity of his, but his dark eyes pull yours back like they have their own magnetic force.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

You want to answer, you really do, but it’s as if your voice has been lost since the day you were taken, and your only response is the bristling of your tail in an instinctive attempt to protect yourself.

When it becomes clear you won’t speak, he’s not having any of it, and his voice booms, “I said, what’s your name!”

You flinch at the loud slap of his tone, a frightened hiss escaping your lips before you can stop it. His expression darkens, one eyebrow raised in irritation as his finger taps impatiently against the backrest.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, you manage to whisper your name.

“Speak up,” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking feline.”

You gulp, clearing your throat as best and silently you can, and try again with a parched throat, this time just loud enough for him to catch. He nods, seemingly satisfied for now.

“Strip,” he orders after a long pause, his cold eyes locked onto yours, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The last thing you want to do is obey, but you can see the anger rising rapidly in him again, and you know better than to push your luck. Trembling, you begin to undress, feeling utterly exposed even before your clothes hit the floor. He watches you with the cold detachment of someone examining an object rather than a person, and though you’re fully naked, your tail desperately tries to cover your most private parts.

The wolf hybrid sighs heavily as he stands, exuding a casual dominance that reminds you exactly who he is. He moves around you slowly, inspecting every inch of you while you stare blankly ahead, your ears twitching nervously to follow his movements.

He stops behind you, towering over your smaller frame, and you feel his cold hands glide up your arms, squeezing your shoulders lightly before his nose brushes against your neck up to the back of your ear. He inhales deeply, and you feel your legs grow weak with a dizzying wave of fear.

“You smell divine,” he mutters to himself, though the words ring loudly in your sensitive ears. “But something’s off.”

His hands trail back down your arms, his nose following the curve of your spine, your fur standing on end as goosebumps spread across your skin. He stops at your lower back, just before your tail begins, sniffing intently before, without warning, sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. You yelp in shock and pain as he spits something metallic onto the floor beside you.

“Fucking bastards,” he growls, and you know he’s right. The implant he’s just bitten out was the one messing with your hormones, suppressing your natural cycle and heats, placed methodically where you can’t reach. Though the bite stings violently and blood trickles down your legs, you feel immediate relief now that the implant is finally out.

He runs his hand back up your spine, stopping when he reaches your neck, his fingers grazing over the small burn mark where your slave number is branded into your skin. The sensation makes you shudder violently, triggering nerves that are too raw to keep you standing still, but he seems entirely unbothered by your reaction.

“Alpha…” a voice interrupts. The door opens and a crocodile hybrid strides in without so much as a knock, freezing when his eyes land on you. Instinctively, you try to back away, only to bump into the wolf hybrid behind you, making you tense even further.

The crocodile hybrid doesn’t move, his gaze fixated on you with a predatory gleam in his eye. You hear a low growl rumbling from the wolf hybrid behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked close to your sensitive ear, and then a deafening shot. You flinch and scream violently, hands flying to your ears in a desperate attempt to cover them, but the damage is already done—your ears ring painfully as you crouch down, overwhelmed by the unbearable noise, tears collecting in your lash line.

It takes a moment for your senses to return, and when they do, you realise the wolf hybrid is crouched beside you, his legs brushing yours, his hands gently rubbing your upper arms soothingly as he murmurs, “I’m sorry, kitten,” kissing against the top of your head. All while the crocodile’s body lies crumpled on the floor in a growing pool of blood nearby.

You tremble uncontrollably, paralysed by fear, your mind struggling and utterly unable to process what happened around you. But the wolf hybrid doesn’t seem to care, helping you back up to your feet, brushing your soft hair over your shoulder to reveal the burn mark once again.

You barely dare to breathe as he steps away, but when you see him take an iron rod from near the fireplace and hold it in the flames, heating it until it glows angry red-hot, memories of the previous branding flashes through your mind like an alarm. You panic, your breath coming in desperate, frantic gasps. “No, no, no…” you chant quietly, but your body is frozen in place, still paralysed by the overwhelming terror.

The wolf hybrid, unfazed to the core, pulls the rod from the fire and walks towards you. Just before the hot metal touches your skin, branding you over the old mark, you hear his voice growl behind you, cold and final, “You’re mine now.”

You scream until your ears begin to bleed, your voice tearing through your throat as you collapse onto the cold, hard floor, the world around you fading into a welcoming, merciful blackness.

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for this fic 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024 taglist: @jksusawife, @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @justjkkkkk, @staytinyville, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @ericawantstoescape, @mjuser, @sp1derk0ok, @fluttershyvanilla

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

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No Love Lost Series Masterlist

Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Series Summary

Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.

After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.

One month later, the Boys found you.

You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.

And this is what it takes.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;

1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.

2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.

Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!

Navigation Key

❤️‍🔥 = Smut

🚩 = Additional Warnings

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩 Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩 Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️‍🔥🚩 Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩 Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩 Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You (11/26) Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh (12/3)

Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)

Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14. It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14. As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️‍🔥 I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22. The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️‍🔥 Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️‍🔥 Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️‍🔥 I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.

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doitforbangchan · 9 months ago

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All Bark and No Bite 11

Masterlist /Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

Previous - Next

Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, reader is a CRYBABY, fluff, angst, virgin!reader, cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!)

Chapter warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (p in v), kissing, suggestive, crying, cursing, fingering, biting, hair pulling, dubcon?, subspace, HardDom!Chan, SoftDom!Felix, fluff, angst, anxiety, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and probably more but idk let me know This one ain't as sweet as the last few

WC:6.8k

In a strange turn of events, it seems Chan woke up before you did this time. Not that you were complaining; especially when you awoke to him running his warm fingers over your mating mark absentmindedly, feeling the indented skin. Every little touch felt like electricity coursing through you, as if the zaps were bringing you back to life. Overall it was a very pleasant way to wake up.

His hand that wasn’t touching your neck had his phone and he was listening to music with one ear bud in his ear on a low volume. You let out a low ‘hm’ letting him know you were awake now.

“Good morning, my omega.” Chans voice was raspy from sleep. He must have only just woken up not long ago himself. He didn’t say anything else, just held you tighter.

Moments like this were Chan's favorite. Being able to wake up to you; his mate, his omega, the love of his life - there was nothing better. He hadn’t realized how lonely he had been before having you here. He never felt as complete as he did right in this moment.

“Can I listen with you?” You mumbled sleepily. You wanted to hear what your alpha listened to. Wordlessly he took his other earbud and slipped it into your own ear. ‘Give me love’ By Ed sheeran was playing through the bud, the sweet melodies flooding your senses.

‘Give a little time to me or burn this out

We'll play hide and seek to turn this around

All I want is the taste that your lips allow

My, my, my, my, oh give me love’

It had been so long since you had heard this song, you used to sing this all the time in your room when you were younger and waiting to fall hopelessly in love. It felt fitting that now you were here laying in bed with your soulmate, who you had fallen hopelessly in love with.

Chan began to sing along softly to the music playing, serenading you quietly.

‘Maybe I should let you go

You know I'll fight my corner

And that tonight I'll call ya

After my blood is drowning in alcohol

No I just wanna hold ya’

The alpha squeezed you a little tighter after he sang those words, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Your heart fluttered at the action. The two of you laid there together for probably an hour, just enjoying each other's company while he sang each song that played.

Eventually though, you both had to get up as there was work to be done. For Chan anyways. You had to make breakfast and get ready to leave with Jisung and Felix. Chan had a lot to do today himself. He had been neglecting his actual job in his family business and if he was going to take another day off tomorrow to go camping then he definitely needed to make all his calls and emails today.

“Are you excited to do more shopping with the betas today?” the alpha asked as you were both getting out of bed.

“Yes. I am.” You seemed apprehensive.

“Buuuuut?” He pressed, knowing something was troubling you.

“I just.. Feel bad.. About spending more of your money. I didn’t do anything to deserve you guys spending all this money on me.” You were avoiding eye contact with him as you went to brush your teeth.

Chan stopped you before you could enter his bathroom, arm out to block you. “Baby.” you kept your head down not wanting to look at him, now that you had embarrassed yourself again. When you didn’t acknowledge him he let out a frustrated growl, “Omega, look at me now.” you had no choice but to look at him, he used a command on you.

You were lucky that was all he did, he had wanted to grip your hair and make you look at him forcefully. Chan had a problem when people didn’t listen to him, especially his omega. Some would say he thrives off of non-sexual dominance. They would be correct. The alpha was used to getting his way practically his whole life. He would forgive you now, you were still learning.

Instead of yanking your hair he settled for petting it softly. “I’m sorry my love, I didn’t intend to be mean to you.” At his gentle words and even gentler touch you forgot about the command being used on you, leaning into his hand. “You need to understand that my money is your money. In fact this whole packs money is yours to spend as you please. The other boys would agree with me. Ok?” He waited for your words of agreement and when they didn’t come he egged them on. “You wanna be good for us right? Good omegas listen to their alphas.”

You wanted to be good for him so badly, really it’s all you wanted. There was a glimpse of panic on your face at the prospect of upsetting your mate. “ I’ll be good! I promise!” You nodded rapidly.

He gave you his signature boyish grin, dimples on display, then leaned in and gave you a kiss, nipping your lip as he pulled back. “I know you will, Baby. You’re the best Omega I know.” You purred at his praise, finding it addicting. “We gotta get a move on, lots to do today if we’re going camping tomorrow.” He let you go into the bathroom to do your business and such.

You went to pick out an outfit for today, deciding to sport some jean shorts and a basic black tank top. After that you had a quick shower and did light makeup. Simple but you felt cute nonetheless.

When you both finally made your way down to the main floor you found Minho and Changbin sat at the kitchen island making a list of what you would need for camping tomorrow. More like Minho had roped Changbin into helping him because the beta was a planner and liked to have things ready.

“Finally! Hyung needs help deciding what to do for food tomorrow and Saturday morning. Any suggestions?” Changbin exclaimed as he saw Chan, giving the older alpha pleading eyes.

“Good morning to you too Changbin. Oh I slept great, thanks for asking.” Chan quipped sarcastically, and Changbin rolled his eyes with a groan of annoyance.

“Good morning, baby. How did you sleep?” The younger alpha asked you, trying to get on his Hyungs nerves. He cackled when it worked, Chan letting out a huff.

You giggled, “Morning, Binnie. I slept wonderfully. Thank you for asking.”

“Yeah yeah good morning whatever, can we get back to this now?” Minho was getting frustrated, “We literally only have right now to think about this.”

“Fine.” Changbin reached forward and grabbed you by the hips, laughing when you squealed, and setting you on his lap. “What do you think, baby? Any suggestions?”

You leaned back against Changbins chest, feeling the muscles behind you, head on his shoulder while you pondered. “Do you think we should do easy things? Like maybe bring a bunch of premade stuff like sandwiches and maybe breakfast burritos for the morning we can just wrap in foil and throw on the grill?”

“That sounds like a great idea, omega.” Chan replied, leaning on the counter opposite you.

“Yeah! To make it even easier we can place an order for them and pick them up from the diner in town before we leave tomorrow morning.” Changbin agreed, tickling your sides mercifully. He kissed the side of your head when you giggled at him, ignoring the throbbing in his pants caused by your squirming. “Smarty pants.”

Minho nodded in agreement, writing down how many of each he approximated you would all need. “Ok so twenty of each.”

“Twenty?! Why twenty of each, there are only nine of us!” You objected confused, looking at Minho as if he had grown a second head.

“Have you not seen how much these guys eat? Changbin himself could probably put away half of them if you’d let him.” He was looking back at you as if you were the crazy one.

“Hey!” Changbin protested but didn’t fight too hard, knowing Minho was right.

“Yeah Bin, you’ll probably end up eating both of yours and the rest of Felix’s like you always do.” Chan poked fun at the younger alpha.

“What are we talking about? I heard my name.” right on queue Felix walked into the room you were all in.

“We’re talking about the plans for tomorrow, trying to get things taken care of.” Minho sighed, standing from his seat. “Speaking of which, I need to make calls for these orders to be picked up in the morning and then get the other stuff together.” He seemed stressed as he walked away.

“Is he ok?” You asked, worried for the beta.

“Oh yeah he's fine, Min is a planner and likes to get things done in advance. He’s probably going to find Innie to make him help get all the camping stuff out of the garage.” Chan answered, taking an apple off the counter and taking a bite.

At the sight of his apple you remembered your task, “ Do you guys want breakfast?” You went to hop down from Changbins lap but he only held you tighter against him, refusing to let you go.

“Ji should be back any second with pasties and coffee. He wanted to surprise you baby. Annnnd now i’ve ruined it, fuck.” Felix cursed, looking remorseful at having spoiled the fun.

Chan clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, shaking his head. “Way to go, Felix.”

“Hey leave him alone, he's just a boy!” Changbin defended the beta playfully, you leaning into him and huffing in agreement.

“Did somebody say Jisung?!?” A loud voice came from the front door, almost an announcement of his presence. A moment later the boy in question came sauntering in, sunglasses still over his eyes and holding a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries.

“No.” Changbin laments, “Go away.”

“Fine I guess you don’t want the cherry tart I got especially for you, Binnie.” Jisung made a show of wafting the bag up to his nose, “Mmmmm all for me then. Here is yours, my baby. A sweet treat for an even sweeter girl.” He handed you a chocolate croissant and a coffee.

You felt your face heat up as you accepted the pastry. “Thank you Ji.” When Binnie was distracted making grabby hands at the bag that jisung had set down, you took the opportunity to slip off his lap.

“Anything for you.” He grabbed your hand and yanked you closer to him. “Anyways, let's get this show on the road!” with his coffee in one hand and you in the other he set off towards the door. Chan held out a credit card for Jisung who happily snatched it. “Make sure she gets something nice. Our girl seems to have a problem with spending my money.” He winked at you as you passed.

“Oh you know I have no problem spending daddy's money.” The beta cackled.

“Wait for me!” Felix called, scooping his own items and following you out.

“Bye baby!” Changbin yelled, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

“Have a good time, omega.”

“Bye Channie bye Binnie!” You called as you were going out the door.

To say Eun was happy to see you again was an understatement. The second you walked into her shop she had a tight grip on you, hugging the life outta you. The older woman was unable to hold back tears at the sight of the bite mark on your neck, wailing about how happy she was for you and Chan and that the alpha couldn’t be luckier to have landed such a fantastic omega. You had reassured her you were in fact the lucky one.

It took another half an hour of chatting with her before she finally brought you out some swimsuits to try on. You had picked out a few modest one pieces for yourself but her and the boys suggested (demanded) you try on their picks first, an array of bikinis. You had never worn a bikini before so trying them on and modeling them was making you nervous.

You had chosen a basic white one to start. You figured you would start plain and work up to getting more comfortable. You thought it was cute but knew it wouldn't be the one. Thus began you trying a few different ones until you found one you liked. It had been almost 20 minutes since you had gone into the dressing room and the beta boys were getting antsy waiting for you to come out.

“Everything alright in there, baby?” The deep honey tones of Felix's voice called out to you.

“Y-yeah.” you stuttered, debating whether or not to come out. “I’ve never- never worn a bikini before and I’m a little nervous.” you admitted.

“If you’re really not comfortable you can try something else, we won’t be mad or disappointed.” He reassured you.

You felt better at his words, taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain and revealing yourself.

Both Jisung and Felix felt their eyes widen and hearts stop at the sight of you. You had decided on a little purple bikini with stars on it. It was so you. The swimsuit fits you like a glove and goes perfectly with your skin tone.

They both had been too busy admiring you to say anything and in turn their silence made you self conscious. “I knew this was a bad idea.” You mumbled, covering yourself with your arms and going to shuffle back into the fitting room.

“NO!” they yelled in unison looking at you in panic now. Felix tried to compose himself but Jisung did not, falling to the floor at your feet.

“I’m sorry baby! You look so, so good we couldn’t help but stare!” He pleaded, his heart thumping wildly.

Felix nodded in agreement, now more embarrassed than anything at his fellow betas' antics.

“ Please don’t turn away from us. We didn’t mean to make you feel any negativity. We love the suit. It fits you so well!”

“Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” You asked skeptically, still covering yourself.

“Baby, my baby, omega, believe me when I say this, if you don’t get that swimsuit I will literally drop dead.” Jisung was so serious from his place on the floor, not one hint of deception on his face. “I simply cannot go on living any longer knowing I will never again get to see your beauty in this bikini - which was made for you by the way- and soon I'll die. In fact even hearing you say it was a bad idea almost killed me on the spot.”

“Oh don’t be so damn dramatic!” Eun called out walking up to the three of you. “But you do look fantastic in that one, Y/n. It would be a real crime if you didn’t get it.” She winked.

It seemed all three betas were rooting for this one so it seemed your fate was sealed.

“I-if you’re all sure…” You trailed off, letting your arms fall to your sides now.

“Never been more sure about anything, sweetheart.” Felix gave you his charming smile.

You hummed, “Fine. I’ll get this one.” There was a round of cheers then Eun went to ring you up, adding a few more pieces she thought would suit you.

Felixs’ big errand was buying blue hair dye. Apparently he used to have blue hair but it's been a while and he’s ready to feel like himself again. He was too precious. You wondered if Chan would be ok with you dying your hair, figuring it wouldn't hurt to ask. Jisung tried to convince you to get some purple dye anyway and not tell him but you were too chicken shit to do something like that.

“Do you wanna help me dye mine, baby? I would love your company.” Felix asked you, crinkling his eyes at you.

Pulling back up to the house you found Jeongin, Minho and Seungmin outside putting some large camping items in the back of a truck. By the looks of it they had already loaded a grill and a few tents. Minho sure didn’t waste time. “There you are, now you can help too.” He eyed the younger boys.

“Actually y/n and I have a few things to do.” Felix grabbed your hand as you got out of the car, his other hand holding your bags. “Sungie would love to help you tho, i'm sure.”

“What?! Traitor!” Jisung complained but was quick to change his tune when Min gave him the evil eye. “I mean, yay packing.”

“We all have to do our part. You included.” Jeongin snickered, handing the beta a bag to put in the car. “At least you didn’t have to make a store run like Hyun and Bin hyung.”

“This was your idea! You should be doing all the work!”

Felix pulled you along into the house, quickly to go undetected “come on before they rope us into helping.” he whispered.

Both of you went up the stairs into Felix's bathroom after you dropped your bags off in your room. Passing Chan's office you could faintly hear the alpha in there on the phone, probably talking with a client. The fact that he works so hard so his pack could have the life they live was astounding. Chan really was a great alpha.

Entering the bathroom Felix reached under the sink for plastic gloves for you to use, and set up the dye. You had helped your old best friend dye her hair a few times so the process was familiar to you. Thankfully his hair was already bleach blonde so you didn’t have to worry about trying to bleach it.

You loved spending time with Felix. Really you loved any one on one time with the boys but you and Felix hadn’t spent time like this since your first day. That felt like so long ago when in reality had only been over a week. They say time flies when you're spending it with your loved ones.

You were discussing what you wanted to plant in the greenhouse when you came back from camping. Cucumbers, pumpkins and peppers were at the top of your list, while Felix requested some carrots and spinach if you could find the room. In only a few hours you had finished dying his hair and had just helped him wash out the dye. He had chosen a beautiful blue for his hair. It seemed to compliment him perfectly. Now it seemed like he was representing who he truly was, with his hair being a clear sky and he himself was the sun.

“You’re all finished! It looks so good on you Lix!” You were enthused, pleased with the finished product.

“All thanks to you baby.” He pulled a blow dryer from under the sink and plugged it in. “Now I'm gonna dry it. Do you wanna help me style it?” Felix really just wanted to be around you more, he wanted to be selfish if only for a while.

“Sure Lixie.” you beamed, reaching for the dryer. You were sitting on the bathroom counter while Felix stood directly in front of you. You turned it on a low setting and grabbed a brush in your other hand, he leaned closer to you and came to stand between your legs.

You began to dry and style his hair, neither of you saying anything now but it not being uncomfortable. In fact it was pleasant. Being close with him reminded you of the kiss he shared with you last night. Not you nor he had brought up the kiss, and he also hadn’t kissed you since. ‘Maybe he regretted kissing me’ the thought weighed heavy on your mind.

Little did you know it was the exact opposite. The only thing on Felix's mind right now was kissing you. He was just worried you hadn’t liked it since you didn’t say anything about it, but you also weren’t acting any different. He was so close to you he could almost taste you, remembering the way your lips did even for that brief moment.

You finished with his hair and set down the tools on the countertop beside you. You were still facing him, afraid to break the silence or to move from your place in front of him. All you could do was focus on each other.

Slowly and timidly, Felix leaned closer to you. You could feel his breath on your face and his scent get even stronger, and Felix gingerly let his lips find yours. Your eyes closed on instinct as you pressed yours to his in return.

‘Finally’ your inner voice said.

When Felix felt you reciprocate his kiss he let out a small whimper, you wouldn’t have even heard it if you weren’t so close to him. His hands fell to your waist and he shuffled even closer to you when you parted your legs further to allow him to make the connection between you. Your own hands were on his shoulders.

The beta didn’t go any further and settled for what you were giving him. He wanted to go at your pace, afraid he would do something to scare you off. While you did enjoy his kiss it suddenly was not enough for you so you took the initiative to gently run your tongue along his lip. When he felt your tongue he whimpered again this time a little louder. His sounds were doing something to you and without thinking you rolled your hips against his.

When your pelvis made contact with his it’s like the damn broke for him and he let the niceties fall. Felix started to ravage your mouth now with his own tongue, his hands gripping you tighter and his own hips doing a roll. Your breath caught in your throat as a quiet moan escaped your lungs.

He held you like that for a while, you both basically dry humping on the counter and tasting each other's mouths. Eventually it was becoming too much for the beta, he knew he would cum in his pants soon and he did not want to do that in front of you. He pulled back from your lips , only a few inches apart.

“Do you want to go further with me, baby?” He prayed you said yes. You had him so worked up he didn’t think jerking off would suffice anymore.

“Please, Lixie. Wanna feel you.”

Fuck

That was all he needed to lift you from the counter onto your feet, then he grabbed the bottom of your tank top and pulled it off of you. He groaned at the sight of your lace bra. You made grabby hands at his own shirt and pulled it over his head.

Felix was so defined. He was so tiny the thought had never even crossed your mind that he could also be ripped. You didn’t have much time to stare before he was turning you around to face the mirror with his hands on your hips and lips on your neck as he locked eyes with you in the mirror. “Can I take you like this, Baby? Let me see all of you?” He let a hand creep up your back to the clasp on your bra, but not yet taking it off.

You nodded, and answered “Uh huh. Yes lixie.” You were so ready for him. Honestly you had been wet since before you styled his hair. You would be surprised if Felix somehow didn't notice the sickly sweet pheromones that were draining out of you.

Felix unclasped your bra with nimble fingers and let it fall away from you. “Oh my god you're so beautiful.” He groaned out when he saw your bare chest. That same hand came to the front of your body and found your right breast, his thumb coming up to rub over your nipple. Now it was your turn to moan out, leaning closer to his chest. “Put your hands on the counter in front of you, baby.”

You did so without complaint and put your palms flat on the surface. He fondled your chest for a few minutes, taking in all the little sighs and moans you would let out as he watched your expressions in the mirror, finding it addicting. When you pushed your ass back into his crotch he let out an almost silent growl, nipping into the skin on your neck that he had been kissing. Suddenly he released you and went to the waistband of your pants, yanking them down your legs with no warning taking your underwear with them.

Felix didn’t know what was overtaking him but he didn’t mind it. He was never this assertive when having sex but something about you made him want to take control. Whether it was your omega status or just your submissive nature in general he couldn’t be sure. Probably a combination of both. You certainly were not complaining, liking this sudden dominant side of the man.

The beta pulled down his own pants and underwear next, eager to have the constricting material off. There you both were, naked and breathing heavy in anticipation. Your eyes were locked in the mirror as Felix reached under both of you and his fingers found your bundle of nerves. You gasped when he touched the sensitive area, eyes closing only for a second. He could feel just how drenched you were for him.

It was at this point that Felix realized he did not have a condom in here.’ Are you fucking kidding me?’ he momentarily chastises himself. “Ummm baby?” you hummed in response, waiting in anticipation. “I sorta don’t have a condom…”

“Oh.” you froze. “Th-then we can, umm, maybe we should stop.”

“Do you want to stop?” He desperately did not want to, he literally didn’t know if he could at this point.

“N-no but Chan and the doctor said-”

“But I can pull out.” He eagerly proposed, he had never been a rule breaker but right now he really did not give a shit. Consequences be damned. “Come on omega, it’ll feel so good.”

“I don’t know, lix…” You trailed off, unsure. "Channie wouldn't like it.." You didn’t want to disobey but one look at his pleading face behind you and you gave in. “If you promise to pull out…”

“I promise,” he said immediately. You nodded hesitantly giving him the go ahead as you readied yourself against the counter once more. "God, you are so hot."

The beta placed a kiss to your neck before taking his member in his hand and lining up with your entrance. He hadn’t prepped you like he should have but honestly when you were both that desperate that was the farthest thing from his mind. He let the tip run through your slick that had accumulated to make it an easier entry. Felix slowly pushed into you from behind, the stretch of him leaving a slight burn and you lightly hissed at the intrusion.

Felix on the other hand was in heaven. He had never felt so incredible from one push but fuck you were so tight. “Fuck omega, your pussy is so tight, nnggg oh my god I don’t know how I'll be able to move, fuck baby.” Felix couldn’t shut up as he filled you. His words were helping you though, as he stopped moving to let you adjust while he mumbled.

Between his jumbled (what you assumed were) praising words he laid sloppy kisses to your bare shoulders, his saliva leaving wetness along your skin. You were absolutely reeling; between feeling him within you and his total personality flip that left you with whiplash, your brain was turning into a muddled mess. It got even worse when he started rutting into you from behind, his hips grinding harshly against your ass.

His chest pushed you further into the counter and with the new angle his cock hit something deep inside you. Your back arched as you moaned aloud, your head falling forward in your ecstasy.

“F-fuuckk baby, you are so good f’ me. So so good, oh my god.” his deep voice was getting raspier by the second. Felix reached his hand around, his small fingers finding your clit again and rubbing sloppy circles. His other hand went to your breast and massaged your sensitive skin. “Look at me, baby, please look at me.”

You mustered all your willpower to bring your head up as much as you could, looking through your wet lashes to his gaze in the mirror. He looked absolutely wrecked, his eyes glossed over as he drooled on you. At the sight of him, fucked out because of you, you felt your orgasm approaching and approaching fast. “F-felix ‘m gonna- gonna cum.”

“Please cum for me. I need you to cum for me.” He sped up his thrusts, humping into you desperately. He was close to. The pulsing of his dick within you sent you over the edge, and you came with a loud cry of his name.

The squeezing of your heat on his member was enough for him. The beta knew he wouldn’t be able to pull out in time but he still tried, cumming half inside and the rest on your ass. The second he came his urges took over completely and without a warning, his teeth embedded themselves in your shoulder blade. When his teeth made contact in your skin you moaned as another orgasm washed over you.

You both were panting hard, you with tears cascading down your cheeks and Felix with your blood on his lips. It took you a moment to catch both of your breaths, the severity of what had happened finally registering in both of your minds.

“Felix…”

“Yeah”

“You came in me.”

“Yeah”

“Do you think Chan will be mad?”

“Yep”

“Oh. Did you mean to bite me?”

“Um, n-no.” He stammered, “ It had been on my mind since a few days ago when Chan said we could.”

‘Chan had said that?’

“But I didn't really expect to.” He grabbed a towel and began to wipe up the dripping mess he made on your skin. “I guess now is a good time to tell you that I'm kinda in love with you.” he chuckled nervously.

You spun around at his confession, not really shocked. You were able to feel his emotions when he bit down on you. It wasn’t as intense as when Chan bit into you - given he is an alpha and he bit your mating gland - but you could still sense the betas to an extent. “Felix…” you let more salty tears trail down your face. “I…I kinda love you too.”

Now he was crying, unable to contain his emotions and he fell into your embrace. Both of you were just little crybabies. Maybe that is why you got on so well together. It was easy to be vulnerable with him.

It was easy with Felix. So you both just hugged, and whispered to each other there in the bathroom. Both dreading the storm that was your alpha.

Sometime later after you had both redressed and Felix cleaned the wound on your shoulder, you both exited the bathroom. You shared a final kiss before parting ways. Felix going down the stairs and you going into Chan's office. The guilt was going to eat you alive if you didn’t tell him (assuming he couldn’t smell it on you when you came in).

You heard more faint talking so you knocked and waited. You heard him thank whoever he was talking to and hang up. “Come on in, baby.” He called out to you. You opened his door slowly and saw him sitting at his desk. His nostrils flared when you entered his office.

Chan obviously knew what you were doing with Felix, but he didn’t know the dirty secret you were keeping. Upon your entry into his office you were emitting a scent you hadn’t produced in a few days; intense guilt.

“What’s wrong, omega?” He immediately questioned you, reaching his hands out for you. When he noticed your hesitancy to grab his hand he stood from his seat and rested his hands on your shoulders, bending to be eye level with you. “Did something happen? Did Felix do something to you?”

“No!” you answered quickly. “I mean, not really.”

“Then what's wrong? You can't keep secrets from me, I can smell it on you.”

You looked down to the floor shamefully before giving him an answer. “When Felix and I were..intimate, he sorta.. He didn’t wear anything… and he umm he kinda came in me a little bit..” Your heart was pounding out of your chest when you saw the hardened look in the alphas face, his eyes darkening at your admittance.

“Is that so?” He seemed eerily calm, if you knew anything about alphas it’s that they are prone to rage so the fact that he didn’t immediately lash out was kind of scary to you. Little did you know he was furious.

“I’m really sorry, Channie. I-i know i wasn’t supposed to but-”

“Go to our room.” He interrupted you, removing his hands from you.

“W-what?”

He let out a low growl, “Go. to. Our. room. Omega, now.”

You gave him a look of alarm at his menacing tone, but still scurried out of his office and to his room. You shut the door softly and then sat on the bed, awaiting your fate. You hadn’t seen Chan angry yet, you didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t strike you as the type to scream and throw things like your father had been, but to be fair you had only known him for just over a week.

After about ten minutes Chan walked through the door into the space you occupied. He still had that intimidating demeanor but he seemed to be keeping his cool. He skipped the formalities as he spoke to you though, “ Take off your clothes and get in the shower.”

You stood from your seated position and started to strip, gently placing your clothes down in the hamper before slowly making your way to the bathroom. The whole time he just watched you as if you were a prey animal, and he was the big bad wolf.

Once you turned on the water to his shower it only took a moment for it to get hot and you entered the shower. It was a spacious area, with sliding glass and a shower head that rained down from the ceiling. Any other time you would have found solace in the luxurious bathroom, but right now all you felt was anxious.

Chan didn’t say anything as he slipped into the shower with you a few moments later. In fact he hadn’t said anything at all as he helped you wash your hair, he only shushed you when you went to speak. It wasn’t until he grabbed a loofa and began rubbing down your body from behind with it that he spoke. “ This is a nice bite mark here on your shoulder. Did Felix do that to you?” You went to nod in response but that wasn’t what the alpha was looking for, and he used one hand to reach onto the base of your head and gripped your hair tightly, causing you to let out a squeak. “I asked you a question, omega, and I expect an answer.”

“Yes, yes Alpha he did.” You gasped out, falling quickly into an uncharted subspace. Your inner omega only wanted to please your alpha now. His actions and words were shocking to you, he wasn’t being the Chan you knew him to be. You had seen small glimpses here and there but never to this extent.

“Did he bite you while he was cumming inside of you?” His grip on your hair tightened in one hand while his other brought the loofa down between your legs.

“Yes alpha.” You tilted your head back trying to get some slack but it proved pointless.

“Do you remember the conversation we had with the doctor yesterday, omega?” He knew you did, or else you wouldn’t have come to him so guiltily.

“Yes I re-remember” You stuttered, your insides fluttering with both excitement and anxiety.

“What did he say to us about when having sex?” His lips were kissing your injured skin on your shoulder where your new bite mark resided.

“To-to use protection until my results come in and I can go on-on birth control.” your panting was getting stronger as you tried to forget about the pain on your scalp.

“Mm that is right, baby.” chans tongue dug into your injured skin, causing you to let out a quiet cry. “Ya know what the rule was and still deliberately did otherwise. What am I going to do with you?” It was a rhetorical question meant to tease you. You started to cry at his words.

“ m’ so sorry Alpha. Please don’t be angry. M’ sorry.” He leaned over to lick up the salty tears that were coming down steadily now.

“Oh baby, I know you're sorry. Alpha knows.” you perked up slightly but it all came crashing down when he said his next words, “But just because you're sorry doesn’t mean there are no consequences.”

He dropped the sponge to the ground and that hand grabbed both of your wrists holding them together behind your back and pushing you against the cold tile, your chest smushing against the wall. “Ahh Chan!”

“Spread your legs. Let me in there, omega.” you did as he said, and he wasted no time in rubbing the tip of his cock along your sensitive folds. “Funny enough, I had just talked to the doctor on the phone before you came into my office, stinking like guilt and cum.” The alpha pressed you harder against the tile. “And it turns out you wouldn’t even be able to get pregnant right now, those suppressants are running crazy all over your body and hormones.”

Without warning he pushed into your heat, your sore walls engulfing him completely. He was so big. Even though you had been prepped by Felix so recently, taking the alpha was a whole other ball game. The only time he had really fucked you was on your heat, where your body was ready to accommodate his length.

“R-really?” you asked in a moan, both in pleasure and pain.

“Uh huh. How lucky is that?” He started at a brutal pace, the skin of his pelvis slapping against your ass noisily. “Still doesn’t excuse your actions. The both of you have to make it up somehow.”

“Please, m’ sorry.” you pleaded between moans and squeaks. His cock always filled you so well.

“This bite mark he left you sure is deep. You know Felix would only bite someone he loves.” Your heart fluttered at his remark, and it seemed your pussy did too. “Fuck so tight. Did you know that, omega? Your pussy tightened on me so you must know. Felix loves you, and now I'm sure you love him too huh?”

“Yes alpha!” you cried louder as his wet heaving chest was pressed against your back.

“Maybe that should be your punishment. Yeah that's it, since both of you want to disobey me then that's the consequence.’ your eyes widened, having an inkling of what he would say next.

“You aren’t allowed to touch him, at all, until I say so. No kissing, no fucking, no so much as brushing fucking fingers with him until I've deemed it acceptable. Fuck maybe I won’t even let him speak to you from now on.”

“Alpha no!” You tried to protest but he only sped up his thrusts, making you only be able to moan and cry. Fuck he was fucking you so good. Better than anything you have ever felt. He had you so deep in space you could barely focus on anything than that thin line between pain and pleasure.

“Too fucking late. You stay the fuck away from him, do you hear me, omega? Damn, I'm gonna cum. He won’t so much as breathe in your direction until I say so.” The alpha let go of your hair and you sucked in a large breath at the release. He opted for gripping your hips roughly, his fingers surely to leave bruises.

Your arms were free now so with one hand you braced yourself against the cold surface, the other was reaching behind you to grab at your mate, craving even an ounce of comfort as you were nearing your high. You made contact with the skin on his waist and dug your fingers into him.

When you grabbed him the alpha let go and released inside of you with a loud growl, the copious amount overflowing against his length. His knot inflated within you, locking you into place with him. His growl set something inside of you aflame and without warning you came too, a loud wail leaving your lips and your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You wretch your head to the side bearing your neck for your alpha, giving him your complete submission. He almost took the opportunity to reclaim you, but knew you had enough biting for one day.

Chan stilled his hips, breathing heavy in your ears as he let you come down. He watched the cum fall down from where you were joined and be washed away with the water. After a moment when his knot had deflated, he slowly pulled out of you, kissing the back of your neck and whispering praises. He knew it would be a long night of aftercare.

A/n: True colors are starting to come out a lil more, not everything is all sunshine and rainbows

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Also if any one wants to chat about the story or share predictions please send me an ask!!

Beta read by my wonderful bumble bee @ayejaii

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prentissluvr · 5 months ago

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forget-me-nots — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : soulmate!au, fluff, very light angst ➖⟢ cw : light mentions of canon typical death, violence, and monsters, shirtless sam aaaaa, light descriptions of injuries and blood, reader believes in ghosts before knowing about the supernatural, drinking/alcohol mentions, silly criminal minds reference to my gf elle, kissing, poor editing ➖⟢ wc : 5.6K summary : in a world where flowers grow on your skin in the exact places your soulmate is injured, you’re constantly covered in forget-me-nots.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

heartache is one thing. heartache for someone you don’t know, someone whose face you’ve never seen or who you’ve never met, is another, stranger thing. it’s common for many to feel this heartache before they know their soulmate, but sometimes you feel as though you have to worry much more than most.

you try not to let thoughts of your mystery soulmate consume you, but you seem to have constant reminders of them litered on your skin in the form of tiny blue flowers. admittedly, you find it romantic that forget-me-nots are your soulmate flower, with their symbolism of true love, respect, and fidelity. the flowers themself feel like a good omen, a sweet promise of a steady love waiting for you. but, the frequency with which they appear on your skin feels far less lucky and always feeds you so much worry for this person you’ve yet to meet.

this morning, you wake with new blooms snaking along your left collarbone, peeking out from the seam of your sleep shirt. and when you change into new clothes, you find a few more growing on your bicep and the side of your ribs.

sighing, you stand at the mirror lightly brushing your fingers over the small flowers and wonder what sort of trouble your soulmate got into last night. as always, worry floods your chest, but you do your best to tamp it down considering the fact that you only bear a few new blooms. the more severe the injury, the more flowers appear on your skin. today, your soulmate must only be dealing with small surface cuts.

sometimes, you’re covered in so many forget-me-nots that you’re too worried to do much of anything at all. more than once, you’ve wondered how your soulmate could still be alive, and the continuous flowers on your skin serve as your only proof that they're still around. there were a few years where you barely had any blooms, just the usual flower on a fingertip to signify a papercut or the occasional few because of a small accident. but one night the flowers came in bunches and never stopped.

you imagine what you might say or do when you meet them. maybe you’ll want to check on whatever wounds they have, be sure it’s not too bad, or maybe you’ll scold them for making you worry so much. you’ll certainly ask what they do in their life that gets them so injured so often. maybe you’ll do it all.

but for now, you’ll have to move on and get ready for the day. the flowers always linger, though.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s been a rather strange week. the flowers from last thursday have completely faded, and you’ve gone a day or two without any new forget-me-nots appearing on your skin. the strange part has been at work. on monday night, one of your coworkers died in the building, but you still had to come in to work the next day. one of the rooms was taped off, but that was the only evidence of the misfortune. the same thing happened last night, thursday, and you’re ready to do everything you can to get at least the next several days off of work. you don't want to risk anything.

and now, it seems the goddamn fbi is interested in whatever has happened. you’re not a huge fan of the federal government, but you have to admit that the bureau has sent two of its most attractive agents. normally, you’d keep your head down, but you feel inexplicably drawn to one of them. he’s the taller of the two, which is impressive because the other is already tall, and he has pretty brown hair and dimples that you catch a glimpse of as he talks to one of your coworkers.

he looks away from her as he moves away, seemingly done with the interview. he catches your eye, and your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. he’s a beautiful man; pretty and sweet looking at the same time as he’s traditionally handsome and slightly imposing. you’ve never loved a stranger’s eyes so much.

he approaches you and you can’t help but watch as he grows closer.

“hi,” he greets with a small smile, “i’m agent greenaway with the fbi. can i ask you a few questions about the deaths from this week?”

“i’m not sure i’ll be much help, but sure,” you nod, folding your arms over your stomach. agent greenaway doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but the topic at hand certainly does.

“that’s alright. sometimes the smallest things can really be helpful,” he reassures, keeping the kind look on his face. “have you noticed anything strange about either of the deceased or the building this past week or so?”

you shake your head. “not really. i mean i didn’t work closely with macy, and i never noticed anything off about lex.”

“and the building? any strange cold spots or flickering lights?”

you find the question sort of odd coming from an fbi agent, but you instintually feel like you should take it seriously. “um, yeah, actually. it was really cold by the bathrooms last night when i left. at first i thought the ac finally got fixed, but it was still sort of warm over here. in this area”

“okay. thank you for your help,” he smiles at you again and for a reason you can't quite place, you don’t want the unusual conversation to end. you have to hide a hint of delight from your expression when he hands you his card. “call me if you think of anything else.” you accept the card with a nod. he looks like he’s about to walk away, but he pauses. “and, uh– be careful. you should go home early tonight.”

“oh. okay, i will.” without knowing why, you trust him. you want to see him again.

⟢⟢⟢

saturday night is the second busiest night at the bar, but you’re glad it’s not as crowded fridays normally are. you walk straight to the bar to order your go-to drink. as you wait for the bartender to make it, you stare at yourself in the mirror behind the counter out of the corner of your eye. today, there’s two little forget-me-nots right on your left cheek. they look sort of cute there, and you guess you should be grateful that it’s such a small wound. there’s no other flowers on your body yet, which feels like a good run for your soulmate. that’s a little over a whole week in between different injuries, even small ones.

the bartender slides you your drink and you thank them. there’s a small red carnation on their thumb, and you wonder if they’ve met their own soulmate yet. you suppose that at the end of the day, you’re scared of what just about everyone else is. without trying, you worry about not meeting your soulmate until you're old and left without much time together. you want to meet them, and you think the sooner the better. the idea’s been particularly stuck in your mind since last night.

agent greenaway’s words echo in your head. “be careful. you should go home early tonight.” he seemed so sweet, so genuine and caring, and all you’ve been able to think about since then is meeting someone like him. finding someone kind with a little red mark on their cheek and a forget-me-not on their right pointer finger to match the papercut you got earlier this afternoon.

and simply, you’ve been feeling a little lonely these days. how nice would it be to have your literal soulmate by your side?

you sip slowly at your drink, and when the cup’s empty, you pay the tab. the bar isn’t quite serving as the distraction you hoped it would. as you head for the door, your gaze snags on a mop of brown hair that wouldn’t be considered familiar for the fact that you’ve only seen it once, but feels that way regardless. quickly, you scan the rest of the bar, and sure enough you catch sight of agent greenaway’s partner, across the way and very obviously flirting with a pretty brunette.

for a moment you pause, wondering if it would be weird or too out-of-the-blue to approach agent greenaway, but the pull you feel towards him overrides all else, taking your hand and guiding it to throw all caution to the wind.

he’s facing away from you, and with a friendly smile, you slide into the seat across from him.

“hi,” you greet over the noise of music and talking, “d’you mind if i sit here?” it takes him a moment to answer, like he’s lagging a little bit.

“uh– no, no i don’t mind,” he flashes a quick smile back at you, but his gaze and attention are clearly stuck somewhere on your face. for just a split-second, you’re confused by what he could be staring at, but it clicks not a moment later. you don’t know how you missed it: the red mark on his left cheek, so small that your eyes glossed over it when you sat down. eagerly, you drop your gaze to his hands, one casually wrapped around his beer bottle and the other resting on the table. and sure enough, so tiny and pretty against his big hand is a single forget-me-not on his right pointer finger, exactly where you have a bandaid wrapped around your own.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes caught on the delicate flower and unable to drag themselves away to look back at his face. just like everyone else, you’ve thought about it a million times over, what it would feel like to meet your soulmate, what you would do, how you would act. in this moment, you feel frozen, but you feel right and you feel a million questions and urges rise up in your heart and mind. you desperately want to reach out to him, to touch his hand and the little flower and make sure that they’re both real.

but you absolutely cannot keep your gaze away from his face for long at all and when you meet his eyes, an irresistible smile stretches across your face. you look at him with nothing short of wonderment. he’s just stunning and you can’t believe that he’s supposed to be… well, yours.

just staring at each other, you feel a little flustered and awkward, unsure what to say to him. then you realize he should probably know your name, and all you know is his last. so you stick your right hand out and tell him your name. he takes your hand with a smile and repeats it back, saying it carefully and savoring the sound and feel of it on his tongue.

when you touch him for the first time, your breath gets caught in your throat and it feels so right that you never want to let go.

“i’m sam,” he says, only letting his hand fall away from yours after a few moments. even then, your fingertips are merely inches apart now.

“sam greenaway,” you echo, easily remembering how he introduced himself yesterday. then you puzzle at his reaction and the way that the name doesn’t feel quite right as you look at him. he cringes slightly, like he’s done something to be guilty of. “or… not?” for a minute, things were starting to add up to you. the way you felt drawn to him yesterday and his job as an fbi agent finally explaining all of his many injuries. you figured he must be in fights often.

“i– i’m sorry, this is so– i mean if we’re really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to reset and figure out how to say things right. “if we’re really, you know, soulmates… well, there’s just a lot– a lot for me to explain. i’m not an fbi agent and my real name is sam winchester. but i swear, there’s a reason for me lying and i promise that i’ll explain it to you if you’re willing to hear it. which i understand if you don’t–”

“i do,” you say in earnest, finally cutting him off. it took you a second because, for a moment, you were too stuck on him saying the word soulmate aloud in reference to the two of you. it felt special and you were only half paying attention to the things he said after because of that. then all you were thinking about was how endearing he seems when he’s flustered and worried. “it’s okay,” you reassure him, “i want to hear it. i– i mean, sure, it’s sort of strange that you lied about, you know, all that, but… i’m not– i’m not gonna just meet my… my soulmate and not give you a chance.” he still looks a little tense, but his shoulders have dropped a bit in relief and there’s the hint of a grateful smile on his features.

“thank you,” he says, glad for your reassurance but still worried about how you might take the rest of the far weirder explanations that he has left to tell you. “can i maybe get you a drink?”

you smile at the offer, but shake your head a bit. “i was actually just heading out when i saw you. would you maybe wanna get out of here? my apartment’s less than a ten minute walk away.” for a moment, you wonder if that’s too much for just having met, but sam visibly relaxes just a little bit more.

“that would be nice,” he smiles. he’s getting ready to stand when he glances across the bar, seemingly remembering about his partner. or not partner. you’re not quite sure. “my brother, dean,” he explains simply when he catches your gaze on the other man. “i should tell him where i’m going.”

“okay,” you nod, filing the new information away in your mind and watching him weave between tables and flirting couples to reach his brother. the exchange is a bit funny to watch. at first dean looks annoyed at being interrupted by sam. then he glances at you with a sly smirk and makes some comment that is probably less than appropriate judging from his expression. and then his face morphs into one of surprise before it’s taken over by a smile. he claps sam on the shoulder and sends him off. you almost miss the look that dean gives you as sam heads back towards you because you’re so focused on the sweet smile that sam’s now wearing. you only catch dean’s look for a second before sam is back at your side. it’s easy to assume dean as the older brother, with his eyes on you being protective, proud, careful, and happy all at once. and they’re close enough that sam told him about you right away.

walking home with sam at your side is both completely strange and familiar all at once. it’s strange for a number of reasons, the main being that you’d never invite any other unknown man to your apartment, especially not one with a cryptic identity and such an imposing build. and yet, you’re not afraid or worried because of how familiar and safe it feels. it feels familiar because it feels right, it feels like exactly what you should be doing.

on the way over, he asks about you a little bit, trying not to overwhelm you with questions or seem overbearing with how eager he is to hear what you have to say. his kindness and carefulness are clear to you, and you love it. you answer happily, despite knowing he’s partially asking to avoid talking about himself until you settle down.

once inside, sam follows you right to the couch in the living room, sitting when you motion towards it and plop down into a chair across from him. he takes in the space, eyes roaming over your furniture, decor, and every little detail. he wants to know about you, just like you do him.

“it’s really nice in here,” he compliments, sounding so sincere that it’s just sweet.

“thank you,” you respond softly, wondering exactly what parts of the room he likes. you let him look around a second or two more before speaking again. “so… can i ask? you know, about it all, i guess? about you?”

he doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks the way that you ask is so lovely. half of him wants to make up some silly, somewhat believable explanation to spare you the truth, but he knows that would never work out well. not if you choose to stay together in some way or another. already, that’s what he wants. he doesn’t doubt that you’re indeed his soulmate, the one who he’s been sharing wounds and flowers with for as long as he can remember. sam has both yearned for and dreaded this moment. he tries not to be obvious about it or over do it, but he’s sort of a total romantic. he’s had doubts about how this whole idea of soulmates could really be real or make much sense, but those thoughts are eased with each moment he spends with you. he still wants to get to know you before he does anything with you, but the way that he wants to get to know you is something he’s never felt before. it’s undeniably special.

the dread is because he’s known ever since he got back into hunting that he’d never be able to hide the truth of his world from you. he has no idea how he’s going to get to you to believe him or convince you that he’s not completely insane, but he’s going to tell you the truth anyway. even if you do believe him, he wants to give you a choice. you shouldn’t have to get involved with this life in any way at all if you don’t want to. he’d never force you to try things with him if it’s too strange or too scary or hard or anything. and already, he knows that he’ll never stop thinking about you if you do choose to stay away, but he also knows that he’d never try to change your mind or force you to do anything else other than exactly what you want.

“of course you can ask,” he responds, matching the softness of your own voice. “i, um– i’m honestly not quite sure how to say all of this without sounding totally crazy, and i completely understand that, but just– try to bear with me, i guess. and if you need proof, which i also understand, i’ll do my best to get it for you, it’s just– sort of hard.”

honestly, you’re wildly confused as to what the hell he could possibly say that would make him this anxious. it worries you a little bit too. you don’t want him to feel afraid to tell you anything at all. so, you nod at him in encouragement, trying not to seem nervous yourself.

“my brother and i, we– we hunt monsters. real ones. ghosts, vampires, demons, the works. they’re all real. your coworkers who died, they were– they were killed by an angry spirit. we got rid of it last night,” he says those words like they’re a ten ton weight off of his chest, but he’s still got another ten sitting there as he awaits your response. he looks at you so carefully, trying to gauge any sort of reaction.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and probably disbelief and a million other things. “angry spirit? like a ghost?” you’re not sure why that’s the first question that slips out, but you suppose it’s an easier one than are you insane? or what the hell are you talking about?

he nods his head carefully, like he’s waiting for you to freak out or call him crazy and tell him to go. “yeah. the ghost, she had died there, near the bathrooms where you felt the cold spot, in the 90s. she was triggered to kill when the man suspected of her murder was granted parole.”

“okay,” you breathe out, sort of nervously. the craziest thing is that you don’t disbelieve him. you’re not convinced by any stretch, but when you look him in the eye and listen close to his voice, there’s nothing but sincerity there. “i mean… that is sort of a kinda crazy thing to say,” you begin, “but i’ve always sort of believed in ghosts, so i don’t think you’re completely, you know, insane.” you laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood a little. you don’t want him to stress, however unbelievable his words are. “the rest is a bit… shaky, i guess. it’s a hard thing to believe, i mean… vampires. and– and demons. it’s a lot. and honestly, i’m not sure how much i’ll really, truly believe until i see, i don’t know, something, i guess,” you admit, “but… but i don’t think you’re lying to me either.”

“thank you for that,” he says, voice as sincere as ever, “and i completely understand. honestly, part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but… it’s sort of my whole entire life at this point and it wouldn’t be fair to hide from you. or– or to not give you a choice right off the bat of whether or not you wanted to be involved. it’s– it’s a lot and it’s dangerous. and if it’s what you want, i promise i’ll try to find a way to prove it to you, it’s just… hard to do that without putting you in danger. and i really don’t want to put you in danger.”

“that’s sweet, sam,” you say, not really bothering to hide the way you feel. “i’m not, you know, eager to meet any monsters anytime soon, but whenever it’s… the least dangerous, i guess, you can show me. until then… i’ll just trust you. and in the meantime maybe we can sort of just get to know each other?” you suggest, surprising yourself with how ready you are to trust him on this.

sam smiles at you sweetly. “that sounds perfect to me. i just– i don’t want to force you into something you don’t want for yourself. i live out of crappy motels and my brother’s car while hunting monsters that shouldn’t be real. i’m just… i’m sorry i’m not someone easier.”

you smile at him sort of sadly. “that’s not your fault, sam. i never asked for someone ‘easy’ anyway. just someone kind and respectful and you seem to be just that so far. besides, there’s gotta be a reason, right? that… we’re soulmates. honestly, if you were anyone else i wouldn’t trust you like this. an–and it’s not like i’m trusting you blindly because of something that we’re supposed to be. we just met. i’m only trusting you because it feels right to. and this whole soulmate thing never made too much sense to me until i met you. now it sort of does, because this feels right so far. at least, it does to me.”

“it feels right to me too,” he quickly assures, not wanting for you to misunderstand that for a second.

⟢⟢⟢

as two people who aren’t quite ready to jump into such a committed relationship with completely different lives, it’s a little bit strange to be soulmates. and yet, nothing about it is anything but honey-sweet to you. the night you met as soulmates for the first time, you ended up talking for hours. all you had to do was sort of ignore the huge and slightly unbelievable bomb he dropped on you within the first hour of talking. oddly enough, that was sort of easy. you learned that sam’s appetite for knowledge is just about insatiable, including when it comes to knowing about you.

he had words rolling off of your tongue, asking the best, most interesting questions and providing such sincere and in-depth responses. that night, he was just lovely, and that’s pretty much all he’s been since. he’s this adorable mix of confident and shy, awkward and knowing just the right thing to say. and he’s incredibly smart, an almost stanford pre-law graduate who was headed for bigger things before he was pulled back into hunting a little over two years ago. this explains the difference in all his injuries from the past two years versus the three beforehand. secretly, you mourn for the life that he, and subsequently you, might have had, but only because he gets a little wistful every time he talks about stanford.

mostly, you talk on the phone, only stopping late in the night when one of you catches the other yawning. he seems to sleep so little, yet he lives such a tiring life. you almost always seem to be the one who gets too tired first. one night, you fell asleep to his voice, and since then, you feel like it’s the single best way to drift into dreams.

sam tries to avoid the topic of the supernatural, but you ask him about it anyway. as you get used to the idea of monsters being real, you find yourself wanting to understand it all better. you want to understand him better. and you don’t want him to feel like he has to hide the biggest parts of his life from you or for him to have trouble fitting you into his world.

he always answers your questions, omitting any extreme gore or death, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize how many people he really saves. that’s his life; saving people.

it takes three weeks for you to see him again since the first night, and three more plus a whole lot of convincing on your end for him to bring you on a hunt with him. he tries to hide it, but he’s so worried for you, despite all the reassurances he’s made that this particular ghost isn’t really all that violent or dangerous. by now, you’ve already come to mostly believe all that he's told you, but to see it in real life is still the final confirmation that you need to be fully convinced.

sam keeps you by his side the whole time, one hand on you every moment that he can afford it. the second the ghost appears, he blasts it with a salt round from his shotgun, and he thinks he could cry when you flinch at the loud noise. yet, he feels comforted that you don’t seem all too scared. and strangely, you really aren’t. sam easily makes you feel safe. luckily, the next time the ghost appears, it bursts into flames moments later thanks to dean burning the bones.

the moment it’s gone, sam drops the gun to the ground and turns to you, accidentally ruining the now unnecessary salt line around you in his rush to check on you.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, a hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek as he looks you up and down.

“i’m alright, sam,” you reassure. it’s true that you’re a little shaky, and just the tiniest bit scared, but to have your confirmation and sam by your side is much more important to you.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes anyway, pulling you into a hug that’s more for his peace of mind than yours. of course, you don’t complain, easily finding his arms to be your new favorite place in the world.

oddly enough, taking it almost slow works well. he kisses you the next time he sees you, a week and a half later, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to have him keep kissing you, over and over again. he just feels like yours and you feel like his and you’ve barely known him for long, but when he kisses you it’s like there’s stars hung from the ceiling and flowers made from nothing but love and healing growing all over you. when he kisses you it’s sunlight and moonglow bottled up and mixed with sweet, pure maple syrup. his lips on yours feel like lucky four leaf clovers, like it’s possible to taste heaven on someone else’s tongue.

and though it mostly works for him to just visit as often as he can, which sometimes isn’t often at all, and to call him at every moment you can, the yearning only grows. you swear that you’re addicted to his lips, to his big hands cupping your jaw all gentle and sweet or his bulky arms boxing you in as he kisses you so hard that you melt right into the sheets.

and some nights, though he tries to hide it, you can hear him struggling with what seems to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. his job is anything but easy or fruitful. before, you thought that you might worry less when you found out exactly why your soulmate was getting injured so often, but now every time new blooms appear on your skin, you spend all day fretting until you can get him on the phone to make sure he’s alright.

you suppose he gets just as worried as you, despite the fact that you’re never in nearly as much danger as he is. a week ago, a jagged edge on a metal wire fence snagged at your skin, drawing a very shallow, but long line of blood down your forearm. seconds later, you had a frantic sam on the phone, so worried about all the little blue flowers on his arm.

it’s not as hard as he thinks for you to tell how much fear and worry he lives in. you know that he doesn’t tell you the half of it sometimes, even when you ask. all you want is to have him a little closer, to be there for him and provide the sort of comfort that you’re sure he’s never really had before. and though he’s told you that having you to talk to, so receptive and encouraging for him, has been a complete blessing, you still wish for more. you want his arms enveloping you and his lips on yours and his warm body in your bed. really, you just miss him. all the time.

⟢⟢⟢

tonight is one of the glorious nights that you get to have him with you. his broad frame takes up so much space in your bed, and you love it more than just about anything. he props himself up on one elbow and you mirror his pose as you let your eyes roam over each other’s features and take turns rambling about every little thing from this past week. unable to resist, sam kisses you often. he just leans over, swiftly closing the small space between you and pressing his lips to yours. he looks so beautiful like this; at peace, his shirtless body and protective tattoo framed all prettily by clean white sheets.

eventually, comforting words turn into a comforting silence, and you drop your head to your pillow. your eyes droop a little as you play with the idea letting a few more words slip from your tongue. you want to say something to him, but you can’t tell if it’s the right time.

sam settles on his pillow, just like you. “what is it?” he whispers, inviting and respectful. his voice tells you that you’re welcome to say whatever you’re thinking about, but that it’s okay if you don’t want to quite yet.

you smile a little at how well he’s able to read you. since he asked so sweetly, you say it. “i can’t be away from you, sam. i love you, i really do.” this isn’t the first time you’ve said the three special words to each other, but his eyes grow infinitely softer than they were before each time you do.

this time, his eyes do soften, but he cringes a little too, because he feels sorry and because he feels the same exact way. “i can’t make you live like i do. i love you, too, so much. and i hate being away from you, but this? this life, it– it’s sort of awful, and it’s dangerous and hard and–”

you swiftly cut him off with a kiss that he more than willingly melts into. “i know,” you whisper against his lips, barely moving from him to speak. “but– but what if we tried something else? you still go on your hunts and all that, but you and dean can stay here in between. there’s this cabin in the woods i’ve been eyeing, it’s sort of small but it’s isolated and we could ward it. i’ve been looking into protection and warding spells, and i think we could make it work… only, you know, if you wa–”

this time he’s the one to cut you off with a kiss, passionate and sweet all at once. when your lips part, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours like he can’t bear to be any further from you.

“i want to,” he says, voice so sure and sturdy. “i really want to… but how’re we gonna get the house? it’s not like me or dean can buy property, and i can’t make you–”

“i want to,” you echo his words, just as sincerely. “please, sam, let me do this. i’ve been saving money for a long time and it’s a little run down so it’s not too expensive. and i’m getting sick of this apartment.”

“you’re gonna live there?” he asks, not bothering to hide his hope and sparkling joy at that idea.

you grin. “of course. there’s three bedrooms and it’s so pretty and i can’t, you know, pay for that and the apartment at the same time. and i– i wanna be there every time you get home.”

that word gets to him. sam doesn’t really have a solid or normal concept of home—the closest thing he has is the impala. but it sounds so right when it comes out of your mouth. “and– and you’re okay with that?” he asks, still needing to be reassured, “you said it was isolated, and–”

“i’m sure, sam,” you emphasize, “it’s only 20 minutes from town and the roads to and from are never busy. i’ve always wanted to live in the woods, i swear. and if it meant i could be with you more, i’d never ever say no to this. please… can we talk to dean about it?”

“yes,” he gushes. “yes, of course, i– you’re amazing.” he seals the deal with a firm, giddy kiss. “and if dean says he doesn’t like the idea, i don’t care. i’m gonna do this with you.” another kiss and your heart softens infinitely. “besides, he loves the pie from the bakery on morrison street, which means he can’t say no.” he gives you another kiss and pulls away again, and you know that he’s bound to keep rambling if you let him, so you wrap an arm around his neck and thread your fingers through his soft, pretty hair. then you kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. he returns the favor by tenfold, whispering through labored breath how much he loves you and wants you and thinks that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

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cr4yolaas · 4 months ago

Text

every year, with you — kageyama tobio

content: timeskip tobio, established relationship, self indulgent, fem reader, angst if you squint but mostly fluff, not proofread

note: happy bday to me !! i’m not celebrating irl, so this is my way of appreciating the day :) (p.s. mezzo forte will be updated eventually — i unfortunately don’t have the energy for anything more than this rn 😓)

tobio doesn’t usually celebrate his birthday.

he isn’t attracted to the notion of a sweet sixteen, nor does he find the idea of bar hopping at twenty one appealing. he’s content with whatever is below the bare minimum — quick greetings, maybe one small gift, and a normal day. that’s all he needs.

as such, he doesn’t find it necessary to do much for his friends’ birthdays. he’ll usually purchase something small, like a plushy or a gift card. it’s simple. it’s easy.

but with you, his routine shifts. he marks down your birth date on his phone as soon as he catches wind of it, and in the weeks leading up to the day, it fails to slip his mind. he wants to do something more than simple, something more than easy.

after all, he thinks you deserve more than that.

if you were to peer into his notes app and figure out the password for a locked note with an ambiguous title, you’d find a list of everything you’ve ever mentioned — the show you watched religiously for two months straight, a clothing collaboration you were particularly excited for, the animated character whose merchandise is littered throughout your bedroom — all neatly listed for him to remember. the contents vary; some items are specific, like the shade of the lip tint you searched up a week ago, and others are vague, like ‘silly white mouse with big round eyes.’

tobio finds that, when it comes to you, he wants to give you the world. he wants to cradle you gently in his arms, as if you’re the most important figure in the world (to him, you are). he wants to make your special day just that — special.

the summer heat pierces through your air conditioning, even in the middle of night. your boyfriend has yet to return home, presumably preoccupied with volleyball practice, and you decide that tomorrow you’ll greet him with extra kisses as a reward for working so hard.

but as soon as your hand flicks the lights off, the front door squeaks open. you’re silent. soft footsteps thump against the floor, and if you listen hard enough, you can hear tobio’s heavy breathing in the kitchen. your rationality overpowers whatever yearning has festered within your heart throughout the day during his absence. a soft wave of quietude washes over you as you lay down, opting to wait for him to come to you when he’s ready.

it comes sooner than later, however. tobio slowly opens the door to your shared bedroom, assuming you’re fast asleep given the time. he’s a little startled to find you awake.

“i got you something,” he whispers against your forehead. he doesn’t realize you just laid down — he’s quiet, as if there’s sleep riddled in your system. but there isn’t. he doesn’t know that. and yet, he’s still careful in his movements. his hands reach to brush away hair from your eyes, and his lips ghost against your skin as he stamps his affections onto your flesh.

he slips away for a moment to carry something up onto the bed. it weighs heavy in his hands, although you can’t quite make out what it is in the dark of the room. “well, it’s a lot of somethings,” he muses while he reaches around for the bedside lamp. when the warm light floods the bed, you see it — a gift basket, overfilled with everything you could possibly like. you look at tobio and find his ears dusted with pink and his eyes cast aside. “i wasn’t sure specifically what to get you. so… i got a lot of different things, in hopes that you’d like at least one of them.”

it’s hard not to laugh at him (endearingly, of course). “tobio, you put all of my favorite things in here. i’m not sure why i wouldn’t like it.”

his lips, albeit chapped from his troubles of the day, curl up into a smitten smile. “there’s more, by the way. it just didn’t fit into the basket. and i’m way too tired to bring everything here right now,” he speaks as he curls up on his side of the bed. his athletic wear clings to his muscles from the coalescence of sweat on his skin, but nonetheless, he finds himself clinging to you. the gift basket sits on the table beside you, and in the morning when you arise, you’ll thank him for it, again, but with a little more energy.

“happy birthday,” tobio mutters into your shoulder. he looks like a sleepy baby. “i love you.”

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icbgwy · 4 months ago

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not strong enough ꕥ kwon jae-sung x fem!reader

synopsis : with the seikai teikai only allowing six participants from each dojo to join, you start to reconsider the role karate might play in your life, much to your boyfriend’s dismay.

genre : angst

warning(s) : shouting, micommunication, ambiguous ending.

It was midnight, and the two of you should’ve been in bed resting to get up early for training at dawn, but Kwon had decided to take it upon himself to sneak out with you and celebrate his upcoming departure to Barcelona for the Seikai Teikai.

The moon cast a glow on the mountain tops, a place you both had discovered together, somewhere to escape the watchful eyes of others.

You sat next to Kwon, admiring his features while simultaneously debating on whether to tell him of your future plans. His face was loaded with excitement as he talked lively about the upcoming tournament.

You felt guilty for what you were about to do knowing how it would ruin the sweet moment between the two of you, but keeping it in any longer felt like torture. You couldn’t keep lying to him.

“Kwon, I need to tell you something… I’m quitting the dojang and moving back to Seoul,” you said, your voice trembling. You cringed at the words leaving your mouth, making the decision in your head all too real. There’s no turning back now.

It took him a while to register what you’d said. He looked at you with confusion written all over his face. “Wait, why!? You want to leave the dojang?” he asked in bewilderment.

You reached for his hand, your thumb tracing over his knuckles riddled with scars from the intensive training that Sensei Kim had no problem giving out. She was one of the many reasons on your mental list for wanting to leave.

“I know we said we’d do this together, but I—” you tried to explain to him, but he cut you off, pushing your hands away as he stood up abruptly.

His anger was getting the best of him. He couldn’t understand where this was coming from. Everything was going so well. Why would you want to leave him the dojang?

“But you what? Huh? Tell me why!” he demanded, his voice rising with each word, echoing in the quiet night.

“I don’t have a future in karate, not in the same way you do at least. I’m not strong or passionate enough for it,” you embarrassingly admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But you are strong! I‘ve seen it myself.” He tried to reassure you hoping it would make you stay.

“You’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend. I’m weak. Sensei Kim and Sensei Kreese know it too, even if they don’t say it. If I was as strong as you say I am, I would be going to Barcelona with you, but I’m not.” You looked down as you fidgeted with your hands, scared that if you didn’t, you’d start crying.

Kwon’s jaw clenched in frustration, pacing back and forth trying to regulate his anger with some breathing technique you had taught him when you first started dating. The memories of those early days together flooded back in his mind making him all too vulnerable to his own tears.

After some time, he sat down next to you, and in a low, exasperated tone asked, “Why couldn’t you wait until after the tournament to quit or at least tell me? Why does it have to be now?” He looked into your eyes, his filled with desperation and yours filled with guilt. The reality of the moment pressed down on you, making it hard to think.

“I can’t keep lying to you Kwon, it’s not fair the both of us. I can’t waste any more time chasing a future that isn’t plausible. I’m fine with not being the strongest, but I need to move back to Seoul and start getting ready for the suneung.” A sense of ease washed over you as you finally spoke the truth, but it was quickly replaced by the ache of seeing Kwon’s reaction. His eyes were glossy, and his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration making sure his tears didn’t spill.

Kwon let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve come so far together. Why can’t we keep going?”

“I need to find my own path, even if it means leaving you and the dojang behind,” you replied.

He sat in silence for a while, his mind racing as he tried to process your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know you will, but just know I’ll be cheering you on. No matter where you are. I’ll miss you too,” you replied, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him. He looked at you, his eyes searching for something, anything, that could change your mind. But deep down, he knew this was something you had thought long and hard about. The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

#₊　　 ೀ　　icbgwy　｡　　˚⁠#kwon #kwon jae sung #kwon x reader #cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai season 6 #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai kwon

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koqabear · 5 months ago

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Divinity for the Damned

“There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.”

“What sweet bliss it is to follow the teachings of God. To put in your faith and trust wholeheartedly, even if it means getting nothing in return.”

fallen angel! Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: horror, religious au, smut, angst

Word count 18.3K

warnings: i was delirious when i proof read this sorry in advance, very detailed descriptions/elements of the catholic church, mc is super duper religious, and innocent, lots of religious guilt, corrupt church members, assault in one scene, sacrilege and blasphemy i suppose, abuse of power, manipulation, guilt tripping, MCD, slight gore, violence, cannibalism…? aha…

smut warnings: dubcon/coercion, manhandling, mind breaking, corruption, virgin!mc, sub!mc, condescending soft dom!beomgyu, blindfolding/sensory deprivation? dacryphilia, fingering, oral (f. rec) edging, overstimulation, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i should add anything!

notes: hi guys! i have no idea how i got here.

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The day is wintry and cast with a heavy snow; it is advised for citizens to remain inside due to the extreme weathers, flurries falling outside your bedroom window that is tinted with a frost that creeps from the corners. But it is Sunday morning, and a simple snowfall will do nothing to deter your humble duties.

Today, you rush to get ready; the layers of clothes on your form make it difficult for you to pull on your snow boots, thick and warm as your fingers fumble to lace and tie the shoes— you’ve begun to feel overheated, but you’re sure all the layers you have on will not go to waste the moment you exit your home. Standing with a huff of exertion, you pull the coat on you just a little bit tighter; with a gloved hand and one final glance at the clock, you finally open your door and make your way out.

The little village is quiet today. The snow is up to your ankles— it makes the trek to the church a little more difficult than usual, and it’s not as though the gravelly paths were any more helpful. A wind carries flurries into the air, sticking to your clothes and onto your hair— it makes your skin sting and your arms come up to hug yourself instinctually, a hand coming up to rest on your chest, almost able to feel the cross necklace that’s tucked beneath all your clothes— your fingers press against the layers, able to feel the pressure of the delicate charm on your skin.

Shops are open, but they aren’t very busy; it seems as though the snow has turned the place into a ghost town, and you wonder with a frown if a simple change in weather was enough to make people set aside their duties— in the distance, the tall pinnacles of the church begin to fade into view, a sight of a cross at the very top of each one bringing a sense of relief into your system, like a warmth that floods into your veins.

There are twenty minutes left before the mass begins. But even so, you note that there are not many others making their way inside— your frown tugs at your lips a little deeper, and you’re too lost in thought to take note of cracked path before you; your foot is catching and you fall to the ground unceremoniously, yelping at the impact and the snow that drenches your tights and dress within seconds.

Your knees sting; with the multitudes of layers you have on, it’s a lot more difficult to stand— you’re wincing in pain from both the cold and the fall, your gloved hands now soaked as you try to steady them on the ground to help you up; you stumble slightly, the weight of your clothes now doubled as you fall back onto your knees— you huff with frustration, your head hung down in defeat.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

The voice is gentle and melodic; like a song in your ears, breathy, deep and smooth as you look up with surprise, not expecting anyone else to witness your fall— your face is heating up pitifully and your eyes are widening the moment they meet with those of a stranger, a man whose beauty is almost otherworldly; his hair is long and covered with flurries of snowflakes, decorated along his head and in his bangs like a crown— his face is blushing a soft red from the cold and his eyes are filled with concern; briefly, your eyes flicker up to his furrowed brows, taking notice of the scar that decorates his face, reddened and stopping just above his eye, a small deformity on his otherwise perfect face.

He looks like a prince.

“I–I’m… I’m fine,” you stutter out, still a bit dumbfounded by this captivating stranger, trying your best to remain composed as you take his outstretched hand for help; his hand is warm— no, it’s hot, even through your gloves— the contrast of temperature startling you for a moment; you try not to show it, much more distracted by the way his grip tightens instantly and he’s pulling you up with a surprising strength, the motion so sudden and unexpected that you’re stumbling out of balance; with a swift hand on the small of your back, the man steadies you.

“I’ve… never seen you around before,” you say softly, continuing your attempt to remain casual as you shrug his hands off you, taking a step back and trying to ignore the lingering heat his touch left— and you smile politely, hands folded in front of you as you tilt your head.

“Ah, I moved here recently,” the man explains, sending you a smile that’s just as charming as the rest of him; his eyes scan your sullied outfit, wet with snow and dirty at the knees, and he frowns. “You must be terribly cold. I suggest you go home and change.”

Your hands are patting your clothes off immediately in response; small clusters of snow that stuck to you fall off with every swat of your hands, attempting to rub at the dirt with your soaked gloves as you merely laugh him off and shake your head— you’re glancing back at the church in the distance, and are suddenly reminded of your responsibility.

“I’ll be alright, I assure you,” you say softly, doe eyes bright and optimistic, even if he seems doubtful of your words, “I have somewhere I need to be— it’s much warmer in there anyway.”

“Oh?” he says, raising a brow and scanning over your appearance once more, wondering what could possibly require such dedication from you, “may I ask where you’re headed?”

“Sunday mass,” you say eagerly, your voice sweet and lovely— and though his expression is suddenly unreadable, you remain enthusiastic as you continue, “If you’re not busy, I’d love for you to come— our church is beautiful, you’d get to meet so many amazing people.”

Mass is starting soon— you’re visibly antsy to go inside, yet you remain patient as you wait for the man’s answer— and though you’ve always been used to the polite turn downs from others you’ve offered to in the past, you can’t help but get your hopes up the longer you wait for a response.

He sighs; it’s soft and would have remained unnoticed under your gaze, except it comes out as a smoky puff of air due to the cold weather— his gaze skirts away from yours, lost in thought for a second, and you can feel yourself deflate as you begin to brace yourself for yet another rejection. But then he glances back at you, lips pursing and gaze taking you in slowly as he begins to speak. “I suppose I can,” he says gently, smiling at the way you’re immediately lighting up again, “I don’t have much else going on today anyway.”

A smile spreads through your face; you’re trying to control yourself and remain unfazed, but it’s a lot more difficult than you anticipated as you merely nod happily like a puppy— with his soft lead the way, you’re nodding again and taking him to your safe space.

“You never told me your name,” the man says suddenly, the two of you making your way up the steps to the church— you’re turning to him in surprise, mouth parting in slight shock as you realize that you really didn’t introduce yourselves— and you’re telling him your name softly, your tone a lot shyer than you expected, feeling small under the intense gaze of this handsome stranger. He laughs softly, eyes filled with amusement as he repeats your name back to you— it sounds so captivating and fragile on his lips, and you try to ignore the way the sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Beomgyu,” he says before you can direct the question back at him— and just like he did for you, you’re testing his name with your own voice, taking his nod of approval with a smile.

Conversation dwindles down the moment the two of you enter the building; it is low in light due to the cloudy day and the candle-lit lanterns that don’t fully light up the large establishment, and a warmth engulfs the two of you the moment the heavy wooden doors shut behind you; sending Beomgyu another encouraging smile, you take him softly by the arm and lead him further inside— you promptly stop at a small basin filled with holy water, dipping three of your fingers in and crossing yourself slowly, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to mouth an unintelligible words— and while Beomgyu is presumably doing the same, you take this time to say a brief prayer.

Beomgyu simply watches you with blank eyes. He makes no movements to follow after you, watching apathetically as your brows twitch and your eyes remain shut for a few seconds more, sweeping his gaze over the area as he will his lips to not upturn in distaste— his expression morphs to one of content the moment you’re opening your eyes to look at him again, the only thing to fuel his feet to move being the way your delicate hand squeezes his bicep gently, as though you were leading a scared animal into the unknown— he can’t help but find your mannerisms amusing, filled with an overwhelming innocence he hasn’t seen in a long time.

As a child, your family moved a lot— going from town to town, your father offered newer and better opportunities due to his trade— and, just like you, your family remained dedicated during it all, never failing to find a church to become a part of, a place to spend their Sundays and worship their God. Because of this, you’ve seen and been in more churches than you can keep track of; able to take in different interiors and atmospheres, different communities and sermons— yet, despite attending more churches than this whole town combined, you’ve found that the one you currently stand in cannot even bear to rival the others— it is wholeheartedly your favorite.

Nothing quite compares to the feeling of warmth and comfort this quaint building brings you, from the friendly smiles others in the community send you the moment they see you, to the smell of incense and flowers that fills your nose the further you walk down the nave, automatically going to your usual pew closest to the altar; the spot is basically reserved for you at this point, anyone who has come to this church at least once knowing that the third pew away from the altar is your favorite spot.

Beomgyu trails a little behind you. A little hesitant, you think— it must be difficult being thrust into such a new environment so suddenly, and you’re stopping in your tracks to turn around and reach for him with a kind smile.

He seems startled by your sudden gesture. His expression is completely lightening up within seconds, and if you hadn’t been dreadfully nervous to offer him your hand so you could walk together, you would have been able to pinpoint the clear scorn in his gaze— instead, all you’re able to see is the way his brows raise in surprise and his gaze turns warm, smiling fondly as he takes your hand; he tucks it snuggly in the crook of his arm before he’s nodding at you to continue walking.

You’re suddenly much more aware of the eyes pinned on you— you’re sure many must be surprised to see you with someone new, always used to you coming in early and quietly, head bowed down and mind already lost in prayer— and in this condition nonetheless, your body heating up slightly as you stare down at the ghastly state of your clothes.

“Relax,” Beomgyu suspires, leaning close to your ear so only the two of you can hear his words; his other hand reaches to place itself over your gloved hand, and again, you can feel the heat of his touch permeating through the wool. “You look lovely. A bit of snow or dirt could never take away from your beauty.”

His sudden compliment has your face heating up and reacting drastically; you can only squeak out a flustered oh, in response, unable to do much more than look in the opposite direction and stare at the scarlet rug that rolls down the nave— and you’re arriving at your usual spot, close enough to the altar that you’re bowing in respect— stiffly, Beomgyu is pulled down with you; his jaw clenches at the action.

The sermon begins as usual and proceeds as it always does— though, with Beomgyu at your side, you seem to have garnered quite a lot of attention to you; from others around you eagerly wanting to wish you and Beomgyu peace, shaking his hand firmly and with looking up at him with awe-stricken eyes, to the priest’s gaze that inevitably falls back onto the two of you again and again, not used to the scrutiny in his eyes as you flush with heat at the sudden realization of what others might be assuming the two of you are— as subtly as possible, you try to make space between the two of you, using the armrest of the pew as your excuse to scoot away as you try your best to remain inconspicuous, pretending to get comfortable and resting your arm against it.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to pick up on your particular train of thought— he’s sending you a curious glance before he’s closing the space between the two of you again, feeling the way your body stiffens and your back straightens the moment you feel him against you, thigh against thigh; the small pressure of his body against yours enough to have you flustering pathetically, lips pressing together as you try to keep your expression neutral.

But if there’s one thing Beomgyu has learned about you from the short time he’s gotten to know you, it’s that you’re undeniably terrible at keeping a poker face; all your thoughts are written across your expression clear as day and seep into your body language— anyone who has you in their line of sight would be able to immediately pick up on your flustered and shy state.

You’re such an innocent little thing; like a lamb, Beomgyu thinks, gaze visibly boring into your side profile as you attempt to pretend as though you’re unaware of it, even if the nervous fiddling of your fingers gives you away. There’s an air of purity around you that is simply enticing, unable to pretend as though he isn’t endeared to you the moment you finally break and turn to look at him once it is time to receive the eucharist, bright, wide eyes silently asking if he’ll join you— he shakes his head no gently, and you’re nodding in understanding before you finally scurry away to get in line.

Your heart is pounding; you’ve never thought a man could have such an effect on you, your poor brain confused and running laps to try to reason why you can’t even keep eye contact with him for more than a second— you’ve just met him, just a little bit ago, yet even so you can’t help but feel a strange pull toward him, undeniably charmed by both his looks and soothing aura— your hand goes to place itself onto your heart, a weak attempt to steady it’s erratic beating. The charm of your necklace presses against your skin, and as it nears to be your turn, you pray for your heart to have more resilience.

“The Body of Christ.”

Beomgyu watches as you stand dutifully before the priest. He watches as the older man stares down at you with an intense gaze, one that seems to hold silent disappointment; he watches as the priest looks back at him, their eyes meeting and his gaze hardening before it falls back onto you— with a twisted realization, Beomgyu realizes where this emotion stems from.

The priest is careful with you, hand reaching out to slowly place the Eucharist on your awaiting tongue; he’s gentle, as though you were made of nothing but glass, gaze following you even after you’re long gone.

You’re walking back with your hands clasped together and your eyes downcast, undoubtedly lost in prayer again. But even so, you can’t help but sneak a glance at Beomgyu once more, relieved to see his eyes weren’t on you already this time— instead, he’s watching the priest acutely, observing and analyzing his every move— and you feel star-struck by his beauty yet again.

The day outside must have cleared more; at least, that must be the case if there is light shining through the stained glass windows, myriads of colors casting themselves on the floors and the people around you— Beomgyu is not an exception to this, entranced with the sharp reds, purples and blues that cast onto his delicate skin, making his appearance seem more otherworldly than it already was.

His brows furrow. Part of his face is lit up with a faint red from the window, hitting his right eye and the scar above it— suddenly, his eyes are flickering back to meet yours, and you’re jumping slightly in surprise; his eye is practically glowing.

Your gaze becomes downcast again. You try to ignore the feeling of him watching as you kneel down and begin your prayer once more, staring at the altar and at the captivating marble statues, eyes falling onto the candles that hypnotize you by its flickering flame, lost in thought as the taste of wine that lingers on your tongue becomes the only thing you’re still aware of.

Beomgyu makes no attempts to conceal his desperation to leave the moment mass is over. His goodbyes are brief and he manages to pull you along, simply because you’d feel bad if you didn’t accompany him out. You’re almost out the front doors, so close to leaving, only to be stopped the moment you’re stepping outside, not expecting the priest to slip out of the doors behind you, calling out your name and asking you to wait; obedient as always, you’re practically frozen on the steps of the church— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to hide the clear distaste on his face as he hears the priest ask for a word with you; in private.

Without hesitation, you’re scurrying up the steps and meekly asking Beomgyu if he was going to stay— you can’t help but be surprised at the immediate nod of his head in response.

“Lovely seeing you today. Like always,” the priest says, sending you a fond smile that you eagerly return; he’s taking a step close to you, voice lowering slightly as he continues. “This is the first time I’ve seen you attend with someone else.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, evidently flustered by the breach of this subject; you’re turning away from him to glance back at Beomgyu, who sends you a small smile the moment your eyes meet. “I met him this morning— he aided me when I fell, and agreed to join me when I invited him to today’s mass.”

The priest frowns. You’re taken aback by the clear disapproval in his eyes, blinking owlishly as you silently question what’s wrong— the priest is taking another step closer to you, his brows pinched together and his voice cautious as he speaks.

“My child,” he begins carefully, taking in your wide and curious eyes as he warns you, “It is admirable of you to spread God’s word so dutifully. I admire your devotion to both our Lord and this community.”

“However,” he says solemnly, “I advise you to be very careful. You have only just met him after all.”

The two of you glance back at Beomgyu, who leans against the stairway with a blank expression, staring out at the snowy scenery before him as he waits for the two of you to finish; he can feel your stares on him, but he doesn’t bother to look back, already knowing where this conversation must be headed.

“Oh Father,” you say softly, giving him a reassuring smile, “you shouldn’t worry, I know how to handle myself.”

And, Beomgyu has been nothing but kind to you, you think to yourself, though you know better than to rely solely on the limited hours you’ve spent together.

“Of course. Though you can’t blame me for being concerned,” he says, taking yet another step closer to you— the space between you is limited now, and you’re unable to stop the way you retreat subconsciously in response.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to,” he reaches up to place a hand on your shoulder, heavy and making you stiffen at the sudden contact; it remains there, thumb rubbing soft circles on your coat, “such a dedicated servant of God. It is my duty to protect you, child.”

He is reluctant to let you go. You breathe out a soft laugh and smile, taking another step back and watching as his hand slides down your arm, his touch lingering and grabbing at your hand momentarily; he squeezes it in an attempt to give you reassurance, and you nod.

“I understand,” you say quietly, pulling your hands in close to your chest, clasping them together as you take another step back, “I must leave now, Father.”

His lips press, as though disappointed to see you leave to soon— but then he nods in understanding, wishing you a blessed day and encouraging you to stop by anytime; you nod, bidding him one last goodbye before you’re turning around and descending the stairs— you miss the way his eyes harden and his brows knit together the second they meet Beomgyu’s, lips pressed to a thin line as he watches the two of you for a moment more.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” you say meekly, feeling a smile grow on your face the moment Beomgyu simply shakes his head in reassurance, boldly taking your hand and placing it in the crook of his arm once again; a gesture that has your body warming up as much as his touch warms you, allowing him to pull you close to him as you walk away— he allows you to speak about whatever is on your mind, listening intently as he glances back at the church one final time.

At the top of the stairway, the priest remains, watching. Beomgyu is unfazed at the sight, and instead of returning the harsh glare the older man sends him, his lips curl into a smile— wide and wicked, showing off his perfect teeth and sharp canines that adorn his mouth, confusing the man before him— and his expression switches in the blink of an eye the moment you squeeze at his bicep subconsciously to get his attention as you speak, leaning in to ask what he thought of today’s mass.

“It was lovely,” Beomgyu says smoothly, eyes crinkling into a fond and kind smile. You’re returning the smile without hesitation, feeling as though it’s become second nature to your being now.

“I think I’ll be seeing you around more.”

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

The two of you part ways once you’ve reached the center of town. Beomgyu tells you he has somewhere he needs to be, and you explain that you still have a few errands to do; with the promise to see each other again soon, you’re reluctantly bidding him goodbye.

He asked if you’d be willing to show him around the town a bit more; if you’d like to show him your favorite places to eat and visit— you told him yes in a heartbeat.

With new promising plans with this handsome stranger, you felt lighter on your feet— a giddiness that undoubtedly was written all over your face, laughing shyly at the remarks others would give in regards to your good mood; and though the trek back to your little cottage on the outskirts of town was a long one, you didn’t seem to particularly mind it today.

The rest of your day is quiet; peaceful like always, not a soul stopping by to interrupt your day. You’ve fallen back into routine, and with your sudden encounter with Beomgyu earlier, you’ve begun to realize how mundane your everyday life is— you’re suddenly antsy, waiting anxiously for the day to bleed into the next so you’re able to see him again.

Night falls and you have yet to forget about him. Beomgyu’s soft gaze and kind smile, the way he hovered over you and humored your spontaneous offer to join you— his touch that warmed you through your layers of clothing and left your body hot and flustered.

This sudden change in your train of thought has you snapping back to reality; your eyes are blinking into focus and you’re now hyper-aware of the hot water that runs over your skin, the dishes in your hands that you had absentmindedly been washing— and you’re straightening up to stare out your window, feeling a breeze slip through the small opening and hit your warm face; you definitely need it, you think to yourself, scolding yourself for thinking of such scandalous things about a man you just met.

You think you’ll go to bed early; with the final dish placed on your drying rack, you’re off to your bathroom, washing up before you make your way into the bedroom, slipping into nothing more but a thin nightgown; the moonlight casts a glow on your figure as you change, already feeling sleep weigh your eyes as the soft silk of your gown brushes against your skin.

Your bed feels a lot more comfortable than usual; your body is more tired than you realized. The blankets weigh down on you securely, and any restless thought seems to dissolve in your mind the moment your head is resting against your soft pillows— for the first time in a long, long time, you’re able to achieve a peaceful, immediate slumber.

Poor thing; today’s events must have truly exhausted you. After all, being around a demon for such a long time takes a lot of energy.

Beomgyu watches the soft rise and fall of your chest with fond eyes and a small smile. He thinks that the moonlight casts a truly angelic glow on your face, unaware and peaceful to the dangers around you— not much of a difference from your awake self, the man muses.

The energy you emit is as pure as the light in your eyes; innocent, untainted by the horrors of the world. Unlike the rest of this town and their putrid thoughts, their intentions to rip you apart and force you to stoop as low as them, you’ve remained the same: devoted to your God, devoted to live an honest and peaceful life— your being is nothing short of angelic, and Beomgyu has found himself addicted to it.

He’s weakened— you remind him of the life he used to live, the person he once was before he gave in to the beauty of temptation, ensnared for eternity to the carnal sin that allowed him to reject the teachings of his god. He’s lived this life longer than he can remember, memories of pure beings and a light heart long gone; it’s instead been replaced by an insatiable hunger and instincts that led him to you.

Beomgyu wasn’t supposed to find himself here, he supposed. Damned to nothing but a void of flames that seared and marred his skin, to be given bodies of those who shared the same sin as him— indulging in his cravings, but never truly satiating them, just enough to keep his soul hooked and coming back for more, a constant cycle of addiction and hunger and desire.

But this is — you are — different. Just being near you is enough to get Beomgyu’s heart racing, his body buzzing with a slight nervous energy that begs to just touch you, to take you, to use you. His body is weak, drained from its descent from the heavens and its unexpected escape from his perpetual state of limbo, from his punishment. His bones ache and his skin begs to be with you, his soul guiding the rest of him to find you; just one night with you could keep him strong for eons.

Such a cruel hand life has given you. Because now that Beomgyu has found you, he’s made a silent vow to not let you escape from his hands; you’re the perfect prey, innocent and trusting and charmed by the closest thing to ever be graced by God's presence.

He closes his eyes, and hones in on your energy— to properly entangle you in clutches, Beomgyu must begin to plant the seeds in your mind; seeds of doubt and want, seeds that will allow you to see the world as is and bring you into his awaiting, protecting arms.

After a moment, he finally feels it; the soft beating of your heart, the aura that hums like an enticing melody. Deep breaths bring a slow rise and fall to his chest, allowing it to match the rhythm of your own. A harmony is created between the two, and only then does Beomgyu finally feel it— your mind is inviting him in. He suppresses the triumphant smile that makes his lips twitch.

Declining such an offer would be quite rude, wouldn’t it?

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

You wake with a start.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in and your gown sticks to your skin in an unbearable way, your body exuding so much heat that you’ve found yourself covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mind is racing, you feel as though your heart is ready to burst out of your chest— what happened, why do you feel like this?

It takes a minute before everything else floods back in. A wave of shame and horror washes over you, searingly hot against your skin as you find yourself throwing the covers of your bed off your body, reaching over at your nightstand instinctively and kneeling at your bedside; your hands shake slightly as you try to ground yourself with the feeling of the rosary beads against your palms.

Prayers leave your lips like a waterfall; attempting to forget the dream— the nightmare— that your mind conjured, surely nothing but a test of faith and temptation to make you stray from the path you painstakingly set up for yourself.

The beads of the rosary dig deeper into your palms. Your hands press tighter together, your face screwed into a frown of concentration, attempting to rid yourself of the way your mind seems to want to do nothing but wander. Wander to the foreign feeling of a hand gliding against your skin, a smooth path along your bare back and chest, lips that caressed your neck and whispered nothing but praises and promises of divinity and eternal life.

A shudder rips through your body like an earthquake. You must rid yourself of these thoughts.

Your will is strong, but the temptation is stronger; it sings memories and images from your nightmare, appearing at the most inconvenient moments and making your every movement falter— when you change, vibrant images and raw skin replacing the sight of your body in the mirror with one of pure lust and sin, when you prepare to go out, tucking the rosary safely underneath your layers of clothes, and as you spot Beomgyu in the distance, waving at you with a kind smile on his face; shame bubbles hotly beneath your skin, and you hope that the man who asks you to lead the way with bright eyes simply blames the flustered look of your face on the cold, the pure snow around you.

“You must be cold,” Beomgyu muses softly, turning to you and suddenly cupping your face; wide eyes meet his as you merely remain still, unsure of what to do as the feeling of his hot hands cupping your flushed skin only make it burn hotter, embarrassment eating you up as his brows twitch at the feeling; he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion as he inspects you slowly. “Or… perhaps not? Your face is burning.”

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to spit out, taking a step away from him and averting his gaze entirely, hands pressed firmly against your pounding heart, “I’m sorry if I seem to be acting strange, I’m not sure what has gotten into me.”

Beomgyu shakes his head softly, brows knitted together with worry— oh, you must seem to have lost it, you think to yourself, biting your lip and attempting to brush off your skittish behavior with a soft laugh, Beomgyu must find you strange now.

And whilst Beomgyu continues to feign concern for you, brushing off all your apologies and maintaining a curious facade, his body practically buzzes with excitement; poor, innocent thing, one simple dream was enough to bring you right to where he wanted you— one dream was enough to fluster and break down the solid fortitude you once set up for yourself, the man before you catching you so off guard that you never had a moment to question the sudden turn of events; he had you right where he wanted you, smiling to himself at the way you could barely maintain eye-contact before you were flustering and looking away.

You told yourself it would pass with time. But hours fly by with Beomgyu and nothing changes— if anything, everything simply got much, much worse— the man seemed to have found solace within you, getting comfortable and finding confidence in being subtly affectionate with you; holding your hand and pulling you along to show you something, brushing the corner of your mouth and teasing you for being such a messy eater, and holding a firm hand at the small of your back while you walked— you couldn’t pretend to be unaware of everyone’s stares even if you tried.

“Such a small town, isn’t it?” Beomgyu muses to you, taking in the scenery, the people that wander the streets; he finds his eyes meeting with every person they land on, holding back a sneer at the way their stares linger with fascination, landing on you with a myriad of emotions: envy, lust, disdain, he sees it all. “I feel like there’s someone watching us at all times.”

“Oh, I suppose,” you say sheepishly, as though you were the one to blame for his discomfort, “I apologize, I had no idea it would be this busy today— but it’s natural to be curious, I know they mean well.”

Beomgyu nods thoughtfully at your claim; surely, there’s only so much innocence you can harbor before it begins to become naivety— do you really believe such lies? But of course, you’re filled with nothing but surprises, the clear look in your eyes telling him that your words are more for you to believe than him.

When the sun is beginning to set and the street lamps are beginning to get lit up, Beomgyu sees your mood flip like a switch; you’re getting antsy, you must want to leave soon. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what might be going on in your mind at the moment.

“You must be tired,” Beomgyu says, slowing to a stop before turning to face you; you led him to one of your favorite parks, taking him into the maze of a garden and along your favorite trail, the light and excitement in your face enough to make the scenery around him seem dull.

You look like a deer caught in headlights at his words; was it so obvious? You stammer and try to sugarcoat how you feel unsure of how to tell him that you want to leave now, not because you’re tired of his presence, but because you feel as though you’re not in your right mind at the moment.

Oh, how could you possibly tell him that the reason you must leave soon is because you feel a nauseating urge to repent? That, as soon as you say your final goodbyes, smiling shyly and turning around to walk away from him with a haste, you’re going to make your way straight to the church? The night is cold but your body is far from it, face burning with shame as you walk into your sanctuary with a haste, unsure of how to deal with the fact that you’re thinking very impure thoughts over a man you’ve just met; the very reminder is enough to make your stomach lurch once more.

The warmth of the building doesn’t feel as welcoming anymore; it only makes your body hotter, breaking out with a light sweat as you slowly approach the basin of holy water, dipping your fingers in and slowly crossing yourself— you take a deep breath, ignoring the flames of shame that eat at you as you walk inside.

The confessional is just by the entrance, at the very end of the left wall and tucked in safely from any private eyes. The velvet curtain beckons you, and as you rush over in a haste, you can’t bring yourself to catch eyes with the priest that stands by the altar, having caught sight of you immediately— there was no one else that would come here so late at night but you.

You sit at the very edge of your seat, hunched over and staring at your lap as you wait. You can feel the heat of the single lightbulb above you on your back, searing into your nape as you pick at your nails anxiously. It feels like time has frozen within this small booth you’ve cooped yourself in, the heat of it all only making you more restless as you wait, head ducked down in shame, much too afraid to look into the screen that separates you from the only other person that will ever know about the dark thoughts that plague you.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear footsteps approaching; you peek up instinctively, just in time to watch the velvet curtain on the other side get pushed open— your head goes back down hurriedly.

It’s not too often you come into the confessional, but you still find yourself doing the routine like you were born to do so. Your hand crosses yourself dutifully, licking nervously at your dry lips that part to speak— your voice feels timid and broken, the words you speak heavy on your tongue.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

It’s been about four weeks since you last confessed, you tell him, wringing your hands together as you attempt to find the words to say, feeling as though a heavy lump in your throat prevents you from expressing the truth; it’s too much, you find yourself thinking, the burden and shame of it all bringing a heat to your cheeks, reluctant to voice your sins aloud. Moments pass and you have said nothing, but the priest on the other side remains patient— the silence and the heat of his stare through the screen only makes you more aware of the guilt that sits in your stomach.

“Father, I don’t know what to do,” you sob softly, the dam finally breaking in one, swift motion; words spill from your lips with abandon, unable to keep track of what to say as you scoot close to the screen, barely on your seat as you lean your forehead against the cool wood.

“I have restrained myself all my life, I’ve avoided the temptation that is thrown my way, the dangers presented to me— I’ve remained strong— yet…” you swallow thickly, a shuddered sigh leaving your lips as your hands brace themselves against the screen; your palms press against the sturdy structure, a false sense of security as you hesitate to say the words you’re about to admit, “yet— these past few days I’ve been plagued with nothing but thoughts of lust. Of blasphemy.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Memories seem to bubble up from the confession, detailed and vivid, playing against your eyes that screw shut as though in pain.

It’s all wrong. So, so so wrong, the warm feelings that stir within unfamiliar as you remember all the thoughts that fill your mind throughout the day.

“It’s unlike me— I’ve never found myself to think anything so crude, so immoral,” you say, hanging your head with shame, “Yet I find that I cannot stop. Father, I’ve prayed and I’ve remained abstinent, but the thought that I fear the most is the one… that makes me doubt whether I’m on the right path.”

On the other side of the screen, you’re faintly able to make out his figure shifting. Your hesitation is evident as you finally admit something you hadn’t been able to accept yourself.

“Father, I’m afraid that I’ll give in.”

More silence follows. You’re sure that the priest must be in deep thought on the other side, but the silence only seems to make you more anxious; how low you’ve come, a voice within you chides, wanting to throw away your purity for a man you’ve just only just met. How vile.

The voice is cold and blunt and unlike your own— the sudden thought startles you, your spine straightening as you look around you, a shiver going throughout your body. Inevitably, you look through the screen once more. On the other side, you’re able to see the faint image of the priest, his head hanging and lost in thought.

You feel as though you’re in a daze for the rest of your time there; you can only nod softly with every piece of advice he offers you, telling you to remain strong and trust that your faith in God will guide you to the right path— he tells you to pray, to devote yourself to the church in any way you can, your penance weighing your heart as you agree to it all.

“My child, be aware that this is another test of your faith. You mustn’t give in,” he finally says, stopping you in your motion to leave, “You are a pure flower, bound to attract others who do not have your best interest in mind.”

Hesitantly, you nod, unsure if you’re deserving of this praise he sings to you.

“If you ever find yourself in doubt, know that you can always come to me.”

There’s an odd feeling that blooms within you at his words; you know you should feel comforted, honored to have someone to support you in your time of need, but instead you can only muster a wry smile, whispering a soft of course before you’re exiting the booth in a haste.

Glancing behind you, you’re reassured to see that the priest has yet to come out; you don’t think you could face him any time soon, knowing that despite the anonymity of the booth, your identity is quite obvious.

No one else resides in the church as you make your way down the nave and down to your usual spot. Your footsteps feel heavy on the rug as you stand before the altar, head tilted up to be able to take it all in properly; the marble statues that look as though they might come to life, the angels that bow down and the intricate details that go to frame the cross in the middle— you stare up at the altar for what feels like hours, the guilt in your heart weighing you as you take a deep bow and go to sit.

Your mind is calm, but your heart is restless; you pray for forgiveness and plead to not be led astray, yet something within you itches to do just that— a tug at your heart, wondering what it would be like to indulge yourself for once— you’ve seen the other members of your church, the way they comply and worship yet change in the blink of an eye once they’re out of this sanctuary— so, would it really be that bad? You’ve seen their actions, know their hearts; they treat you so kindly, worship your lord so devoutly— so, is it really unjust for you to do the same?

Your nails dig deep into your skin, a way to snap yourself out of that train of thought, scolding yourself for thinking this way of others around you— for attempting to reason with the whispers of temptation that attempt to lure you.

How long you spend lost in thought is unknown to you— minutes, maybe hours, your knees sore and your clasped hands clammy as you rest your forehead against them, eyes screwed shut and lost in prayer; it was a meditation of sorts, finally able to cast out straying tangents and focus on one thing. Your breathing is slow, tired, your body slowly giving in to the exhaustion, muscles weighing you down as you continue to pray— it isn’t until you’ve found yourself about to doze off that you realize you must leave.

When you stand, you’re shaken awake instantly. You could’ve sworn you’d be the only one left in the building by now, yet the priest still lingers by the altar, tending to the candles and shifting about— the smile you send when he glances behind curiously and meets your eyes must seem as ingenuine as it feels, because you see his expression fall instantly.

It’s important to rest. You must be seeing things, you think, tightening your coat around you before you’re stepping out of your pew and turning to leave— your steps are unconsciously haste, your arms that wrap around yourself unnaturally tight, yet you still flinch the moment your name is being called— softly, but still echoing throughout the building.

You find yourself feeling reluctant as you turn. Your words are timid as you address him.

“Yes Father?”

Upon your surprise, he is not too far from you— as though he had been mere steps behind, wanting to close the gap between you two as he continues to move forward; he sends you a soft smile, head tilting in curiosity and brows furrowing in worry as he speaks.

“My dear, are you leaving? At this hour?” he asks, watching you nod meekly, “But it is so dangerous; it is far too cold and dark for someone like you to be out alone.”

Sheepishly, you smile, hands wringing themselves without you realizing.

“It’s quite alright, Father. I’m stronger than you think.”

The soft laugh he lets out is meant to be lighthearted, though you can’t help but think it’s one of disbelief instead.

“I’m sure, but you must understand my concern; to let you leave alone like this would be wrong of me.” His smile is fond as he steps closer to you, gesturing behind him as he proposes, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? It’d be much safer.”

“Oh, thank you Father, but I think it’d be better for me to go to my home instead,” you say softly, pressing your hands firmly against your beating heart, “I have a busy day tomorrow, and I don’t think it’d be wise to rest on the pews.”

He laughs again, shaking his head in amusement; your brows knit together in slight confusion, laughing along hesitantly nonetheless.

“Of course my dear,” he starts, your smile widening in hopes that he’s giving up this small fight, “but that’s not what I was referring to.”

“I meant that you should rest here tonight,” he repeats again, voice softening as he continues, “with me.”

Your eyes widen in shock— it’s painted all over your face as well, unsure of what to make of his sudden offer as you resort to letting out an incredulous laugh instead.

“Oh Father, I couldn’t possibly—” you gulp, softening your tone at the sight of his confused face, “It– it wouldn’t be right. I mustn’t disturb you.”

“But you wouldn’t be disturbing at all,” he insists, taking a step toward you, talking animatedly with his hands as he does, “I’m inviting you, afterall, I’d love the company— it does get lonely sometimes, I must admit.”

You attempt to maintain a look of understanding, nodding along to his every word— but you remain firm in your stance regardless as you respond.

“I understand, and I truly do appreciate the offer,” you try again, beginning to walk back despite the slow souring of his face, “but, even so, I really must leave—”

“Why?” he suddenly interrupts, his voice sharp and his expression cold, “why are you so insistent on leaving?”

“I’m tired, is all—”

“Lies.” he shuts you down again. “All of it. For if you were true to your word, you’d have no issue accepting my offer to accommodate you.”

Shaking your head, you shrink within yourself, shoulders caving in as he begins following your steps— you attempt to give him reason, to be polite and kind, yet he hears none of it.

“You come to plead for forgiveness yet are so quick to run back to your old ways,” he says, his every step like a resounding boom in your mind— you deny him adamantly again, but all you get in response is a cold look.

It seems as though you’ve nowhere to go— the doors had been shut due to the cold and your back presses against it, but before you can reach for the handle and open your only exit, you find yourself trapped— the priest’s hand is heavy as it slams on the handle, the loud sound causing you to jump and yelp in surprise.

“Can’t you see? I only want what’s best for you,” you feel as though you might merge with the wood of the door as you press yourself to it, eyes glued to the floor in an attempt to escape the cruel wrath of the priest that towers above you, spitting words of discipline, “It’s dangerous for you out there. You haven’t the slightest idea what would happen to you if you were found like this— alone, helpless, defenseless.”

“I have gone out of my way to provide you shelter, yet you refuse; I know what it is you’re truly adamant to get back to,” he grits, as though it pained him to say— his eyes narrow, watching as you merely tremble and refuse to look at him, finding himself tired of you not meeting his eye— the cry you let out is insignificant as he takes hold of your shoulders, shaking you and crouching down to meet your face.

“And I will not have you whoring yourself out to another man! ” Your eyes are screwed shut now, tears threatening to flow down as you reach for the hands on your shoulders, attempting to pry them off— he pays no mind to your attempts, continuing to scream in your face until you find that you can withstand no more.

“Please! Let me go!”

Your chest heaves. Your wide eyes are brimming with tears and your legs are shaking terribly, just like your hands that have just shoved the priest off you; he seems just as shocked as you are, mouth parted in surprise before he finally goes to regain his composure.

“I-I’m so sorry Father, I–” your voice breaks and you feel the hot streams of tears on your cheeks, a trembling hand reaching behind you in search of the handle— when you find it, you immediately pull it open.

“I–I— I must go, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I’m so—”

“You do not deserve to be deflowered and tainted by the evils of this world,” the priest says, his voice hoarse and stopping you effortlessly in your tracks; he doesn’t bother looking at you anymore, staring at your feet with a pinched expression of frustration instead. “But if that is what your blasphemous heart truly desires, then so be it.”

When his head raises and his eyes meet yours, you’re stunned— his eyes shine, a forlorn look settled within them.

“You were so perfect, my child,” he says softly, frowning at the fear in your eyes, the heavy heaving of your chest, “you were divine.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Brows furrowing together, you deny him one last time— this time, he simply watches as you slip out the door, fleeing with sharp steps and sobbing quietly into your hands, cheeks stinging from the cold.

The path before you is dim— the trek to your home is long. Without realizing, you think of the priest’s warnings, tears an endless stream as you part your lips in a soft whisper.

“Oh Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection…”

Through the long journey back to your way home, you sob and you pray. By the top steps of the church, hidden by the columns and tucked safely into the darkness, Beomgyu watches. He watches until your figure is nothing but a small speck against the vast landscape of the town, your trembling body and the echoes of your soft sobs ingrained into his mind.

Slowly, he turns back to look at the doors, into the small sliver of warm light provided by your failure to close the door properly.

His eyes catch movement; a grin grows on his face.

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

Tonight, it seems as though your heart and your mind have finally conceded. Tonight, you dream deeply.

In your dreams, it is all a haze; you’ve found yourself within the holy sanctuary once more, slowly making your way down the nave, past the crowded pews of hooded figures with their heads ducked down, hands folded dutifully in front of you and your eyes pinned straight ahead. The altar beckons you, the thickened, incensed air bringing a calm through your system as you walk. You walk and you walk, eyes pinned on the cross that looms over you.

The path seems to warp— the nave seems never-ending, the carpet slowly becoming worn and darkened with every step you take— your heart beats a little faster now, nails digging into your skin with a subconscious tension; yet you continue to walk, whether you want to or not.

Everything feels so heavy. You feel lethargic and dizzy, feeling as though submerged underwater, limbs moving oh so slowly; the room around you has begun to darken, unable to halt your trek down to the altar no matter how much you try— everything has begun to fade to black, the pews of people turning to dust, the carpet beneath you disappearing beneath your feet— the only thing that remains steady is the altar in front of you and the steps you take.

You can’t breathe— have you been breathing at all? It’s a fleeting thought that crosses your mind, the burning of your lungs and the pressure on your chest sudden and alarming— the smell of incense no longer enters your system, but you can still feel the air thicken around you; somehow, your eyes remain wide open through it all, stuck onto the mesmerizing, pure altar that remains on its fixed point in the distance.

It feels as though hours have passed, and you’ve yet to make any progress. Your body remains still as the darkness around you. Just when you’ve begun to wonder if there will ever be any end in sight, something changes.

It’s subtle, at first— you think it might just be a trick of the mind. The very edges of the altar have started to fade into the darkness, the sharp edges of the pure, white marble statues turning fuzzy— the wings of the angels, the top of the cross, the podium that holds it all up— it’s fading into the abyss, becoming one with the eternal nothingness around you— and as much as you feel yourself panic, wanting to speed your pace, break into a run in a weak attempt to stop it— you can’t. The sound of your steps is like a metronome in your ears, falling against the void and keeping you still. All you can do is watch.

Your eyes remain wide open throughout it all. Your dress sways with every step you take, your body not realizing that soon enough, you’ll be walking towards nothing. The faces of the angel’s are now fading into obscurity, the darkness prickling at Jesus’ nailed hands and thorned crown; your heart hammers against your chest, forced to watch as it pools around Mary’s feet.

The few remnants of the holy altar are slowly being swallowed by this strange darkness; sorrow fills your weak being, wondering why it is that your body continues to walk forward— there is nothing left to go to, the last of Mary’s bowed body getting lost into the abyss— and as your eyes scan her smooth, marble complexion, you catch on a single crimson tear, welling up at the inner corner of her eye, able to watch it grow as though you were standing inches before it— it grows and grows, until it can no longer stay still. The path it runs down the smoothness of her cheeks is striking, a sharp trail left behind as it drips off into nothing.

The last of her fades away.

There is nothing but darkness ahead of you; even so, you continue forward. Your mind has emptied, body becoming lax as the steps you take become effortless, light, like walking on air. Your eyelids feel heavy with sleep, the haze in your brain returning twice as strong.

You can feel yourself walking, but you cannot see anything; not even yourself. A voice within wonders if you might be left to walk forever, towards an end goal that will never show itself to you.

Come to me.

Despite your shock, you do not halt. The voice is soft and sweet, like dripping honey— it’s only three words, but even so, you find yourself entranced, following the command even if you’re unsure whether you’re going the right direction.

Closer, come.

The voice beckons you so effortlessly, like a leash that wraps around your figure, pulling you forward, following your instinct to continue to walk, to explore what it is that calls to you so sweetly.

Unlike the altar that has now been lost on your once worried mind, something has begun to fade into view. It is soft and hazy, with a slight glow that hurts your eyes— unable to make out what it is you’re now making your way towards, eyes dilating and adjusting slowly.

A bright, ruffled shirt, a corset that’s tied tightly, long flowing sleeves covering the hands that rest leisurely at their sides; your gaze is quick to sweep up their appearance, a quick observation before you move onto what tugs at your curiosity the most— only to find that their face remains obscured by the darkness, a slight blur of what could be registering in your mind— you think you see soft, plump lips that curl into a reassuring smile, but it might be wishful thinking, if anything at all.

Slowly, they raise a hand— calling you closer, the path beneath you finally beginning to shrink with each step you take— their fingertips outstretched toward you, as though expecting you to do the same. And even when you fail to mirror their actions, they refuse to falter, accepting you as you are.

It is only when you stand before them that your body finally stops. Your face expressionless as you observe the person in front of you carefully, oddly hesitant to accept their offer. You stand for a moment, left in a standstill as the figure lets out a soft, echoing laugh.

Do not be afraid, they tell you, their words wrapping around you warmly, take my hand.

You blink. Your body suddenly feels like your own, the grounding heaviness of your limbs making you realize that it is now you who controls what you do next; glancing down at yourself curiously, you look back up at the figure, where they remain waiting expectantly.

You take a step closer. Their smile widens slightly.

Good, they say, soft and deep like a purr, closer.

Slowly, you bring a hand up, finding a slight hesitation to make contact with this outstretched hand— and, as though hearing your doubts, the figure chuckles, teasing and lighthearted, as though already aware of what you will choose in the end.

When your skin touches theirs, you feel nothing. It is like air under your palm.

Your grip tightens, unsure if you’ve taken their hand at all; before you can so much as take a breath, their hold shifts, hand sliding forward and deft fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist, fingertips digging into the skin— you’re pulled in without warning, stumbling forward and crashing into their strong chest.

Looking up, you find that you cannot bring yourself to feel afraid— their smile is radiant as they look down at you, the faint outline of their head much too fuzzy for you to understand— the air cracks as two pure wings stretch out, curling around the two of you and moving to cage you in shortly after— feathers fly around the air from the aggressive movement, fluttering around before they rot black, lighting at the quill and turning to ashes, the crackling sounds filling your ears as you look around you in confusion, only to get the sight obscured by the darkening wings that trap you.

Eyes on me, the voice says, echoing in your mind, following their command immediately. The soft smile that remained on their lips can no longer be contained, growing into a grin that shows off brilliant canines that shine down at you. I will give you everything you seek.

Feeling the twinge of hope in your heart, the figure pulls you closer still, allowing your body to press against theirs.

Seek me, they whisper lowly, a hand beginning to snake around your waist, dancing fingertips pressing into the small of your back— leaning down, they whisper softly into your ear.

Find me in our sanctuary, you can hear their grin through their words, and I will give you all you yearn for.

Their lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

Quickly.

Before you can react, they dissolve to nothing.

You’re left alone in the abyss once more.

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you startle awake, you find that it is still nighttime; sitting straight up in your bed, you look out the window— snow falls peacefully, the quietness of the scenery doing nothing to calm your beating heart.

The dream.

Words and messages echo throughout your mind, unsure of what to make of it all. Your chest heaves slightly with confusion, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you glance over at your bedside table— the statue of the cross greets you like always, the soft voice from your dream resurfacing in your tired brain.

Your body is moving on its own accord; your coat, your shoes, all of it is being thrown on before your dazed mind can even process it, still weighed with sleep as you stumble around in the darkness. Only one thought seems to keep you moving, like a restless pull that leads you out your front door.

Swinging it open, you’re met with the freezing winter breeze; the trees sway and creak, snowflakes falling in your direction and landing against the apples of your cheeks— shaking you awake slightly, a quiet voice within you wondering what it is you’re doing, telling you that you should go back inside and rest— but even through this small window of reason you receive, the warmth that leaks from behind your home attempting to wrap around you and pull you back in, the need to seek closure haunts you; your boots crunch beneath the freshly fallen snow, sealing your fate as you haphazardly close the door behind you.

It all feels like a dream still— and you wonder if it is, blinking away the snow that gets in your eyes, your walk through the emptied path that leads back to the center of town turning haste; you feel as though it is something else that is pushing you forward, allowing you to head through this dark and barren path without so much as a light to guide the way, the sound of the wind whistling through your ears and the snow crunching beneath your feet following along.

There must be a reason, your weary mind thinks, a passing thought through the blankness of your mind, passing through the desolate, closed shops, not a single street lantern lit to give you a sense of security, there is something calling you back.

In your right state of mind, you never would have found yourself doing this; after what happened mere hours ago, you wouldn’t have been able to walk in this general direction without feeling guilt and fear weighing you down— in your fully conscious state of mind, you would have stopped to contemplate your actions the moment you began to lace up your shoes— but in this moment, as you slow to a stop and turn to face the stone steps that lead to the first faint, flickering light you’ve seen tonight, you’re none of that— instead, you allow yourself to give in to this strange, delirious state of being you’ve found yourself in.

The tall steps of the church have blurred together. Your head remains bowed, eyes glued to your feet as you ascend, hands folded neatly in front of you as snow falls around you, on your clothes and in your hair.

When you arrive at the top, a hand reaching out for the entrance, you hesitate— your eyes widen, and as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over you, you take in the door that has been left ajar, the lights that are no longer on inside; your hand remains outstretched for a moment, and for the first time tonight, a single question runs through your head.

Why are you here?

Standing straight, you turn to look over your shoulder, out at the town behind you— all is still, eerily so, like you’re the only person there. Even in the distance, in the neighborhoods, you do not find a single light on. A chill runs through your body, suddenly aware that you’re standing outside in the snowfall with nothing but your nightgown and a winter coat on; with blazing cheeks, you rush to slip inside the sanctuary in hopes of getting your confused mind back in order.

The door falls shut behind you, the soft click rendering you in complete darkness; not even the magnificent, stained glass windows are able to provide you with a proper source of light, nervously looking around and taking in the church in this desolate, foreign state.

You’ve heard that old habits die hard— without realizing, you’ve made your way to the basin of holy water, shaking fingers reaching in to be dipped so you can cross yourself— only, you continue to reach in, going in further until your fingertips are touching the cool porcelain of the bowl; head snapping over the sensation, you frown in confusion at the sight of the empty basin— walking over to the one placed adjacently, you squint, reaching in unsurely, only to be met with the same cold feeling.

Strange.

Retracting your hand, you cradle it close to your chest, a frown tugging at your features as you try to brush off the confusion; looking forward once more, you’re left face to face with the marble altar that sits at the end of the nave, beckoning you to come closer.

It must’ve been a sign of God. That is the only explanation that would justify the strange circumstances of it all, making you way down the familiar carpet, the soft sound of your steps enough to rival the beating of your heart in your ears.

Stepping off the carpet, you go to bow in respect— only to hear a strange sound beneath your feet, like a splashing of sorts— glancing down in confusion, your eyes narrow, attempting to decipher what it is you’ve stepped in; a pool of water maybe, looking above you to see if there might be a leak in the ceiling— a few seconds go by, and when you neither feel nor see anything fall, your frown deepens.

“You came.”

Your heart spikes and your gaze drops to the source of the sound, unable to do anything but gasp from the startle— through the darkness, standing behind the altar, a figure speaks to you. The sight is reminiscent and makes your legs shake, a mixture of fear and awe filling your body as you find yourself unable to speak.

“I wondered what it would take for you to finally give in,” the voice, soft and melodic, murmurs; even through the darkness, you can feel their gaze pinned onto you intently. “Such a shame it had to go this far.”

Before you can react, a thunder-like sound fills the empty walls of the church, cracking loudly and causing you to flinch, ducking down and covering yourself instinctively— through your eyelids that remain screwed shut, you see light filling the room around you, the flickering warmth of the candles glowing against your lids, beckoning you to look— after a moment, you give in.

Your hands tremble as you put them down, straightening up and taking a look around you: the candles have been lit up, from the chandeliers and lanterns above you to the small, worn candles at the sides of the altar— your eyes squint, trying to adjust, rubbing the sleep out of them and blinking slowly as you finally take in the figure that awaited your arrival.

A familiar face smiles down at you sweetly.

A loose, white shirt, a corset that ties tightly around the waist, flowing sleeves that pool around his delicate hands— your shaking pupils take it all in, lips parting to speak, only to close once more when you’ve found that nothing can come out. His hair is mused and curls at the nape of his neck, long strands falling into his kind eyes that watch you carefully.

Behind him, two vast white wings stretch out, the grand sight making your eyes widen in wonder.

Before you can control yourself, your knees buckle in shock.

Beomgyu laughs at you, the sound tender to your ears; placing his hands on the table of the altar, he leans forward, looking down at you and tilting his head in curiosity.

“What’s wrong, my lamb?”

All you can do is stare, left speechless and shaken as you remain silent— he laughs again, eyes crinkling in amusement, bright smile on display and adding to his otherworldly appearance.

“Do not be afraid,” he says, cradling his face with his palm, cooing softly at the way you still remain paralyzed with shock, “I only want what’s best for you, little lamb.”

You blink; shifting, you’ve found your clothes have become soaked at the knees, realizing belatedly that you must’ve fallen into the puddle from earlier— glancing down, you wince, only to freeze at what you see.

A striking crimson soils your clothes. It drags into a path that leads off into one of the rooms on the side, your heart sinking and a cold fear striking down your spine.

The scream that rips though you echoes and burns your throat.

Beomgyu frowns. He’s not surprised, nor is he confused; he simply continues to watch you, beginning to round the altar table the moment you begin to crawl back from where you kneel, your legs refusing to cooperate as hot tears brim your eyes.

“Oh no,” he tsks softly, wings folding inward so he can make his way down the nave, brows knitting together as he watches you, the intensity of his gaze keeping your eyes pinned on his as you cry in confusion, attempting to stand shakily, only to fail— he pouts, stepping in the puddle that startled you, watching as you flinch at the sight of the brilliant droplets that splash out and cling to his once pristine, white boots. “Why do you run?”

“That— the-the blood—” you sob, hysterical, unable to get your words out through stuttered breaths, “What—”

“Shh,” he hushes you hastily, closing the distance between the two of you and stepping on your delicate nightgown, forcing you to be still as he towers over you— he leans down, hair framing his face beautifully, mischievous eyes twinkling as his face hovers inches before yours— his wings cage around the two of you, a sight to see as you merely stare up at him in utter consternation, “don’t bother with him.”

A chill runs down your spine, electrifying and forcing you to sit ram-rod straight— through the small cracks beneath his wings, you take in the streaks that have dried against the tiles, the implication of his words causing a feeling of dread to pool within you, feeling as though you might vomit with the next words you speak.

“Who…” you breathe out, shaky and helpless as you stare up at Beomgyu; he had already been watching you, apathetic expression bringing sheer horror to your system, finally noticing small details you had been so eager to gloss over in your earlier haste— the tainted sleeves of his shirt, the messiness of his clothes, his empty, dark eyes— and your face screws into an expression of sorrow, your nails digging into the soiled carpet beneath you.

“What have you done?”

Beomgyu doesn’t react to your question. He remains still, eerily so, before he finally stands up straight, wings spreading proudly behind him; he stares down at you, hands held behind his back and voice flat as he speaks.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Beomgyu thinks this might be his favorite part; he allows himself to watch as you force yourself to your feet, eyes blown out with horror as you stumble back, afraid he might come after you— when you see he has yet to move, you turn and run, the sight familiar as a grin grows on his face; he allows you to slam against the doors, watches confusion flood your actions as you attempt to force the door open, only beginning to take steps to go after you once you’ve begun to pound on the door hastily, hoarse voice screaming and crying for help, hoping for someone to hear your pleas and rescue you.

“You know, there’s no one that would be out on a night like this,” Beomgyu calls out, his voice booming effortlessly over your painful attempts to seek rescue; his steps are slow and cruel, and you look over your shoulder, tensing at the sight of him nearing you, refusing to give up as you try slamming your body against the wood, only to no avail. “No one stupid enough, that is.”

Your body is well beyond bruised by now, pausing your attempts to break down the door in a desperate hope to check the handle once more; you’re rattling it roughly, crying out when you’re met with resistance. Defeated, your forehead slams against the wood, allowing your sobs to wrack through your body, fingers tightening around the handle hopelessly.

“Now now, don’t be like this,” Beomgyu’s soft voice coos into your ear, much closer than you anticipated him to be; you flinch, feeling his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his chest pressing firmly against your back— his arms wrap around your waist slowly, bringing you in and forcing you to remain pressed against him, “is this not what you have been seeking all along?”

Effortlessly, he pulls you away from the door. Maybe it’s the will to fight that ebbs out of your being, or maybe it’s his superhuman strength, pulling you off and forcing the two of you to walk backwards, your hands falling limply at your sides and your head falling back to stare at the ceiling, glossy eyes barely processing the words he speaks next.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, the searing touch of his hands searing through your clothes, burning your skin, “your heart has been searching for me, you know.”

Allowing him to walk you backwards, you whimper at his words— a sharp reminder of what it was that kept bringing you back here, unwavering guilt sinking your stomach at the faint fire that flickers within.

“No. Please,” you breath out, hushed and hurried as you shake your head, “Please, I beg of you, have mercy—”

Beneath you, you hear the familiar splash of liquid; you yelp in panic, jumping against Beomgyu’s body and trying to look down on instinct— you’re stopped before you can successfully do so, his heated palm pressing against your eyes, forcing you to be left in the dark.

“Don’t.” he says softly, his arm tightening around you, feeling tears pool beneath his skin, “you’re alright, I’m here with you.”

“Such a poor thing. Life has treated you quite unfairly, hasn’t it?” Beomgyu speaks aloud, feeling you hesitate and stumble as he leads you up towards the elevated altar, listening to your jagged breaths with a slightly pitied look. “Perfect and pure all your life, a devoted follower of god.”

“Don’t worry,” Beomgyu says, hand coming off your eyes for just a moment— not that you even noticed, your eyes had been screwed shut all along— only to wrap a cloth around your head instead, deft hands making a careful knot at the back of your head; sliding your clothing to the side, Beomgyu ignores the way you jolt when his soft lips press a kiss to your shoulder. His breath tickles as it fans on your skin.

“You’ve done well, my lamb.”

Beomgyu knows that you will never be able to grasp what is happening; especially not in this stunned state you’re in, the cloth around your eyes already soaked through with silent tears, hands limp at your sides as he takes in your face curiously, noticing your lips that move with silent words.

Even now, you pray.

My Lord and my God, your lips read, whispers of the faint words slipping from you, in my acceptance of the type of death you plan for me, I join your sufferings on the Cross.

Beomgyu watches you hesitate. Your bottom lip wobbles and your throat swallows thickly.

All I ask is that you stand beside me and never leave me.

Even through the veil that has been put over your eyes, a stray tear manages to slip through.

Beomgyu should feel bad for laughing, he supposes— but he can’t help it, taking in the melodramatic sight with thorough amusement, watching you flinch and press your lips together tightly. He shakes his head softly, finding himself becoming fond of your antics as he takes a hold of your hand, ignoring the way you startle so easily as he guides you to where he wants you instead.

“Oh dear,” he sighs, leading you to press back against the altar table, stiffening at the unexpected feeling, “I fear you may have misunderstood me entirely. See, I don’t want to kill you, my lamb.”

Your brows furrow; he’s confused you, he can tell.

“There’s something your pretty little heart has been curious about, isn’t there?” he asks, a grin stretching across his face as you shiver, already aware of what he may be hinting at— but even so, you try to remain clueless, even if you’re quite terrible at it. “Something… you want.”

“There is nothing,” you reply, quickly, albeit shakily, “please, I just— just spare me—”

“Now, there’s no need to lie.” Beomgyu coos, placing his hands on your waist, hoisting you up on the altar table in one swift motion; you gasp, hands reaching blindly for something to stable yourself on, one landing on Beomgyu’s shoulder and the other on the marble beneath you— the hand on his body quickly slips off, and Beomgyu finds himself craving for more.

“You’ve been denying yourself for so long,” Beomgyu murmurs, his voice a hypnotizing lull that causes you to gulp. His fingertips dance across your waist, trailblazing a fire that refuses to die down, mixing with the fear that pounds your heart against your chest. “You must feel so, so trapped.”

“There’s no need to pretend here,” he smiles, reaching up to caress your cheek, watching you gulp, fists clenched tightly in your lap, “I’m aware of everything. It’s only human nature, after all.”

Fervently, you shake your head. Your consistent denial is almost impressive to Beomgyu, the facade of confidence you try to exude with your voice both evident and pity-inducing.

“I refuse to give in to the temptations of sin,” you say, the words like a recited script at this point; Beomgyu’s lip curls in distaste.

“It is not sin,” he whispers softly, hands beginning to wander down from your sides to your hips, grasping softly at the skin before moving down, to the tops of your thighs and over your hands that remain clenched tightly, “it is merely the human experience.”

His hands feel hot over your own; you can feel him press against your body from where you sit, undoubtedly looming over you and caging you in as he speaks. His actions are absentminded as he caresses your hand, stroking the skin soothingly as he continues to invade your senses, whispering things that only the deepest, darkest parts of your heart have considered.

“You’ve worked so hard to live a pious, pure life,” Beomgyu says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you frown, finally beginning to listen to the words he feeds you, “even at the face of danger, you remained loyal— even now, you continue to refuse me.”

“But, don’t you see? The lord has brought you here for a reason.” His eyes shine the moment you shift restlessly under his grip, pressing himself tighter against you, “your dreams, your thoughts, they have led you here for a purpose only you can serve.”

You try to refute him yet again; your lips open, but you hesitate, unsure of what to say. You remain quiet instead.

“Will you deny the fate god has bestowed you?”

A soft pout forms on your face; your heart is racing, and your mind must be too, because you don’t bother to react when Beomgyu’s hand leaves your own, trailing down your thighs and prodding your legs open so he can stand between them— too deep in thought to realize that he’s lifting your nightgown up, bunching it at your knees tentatively.

Beomgyu watches you carefully, taking in your silence and smiling triumphantly as he speaks, “Here,” his other hand slides to place itself on the bare skin of your inner thigh, watching with sadistic pleasure as you jolt and yelp in surprise, “I’ll show you what it is you’ve been searching for.”

Your skin is tender as he begins to trail forward, eager to touch you and familiarize himself with you— only to get stopped by your trembling hand, his eyes darting to your troubled face, brows furrowing with confusion as he watches you muster the courage to say something.

“N…Not…” it feels as though nerves and fear have swallowed you whole, having to take a deep breath in order to continue your sentence, “Not here. Not like this.”

“Hmm? But where else could this possibly happen?” he asks teasingly, much too desperate to heed your half-hearted request, “my lamb, it is perfect here.”

“Beomgyu, this place, it’s sacred,” your lips pressed together, using all the courage within you to speak up, “It is a home to me, I couldn’t bear to desecrate it—”

Beomgyu’s fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, able to feel his face hover over yours as he speaks through gritted teeth, eyes burning holes into your skin.

“This was my home too.”

It all happens so suddenly; you’re pushed to lay back against the table, legs forced open as Beomgyu gets closer still, your lips parting in a soft gasp as he successfully bunches your nightgown at your hips, looming over you so he can undo your coat.

“And our lord has decreed that it is here where I finally take you.” he hisses, watches as you can only let our a broken whimper and shift restlessly beneath him; the fire has consumed you wholly by now, he knows, the seeds of lust planted within you far too much for a person like you to bare— even the graze of his fingertips against your bare skin is enough to have you gasping.

“I’ve waited long enough to taste you.”

Your body is alight with nerves, buzzing at the sensations around you— though you see nothing, it heightens your other senses, forced to take note of every motion and touch Beomgyu leaves on you, from his deft hands that undo your coat to the warmth of his body between your thighs, lips pressed together in a mix of anticipation and dread— all you can do is lie and wait.

When Beomgyu’s hands slither back down to your core, you’re a squirming mess; he’s done nothing to you, yet you already seem so broken down and pliant— you’re a sweet sight, bitten lips parting eagerly in surprise once he suddenly plants his hand firmly against your core; your panties are pathetically soaked through, a soft cry escaping you at the heat of his touch against you, hands flying to grab at his wrist— unsure of whether to press him closer of pry him off.

In the end, you do neither of the two. Beomgyu grins at your hesitation, a clear battle still ongoing inside your mind as you allow him to slowly rock his palm against your cunt, rubbing at your clit and causing you to sob softly at the unfamiliar sensation; your back arches and jolts of pleasure strike through you, the underlying guilt of it all causing tears to quickly well up at the corners of your eyes— though, from pleasure or shame, you’re no longer sure of.

“Poor thing,” he coos softly, applying a sudden pressure against your cunt, all to watch the way your back arches in surprise, “it’s quite easy to make you cry, isn’t it?”

“This must all be so new to you,” he hums, rubbing at your cunt until your panties have begun to stick uncomfortably to you, your arousal soaking through and coating the heel of his hand thickly, “so pretty. Like an angel.”

His words cause a wave of heat to wash over your body; you feel restless, desperate for more, yet unsure of how to communicate as you find yourself hesitating each time, the undying guilt within you forcing your fingertips to dig into Beomgyu’s forearm a bit deeper.

“Hmm? What is it you need, my lamb?” he asks, even if he can practically see the thoughts running through your head, reading your body and the way your hips fight to cant against his hand, “Tell me, what do you want?”

The way you shake your head petulantly brings a huff from Beomgyu; he watches as you heat up at his question, lips trembling with embarrassment, chin tucked down into your chest as though it would be enough to hide from his gaze— chuckling, Beomgyu allows a few more seconds to pass, letting you sit with your own confliction, before he finally decides to take pity on you; a shaky gasp escapes your lips as Beomgyu’s hand shifts, middle and ring fingers trailing up until they press against the fabric of your panties, pushing in and teasing your leaking hole.

“Why do you hold back still?” he asks softly, his hand that isn’t teasing you incessantly smoothing down your thigh, stopping at your knee so he can wrap it around his slim waist, “there’s no need to continue this act of yours; do not lie under the eyes of god.”

You cry softly, a cacophony of emotions raging within you as your nails dig deeper into your palms, cunt throbbing and sending sparks of electricity as Beomgyu presses his fingers further into you, stretching the fabric and soaking it with your own arousal— through hushed, trembled words, you finally gather the courage to speak.

“I want…” you hesitate, shifting on the cold marble of the altar table, turning your head to the side in a faux attempt to avoid Beomgyu’s scrutiny, “I want more.”

“I don’t believe you.” Beomgyu immediately chides, his fingers moving to ghost over your clit, a satisfied smile growing on his face as you feel the shocks of pleasure from his movements, already too much for your innocent body, “you expect me to take such a weak request seriously?”

You gasp in surprise as Beomgyu suddenly takes a hold of your chin, forcing you to face him once more as you feel him hovering over you; his breath fans across your face, eyelids fluttering behind your blindfold at the sensation.

“Tell me again,” he says, his fingers applying just the slightest more pressure on your clit, watching as the pleasure breaks you effortlessly; his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, able to feel his coy smile as he speaks. “Tell me like you mean it.”

Beomgyu waits for you eagerly; his touch on your cunt is almost nonexistent, applying just enough pressure here and there as a reminder of what it is you so desperately wish for— it’s so easy to get you to where he wants, he thinks, watching you become overwhelmed by his presence, by the pleasure he continues to give and take away. After a mere few seconds, you finally cave.

“Beomgyu…” you trail off, the sudden use of his name bringing a shiver through his body, the sound sweet and pure like he dreamed it to be, “Beomgyu, I can’t— I feel so strange, please help me— I need more.”

He chuckles lowly at your words; placing a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth, Beomgyu straightens up, leaving you for a moment in order to hook his fingers under your panties, ready to drag them slowly down your hips.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he sighs aloud, watching with fond eyes as you startle at the sensation, legs jumping to close back together— but he won’t allow it, standing firmly between them and forcing your hips to lift, all so he can pull off the only article of clothing standing between him and what he’s desired for so long; his eyes darken at the string of arousal that follows the seat of your panties, eagerly taking in your puffy, needy cunt, body becoming alight with a carnal need to consume you whole. “You’re perfect. Truly a gift from god.”

He can’t help but grin at his own comment, eyes flickering back up at the altar above him, the candles that flicker wildly— then he looks back down at you, your puffy, tear stained face and your hands that remain tense at your sides, lips pressed together in fear of letting a sound escape— but Beomgyu is much too eager to let you have what you want.

This ashamed and reserved attitude of yours will be no more— he’s determined to have you melt under his touch, fingertips curious as they finally begin to caress your bare cunt, teeth sinking into his lip as he takes in every gasp, arch, and tense your body gives him.

It’s slow and oh so cruel, the way he swipes the pads of his fingertips along your slit, bringing the arousal to your clit and circling it softly, all so he can watch you pant and shiver at the sensations— your hands have moved to grasp at your clothes, jaw clenched as your mind tries to keep up with all these new sensations: you feel so hot and restless, a fiery itch settling deep in your core, only alleviated with the stray sparks of pleasure Beomgyu gives you— it’s too much, yet not enough at all.

“Won’t you let me hear you?” Beomgyu asks, fingers beginning to prod at your entrance, circling it leisurely as he observes you, “it’s no fun like this.”

You can hear the pout in his words, petulant and teasing as he coos out your name, “C’mon, I know you sound as sweet as you look.”

You’re given no warning when his fingers breach your entrance; a yelp escapes you before you can process it, the sudden stretch bringing chills down your spine— it’s just his middle finger first, lithe and calculated as it curls and prods at your walls, feeling you flutter and clench around him as he adds his ring finger in next— you’re letting out a cry at how fast it all happens, a hand reaching down to grasp at his wrist, a mixture of shock and pleasure filling your being.

“Beomgyu…!”

“Again,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to stretch your walls, pumping steadily and curling, listening to the quiet mewls and moans you let out, “louder. Show me how much you like it.”

“Beomgyu… oh–! N-not there, ah–!” You’re a squirming mess, shifting beneath his hold and shaking your head, the feelings far too much for you— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to heed your requests, abusing the soft, spongy parts of your walls that seem to make you react the most; you choke and hiccup pathetic moans, thighs tensing and spasming around him, hands shaking from the tight hold you have on your nightgown; it gets difficult having to chase your hips after a while, Beomgyu’s eyes narrowing as he places a harsh hand down on you, pinning you down against the table, fingers digging into the soft skin as you gasp.

“Stay still.” is all he says to you, palm pressing against your clit as he slowly fingers you, drinking in the miniscule changes of your expression eagerly, “Don’t fight it.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks, punctuating his words with a cruel curl into you; you gasp, chest heaving as a tight coil builds up within you, “doesn’t it feel so nice?”

“So sad, you’ve been denying yourself such bliss for so long,” Beomgyu utters softly, cooing at the way you cry and struggle to remain sane, overwhelmed by everything Beomgyu does to you, “won’t you let me take care of you?”

Carefully, he hovers over you, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, lips caressing the column of your neck as he smiles softly.

“Wouldn’t you like for me to taste you?”

He’s sure you don’t fully grasp what it is he might mean— but you’re eager nonetheless, a gasp escaping your lips, so soft he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close— the tight clench of your cunt around him is enough of a sign anyway.

You can only hear shifting; your ears perk up as you try to decipher what could be happening, feeling Beomgyu’s hand wander down your thighs, the loss of his heat above you, the flickering warmth of the candles around you— you lay still, with bated breath and buzzing nerves.

Your mouth falls open, a loud moan falling from your mouth and bouncing off the walls.

It’s all too much for your poor, inexperienced body; it’s overwhelming, the pleasure wrapping you up and burning you alive as your thighs attempt to shut, only to close in on Beomgyu’s head that remains steady, large hands splayed on your hips as he holds you down, his mouth continuing his assault against your cunt.

The chants of his name and your broken moans are enough to keep him motivated— he’s lapping at your clit hungrily, moving down to suck at the arousal that leaks from your entrance, perfect nose bumping into you as he sighs and groans against you.

You think you might’ve gone mad; sounds you didn’t think were possible are escaping you, each more pitiful and helpless than the last. Your hands wander absentmindedly, not realizing what it is you’re searching for until they’ve finally curled into his thick hair, tangling strands around your fingers and tugging rashly— you can feel him moan against you at the actions, the feeling bringing a shiver down your spine.

“B-Beom…gyu!” you whine out, hips attempting to wiggle out of his hold, hands tugging his head closer— your eyes remain screwed tight behind your blindfold, tears pricking at them as your mind races to process what is happening to you— between your legs, Beomgyu grins triumphantly, nails digging into your delicate thighs as he licks a long stripe along your slit.

In times like these, Beomgyu can’t help but be reminded of who he is, what his existence is for— his tongue is long, abnormally so, as it enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he laps up your essence and fucks you with it, listening to your startled cries morph into nothing but wanton lust, choking on the syllables of his name and brokenly pleading for him to not stop— as if he could ever be capable of doing so.

You’re delicious, like a ripe fruit that has been eyed for too long, too high on a tree for anyone to take— victory feels sweet on Beomgyu’s tongue as you clench and leak around him, allowing you to grind against him and take the reins of what you want, giving you the pleasure you seek— and he can feel you getting wound up quite quickly, your keens and cries loud enough to rival the screams of fear you were letting out only moments ago— but then again, none of that matters as long as Beomgyu has his hands on you.

You’re almost there, a climax strong enough to wreck you approaching quickly— and as much as Beomgyu would love to feel it, to swallow your cum as it drips out your fluttering cunt— he can’t. Not yet, and certainly not like this. Though it pains him, he pulls away from your cunt that attempts to suck him back in.

The sob you let out almost makes Beomgyu regret his decision; you’re a broken, confused mess, panting like a dog as you cry and wonder why it is that Beomgyu stopped so suddenly— gently, Beomgyu pries your hands off from where they tug at his hair, listening to your disoriented mumbles of his name, reaching blindly for him as he rises to his feet. And you’re left in the darkness once more.

Before you can react, Beomgyu’s hands lift your head, quickly undoing your blindfold, letting it fall against the altar next to your face; your eyes flutter open from the action, brows furrowed as everything slowly comes into focus.

Beomgyu hovers above you, the flickering candlelight around the two of you casting an ethereal glow around his face; it is warm and fond as he looks down at you, plump lips pulled into a gentle smile as he caresses your cheek, letting out a breathy chuckle at the way you fluster immediately, unable to hold his gaze.

“Look at me.” he says, his voice compelling enough to have you following his command, the feeling so natural you haven’t realized you’ve obeyed until you’re meeting his dark eyes— there is no light in his pupils, despite the many sources that continue to fall onto the two of you. He smiles, a hand continuing its reassuring strokes against your skin, the other moving down to grab your thigh, wrapping it around his waist once more. “Don’t be afraid— keep your eyes on me.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance; you stiffen, breath hitching and hands instinctively reaching up to place themselves flat against Beomgyu’s chest— with wide eyes, you stare back at him, unable to break this entrancing spell you’ve caught yourself in, lips parting in a silent gasp as Beomgyu’s eyes soften. Slowly, he pushes in.

The feeling of his cockhead breaching your walls has you gasping sharply, shock painting your face and nails digging into your chest as your back arches slightly— the stretch is new and unexpected, the feeling of him inside you causing your stomach to twist in pain and pleasure— it’s so sudden, you feel as though you’re not ready, yet your body cries for him to continue, feeling him pause and still inside you.

The smile on Beomgyu’s face is practically permanent; words could not explain the satisfaction he feels, the twisted victory he gains from every inch he pushes inside you, virgin walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice, your wide, doe eyes glazing over with pleasure the longer he takes, the more he allows you to adjust.

Your chest heaves by the time he’s fully inside you, face screwing up as you feel him bottom out, his tip pressing firmly into you— your voice breaks as you call out his name, searching for comfort he will not be able to provide. Instead, he coos softly at you, empty, sugary words and reassurances that are merely practiced in his mind, feathery caresses against your temple as he shushes you, telling you that everything’s okay, that you’ll feel good soon enough.

“I’ve got you,” he purrs, even if you continue to tense every time he shifts, legs twitching at the sheer stretch you’ve suddenly been forced to take. “It’s okay, don’t be nervous.”

When he begins to pull out, criminally slow and teasing, you gasp— and he grins, fully expecting it as he hovers over your lips, only to press a chaste kiss to your nose as he moves to stand straight, only the tip of his cock left inside you.

The sight of you is nothing short of divine; just seeing you like this is enough to bring him energy, greedy gaze taking in your broken expression, eyes flickering to your parted lips that tremble and gasp out his name. He groans softly, the eyes fluttering shut as he takes a moment to appreciate the way your cunt clenches around him, warm and wet, nothing like the scraps he was forced to feed on as punishment. You’re perfect, pure, full of life.

Before he can second guess himself, his hips slam back in.

The pace he’s set is nothing short of cruel; his feather-light touches and chaste kisses had been nothing but a show, all an attempt to lower your guard and allow him to seize you at your weakest; you yelp in surprise and attempt to cling onto him, overwhelmed by the harshness of his cock as it pounds into you, aiming for the most sensitive spots within you that leave you begging and crying out— but whether it’s for him to stop or continue, you’re not entirely sure— your reasoning blurred into one big mess long ago.

It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to lose himself in the feeling of you; greedy, rough hands grasping at your skin, groping the soft skin of your thighs, your hips, wandering up to squeeze and toy with your breasts— and you can only lay there and take it all, watching him use you to satisfy himself, unable to help the way your cunt clenches and drools at the sight. His hips angle and his cock slams deep against you, hitting a spot he’s never hit before— and you stiffen, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cry out.

“Oh!” you yelp, tears pooling at your eyes, a hand slamming over your mouth at the sudden noise— but even so, your muffled cries still slip out from the cracks of your fingers. “O-Oh my—! ah—!”

“Why silence yourself?” Beomgyu laughs softly, slightly out of breath as he continues to cling to you, hips rutting wildly into you, chasing that familiar bliss he grew addicted to; he proceeds to aim for that particular spot over and over, watching tears ebb from the corners of your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face and dripping onto the pristine white marble of the altar table. “Go on, say it.”

“Say it, call out their name, let this whole sanctuary know how good it feels,” he hisses, face hovering over yours once more, eager to watch you crumble.

“Call to your god,” he whispers, a soft moan falling between heavy breaths, feeling the way you squeeze and suck him in, your peak approaching much too fast for you to handle, “go on, pray that they forgive your sins and look past the way your tight cunt begs to keep this demon inside you.”

His cock feels like heaven inside you; it’s relentless, slamming into you as his hand falls from its tight hold on your thigh to your clit, rubbing tight circles that cause your body to tighten until it can no longer hold back.

“Oh my God— Beomgyu!” you’re a drooling, tearful, pitiful sight as you finally crash down, sobbing and babbling words that blend together, your hands pulling at Beomgyu’s shirt until you’re bringing him down to you.

Beomgyu’s kiss is celestial. His lips slot perfectly against yours, a soft grunt escaping him as he finally cums inside you; thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your cunt, filling you until you can no longer hold it in— you tremble and you hold Beomgyu close to you throughout it all, your mind emptied out and craving nothing but him.

Your eyes flutter shut; your body tingles, your hold on him weakening as you begin to slump back against the altar. It’s getting harder to move, sluggishly trying your best to keep up with Beomgyu’s sloppy kisses, your chest beginning to cave in as your lungs burn and beg for air.

You want to pull away. You want to stop— yet, you find with a delayed horror that you can’t.

Beomgyu won’t pull away; Beomgyu can’t pull away, feeling his arms snake beneath your figure, one wrapping around your waist tightly, the other slithering up your back and cradling the back of your head, holding it up so he can keep you as close to him as possible.

Your vision has begun to blur; your hands have fallen limp at your sides. You feel weakened, only your lips able to move as they mindlessly follow after Beomgyu, sluggish and messy movements that go on whether you want to or not.

Behind him, a crackling sound emits; the candles around you flicker wildly, divine feathers that were once proudly on display above you beginning to darken and fall, burning off and becoming a charred black— blood seeps from the crevices where feathers slip away, landing on top of you and on the altar you lay on.

His wings are a shriveled, grisly sight. He’s transformed entirely before your very eyes, pulling away slowly and sighing softly into your parted lips. Slowly, his hands slither off you, laying you gently and standing straight to take in the mess he’s made. All you can do is stare back through bleary eyes.

“My lamb,” he says affectionately, bringing a hand up to cup your face; it is only then that you’re able to notice the state of his hands, charred and injured, just like his wings, animal-like claws replacing his nails. They dig slightly into your skin as he smiles down at you, utterly enamored.

“I will cherish this ‘till kingdom come.”

His enchanting expression is the last thing you see. His claw moves faster than the human eye can process as it slices cleanly across the canvas of your neck.

Your body jolts at the action, not a single shift in your expression as your body relaxes against the altar table. Your eyes remain open and dazed with pleasure.

Blood flows from the deep crack of his cut; it flows from your mouth as well, and all Beomgyu can do is watch as the color slowly fades from your skin, the light in your eyes no more. He looms over you in silence, lingering on even when he knows there’s nothing left for him there. A pool of your blood has formed around your head, a twisted halo that stains the marble.

Beomgyu’s eyes remain transfixed on your wound, emotionless eyes watching the blood drip out steadily. Then, they begin to wander, trailing down until they stop at a certain point, hypnotized by the thought that suddenly enters his mind.

Before he can second guess himself, Beomgyu’s hand hovers above your chest.

It is not easy to reach your heart. It is an obscene and difficult process, though Beomgyu doesn’t bat an eye throughout it all; blood coats his forearm once he finally succeeds, a happy hum escaping him as he examines the item in his hands with fascination.

It’s just as transcendent as the rest of you. Taking your life force was enough to make Beomgyu feel normal again, but with this, he’s sure that you would fuel his energy for the rest of his miserable eternity.

His eyes soften; it’s so fragile, it drips onto his skin and sings to him, the last of your innocence begging to be released, to be given peace; instead, Beomgyu brings it closer to him, sighing slowly as he gets one last look at it.

And he bites.

He can almost hear your voice, the memories trapped within as he closes his eyes, chewing and swallowing and biting again. Tilting his head back, he all but groans in satisfaction.

His eyes slowly flutter open. He’s met with the chandeliers above him, the looming altar to his left calling his attention. Apathetically, his head lolls to the side, getting a better look at the statues that stand over him. Taking another bite, he feels blood leak onto his lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile.

He’s never tasted anything purer.

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