#always wondered about those ao3 authors notes

[landwriter]

dear diary,

bad news: totaled my first car today

good news: can now theoretically write one of those unhinged ao3 author’s notes saying something like “sorry this update is late my car got wrecked and now here’s your two fave dudes also getting wrecked, by their emotions”

[seren1tyhaze]

Unconditional

PAIRING: jaehyun x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

SUMMARY: dating a hot actor is great and all, until you find some texts on his phone that make you wonder if he's really the man of your dreams

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back after another unplanned hiatus. Even when I'm not posting here, I'm always thinking about writing things and wanting to share more. I have written a couple things for Ao3 so those will be up there soon. As usual, Mr. Jeong Jaehyun himself has ruined me again with his new song and video to the point where I sat down and wrote this in one sitting and never looked back. More from me soon, I promise xx

WARNINGS: established relationship, domestic fluff, explicit smut, swearing

PLAYLIST: Unconditional by Jaehyun, Smoke by Jaehyun, Birthday by Ten, Honey by John Legend

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“I just don’t believe you Jae! Do you think I’m stupid?”

Your cheeks are burning red and you know your chest is splotchy as your temperature rises, heart pounding. Ever since you were a kid, your skin would turn bright red the moment you started to get agitated, making you a terrible poker player and never one to even try to lie to anyone. It was one of things that endeared you to Jaehyun immediately, his bright red ears the moment someone teased him or he felt embarrassed.

“Baby, baby,” he starts, groggily reaching a large hand to you from the mountain of pillows and plush white sheets. His hair is still pushed back in that stupid plastic headband he fell asleep wearing the night before, making it hard to take him seriously in the heat of the moment.

You wipe a single tear from your eye before it can slip down your cheek and turn away from him, throwing his phone onto the covers with more strength than you thought you had in the moment.

Dating a famous actor who spends most of his time at premieres in Seoul and on movie sets around the world wasn’t easy. You had turned Jaehyun down the first few times he slid up on your Instagram stories, a mutual stylist friend having introduced you at a small birthday dinner you both were invited to.

Grabbing his phone off the nightstand instead of yours this morning had sent you into a spiral, shaking him awake in the bed to ask for an explanation about why he’s messaging someone about a “gorgeous girl named Honey” and how he “can’t wait to spoil her the way she deserves.”

“We’ve been together for a year and now you’re going to start cheating on me? Really original, Jeong.”

Your eyes roll back into your sockets and you scoop all your long, curly hair onto the top of your head, pulling running shorts and socks from the dresser near the window as you continue to grill him.

Jaehyun sits up fully, the comforter slipping off his shoulders and exposing his bare, chiselled chest. He’s still pale from having spent the whole winter filming in Canada, not having had enough trips to the nearby beach to have his adorable freckles reappear on his cheeks. His hair is bright white, platinum, and long in the back, soft in the morning light streaming in the floor to ceiling windows.

“You know I went out with Mingyu last week to that Dior party and he said if I ever wanted it to be a real date, just say the word and he would drop everything and everyone.”

“Dior? You wound me,” Jaehyun replies, mockingly rubbing his pec as he rolls his eyes. You know how much the statement had to hurt him, he always had been worried about your closeness to his friend Mingyu (and Mingyu’s long wavy hair, sparkly eyes, and massive biceps), even if he lets that go unsaid now.

“I’m going for a run and when I get back, I really hope you’ve managed to get up, shower, and figure out how you’re going to tell your PR team about this, unless they are all in on it too,” you finish, wobbling near the foot of the bed as you try to put your socks on while standing.

A firm hand is on your wrist, instantly balancing you. You look up to meet Jaehyun’s eyes, soft and glittering and sending you back to the first time you ever met.

“Who needs the candy, you look sweet enough to eat,” he had practically purred in your ear, pressing a hand between your thighs, under the silky material of your Vivienne Westwood skirt in a private booth in the back a dark room, surrounded by tall crystal jars of sweets.

Your marketing executive job had your team planning events for high end clients on a regular basis but this event had been extra special as your best friend had finally launched her own luxury cosmetics brand. The event was a mix of rich pops of red, velvety cushions and extravagant accessories, diamond necklaces draped across necks of models with artistic and bold eye looks. You had spared no expense for your friend and your assistant had the mountains of receipts to prove it.

The guest list was no exception, you had made sure every A-list name had received an invite and hundreds of attractive and trendy faces from fashion and entertainment filled the event space. That included Seoul’s hottest star, known for his striking and stoic look and deep, rich voice.

“You are not using that as an opening line on me,” you had sighed, trying to push down the moan bubbling up in your throat as long fingers toyed with lace dangerously close to slipping out of place.

“Technically, I asked you if the brownies had tree nuts because my body guard is allergic,” he quipped back, thumb brushing over you with intention.

You had bit your lip in frustration and swatted his hand away, grabbing his phone from his coat pocket and giving him your number, insisting that he had to reach out first because you were busy with a “real job”. He had laughed, sucking his now wet thumb into his mouth and letting it slide out with a loud popping noise and a simple “Yes, ma’am”.

That same phone was now in his hand a little under a year later, his fingers moving quickly against the glass screen.

“You don’t have anything to say?” you ask in shock and before you can say another word, your doorbell is chiming and he’s up from the bed and down your hallway, wearing nothing but his stupid boxers with lemons on them.

You roll your eyes and move to your large kitchen for a glass for water, almost letting it slip from your hands as he places a large Prada shopping bag on the marble island.

“A bag? A fucking purse is supposed to make me forgive you? How did you even get that this fast?”

“Baby, just look inside and it will explain everything,” he speaks calmly, sliding the bag carefully closer to you.

You untie the ribbon holding it loosely closed and you think you’re losing your mind when you see the bag move on its own. As soon as the thick paper opens, a tiny brown and curly head of fur appears. Neatly groomed ears are shaking and a tiny black Prada collar is clasped around the neck of the puppy.

“A dog?!” you exclaim in disbelief. The puppy lets out a small but high pitched bark, demanding to be let out of the bag with a fluffy paw nudging your hand.

“A chocolate French poodle puppy,” Jaehyun corrects, moving behind you and wrapping his arms around you, pressing his bare chest into your back. He lifts the puppy from the bag and places her into your waiting arms, the puppy taking no time at all to snuggle into your neck.

“Her name is Honey,” he tells you and you can practically feel his smile from the way he speaks.

“Honey…” you repeat. The dog’s eyes are wide in curiosity, head tilting to the side as she appears to recognize her name.

“Yeah, baby?” he jokes back, pressing warm lips to the short hairs at your hairline. You can tell he thinks he’s funny for that joke and you don’t need to turn to see what kind of look is in his eye. He trails his mouth to your ear, nudging the metal hoops along the shell and kissing the “14” ink at the skin behind your ear.

Your mouth is suddenly so dry that you can’t speak so you simply turn in his arms, letting Honey drop to the floor and bound excitedly on your slippery floors.

“How long had you been planning this surprise for me to just ruin it with my paranoia?” you murmur against his forehead, pressing a tender kiss to smooth skin.

“A couple months, I was just trying to find the perfect puppy for us,” he replies, fingers drawing circles on the bare skin exposed between your sports bra and shorts.

“I’m so sorry,” you reply, feeling embarrassment heat up your cheeks and sweat start to prick at your hairline.

“Don’t be,” he smiles back with his million watt smile that landed him his first commercial at eight years old, plucked from his class trip to a theme park by a talent scout.

“You know how I feel about you, nothing is going to change that. Not even if you go on 127 million dates with Kim Mingyu,” he finishes, sealing his lips over yours.

You open your lips and greedily press your tongue behind his annoyingly perfect teeth, lifting your fingers up to tug at the hair almost touching his shoulders.

“God,” Jaehyun growls in between kisses, grabbing at your ass to hoist you up on the counter, tugging roughly at your shorts to push them down to your ankles and ripping your legs open.

You’re panting, resting back on your wrists as he holds your knees open and presses wet kisses to your inner thighs. His energy is wild and chaotic, exactly as you’ve always expected from him and your mind is starting to go to that numb place it always goes when gets his tongue on you.

You arch your back in pleasure, letting moans tumble from your lips freely, trying desperately to ignore the adorable face now perched on your couch, eyes curious but also dozing off from exerting energy after running the full length of your penthouse.

You let your eyes fall to the rolling waves out the window, morning sun blinding you and forcing you to look down at the bobbing head of the blonde man between your legs. He meets your gaze with sparkling eyes and drops a kiss to his self proclaimed favorite tattoo of yours, a small rose on your hip bone. You smile softly at him before shrieking and almost crushing his head with your thighs when he takes sharp canines to the spot, almost drawing blood.

He jumps up and starts running towards your bedroom, scooping a startled Honey off the back of the couch and holding her in front of him he runs backwards.

“Jaehyun, you cannot use our child as a shield!” you yell, almost slipping in your socks as you bound after him.

When you round the corner, you slam into his bare chest, standing at the foot of the bed. Honey is curled up on the same pillow Jaehyun had tucked under his arm as he slept, already dozing again.

“Our child? I like the sound of that,” he says seriously, his voice velvety and tempting. His hands are at your waist again and you are having a hard time thinking straight.

“Calm down there, mister,” you chuckle, pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed and dropping to your knees in between his open legs.

“Let’s see how you do with this dog first,” you mutter, hands pushing down his boxers easily to take his hardened length between experienced fingers.

He smiles with his whole face at your words, eyes crinkling up in the corners and shoulders shaking a bit as you move your mouth over smooth skin, letting his soft moans fill the room and calm your racing heart.

[hangmanssunnies]

The Hangman Special

Summary: On a night out with your friends at a fancy cocktail bar, you are just trying to keep your head down and ignore the girl that your ex cheated on you with. The night only seems like it's going to get worse when you are dared to kiss a stranger at the bar. However, it seems like the odds might finally be in your favor when you notice a familiar set of broad shoulders. If you can be convincing, you think you might just be able to get your brother's friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin to help you out with your little problem.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 7k

AO3 Link

Warnings: 18+ only, kissing, hot and heavy make-outs, exs, truth or dare, bad friends.

Author's note: Dreaming about kissing Jake in a bar. Thanks to everyone who looked at earlier drafts of this. I hope you enjoy this if you take a chance to read. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

The bar is buzzing with the loud chatter of patrons, the clinking of glasses, and the rhythmic beat of music. You are sitting at a corner table with your friends, a group with an eclectic mix of personalities. You are known for being more on the shy and reserved side, but tonight, you are even more withdrawn than usual. No one had mentioned that Tassie had also been invited to the evening's hang out at the bar. An oversight you felt was probably intentional since everyone knew Tassie had started dating your ex only a week after your breakup. She went so far as to post a picture of them together on her Instagram. It had been a few months since that happened, and until now, you had managed to avoid running into her. However, it seemed like luck had run out.

"Hey, I've got an idea that would spice up the night," Cece says after the first round of drinks. She is one of your bold and outspoken friends, and you aren't sure you like how she is eyeing you with a mischievous glint. "Let's play truth or dare." 

The whole group groans at the suggestion, and one of your friends vaguely wonders if you're all still in middle school playing that kind of game. Despite the initial lack of enthusiasm, after another round of drinks, the group is laughing and entrenched in the game. 

When Cece sings your name when she finishes her turn, you are nervous by the sly smile she is wearing as she formulates an option for you when you hesitantly concede to doing a dare. "You're the only one of us still single, so I dare you to go over to the bar and give somebody a kiss." 

"What?!" 

"Just a quick one, nothing too scandalous," Cece says placatingly. "Come on, live a little! It's just a bit of fun. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I bet they won't do it. They're too chicken for this kind of thing, not one to step out of their comfort zone," Tassie says. It makes your blood freeze in your veins because you know those words. You have heard that criticism thrown at you in the past, but not from her, from your ex. 

Your eyes narrow at her, and you ask, "Too chicken? Seriously?"

"Yeah. Please, prove us wrong. Show us you can do something spontaneous," Tassie taunts, grinning. You feel a surge of defiance welling up. Even though you're reserved, you are not one to back down from a challenge, especially not when the woman who cheated with your boyfriend is acting like you're the one who should be ashamed. Acting like she is better than you. 

"Fine, watch this," You declare, feeling hot with a mixture of embarrassment and determination. As you stand up, your friends exchange amused glances, convinced that you are about to back out of the dare. 

With absolutely no intention of  backing down, though, you scan the bar. After a moment of examination your heart soars because you realize you have this dare in the bag. You have the advantage even, because there is a familiar tall, broad-shouldered blonde at the bar that you know all too well. Jake Seresin, or Hangman, is one of your brother's best friends, and he is looking just as delectable tonight as he always does. The group would undeniably be impressed with you kissing someone so handsome, and you knew one way or another you could convince Jake to help you out. 

"Cece, I'll even let you pick since you made the dare. Point out the hottest man in the bar, and I'll kiss him." You say confidently. There is no doubt that Jake is the most attractive person there, and he is just Cece's type, too. She falls right into what you want, pointing Hangman out for you. The rest of your friend group hoots, making even more comments that you aren't going to follow through with the dare and approach someone who is that drop-dead gorgeous. 

Ignoring their taunts, you square your shoulders and walk with as much confidence as you can summon into sashaying across the bar. Putting mental effort into trying to project some form of hotness onto yourself not only for the confidence boost but also the bit of spite burning in you. 

Reaching the bartop area, the hesitation starts to set in as you admire Jake's profile. He is sitting on a bar stool leaning against the counter, patiently waiting for the bartender in the crowd that is starting to grow. Taking one last breath to steady yourself, you reach out and delicately set a hand on his bulging bicep. 

"Hangman!" You say brightly as if you're surprised to have run into him. Jake turns to face you at your touch, and an easy wide grin spreads across his face. 

"Fancy seeing you here, my dear! How are you?" He asks as his eyes trace you slowly from head to toe and back again, the grin on his face not slipping once. 

"Oh, I’m fine, and I am so glad I ran into you." 

"Most people are," Jake says, winking at you. You are nearly distracted by his handsome face and flirty tone. He looks like he has put on even more muscle since you saw him last. The green button-down he is wearing appears close to bursting at the seams with how it clings to him. "So, what have you been up to these days?" 

"Are you still single?" You blurt quickly, ignoring his question, not wanting to lose your steam. 

"Yes, Ma'am. Last I checked. Why?" 

"Perfect, can you do me a huge favor?" You ask. 

"I'm always happy to help out a friend," Jake says, sounding increasingly suspicious. The smile hasn't dropped from his face, but his eyes have narrowed slightly, examining you. 

Quickly standing on your tip toes, you loop an arm around Jake's neck, appreciating that he is sitting on a stool, helping level your height difference. Wasting no time, you pull him down to meet you in a quick kiss. Once his lips brush yours, you let go of him, stepping back, not even taking a moment to savor the feeling or enjoy having Jake this close. 

With your mission accomplished, you have every intention of making a hasty retreat back to your friends and hoping that you will be able to forget this. You are going to erase knowing you've kissed Jake Seresin from your brain, and then the next time you see him, you're going to pretend this fiasco never happened. It feels like the best and only course of action for you to take. 

However, you don't even get to make a full step away from Jake before large hands and thick arms circle around your waist, pulling you back towards him. He tugs until you are standing between his spread thighs, his hands maintaining their position on your waist. 

"Woah now, where do you think you're going?" He asks, eyes darting around your face, studying you closely. 

Embarrassment at having to explain your actions rushes through you, turning your stomach and overriding or maybe enhancing the butterflies there. You glance away from Jake towards your friends and see them watching with rapt attention. Then his thumb moves in a slow soothing circle, drawing you back towards him. 

"I'm sorry! My friends dared me to kiss someone at the bar, and when I saw you, well, I knew it wasn't a lost cause because you're not a complete stranger." 

You refuse to believe that the frown that flashes on Jake's face is one of disappointment. However, it's hard to ignore when his eyebrows are scrunched together, and his hands are so warm you feel it bleeding through your clothing. 

"You could at least buy someone a drink before stealing a kiss, you know. That's just some common decency." 

"I'm so sorry, Jake," you apologize again. "Let me buy you a beer for your troubles." 

"Naw, you don't got to." 

"Well, now I have to because you made me feel bad," you say, waving your arm to try and flag down a bartender. 

"I didn't take you for one to just kiss someone on a dare," he says conversationally. You try not to wriggle uncomfortably in his hold, but without even trying, he seems to have pulled you even closer. 

"I normally wouldn't be," you agree. "But the girl who I highly suspect of cheating with my ex while we were still together is here. I'm sure she thinks she's better than me and that I'm a boring prude."

"She clearly has never been around when you drink tequila," Jake laughs. You can't believe he would still remember the camping trip from years ago, where you were drinking tequila. Definitely notable because it was probably the last time you had dared have any of the liquor. 

"Can you please forget about that? And tonight, too?" You request. Jake pretends to think it over, humming lightly before shaking his head. 

"Sorry, no can do. It's already burned into my eidetic memory." You huff at his response, avoiding eye contact with him to try and catch sight of the bartender again. "You know, if you just asked me first, I would have given you the friends and family discount." 

"And what is that?" 

"Pretty similar to buy one get one free," he says, his voice dropping a little lower. Your mouth falls open in surprise, but you can't find any words. "Could have given you more than a quick peck, something that would really wow your friends." 

Trying very hard not to imagine what kind of kiss Jake would consider wowing, you decide to deflect. Jokingly saying, "Didn't think you were from one of those kinda southern states. Do you make a habit of kissing family members?" 

Jake throws his head back and laughs full-bellied at you. "The friends and family of my friends discount then," he amends. 

"I already hate being in this situation. I don't want more of a pity handout than I've already taken."

"Darlin," he sighs, shaking his head at you. "I would have even given you the Hangman special. Which is a deal, bargain, and steal. Comes with a kiss that's guaranteed to impress friends, people who cheated with your atrocious ex, everyone in this bar, and has even been known to, on occasion, inspire a standing ovation." 

"Ha.Ha. You're so funny," you say dryly, rolling your eyes. 

"I am, thank you for noticing," Jake says. "However, I think you deserve that kind of kiss to prove a point to your friends over there." 

"They didn't even think I would be able to make it over here to talk to you." You admit to him, glancing over at your friends again, a little displeased that they are still obviously observing your interaction.

"That them over there?" He asks, following the direction you're looking. You hum in acknowledgment. "Which one's the cheater?" He breathes, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. 

You describe Tassie a bit to him, finding yourself shifting closer into his embrace, enjoying how he is somehow able to help most of the chaotic bar disappear from your senses. It's hard to think about the noise or the increasing number of people starting to press in when Jake's touching you. When he picks out who she is, Jake grunts a little. He lowers his face and nearly kisses your neck over the pulse point. His hot breath tickles the spot, causing shivers again as he declares, "I don't see the appeal." 

"Wish my ex felt that way," you sigh. 

"Fuck him," Jake says with conviction. Drawing a bit back from you to make eye contact again. His green eyes are clear, and in the dimmed mood light around you, they seem to shine even brighter than usual. 

"You sure you don't mind me having kissed you to prove a point?" 

"My dear," he laughs like you told him a funny joke. "I can't imagine a situation where I would mind you kissing me. Let alone one where I get to help you out." 

Sliding your hand up his chest to casually rest on his shoulder, you wonder, "Is the Hangman Special still available?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Guaranteed to be wowing?" You check. 

"Got a warranty for you and everything," Jake says lowly. 

Your hand curls around Jake's neck again, and you attempt to tug him closer to you. He doesn't even budge, though. One of his hands slowly traces up your side from your waist until he is cupping your cheek. Then Jake leans close, his breath ghosting over your lips, where he lingers for a moment. Your eyes flutter closed, and as soon as they do, his lips press to yours. This time, it's not a quick peck. 

He is slow and deliberate in how he kisses you. Tilting his head to the side to get a slightly better angle, Jake uses his hand on your face to urge your lips to align better with his. Pliable to his touch, you open your mouth to him, seeking even more, and rewarded when Jake's tongue brushes against your own. You never doubted that Jake would be a good kisser, but knowing firsthand is something you know you won't be able to erase from your memory. When the kiss starts to border on indecent, he pulls away. 

You linger in the moment, keeping your eyes closed until your heart doesn't feel like it's going to burst from your chest. While you are in that limbo spot, his thumb slowly strokes your cheekbone. Sea glass green is the first thing you see when opening them again, Jake not making any effort to veil how he is admiring you. His lips are slightly pinker now than they just were, and you can't help but imagine how pink and swollen they would get if you had the opportunity to get this man alone on a couch. 

Just as you consider requesting that he kiss you again, just to really really solidify how good you are to your friends, because obviously, three kisses are much better than the one they dared you to get, you are suddenly bumped from behind. The motion roughly shoves you against Jake's solid chest. Both his hands automatically return to your waist, tightening as he steadies you there. Glaring over your shoulder at whoever bumped you, he asks, "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm okay," you breathe. Being this close to him, the woodsy scent of his cologne tickles your nose. And you suddenly wonder why exactly he is in this upscale cocktail bar dressed so nicely. 

"I'm glad you decided to kiss me and not any of these other assholes," he mutters darkly, still glaring over your shoulder. 

"Well, it wasn't really a choice." You reveal, which has his eyes snapping back to you in an instant and a frown pulling at his lips. One of his thumbs that's resumed making circles on your waist stops, and the other falls off your waist entirely now. He doesn't move otherwise, but his presence feels less consuming. Tersely, he responds, "I see." 

"I may have skewed the odds. Told my friends to pick the hottest man they could find. What would you know? They picked you." You explain quickly.

"That's some good luck on your part." 

"It wasn't luck, not really."

"How do you mean?" He wonders. 

"I knew they would pick you." 

"What made you so confident?"

"Because, Jake, you are, hands down, the most attractive person here," you reveal to him shyly. Your fingers curling into his silky shirt, where they have found themselves on his chest after being pushed. 

"See now, I don't think that's true," he says, his eyebrows pulling together. The frown is gone though, the edges of his lips quirking up again. 

"Oh please, Jake. Do not pretend you don't know how handsome you are."

"I'm aware. However, that doesn't change the fact that you're the most attractive person in this bar tonight." 

"You're a flirt," you accuse him. 

"I am," he agrees with no argument. "But that don't make me dishonest or mean I'm not genuine. I haven't been flirting with you just for the sake of it." 

Warmth blooms in your center at his words, and you nearly forget all about trying to escape away from him. Right now, you just want to get closer, as close as he will let you. However, you are pulled out of the fantasy when you look away from Jake's intense gaze to see your friends and how most of the table seems shocked and scandalized. Wryly, you notice Cece giving you two thumbs up. It's like you could almost forget that this was just him being flirty and imagine he was kissing you for more than just helping prove a point. "Well, I appreciate your help with the Hangman Special. I know they will all be impressed and jealous when I head back over there." 

"Now, wait a moment. You can't just sneak away. The Hangman Special not only comes with mind-blowing kisses but also a free night out, all expenses paid, and dinner at any restaurant you choose. "

"You just give that away to any random person who asks?"

"No, only the pretty ones I've had my eye on for a long while," Jake says, his eyes intense, the hand still on your waist flexing tighter for a moment.

"You have?" You ask, completely surprised. 

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies with no hesitation. Before you can respond, the bartender finally makes his way over to you two, asking for your order. Jake instantly defers to you before ordering, asking, "What do you want, my dear?" 

"I thought I already told you I'm taking one of the Hangman specials." You say, after taking a moment to think it over. The grin that lights up Jake's face is sunny and bright, and if you weren't being supported by his strong body, you would have probably fallen over swooning. 

Turning back to the bartender, Jake requests two bottles of water and both of your tabs. As you peek over his shoulder while he signs, you see the bill consists of just one beer, the water, and the two drinks you've had tonight. 

"So you want the full experience?" He asks you when you've taken a sip of water, and he has downed half of his in the same time. 

"From what I know about you, Jake, I don't think you're someone who does things by halves," you answer, fiddling with one of the buttons on his silky green shirt. Then you are pushing a bit on his chest, trying to step away. When you do, Jake's hands find themselves on your hips again pulling you closer to him. 

"Where you going?" He pouts. 

"I just need to grab my purse." 

"Whatcha you need your purse for, sweetheart? Don't you know I ain't going to let you pay for nothing?" Jake drawls. 

"I'm sure you want that to come off gentlemanly, but you're close to flirting with misogynistic." You say, playfully poking a finger into his chest.

"No." Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips, Jake brushes a kiss on your pulse point, saying, "I know exactly who I'm flirting with, and that is you, my dear." 

The laugh you let out is slightly involuntary, but it makes Jake look like he won a prize, so you can't be too displeased, especially not when he has resumed drawing circles on your skin, and it feels like some sort of hypnosis you never want to end. "I'll be right back, and you can keep flirting with me for as long as you like." 

"That a promise?" Jake asks.

"Sure thing," you agree, but Jake still hasn't let go of you. 

"Do you want some company?" 

"You don't have to." 

"Little worried you're going to try and sneak away," he admits. 

"But Jake, I am sneaking away," you say in a fake whisper as if sharing a secret. "Sneaking away with you from my friends and this bar." It makes him smile again, just like you were hoping it would. "Just wait here for me. Okay?"

"Okay," he reluctantly agrees. Despite agreeing, the hold he has on your hand actually slightly tightens. "One more kiss?"

"I'm starting to get the feeling that you're always going to want one more kiss."

"You already know me so well," Jake grins. You press your lips against his again in a quick kiss, careful not to get caught up in it, before slipping out of his grasp. When free, you practically skip away from Jake to grab your things. 

Arriving back to your friends, you're greeted with loud whooping and even some clapping thrown in. Cece is practically giggling as she says, "I really didn't think you had that in you." 

"What were you talking about for so long?" Another one of the group asks.

"Was that kiss as hot as he is?" Someone else wonders, and then questions are coming from every direction before you can answer any of them. 

"It was great, he's great." You manage to get in. When they start to flood you with even more questions, you cut them off. "I would love to talk all about it, but I'm sorry y'all, I'm actually just over here to grab my purse." 

"There is no way you are leaving with that guy," Tassie says incredulously. 

Irritation and anger flares up in you as you turn to glare at her. "Really, there's no way? And why would that be Tassie?" 

"Come on," she says, clearly surprised that you've decided to call her out. "You're just not the kind of person to go home with someone from the bar, and he doesn't really seem like your type." 

"I don't know how tall, handsome, funny, and phenomenal kisser could not be someone's type," You say harshly, snatching your purse and jacket from where you had been sitting. 

"I'm just trying to look out for you," she responds sharply. 

"I don't think that's true," you snap back. 

"Hey now, why don't we all chill out," your friend Marv cuts in placatingly. 

"Sorry to interrupt," a familiar southern drawl says from behind as a warm arm wraps around your shoulder. You nearly sag into Jake. The urge to explode on your friends, more specifically Tassie, instantly absorbed by his presence. "But I was promised I could take this one out on a date tonight." 

"We can't let our friend just leave with a stranger," Cece says, and you turn to narrow your eyes at her, frowning that she is butting in when she is the one who set all this into motion in the first place. 

"While I respect that, I don't think you get to make that decision," Jake says lightly and a lot nicer than you would have in that moment. 

"You could be a crazy serial killer or something," Tassie says. 

"While I am a killer, that's normally just how people describe me in bed," he answers in a flirty, exaggerated way. That has you nearly coughing, you suck in air so hard. He gently pats your back and continues on. "If you're really worried though, you can look me up on Instagram. That's at LT.H_ANGM_N. I hope y'all have a good night. I know we will be," Jake punctuates the sentence with a kiss to the side of your head. 

Stuck between laughing and balking you glance around at everyone’s surprised faces at Jake’s boldness. You know exactly what Jake's last Instagram post was, having spent several minutes the other day debating whether you should like the shirtless picture of him on the beach. 

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Jake asks you, practically muttering the words in your ear. All he needs is your nod before he confidently starts to turn you and lead you out the door. You manage to throw your friends a small wave goodbye, but it only takes a few steps for them to be out of your mind. 

"Did you drive?" Jake asks you as the fresh evening air rushes over you both. 

"No.” And you’re glad you didn’t when it means Hangman will be driving you home.  

"Good," he grins, "do you mind me driving?" 

"I don't," you answer easily, completely content to follow Jake to wherever he is going to lead you. 

He stops in front of a Jeep Gladiator, and you aren't overly surprised by his taste in vehicles. He goes to open the passenger side door for you, but you don't immediately take his offered hand to get inside. Instead, you tug it as you lean against the side of the truck. Jake follows the motion easily, not hesitating to bend down and mold his lips to yours. 

Jake looms over you, one of his hands balancing his weight against the side of the truck just over your head. The other on your side pulling you a bit closer to him. Looping your arm around his neck for some leverage, you let Jake take over your senses. The softness of his tongue paired with how he nibbles at your lower lip pulls a little whine from you.

When you have to pull away for a ragged breath, Jake groans low in his throat as you press teasing kisses down the column of his neck to the V of skin his shirt shows off. The hand on your waist slides up to cup your cheek and pulls you back to his lips. Kissing Jake is easy, he doesn't leave enough room for you to question if he's enjoying it. Nor do you have the capacity to overthink it as Jake's lips move surely and confidently with your own. All there is is him, his warm strong body, soft lips, and the calluses of his fingers. 

Leaning backward, you pull Jake with you wanting to have him pressed flush because even though you're tasting him, caged in, surrounded by him it still isn't close enough. However, the motion presses one of the Jeep’s jutting door hinges sharply into your back. You can't help but gasp a small "ow" as you try to shift. Concern creases Jake's features, and he pulls you away from his truck into his chest, glowering at the vehicle as if it had somehow betrayed him. 

"You okay, darlin?" He asks, his hands tracing down your back checking for injury. You lean more into his chest even though you don't really need the support, it's just nice to be in his arms. 

"I'm fine," you reassure him. 

"Let's get you out of harms way." He says pulling open the passenger side door. As you start to heave yourself into the tall truck Jake is practically picking you up and easily setting you in the seat. You blink at him in surprise at his show of strength. He remains there, standing in the open door, leaning closer and placing his hand just above your knee, his thumb drawing circles there. Then he asks, "So, where would you like to grab some dinner, my dear?" 

"I've heard of this really great restaurant I've been dying to go to."

"Yeah? Let's make it happen then." 

"Mhmm," you hum in confirmation. "It's called Hangman's House." 

Jake's thumb immediately stops moving and the smile on his face seems to shift. The genuine glint there slipping away, to something hard for you to really identify, practiced or guarded. Whatever the change was you don't find yourself liking it and immediately wonder where you misstepped. 

"So, Hangman's House, that's a pretty exclusive place. They don't usually do unplanned reservations," Jake says after what's nearly an awkward silence. 

"That's too bad. I heard that they have great service." You say a little dejected but glad he told you no in a casual manner that you can play off. 

"You're in luck though, my dear, because I know the owner. I think he would be willing to make an exception for us sometime, but they are better known for their breakfast menu." Jake responds upbeat again. 

"I like breakfast." You mutter in what you think is a flirty way. However, it's obvious that you've missed the mark when Jake's hand drops off your leg completely now. 

"Listen, if this is just a one-night thing, just some making out and fun stuff, where you are going to leave in the morning and pretend it never happened next time we see each other," he says seriously. Pausing, he runs a hand through his hair taking a measured breath, and you watch as the muscle in his jaw flexes. "That's fine, but I need to know it now." 

As you study his face intently it occurs to you that maybe even men like Jake Seresin have insecurities. Maybe he was used to interacting with people where more often than not they only saw him as a handsome face with a nice body. People who were ready to leave the next morning. The realization that a one night stand isn’t the series of events he is interested in with regards to you twists a pit of uncertainty in your stomach. You feel a little uneasy not sure exactly where you stand or what he wants with you. 

Reaching to catch Jake's lost hand and tangling your fingers, you start playing with the big class ring he is wearing. He allows the movement and relaxes his hand further, giving you additional leeway. The distraction of Jake's fingers gives you the courage to say, "I guess maybe I misunderstood that this was going to just be a nice fun night with you. Is that not what you were looking for?" 

"I do want that," Jake says adamantly. " However, I don't just want that." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I want to bring you flowers, dance with you, write you love letters. I want to explore every inch of your body and heart until I know what makes you tick. I want you to forget that any other man besides me even exists." Jake presses himself close to you again, and he turns his hand to thread your fingers tightly together. "Now I'm good, and I mean really good my dear, but those aren't goals I can make happen in one evening. So I want to start with tonight, taking you out and giving you a good time. And then I want to do the same thing tomorrow or whenever you have free time. I want to do that for as long as you will let me." 

"Oh wow," you breathe, taken aback by his declaration. "That's kind of a lot." 

"I know, but I don't want my intentions to be unclear. I wasn't lying when I said I've had my eye on you for a while. I'm happy to go at whatever pace you need; I'll do whatever you want. However, if this was all just getting back at your ex and proving a point. If you can't see yourself wanting anything more with me past tonight again, I need to know." Now, Jake takes his turn playing with your fingers as he breaks eye contact to stare at where you're intertwined. "I'll happily let you break my heart, but I don't want to be blindsided by it. 

Surging forward, you pull Jake in to kiss you again. It's an awkward angle, and the way the truck makes you taller than him feels odd. However, none of that matters when his lips are so pliable against yours. 

"I don't want to break your heart," you tell him between kisses. "I want to go on dates with you, and I want to go home with you. I want to go to bed with you and do it more than once if we find out we are compatible." 

"Are you doubting our compatibility?" Jake asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Not really, but you know it's better to make sure with these things. Have to double check, I think." 

"That makes sense," he concedes. 

"Now let's get some food so you can take me home and then to bed. Show me these killer skills you mentioned earlier." 

"We can do a lot tonight, but we can't sleep together," Jake says mournfully.

"Why not?" You ask confused. 

"Everyone knows you don't sleep together until the third date," Jake drawls.

"That's a cliche. Plus, why does it really matter?" 

"Because I've been dreaming about forever with you, and when you want forever with someone, you don't want to skip any steps." Jake answers, dead serious and earnestly. It makes you wish you weren't in such an awkward position in the truck. If you were still outside pressed against it, or in the bar even, it would be so much easier to show him the appreciation and affection burning inside. 

"We've got to be somewhere near the third date by now. We have tonight and that camping trip we went on. Oh, and that one time that everyone went bowling. Plus, there was that bonfire a few months ago!" You say, trying to think of occasions you and Jake had spent a good amount of time together. While considering it, you also realize he has nearly always gravitated to your side during group interactions, and going off tonight, that clearly wasn't as coincidental as you had previously thought. 

"You deserve real dates," Jake responds with conviction, and the look in his eye really isn't something you can or even want to argue with. There isn't anything wrong with someone wanting to act like a gentleman with you; it's actually flattering, especially when it's clear Jake isn't going to play any guessing games with you concerning his feelings. 

"Well, then we are wasting time when we could be on our first date," you say, pressing another peck to his lips and lightly pushing him away from you. 

"One last kiss," Jake whispers as he lurches close again for another peck. Then, he gently closes your door and jogs over to the driver's seat, asking where you want to get a bite to eat. 

The two of you end up at a fancy Italian restaurant where you share an appetizer, bottle of wine, and dessert. During dessert, Jake insists you pose for a picture. Despite your initial resistance, he convinces you, and then, nearly as soon as he takes it, your phone lights up with a notification telling you that you’ve tagged you in his story. He tells you before you even ask that he hopes your friends looked him up on Instagram but requests that you repost it on your own just in case they didn't. He claimed it's so they know he's not kidnapped you, but you suspect that it's more likely he wants to prove a point. And it's something you don't mind one bit, especially when he easily lets you post a picture of him on your own story. 

After the restaurant, Jake drives you both out of town a bit to where the sky is much clearer and the stars are visible. The evening isn't warm enough to cuddle in the truck bed like he wanted, so instead, you end up in the backseat with the moon roof completely rolled back. You manage to pretend to be looking at the stars for about three whole minutes before crawlingl into Jake's lap to kiss him. 

Before the making out can get too heated, Jake grips your chin, urging your face upwards to look through the moonroof. Gruffly, he mutters into your ear, telling you to behave. Words that only make you squirm in your newfound place sitting on his lap. He lets you stay there, though, his hands steady on your hips, and his lips leisurely brushing yours or your neck whenever inspiration strikes. 

"What were you doing out tonight looking so nice?" You wonder absentmindedly, unbuttoning the top button of Jake's shirt. It's not with an ulterior motive. Really, it's because Jake's shirt is so soft, and the top of it is hiding his dog tags from you, which you have suddenly decided is unacceptable. The new skin exposed to you is just an added benefit. 

"Ah, nothing to worry about darlin'." 

"Common, you can tell me," you say, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

"You know, whinnies?" 

It takes you a moment to place the restaurant and remember that it's across the street from the bar where you met up with your friends. "The wine bar?" 

"Yeah," Jake confirms. "Well, I was on a date there." 

"Oh." When Jake doesn't say anything, you decide you have to push the conversation forward. "So, what happened to your date? Were they not nice?"

"No, she was real sweet," Jake says, and you feel your stomach drop as if you aren't in the back of his truck and sitting in his lap right now.

"So why did you end up at Gem's?" 

"I was checking Instagram before she got there, and I saw you post that you were at Gems, right across the street. And no matter how nice she was, I knew it wasn't fair that I was thinking of a different person the whole time. So, we didn't even make it through appetizers before I had to be honest with her about that, and then I swung by Gems, hoping I would bump into you." 

"You were at the bar just to see me?"

"Sure was. So imagine my surprise when you found and approached me first."

"How would it have gone if you had approached me first?" You wonder. 

"For one, I would have offered to buy you a drink before stealing a kiss," Jake says teasingly. 

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" 

"Probably not for a while," he tells you. You groan and hide your face in his neck as if that will save you from some of the embarrassment. Feeling his chuckles in his throat and rumble in his chest is soothing, and you pepper more kisses to his neck and collarbone as if you were tracing the sound.

"You wouldn't have left without a kiss, though?" 

"I wouldn't have left without seeing you, and I would have done everything to try and convince you to give me one," Jake promises. 

"How would you have kissed me for the first time?" 

"Are you asking for another demonstration?" he wonders. As soon as you nod in affirmation, he pulls you close, repositioning you on his lap so you're straddling him. The darkness of the truck makes it so you can't quite see how green his eyes are, despite that they are still somehow bright.  He holds eye contact with you for a long moment. His hand cups your cheek, and like earlier in the night, he pauses, not closing the gap, observing you close. When you try to lean forward and seal your lips, he backs his head away. Then he chastises you while wearing a smirk, "I'm goin' to kiss you, baby. Now, let me do it how I want." 

Anticipation tingles in you as Jake leans close; however, at the last minute, he swerves, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then the other cheek, your forehead, and your nose. Finally, his lips meet yours firmly. Closing your eyes, you sigh into the kiss. The feeling of being intimately connected to Jake again is nearly the same as relief. When your mouth opens, Jake licks into you, searching out your tongue with his own. 

There no longer seems to be any will in Jake to tamper down the heat of your kissing. He allows you each time you push the envelope of the moment being just the soft sweet first date kissing he initially claimed to want. As he sucks on the sweet spot, her discovers on your neck, the way you grind downwards is involuntary and completely by accident. A low moan comes from Jake, and you like the way it sounds. So, the next time you grind down on him, it's completely intentional. 

The dark slacks he is wearing don't do much to conceal his hardened length. After a few more rolls of your hips, Jake's hands tightly grip your waist helping you grind against him. He urges you into a rhythm that has whimpers, moans, and gasps passing from both your mouths between hot kisses. As you try to speed up, frantic lust beating so loud you can hear it in your ear, he doesn't let you. Though you are on top of him, there is no doubt that Jake is in complete control. 

Just from this night, it's not difficult to imagine how he will be in the bedroom. Strong,  consuming, and in control. You can picture how he will confidently lead you exactly where you want to go, and you will get there because just a back of the car's make-out shouldn’t cause someone to be as turned on as you are right now. You unbutton his shirt and let your hands roam over his chest. Dragging your nails along his abs causes a full body shudder and Jake to grip your ass so hard you think you might bruise. It doesn't bother you, though, because how can anything that gets you closer to his cock be a bad thing? 

“Jake,” you say in a sudden moment of clarity. He hums his acknowledgment but keeps kissing at your neck and squeezing at your ass. A particularly hard thrust upwards from him nearly has your brain going fuzzy as you desperately try to hold yourself together.  “Jake,” you repeat more forcefully, “we need to stop.” 

“What’s wrong?” He asks concerned, detaching his lips from your skin and losing his hold so he is barely touching you. 

“If we keep at this I'm going to beg you to fuck me right here right now,” you answer. He makes a strangled groan. With his swollen lips, lust filled eyes, and hard dick you're sure he wouldn't actually mind. “Which would be amazing but you told me about a three date rule and I agreed.” 

“I did say three dates,” he responds and looks like he hates himself for it. 

“But if it doesn't actually matter I would like to suck your cock at least once before we fuck.” You boldly tell him, twisting his dog tags in your fingers pulling them taut against Jake’s neck until the release beads give away. The chain falls into your grasp, and you use the warm metal to distract yourself. 

“Fuck me,” he breathes throwing an arm over his eyes and leaning back. “You're perfect, you know that?” 

“I'm not.” 

“You are. So perfect, so hot.” He kisses you like he's about to ignore what you just said. Hot and a little sloppy with tongue and a bit at your lower lip. When he pulls away he rests his forehead against yours saying, “We are going to stop now  because I don't want there to ever be a doubt in your mind that I'll keep the promises I make to you.”

Your stomach flips with affection, and you sag, leaning heavily into Jake, just hugging him tightly, waiting for the lust that's sparked to cool. The two of you even manage to get some actual stargazing in where hands roam but in more so in an exploratory way than sexual. 

Holding hands driving back into the city you can’t stop staring at Jake’s profile, or admiring his fingers or tracing the veins of his forearms. You are focusing on trying to convince yourself that this isn’t a dream, you're definitely going to wake up with hickies in the morning, and another date with Jake Seresin scheduled tomorrow. It’s something that if you had been told at the start of your evening, you would have laughed at the absurdity of the idea. 

"I know it's really soon, but do you think that if you asked me again in a few weeks if I'm still single, we'll be able to change my answer?" Jake asks you after a bit breaking the comfortable silence you two had been in. 

"I think that's possible. What do you think about that?" You wonder. 

"I would change my answer tonight if you wanted me to."

"Jake..."

"Listen, I really like you, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. So as soon as you give me the okay, I will bring you flowers with a promise ring and ask if you want to go steady with me." Jake's thumb rubs along your pulse affectionately, "I'll change my Facebook relationship status. I'll get a nice little charm with your name on it for my dog tags. I'll take you to meet my friends and brag about how amazing you are." Jake leans over at a red light to press a soft kiss to your lips. "The whole shebang." 

"That sounds nice. Does that deal have a special name, too?" 

"Yeah, we can call it the Jake special. It is a whole package, long-term, all-inclusive deal." 

"Extended warranty?" You check jokingly.

"It actually has a no-return, no-refund policy," Jake answers.

"That's a pretty big commitment," you whisper back, even though the idea of keeping Jake all to yourself sounds nothing but appealing. 

"It's not something that expires. So how about tonight, we just worry about getting you home where you're going to let me walk you to your front door and give you a kiss goodnight."

"Just one kiss?" You ask in a pretend pout. 

"Let's shoot for two, but don't be surprised if it's three, maybe even four." 

"I want five," you declare stubbornly.

"Then I'll give you six," he easily offers. 

You try to hide your smile but don't quite manage it. It's a permanent fixture the whole drive home and during all seven of the goodnight kisses you get. They aren't the best kisses in the world because Jake is smiling through them, too. It's okay, though, because you both know there's going to be more in the future, a lot more. 

[yaut-jaknowit]

Back again with yet another idea -🥤

So this could be with any of the beans but I was thinking that the reader got caught by some bad bloods or human and experimented on. One of those being something that slowly transforms them into a yautja. The reader might try to hide this from their mate (like the scales slowly appearing, how sensitive your senses are becoming) but the reader can’t hide much from an experienced yautja

The Wrong Secret to Hold

Pairings: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self harm (needing to rip off skin) (?)

Word Count: 2334

Summary: Ahtaal may no be an enforcer but when he found out you were stolen right off of his ship, he became one. Just for that reason. He tracked you down through the stars until he was able to pinpoint your location. From there, he tore apart the bad bloods who stole you. But it was already too late. The bad bloods had already planted a seed.

Author Note: I love the fact you called them beans! I'm going to refer to them like that for now on. It's always great to see from you Cup Anon!

Masterlist

Ao3

Three weeks has passed since Athaal saved you from a cunning duo of Bad Bloods. He may not be an enforcer but he took upon himself to kill them after they kidnapped you. Right from the safety of his spacecraft. A mistake he has since learned from, increasing the security of the ship’s systems. He had almost lost you, his mate.

After he retrieved you, gaining the two skulls of those who wronged you. Both of them hang nicely above your shared bed. A bed you were curled up in, even after being awake for at least three hours. Three hours of rest you desperately needed. In the end, they were lost.

The nest like bed built into the floor was usually comfort, perfect to curl up in and nap. Everything was too much. The room was too cold. The air too dry. The blankets too scratchy. Then, there was the noise of the engines. They caused a raging headache to pound in your skull, driving away every rational thought in your mind.

Everything was too much.

This had progressed ever since Ahtaal saved you from those Bad Bloods. Your memory of your time with them was foggy, blurry of what they might have done to you. It wasn’t long they held you but they had changed something in you. You blamed it on the trauma they had put you through, part of the reason why you couldn’t recall what happened to you.

Athaal saw an uptick in your heartbeats. Not by much, only ten on average, but called it normal. Fear of a prey animal only reacting. That was that.

Then, the oversensitivity began to grow. Even the clothes Athaal had stolen for you from earth were too much to put on. Yet, your mind warred on the fact being naked was bad or being driving into insanity when you could feel your own skin. You had to reframe yourself from scratching your skin off every time you breathed.

All the blankets had been pushed of out the massive concave bed. They had been touching you, grazing your skin. The feel of them made you want crawl out of your own body and throw yourself into a pit of lava.

As this progressed as well, you refrained from telling Athaal. He’s been stressed since you’ve been napped right from underneath his mandibles. He’s been working hard on the ship, ensuring the same thing never happens to you again. Plus, with the killing, he also had to make a case against his clan’s court about the legal execution of the Bad Bloods. Not that the seem to disagree but it all revolve around the honor code. To keep the balances and checks in their strict system.

The last thing that Athaal needed added to his plate was whatever was affecting you. It would pass. It was just trauma. Your scenes overworking to keep you safe after such an attack.

Until you wondered into the bathroom to relieve yourself only to find… scales?! Your hands grasped the porcelain sink, heart beating at a thousand miles per second. You felt lightheaded, legs ready to give out at any moment. There were scales starting to grow on your chest.

Your fingertips gingerly touched the rough patches and winced since they were sensitive too. Tears burned your eyes, right on the edge of falling. Why was this happening to you? What was happening to you?! There’s no scientific reason for something like this to occur. You didn’t know of any disease in the universe that could cause this to appear.

What strength you had left, you stumbled back to the bed and collapsed onto it. The softness of the bed irritated your skin and made it feel like hot pokers were digging into where the cushion touched you. With an annoyed growl, you climbed back out and laid on your back.

The floor was unforgiving, cool to the touch. Yet, it was an improvement to the bed that made you want to desperately claw at your own skin. You huffed and curled up into a ball, hands covering your head as if protecting you from an attack. Your scenes were still on fire, driving you up the nearest wall. But, the energy to move was gone. Then, you were asleep. A fitful, restless sleep.

Raging hungry stirred you from your wasteful nap. A growl sounded from the back of your throat, sounding deep and dangerous. You stretched out only to bump into something warm. You froze. Then, slowly, you creeped your gaze over your shoulder to find the red form of Ahtaal sleeping at your back, chest facing you. Fear creeped into your heart, pumping into your veins. The lump in your throat was swallowed down thought. He wasn’t awake.

One of his arms was draped over your torso and kept you securely pressed against his body. At any other time, you would’ve enjoyed this soft moment with him. His loving embrace. But his heat, the texture of the scales on his chest. It was overwhelming.

Despite the love for him telling you to endure this discomfort, you grasped his wrist and held it up. It weighed a lot due to the muscles that cord it. But, you were able to roll out from underneath him. You climbed out of the bed then stopped and turned to look down at him for a fleeting moment. He was still, breathing normal, eyes closed. He hadn’t woken up.

A soft sigh of relief left you. You about faced again and snuck away towards the kitchen. Anything to quell this pang of hunger that curled and boiled deep inside of you. In all of your years, you’ve never felt like before. Even if you hadn’t ate the day before, and you had.

The open kitchen was dark as you worked inside of it, not needing light on to see. You worked diligently. Two bowls of fruits and a plate of dried meat was your preparing meal. Even that seemed not to be enough for you in the sight of your eyes.

Unease crawled up your spine. Instinct roared its head. A growl rumbled from the depths of your chest as you leaned over your prepare food, eyes darting out to the open space. Your teeth bared.

Ahtaal stood in the doorway of the kitchen, posture lax but eyes watchful. Your growl lessened until he took a step towards you. One of your hands slammed down on the counter. Part of the warnings that ranged from you not to step an inch closer. This was your food. No one would take it from you.

Through the darkness of the ship, you saw the way his head jerked back and he didn’t move any closer. The whisper of your name rolled off of his forked tongue. Questioning. Your piercing gaze refused to move away from the threat that could take away your nourishment. Food you were desperate to consume but not with him there. Eating would be an opportunity for attack.

His dark form stepped back and eased the pressure his presence seemed to caused to you. Your growled lightened slightly but your eyes didn’t wander. They were pinned strictly on him. His brows furrowed before he slowly knelt down. Anything to appear he wasn’t a threat to you, his mate. Submissive as the position seemed, he did it for you.

Your name fell from his tongue again. That’s when your scenes, this primal instinct started to clear. You shook your head, eyes flickering down to the floor. All of your thoughts scrambled as you attempted to make sense of what you just did.

One of your hands covered your mouth. What was that? Terror overtook every emotion inside of you. Your gaze met his again but as the prey you were. The exit was blocked by his kneeling body. Your heart pounded like a bird desperate for escape. You back away from him and the food, back meeting the wall opposite to him.

“Little one?” he softly called out to you.

Those Bad Bloods. They had done something terrible to you. There was something terrible wrong with you now. Your terrified gaze met his again. Then, you bolted.

Strong arms ensnared around your torso before you could escape. Heat pressed against your back. Your nails raked down thick scales, failing to cause any damage. Your legs kicked and hits his thighs and stomach but did nothing to deter him. Ahtaal traps your back to his chest and stand. Now, you were up in the air as he pinned you to him.

The restless sleep and everyday waking up more tired than the day before caught up to you. The adrenaline couldn’t keep up. You slowly go limp in his hold, chest heaving for breaths.

Ahtaal sets you back down on the ground and spins you around to face him. Those dark eyes of his are scanning every inch of your face and body. They narrowed down on your eyes. His hand pinched your jaw and dragged your head up. “Your eyes… they’re lightly glowing,” he grounded out. You felt his claws digging into the flesh of your cheeks for a moment.

His gaze continued until it notices the rough patch on your chest. The red giant pushes you back until your shoulder blades touched a wall. A hand softly encircling your throat to keep you pinned. He leaned down. His free hand running over the textured skin. You hissed and squirmed in his hold. “Stop, that hurts,” you whined, voice grumbler than usual.

Next, he moved his mouth to the crook of your neck. You felt his tongue rung across the skin there. Ahtaal tensed and growled shortly.

“You smell like a Yautja.” Instantly, you thought he was thinking you were somehow cheating on him or the Bad Bloods scent still lingered on your skin. He pulled back to look you in the eye again. “But it’s your scent.” The words were softly spoken, as if in disbelief.

The hand trapping your neck drifted up to cup your cheek. “What did they do to you?” he snarled but the anger was directed at the two who stole you from him. The question was meant mainly for himself but opened for you to answer.

You swallowed hard, chest still heaving to calm your racing heart. “I-I don’t know,” you cried, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “Something’s wrong with me. Everything’s too loud. Everything’s too much. The air is too dry. It’s cold. My skin… I can feel everything!” Even his hand touching you was starting to drive you insane. The texture was rough against your sensitive skin.

Everything went still. But you could easily hear the engines rumbling, his heart pounding. You could smell his concern, his confusion, his anger. You could read him the same way he could read you.

His furrow deepened before his hand softly left your cheek. It was instant relief. Less contact. Less touch. Less everything.

“I keep the ship colder for you. I lessen the humidity for you,” he muttered and returned to his full height, gaze blank. He was working overtime in his mind. The gears spinning quickly to come up with a solution. You stood leaning against the wall, fingers twitching with the need to rip your own skin off again. “And… you can see in the dark, can’tcha?” Your weak sigh answered him, eyes closing to block out everything.

He took a couple of steps back and shakes his head, trying to deny this. Internally, he was attempting to put the pieces together. To figure out what they have done to his mate. Yet, none of it made sense. The site he found you at… those Bad Bloods, they- his mind stopped there. Pausing as the realization dawned upon his form. Experimented. On you. His mate. They had injected something into you to change you from his perfect mate.

A deafening growled tumbled from his chest. Your hands slammed over your ears at the sound. A pained cry leaving your chapped lips. He stopped immediately and even flinched himself. Pauk.

Instantly, his first mission was to find a way to fix this. To fix you. To save you. To help you. A firm, stern gaze passed over his features. He reached out and tilted your head back. Your eyes sliding open to find the dark gaze of your mate on you. “I will find a way to help you. I will scour this entire universe for a cure,” he grounded out, voice low to help ease the pain it may cause to you.

The Yautja was beyond pissed. He wished to go back when he slaughtered those two Bad Bloods and made their death even longer. For all the pain they have caused you that’s currently injuring you. His mandibles clicked against one another in a harsh way.

You believed him. You knew he would. He’s been through thick and thin with you. You are his as much as he is yours. The corresponding marks etched into the backs of your shoulders was physical proof enough. He grunted with a nod then glanced over at forgotten food. “It seems like you have a Yautja appetite,” he stated and pulled away from you. You dipped your head and also gazed at the dishes.

“Come,” he called and strolled over to the plates. Ahtaal picked up all three skillfully and brought them over to the table. “Eat. Eat everything you desire. It will take you time to grow accustom to this new side of you. But I will help you in every step of the way.” If it didn’t hurt, you would’ve hugged and kiss the alien to death.

Slowly, you moved over and gingerly sat down in a seat he designed for your smaller statue. Until your hunger was satisfied, he fed you whatever you wanted and needed. In that moment, you knew you could never want or need anyone else besides him.

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too. 

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear. 

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands. 

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago. 

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that.  It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly. 

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory. 

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at. 

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that. 

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man. 

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too. 

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling. 

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony. 

He approaches slowly, quietly. 

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you. 

“Oh, uhm. Hello?” 

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile. 

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.” 

“Surprised?” 

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly. 

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.” 

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new. 

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?” 

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little. 

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.” 

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record. 

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.” 

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.” 

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.” 

He pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip. 

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins. 

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?” 

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little. 

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle. 

“A little,” 

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile. 

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor. 

“And yours?” 

“Gojo Satoru.” 

__

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor. 

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly. 

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk. 

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall.  You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar 

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly  romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him  by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking. 

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening. 

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously  feeling quite jealous about.) 

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades. 

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what. 

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite. 

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same. 

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere. 

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.  

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean. 

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions. 

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade. 

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it. 

 By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk. 

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground. 

What’s heaven to a man born there?

__ 

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted. 

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.  

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return.  There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.) 

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children. 

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is. 

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply. 

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade. 

It had led him to a conclusion,  but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of. 

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late. 

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most. 

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home. 

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.) 

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant -  there, all the same.  As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen. 

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings,  notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone. 

You’ve never called him before. 

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly. 

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.” 

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet. 

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?” 

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,” 

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.” 

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.” 

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him. 

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.” 

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.” 

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?” 

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words. 

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.” 

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.” 

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.” 

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?” 

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright. 

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.” 

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know? 

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles. 

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?” 

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.” 

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain. 

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

__

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed. 

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction. 

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on. 

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it. 

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester. 

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late. 

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality. 

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet. 

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. 

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried. 

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there. 

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it. 

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear. 

(A small, small  part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?” 

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in. 

“....It?” 

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him. 

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths. 

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least. 

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is. 

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.” 

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most. 

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least.  He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one. 

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined. 

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,” 

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward. 

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly. 

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap. 

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you. 

“Of course,” He says  “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod your head and sip your tea. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?” 

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you. 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.” 

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them. 

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?” 

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply. 

“I thought you were a high school teacher.” 

He smiles. 

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.” 

You look befuddled. 

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist. 

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.” 

“You can’t use cursed techniques?” 

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.” 

Vulnerable. 

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words. 

“Is it that bad…?” 

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?” 

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.” 

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?” 

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.” 

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look. 

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face. 

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over. 

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

__ 

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A  bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing. 

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat. 

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie. 

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles. 

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen. 

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary. 

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit. 

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached. 

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head. 

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror. 

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that. 

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic. 

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to. 

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results. 

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays. 

__

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction. 

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it. 

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next. 

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident. 

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control. 

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing  heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure. 

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. 

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same. 

Then, he’s inside. 

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate. 

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that. 

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything. 

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do. 

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you. 

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for? 

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything. 

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line. 

“Showing signs of anxiety.” 

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting. 

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do. 

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,” 

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy,  but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling  of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. 

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump. 

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty. 

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns. 

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. 

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with… 

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms. 

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious. 

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job. 

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question. 

“Why’re you still here?” 

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.” 

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs. 

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.” 

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?” 

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking,  but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying. 

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient. 

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.” 

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.” 

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?” 

She gives Gojo a pointed look. 

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.” 

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head. 

“No. Your aura.” 

Gojo stares ahead. 

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.” 

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.” 

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?” 

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.” 

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.” 

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing. 

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input. 

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.” 

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare. 

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.” 

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened.  He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently. 

“I’m sorry you went through that.”  Gojo replies. 

He’s being sincere. 

“Should you be sympathizing with me?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand.  She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone. 

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.” 

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is:  “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.” 

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too. 

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me.  That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and  malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“ 

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react. 

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away. 

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.” 

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head. 

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.” 

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.” 

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”  Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread. 

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath. 

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.” 

__

The case ends anti-climatically. 

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken. 

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser. 

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene. 

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves. 

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too. 

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him. 

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too. 

Above all, the offer is tempting.) 

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little. 

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire. 

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees. 

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body. 

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen. 

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most. 

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles. 

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~ 

He laughs to himself. 

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion. 

(sent 11:16am) For coffee? 

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up. 

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing. 

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you. 

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate. 

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so. 

“Hey,” 

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush. 

“They’re an important friend,” 

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend. 

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?” 

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,” 

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good. 

It’s a pleasant sort of day. 

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time. 

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too. 

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for. 

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story. 

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes. 

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do. 

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.” 

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you.  Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light. 

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him. 

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?” 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,” 

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh. 

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.” 

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs. 

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully. 

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater. 

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?” 

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.” 

Your frown deepens. 

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.” 

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?” 

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute. 

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims,  soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours.  The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you. 

“What do you want?” 

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully. 

“Heard,” 

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him. 

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums. 

“Mm, there’s always next time?” 

“You say that every time!” 

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.” 

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout. 

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums. 

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?” 

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now. 

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly. 

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.” 

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy. 

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag. 

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo. 

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?” 

“Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?” 

You nod enthusiastically.

__ 

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while. 

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go. 

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school. 

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task) 

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out. 

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon. 

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that. 

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him. 

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend. 

Time passes  comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned. 

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember? 

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―” 

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind. 

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you. 

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?” 

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye. 

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me?” 

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar. 

He doesn’t like it. 

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.” 

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” 

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails. 

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft.  You become helpless in front of his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously. 

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling. 

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant. 

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?” 

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it. 

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed. 

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading. 

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved. 

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying. 

“Who are you?” He asks. 

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―” 

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,” 

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,” 

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.” 

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts. 

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you. 

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself. 

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice. 

“About time to get out of here, huh?” 

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together. 

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless. 

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?” 

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?” 

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day. 

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time. 

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close. 

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter. 

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away. 

“Okay,” 

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything. 

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you. 

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,” 

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying. 

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe. 

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,” 

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth. 

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.” 

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You….knew?” 

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?” 

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge. 

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.” 

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?” 

You nod softly. 

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.” 

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk. 

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,” 

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh. 

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly.  Gojo squeezes where his hand rests. 

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,” 

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own. 

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes. 

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does. 

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t. 

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you. 

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,” 

You cry and cry and cry. 

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound. 

__

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him. 

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation. 

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,” 

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger. 

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it. 

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him. 

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan.  He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law. 

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

 He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation  especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run. 

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.) 

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets. 

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses.  It’s a lot like killing a curse. 

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide. 

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell. 

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets. 

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret. 

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair. 

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him. 

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all. 

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best. 

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job. 

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job. 

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them. 

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time. 

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it. 

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind. 

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them. 

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7. 

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet. 

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark. 

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out. 

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around. 

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body. 

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins. 

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up. 

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?” 

“W-w-what…how did you…” 

Gojo shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.” 

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must. 

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish. 

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic. 

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys. 

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too. 

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs. 

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?” 

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice? 

“P-please, I have—” 

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,” 

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent. 

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly. 

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen. 

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,” 

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms. 

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even. 

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders. 

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would. 

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

 With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving. 

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back. 

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone. 

__

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed. 

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself. 

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs. 

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…” 

The rest of the report  Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,” 

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod. 

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,” 

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence. 

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?” 

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor. 

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,” 

Gojo pretends to think about it. 

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement . 

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” 

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.

AO3 LINK

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

PREVIEW

Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.

"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.

"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.

Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.

This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.

You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.

Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.

“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”

The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?

“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?

Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.

“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.

"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.

“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.

“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.

“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.

“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.

“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.

“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.

"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.

“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.

“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.

[sixpennydame]

dark side of the moon⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ [chapter 1]

Pairing: yakuza!Levi x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Summary:

Neo Tokyo, 2235. You’ve escaped the festering wasteland that is Earth for Mars, to a city where only the strong survive, and everybody has secrets.  Taking on a job as a hostess, you woo the city’s elite, your smile hiding your own dark past. When your path crosses with Levi Ackerman, said to be the strongest member of the Ackerman yakuza clan, you’re not sure whether to consider him a friend or a foe. Because in this city, nothing is what it seems. And the past never stays buried.

Author's note: I will be using Japanese words and phrases periodically and will have a glossary of terms at the end of the chapter.

Series Content/Warnings: mafia/yakuza AU, flashbacks, slow burn, mystery, cyberpunk, sci fi, non-binary Hange Zoe, eventual smut, dark content, graphic violence and sexual content, minors do not interact!

Chapter Content/Warning: mentions of blood, physical assault

next chapter/masterlist/AO3

Blood is thicker than you thought it would be. 

A sea of dark red surrounds you, soaking your clothes and the floor around you. 

Someone’s saying your name, but all you can hear is the thunder of your own heart beat. 

“Hey. Look at me. Do you remember what I promised? That I was never going to let anything bad happen to us again. We swore that we would always be there for each other.

No matter what happens, I promise that I will protect you.

I’ll fix this.”

.

.

.

“Oi you alive? Can you hear me?” A voice said.

You snapped back to reality. Get it together. Don’t fuck this up.

“Sorry…could you repeat that?”

The person in front of you takes off their glasses and cleans them with the edge of their shirt. “I said, you’re obviously not from around here. Where are you from?”

You shift in your chair. You knew that you were going to stand out from the other inhabitants of Neo Tokyo the moment you arrived here.

“I um..I’m from Earth.”

Their eyes go wide. “Earth? That shithole? I didn’t know there were still settlements there. How did you even earn a ticket to get to Mars?” You open your mouth to reply, but they put their hand out. “Don’t answer that - it’s none of my business.”

Obviously your planet of birth has made you intriguing; hopefully intriguing enough that they’ll give you a job. They look you up and down like you were a science experiment. “And why would an Earthling such as yourself want to work here, at Club Azure?”

“I’m a hard worker and a quick learner. And I need to make money fast.”

“Mmmhmmm… you can definitely do that here, if the guests like you,” they smile, “and you certainly would be a unique curiosity.” Brown eyes gleam behind their glasses, “But why do you really want to work here?”

There’s a silence as you think about what to say, but decide you might as well tell the truth. “This line of work doesn’t require me to have Mars citizenship papers.”

“And there it is,” they nod, seeming satisfied with your honesty. “It’s true, we don’t really care about those things here. In return, we expect our employees to be…discreet about our clientelle’s  information and other business that goes on here.”

“I can be discreet.”

“Is that so?” The brunette leans back in their chair and gives you another once-over, their finger tapping their chin. “You’re unique, and there’s a certain something about you… I’m certain the boss is really gonna love you,” they say out loud, more to themself than to you. 

If they aren’t the boss, you wonder who is. 

“Ok, you’re hired.” They reach their hand across the desk and towards you.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips; you hadn’t realized that you’d been holding your breath slightly. Your hand meets theirs and they shake it vigorously. “The name’s Hange Zoe. I run this fine establishment,” they say with pride. “And what should I call you?”

“My name is —“

Hange immediately puts their finger to your lips. “Nuh uh uh, you weren’t about to give me your real name, were you?” They click their tongue. “It’s best that you don't do that. If the authorities come skulking around asking questions, the less I know about you, the better.” 

“Oh…I see.” 

Seems that there’s a lot about this world that you don’t know.

“We need to give you a stage name. Let’s see..” They’re tapping their chin again. “…flower names are always a good choice. What’s your favorite flower?”

“Flower? I’ve never seen one of those before.”

“Oh right..you’re from Earth. It’s been a ruined wasteland for a long time..I guess you wouldn’t have ever seen them. Not that we have them here, either..” Hange stands up from their desk and begins to pace the floor of the small, cramped office. “What are your interests? Any hobbies?”

“I don’t have any hobbies but..” a smile comes to your face, “..on Earth, I loved to look up at the moon.”

“The moon? Hah! That orb is just an exclusive country club for the rich and famous. If your goal is to get there then you have another thing coming.”

You shake your head. “No, nothing like that. But when I was small, me and my si—” you stop. You’re getting too personal. Hange notices, but says nothing. “I mean, I would sit out and look at the moon for hours. I just wanted to escape.”

“And it looks like you’ve done that.” Suddenly Hange’s face brightens. “Luna! That’s what we’ll call you.”

They put their hand on top of your head. “Our little Earthling…let’s get you introduced to the rest of the group and get you dressed for tonight.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wait…I’m starting tonight?”

“Do you have something better to do?” They wait for a reply, to which you give none. “Then follow me.”

You follow Hange through the winding, narrow hall as they open a non-descript door. 

“This is where the girls get changed.” 

They open the door, gesturing for you to enter. Steel lockers are built around the perimeter of the room, with dressing tables and mirrors on the other side. Around you are women in various stages of undress: some have just arrived and are in their street clothes, others are walking around in their underwear, and all of them stop at some point to look you up and down. You knew you were going to stand out when you arrived in Neo Tokyo, but in the cruel, fluorescent lighting, it’s blazingly obvious. Most of the women around you have adorned their bodies with tattoos, the ink under their skin glowing brightly, making some of the images seem to move. Others have augmented their body: shining metallic arms and legs, hair and skin in every color of the rainbow…

All of it is nothing less than extraordinary.

There’s nothing extraordinary about your appearance. Your body doesn’t have a single tattoo or piercing. Your skin, eye, and hair color are ones that you were born with; your ‘human-ness’ is clearly on display for all to see.

“Presenting the hostesses of Club Azure!” The women go about their business as Hange walks you around the room. “You’ll find I’ve curated a diverse group of females who cater to every kind of taste….alien, android, and humanoid. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”

One woman, putting on makeup, scoffs at the statement. “And just who have you wrangled to work here now, Hange?” She turns around to look at you, her nose scrunching up and her lips turning downward in a judgmental frown. “Or should I say, what..”

“Now, now, Ymir, be nice. Everyone!” Hange claps their hands,  “Luna’s just arrived from Earth and I need you all to play nice and show her the ropes. Historia! Find her a dress that’ll fit and let her shadow you tonight.”

A petite woman with golden, glittering hair and bright, shining blue eyes turns around. White tattoo ink glows under her skin, glittering like diamonds. “Of course.” She takes your hand. “Come with me, Luna.”

She leads you to a locker on the far end of the room and presses in a code. It opens with a clink. “This was Nanaba’s locker. I figure you and she are about the same size.” She pulls out a few items and holds them against your body.

“Was? Did she leave without taking her stuff?”

Historia looks away, biting her bottom lip. Apparently your question hit a nerve. “We’re not really sure, actually. She just…disappeared after work one morning, two weeks ago. We never saw her again.”

“You’re leaving out key information, Historia,” Ymir butts in, “she should have never started fucking that guy in the Ackerman clan. That got her killed, I have no doubt.”

“Ackerman clan?”

“Ymir…hush!” Historia nudges Ymir and attempts to push her away, to no success.

“You mean, Hange didn’t tell you? We are employees of Club Azure, but this club is “protected” by the Ackerman Clan, one of the most powerful yakuza clans in Neo Tokyo. Hange might own the place, but they pull the strings. Getting involved with them is bad news.” She gives you a foreboding look. “If you see them, keep your distance.”

“Are they in here often?”

“Of course they are. They’re always skulking around, checking in on their products.”

Historia clicks her tongue, a warning to Ymir. “They’re not that bad. Just smile, be polite, and pour their drinks and you won’t have any problems with them.” Ignoring Ymir's eye roll, she pulls out a dress and hands it to you. “Here, try this on.”

You start taking your clothes off, and the women around you stop and stare. Ymir laughs, and you notice that each of her teeth have been shaped to a sharp point.

“You’re just as normal as normal can be, aren’t you? Not a single augmentation.” She walks around you as you stand there, naked and bare as their eyes judge you. “All your…parts are…real?” she asks, lifting up your arm.

You pull away and grip the dress closer to you. “Augmentations are rare and expensive on earth.”

Ymir smirks and her carnivorous teeth flash. “Well…everybody has a kink. I’m sure someone will be interested in you.”

“Ymir, that’s enough!” Historia huffs, pushing the tall, freckled woman away. By then, you’ve shimmied into the garment Historia chose for you. The tight, red dress fits your form perfectly, falling off the shoulders and highlighting your collarbone and breasts. It’s long, but a slit cuts all the way up the top of your thigh. You’ve never worn anything so elegant.

Historia looks you up and down. “A little tight, but all the better.” She pulls you over to a dressing table. “Now for the finishing touches.” She takes out some makeup and starts applying powders and creams to your face. “Hange probably wants to keep you as human as possible, so we’ll keep it simple.”

Her version of simple was very different from what you were imagining, as she adorns your cheeks with pink blush and your lips with a dark red lipstick. Your hair cascades in waves across your shoulders.

When you look in the mirror you barely recognize yourself. 

“Is that me?” you ask, touching your radiant skin.

“I just enhanced what you already have. Hopefully, it’ll be good enough.” She stands and gives you another once-over, crossing her arms. “You’re still gonna stand out, but surely someone will be interested in you.”

Ymir walks by and chuckles. “This is gonna be interesting.” You scowl at her while she smiles smugly. “See you two out there,” she says, before sauntering away.

Historia takes you by the hand and leads you down a dark hall. Music is already reverberating through the walls and you can hear voices and laughter amidst the clink of glasses, which amplifies as she opens the door.

The bar is dimly lit, illuminated by a ceiling with an array of twinkling lights meant to look like the night sky. There are tables and booths with plush upholstery, some meant for larger groups while others are more private and intimate. A small stage is set up in the corner with a holographic band playing, and on the opposite end of the room, a long drink bar manned by Hange and another bartender. 

And dispersed throughout are men, some young, some old, but all well-dressed, sitting and drinking with a hostess or two.

“At a hostess bar, it’s not our bodies that are for sale, but our time and attention,” Historia says, leading you through the room. “They can request a certain girl, but otherwise, we are partnered with them as they come in.”

The two of you end up at the bar, where Historia gestures for you to sit. “For the time that they’re here, it’s our job to make the guest feel like they are wanted and important - we laugh at all their stupid jokes, listen to their problems at work or at home, or just help them to get their mind off things with conversation.”

Your eyes dart from table to table, taking note of the hostesses pouring drinks, laughing and leaning into their guests, playing drinking games, or having lively talks. One girl gets up and walks over to the stage, singing as the band plays a popular song that everyone at the table seems to know.

“And that’s it?” you ask. “There’s not…more…that goes on between the guest and the hostess?”

“You mean sex?” Historia leans her chin on her hand. “Hange forbids us having sexual relationships with our guests.” Her eyes dart over to Hange as they put some drinks on a tray. “Isn’t that right?”

“Absolutely correct, my beautiful turtle dove,” they reply. “Prostitution can be procured at other clubs, but not at my fine establishment. You can flirt, make eyes, touch…” their bright eyes suddenly become serious, “but no sex.”

A wave of relief washes over you when you hear this. It’s overwhelming enough to know that you’ll have men ogling you, expecting entertainment and companionship. At least that’s all it’s expected to be. 

While Hange busies themself with making another cocktail, Historia leans toward you and whispers, “It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen, though.” 

That doesn’t surprise you; if a hostess’ whole job is to flirt all night long, at some point the lines must get blurred with certain customers. And you can probably make a substantial bit of extra money in taking a relationship beyond the confines of this club. 

But that’s not why you’re here.

Hange pushes a tray of glasses and a bottle of alcohol across the bar to the two of you. “Ok, ladies, it’s showtime. Take these drinks over to table 12.”

Historia glances over to the table before taking the tray. “Ugh, it’s Lovof. Haven’t seen him here for a while.”

“Who’s Lovof?”

“A city councilman. We get a lot of politicians here.” 

The two of you make your way to the table where Lobov is sitting with two other men. You wipe your sweaty palms on your dress, feeling more nervous the closer you get.

“Just smile and pour drinks. I’ll take care of the rest,” Historia whispers, just before making it to the table. “Lobov! It’s been so long, I thought you’d forgotten about us!”

She slides into the booth next to Lobov, a true thing of beauty as she smiles and bats her big, blue eyes. Her skin sparkles even more under the dimmed lighting, making her look like a true angel.

You slide in on the opposite side, sitting next to Lovof’s colleagues, but neither of them pay any attention to you as Historia takes the bottle from its chilled container and pours the golden liquid into a sparkling glass. It’s only until Historia gestures to you that they look your way, a curious look on each of their faces.

“And this is Luna.” Historia’s voice is sweet and soft, matching her angelic persona. “It’s her first night, so I’m showing her how to be a good hostess.”

“Well then, she’s learning from the very best,” Lobov says, his snake-like eyes slinking from Historia to look you over. 

One of the men squints, then takes off his glasses to clean them with his shirt. “This plain-looking thing? Where in the galaxy did you find her?” he comments with a crude chuckle before turning away.

They’re bored with you already.

Get it together.

Don’t fuck this up.

You swallow hard, then take the bottle from Historia and pour a drink for the two unimpressed men.

Smile. Put on the mask.

“The story of why I’m not augmented is quite a tale,” your voice drips with flirtatious intrigue, “but perhaps it’s a tale better left for our second bottle, when I’m a little less nervous.”

The man next to you raises an eyebrow as you raise your glass. “In the meantime, I want to know everything there is to know about you fine gentlemen.” You smile, eyes sparkling in such a way that they almost rival Historia’s. “Kanpai.”

Lovof’s looks of confusion change to amusement as he joins you in raising his glass, the rest reflecting his actions.

“Kanpai!” the table responds.

By the third bottle, everyone is buzzed and relaxed. The alcohol coursing through you is helping you to feel less nervous, and has given you a confidence you’d only pretended to have before. The man next to you, Gelgar, has completely forgotten his other colleagues and is focused solely on you, while the other two are enraptured by Historia.

The attention makes you uncomfortable, everything within you wanting to escape this man’s gaze. But this is your job, you remind yourself. 

You’re not the same person you were on Earth. 

So you mirror your fellow hostess, pouring their drinks and leaning forward as they tell you about an upcoming election. Most of the time you have no idea what they're talking about, but you smile and nod, feigning to be enraptured by their words.

You’re good at pretending. You’ve been doing it your whole life.

There’s a glazed look in the men’s eyes and Historia shoots you a glance that tells you it’s time for them to call it a night. As the two of you escort them out of the bar, Lovof suddenly stops, turning to you.

“My darling, you never told us - why are you not augmented?”

Ah. You forgot you’d mentioned that. 

“Well…” you begin as you’re walking with them out of the club, “...my father was the leader of a cult and my mother was one of his many wives. It was commanded that his children never be augmented, as doing so would be an affront to God, who made the body. No needle or knife must ever blemish my skin.” 

A smile crawls across his face. “Intriguing. Absolutely intriguing…” You feel his eyes rove over your body in a way that feels violating. “I’d like to drink with you again, Luna.”

“She would be honored.,” Historia says, placing her hand on your back and guiding you to bow with her. “Please come visit us again soon.”

You both deeply bow then wave as the trio drunkenly walk to the black vehicle that pulled up for them. Only until they are out of view do you both turn away.

Historia takes your arm. “That story…is it really true?”

“Does it matter?”

Historia lets out an angelic laugh. “I think you’re going to do just fine here.” She walks arm-in-arm with you back into the bar. “You did well for your first time, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. I was nervous the entire time.” You allow yourself to smile - the first real smile you’ve had all night.

Historia’s words of praise flow through you as freely as the copious amounts of alcohol you’ve already consumed, both of them giving you courage as you stroll back into your new workplace. 

This isn’t too bad, you think to yourself.

You can do this.

You carry a newfound boldness as you and Historia walk up to Hange, who is waiting at the door. There’s a concerned, serious look in their eyes, much different from the happy, go-lucky persona you’d initially met. 

Hange pulls you both aside. “They’re back, Historia, and causing a ruckus. I’m sorry to do this to you and Luna, but will you two help with damage control for a few minutes while I call for some backup?” They press a small silver button on the back of their ear and walk away, not even waiting for a response.  As if either of you had a choice in the matter. 

You must have been too focused on your table’s patrons to realize the growing noisiness of the table in the center of the club. Now, it’s hard to notice anything else.  

Even from across the room, you can sense the chaotic energy of the group, a stark difference from the customers you’d just said goodbye to. The men are much younger than Lovof and his associates, their tacky suits and bright hair colors a stark contrast to the politicians you’d just entertained. They slap the table and yell curse words at each other, earning sideway glances from the others surrounding them. Empty bottles of alcohol litter their table; one of the men tries to milk the last few drops from one, but when there’s nothing left, he frowns.

“Oi! Another bottle! Make that two!” he curls his lip in disgust as he looks at his comrades slumped around the table. “This place has the shittiest service.”

Your newfound boldness shrinks with each step to their table.

“We just need to get them to settle down and then get them to leave,” Historia whispers, handing you a bottle. “Be polite, but don’t let them manhandle you.”

You put the mask back on, smiling as you and Historia both sit on either side of the booth.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Historia says, her voice still ringing calm and clear.

An arm immediately wraps around your shoulders the second you sit down, pulling you forcefully into him.

“Look at this - two more! We must be getting the V.I.P. treatment today, boys,” a man with long brown hair and green eyes shouts over the rest of the crowd.

Ever the essence of politeness, Historia pours the alcohol, a superficial smile never leaving her face.

“It’s our honor to serve you here at Club Azure,” is her meek reply. 

The two other hostesses copy Historia, just as you had done earlier, but behind their smiles are eyes that want to escape the situation as soon as possible. Although this is your first night and you still have much to learn, something feels different about this group of men; they are loud and arrogant, and their way of speaking is crude. It’s as if their entire goal is to make everyone uncomfortable. They continue to demand more alcohol and paw at the hostesses, downing bottle after bottle, their appetites insatiable.

All the while, the brunette man continues to clutch at you, his grip tight on your shoulder, keeping you from moving one inch. His suit reeks of alcohol and tobacco, and his breath is even worse when he finally decides to turn and speak to you. 

“I’ve never seen you here before.” 

He’s young, and there’s a wildness in his eyes, warning you to stay on his good side.

You attempt to shift away from him, but his arm is stronger than it looks. So you put on the mask and smile faintly. “I’m new. The name’s Luna.”

Seeming to be the ringleader of the group, you hope that light conversation will keep him preoccupied enough for help to arrive.

Whatever help that may be.

“Lunaaaaa…” he repeats, his tone heavy and foreboding. “You’re a non-aug.” He shifts his attention back to the other men at the table. “Look at this - we got ourselves a non-aug.”

You assume that means you’re not augmented. Will it be an intriguing curiosity, as it was in Lovof’s case? 

Or something far worse?

The men hoot and holler words that you aren’t familiar with, but you don’t need to be fluent in the Martian dialect to know the meanings of their slurs.

The other women look at you, brows knit, bodies frozen, each hesitant to intercede.

“Tell me, Luna,” his green eyes darken, moving down your body and stopping at the bare leg peeking out of the high slit of your dress, “is every part of you real?”

His grip on your shoulder grows even tighter as his free hand moves up your thigh. “Let’s find out, hm?”

Every fiber of your being is screaming to escape this man’s clutches. Your eyes flash to Historia, who attempts to stand up and walk to you, but is forced back down by one of the men. She sends you a helpless expression that even she is powerless to help you.

But you refuse to be powerless. Not ever again.

So you meet the man’s lustful gaze, and slap him hard across the face.

A look of shock sweeps over him, his pride hurt more than the sting in his cheek.

“Don’t you touch me,” comes your warning, willing your body and voice not to shake.

Time freezes for a moment, not a single person moving a muscle, until - 

– the back of his hand cracks against your cheekbone. 

It takes you a few seconds to realize what just happened, but before you can react, he grabs your face with his hand and forces you to look into his eyes.

“Bitch.” He squeezes tighter. “Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?” you manage to reply, despite the forceful grip on your cheeks.

His eyes fill with rage, getting even greener. “Nobody fucks with the Jaeger clan.”

“Oi.”

You hear a voice behind the two of you, cold as steel.

“Did you hear the lady? Hands off.”

You can’t move your head to see who’s talking, but your assailant does. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Someone who’s about to fuck with the Jaeger clan.”

Suddenly a hand grabs the back of the man’s collar and yanks him up, his body flying over the back of the booth and into another table. There are a few screams but then the club goes silent as all eyes watch what’s transpiring. 

Finally free, you look behind you to see a man in a navy blue suit. He walks closer to the other man, who’s scrambling up from the floor. There’s an incredible size difference between the two; this man in the blue suit is much shorter than the men that are now surrounding him, but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. 

Green eyes flash and the three other henchmen barrel towards the shorter man. It only takes a few seconds for two of them to be sprawled on the ground, barely conscious. The third grabs the lapels of his dark blue suit, but a hard knee to his groin has him joining his compatriots on the floor. 

“Bastard..” 

Now the only one standing, the brunette moves his hand toward the inner pocket of his jacket.

Something flashes into the hand of the smaller man. It seems to be a knife of some kind.

How did it appear so quickly?

“You pull out that piece and it’ll be the last thing your hand ever does,” the shorter man warns, his eyes laser-focused.

The other three men scurry off the floor and towards the club’s exit, but not before one of them grabs his friend by the shoulder. “Come on Eren, let’s get out of here. Your brother’s gonna kill us if this gets worse.”

The tall brunette man smirks then backs away with his hands up, keeping his eyes on the man in front of him.

“This isn’t over.” His eyes then flit to you as he straightens his suit jacket. “Fucking bitch,” he spits, before turning to leave.

It’s as if the whole club takes a collective sigh once the four men are finally gone. Historia is immediately at your side.

“Oh my god, Luna, are you alright? I’m so sorry..”

You can hear her words and feel her gentle hands touching your face, but all your attention is on the man standing before you. He buttons his suit jacket and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back the few strands that came loose during the scuffle.

“Thank you so much, um…” your words hang in the air, waiting for a name.

His steel blue eyes look into yours - not at your body, not at the bruise you’re sure is growing by the second - but deep into your eyes, before looking away. 

It’s the first time you’ve felt someone look at you like you’re a person, not some oddity.

“Levi,” he finally answers in a low, cool voice. “And don’t thank me for doing my job.”

Before you can say more, he’s turned his back, disappearing into the darkness of the club. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Glossary of terms:

Yakuza - Japanese mafia

Kanpai - cheers!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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[iiovserii]

Daddy’s Home — Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel didn’t get to be picky when it came to choosing his new, forever home, as long as he was in Gabriella’s arms again. Even if it meant sharing her with you. (3.1k Words) Based on this prompt

warnings: angst, slight smut, violence (including the disposal of a body), emotional manipulation, toxic relationship

authors note: this was inspired by one of my prompts from around a week ago and i’ve been holding onto this bad boy for about a week considering it’s my first ever fanfic i’ve ever wrote..i just wanted it to be perfect 😭 in my prompt i said something about the reader being sweet but she’s a lot more firey in this because the real miguel was an asshole who was never home..but i hope you all enjoy anyways! i was hoping to create this into series so if you want to be added to the taglist let me know 💖 i’ve also added the translation at the end just because 🤷‍♀️

Link to the Ao3 ver instead!

Miguel didn’t get to be picky when it came to choosing his new, forever home, as long as he was in Gabriella’s arms again, even if it meant sharing her with you. You were littered through Gabriella’s file, a pretty hard person to miss considering the fact that you were there for every single moment of her life—the sweet cooing voice in each video of her as a baby, the delicate hands that held the small, chubby fingers as she took her first steps, and the laughter that arose from behind the camera as Gabriella pulled a funny face.

This Gabriella was the perfect fit, however perfect came with a mother that was alive and well. It was a package deal in this universe, a love intertwined with filial devotion that Miguel would just have to deal with.

But he couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that was buried deep in his chest, even as he watched a memory of Gabriella’s first goal (a favorite of his), which was originally only celebrated by him, now being replaced by Gabriella shrieking excitedly as she ran up to her mother, throwing her arms around you in triumph.

Moments like these, so special for his little girl, fueled his deep hatred towards you. It was watching these memories where Miguel genuinely wondered if he was even present in this universe. Nevertheless, staring down at his own lifeless body made him realize just how right he was.

What was he doing outside alone, in a dark alleyway on a Friday night anyway? Why wasn’t he home with his daughter, with his wife?

Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he began disposing of the body—a man too selfish and weak to even protect his precious daughter. In the end, he got what was coming to him, or so he told himself to keep from feeling guilty.

He didn’t care for details, knowing he was here now to pick up the pieces of a broken family and restore it to something he could finally have a second chance with. He snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the jingle of a ringtone coming from his new phone. Swiping the phone from his pocket, he didn’t even stop to waver whether or not he should answer as he saw your name flash on the screen, rolling his eyes as he pressed accept. He pulled the device up to his ear, resting it on his shoulder and cheek as he listened to the sound of your voice.

The first thing he noticed was how tired you sounded—were you waiting for him to return home? He could imagine you laid on the sofa, eyes nervously glancing up at the clock at any given moment, a silly housewife awaiting her husband. He almost felt bad for you; it was pathetic that you would really allow yourself and Gabriella to live like that, always waiting.

He ended the call swiftly, making up some stupid excuse about how he caught up with work and would be arriving shortly. Pretty much in character for the man he just suffocated with his own hands, not raising any suspicion for you as he heard the sleepy yawn telling him that you’d be asleep by the time he got back.

However, despite the dark act he had just committed, he was willing to go to great lengths to win Gabriella's heart again. If putting this ring on his finger and pretending that the woman on the other end of the phone was his wife would grant him another chance with her, then so be it.

He wouldn’t mind playing house with you, as long as he was able to hold his daughter in his arms once more.

He felt disgusted even calling you 'wife', but for Gabriella's sake, he knew he needed to play along. It wasn't like it mattered anyway since your daughter worshipped you so much more than him.

He didn’t need you, he knew that.

However the thought of Gabriella’s eyes as they lit up when you walk in the room seemed to tell him otherwise. She needed you.

He hated the way the house was never quiet, there was always something happening.

You were making dinner? There had to be music in the background as you traveled around the kitchen, humming and singing along to whatever tune was playing on the speaker. That soft velvety voice seemed to flow through the house, and it killed him inside that he wanted to hear more of you.

Gabriella was playing outside? Well you were playing outside as well, it wasn’t like you had a choice, having being pulled away from whatever you were doing to entertain the small girl.

You had everything running like clockwork—cooking dinner while managing homework and playing with Gabriella at the same time—all without seemingly breaking any sweat or becoming frustrated.

Miguel couldn't help but admire you for being able to handle everything so seamlessly. But deep down, he still felt resentment towards you for taking over what should have been his role as the sole parent of their child.

He’d notice small things, like the way your hands flew to your face when you were shocked, it was sweet at first, until he realised Gabriella also did the same, she never did that before. He had noticed it one morning when he stood in the doorway of Gabie’s room, not trying to make his presence known as he watched the two of you play, and the scowl on his face didn’t go unnoticed as you furrowed your eyebrows at him, wondering what he looking at so intensely.

It took him the first couple of weeks to get used to your laugh, you were always laughing. It seemed to rub off on Gabriella as well, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her laugh this much, even before.

Miguel tried his best to ignore the feelings that arose in him at the sight of you playing with Gabriella, and sometimes even joined the two of you whilst you played your games. He couldn't help but feel envious of how happy the two of you looked together, reminding him of moments he could have had if only things had gone differently.

Despite these feelings, it wasn't long before Miguel began to see a different side of you. A side that made him realise why Gabriella adored you so much.

One day while cooking dinner, he noticed your eyes lighting up as Gabriella told a story about her day at school. You were so invested in her words that for once he felt like an outsider looking into your world.

He also witnessed moments when Gabriella fell ill and how tirelessly you took care of her; staying up all night by her bedside until she fell asleep or gently rubbing Vicks on her chest when she was coughing painfully.

It was moments like these when Miguel started to question his assumptions about you and wondered whether maybe—just maybe—he'd been too quick to judge.

But as much as Miguel tried to ignore it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had buried something deep inside him. He couldn't let go of the resentment he felt towards you for replacing his role.

He started focusing on every little mistake you made, criticising your cooking and getting angry when things didn't go his way. Every time you laughed or smiled at Gabriella, it sent a pang of jealousy straight through him.

"She's too attached to you," he huffed, standing beside the bathroom counter as you both prepared for bed, "you can't even leave the room, and she's already wondering when you'll be back again."

"Well, maybe if you were around more often, she wouldn't be so reliant on me," you retorted, the soft glow of the bathroom lights casting shadows on your face, your voice laced with frustration.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned in, reaching for his toothbrush, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, of course, it's all my fault. Because you're just the perfect parent, aren't you? Always there, always available."

"You know what, maybe if you actually made an effort instead of criticizing me all the time, you'd see the bond we have is because I've been there for her when you weren't!" you retorted, your voice rising, the sound echoing against the tiled walls.

His tone grew more defensive. "I never said I was perfect, but at least I'm trying now. You could at least acknowledge that."

A mirthless smile crossed your face as you leaned against the bathroom counter, facing each other in the confined space.

"Acknowledging your half-hearted attempts doesn't erase the damage done, Miguel. It takes more than just physical presence to be a real parent."

The tension hung heavy in the air, the scent of toothpaste mingling with their argument, as the bickering between husband and wife intensified. The wounds of the past were reopened, and neither was willing to back down or see the other's perspective.

As the heated exchange reached its peak, you turned on your heels, ready to storm off, your frustration boiling over. But just as you took a step away, Miguel's hand shot out, firmly gripping your arm. The air tightened between you, the coolness of the bathroom tiles beneath your feet.

The grip on your arm only tightened, his expression a mixture of frustration and a confused longing. "You don't speak to me like that," Miguel growled, his voice firm. "You are my wife, act like it."

“You are my husband, I expect the same from you,” you snapped back, your voice dripping with defiance, refusing to back down as you swatted away his hand. “And—I will speak to you however I want.” The sound of running water from the faucet filled the silence.

A flicker of amusement crossed Miguel's face, his eyes tracing your determined form. He had underestimated your strength, your fiery spirit. Despite the frustration that lingered between them, a newfound admiration stirred within him.

"Si supiera que eras tan molesto, te habría dejado hace mucho tiempo, Muñeca," he mused, his tone tinged with a mix of fascination and curiosity, the steam from the shower filling the bathroom. “Las cosas que haría para callar esa boca tan bonita tuya.”

The intensity of the moment had rendered you momentarily speechless, steam rising in the bathroom as the warm air surrounded you both. But you managed to find your voice, albeit in a whisper, the sound barely audible over the running water.

"Now that's not fair," you murmured, the dampness of the bathroom clinging to your skin, your voice filled with a mixture of frustration and longing. "You know I don't understand what you're saying..”

A slow, mischievous smile curled at the corners of Miguel's lips, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as he leaned in closer, the scent of shampoo and desire filling the air. And as your lips lingered so close, the unspoken desires between you both grew stronger.

“Good.”

The man currently asleep beside you, was not, to absolute certainty, your husband.

His features held a resemblance to the man you once knew, but there was a striking difference—an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes, he looked at you like he didn’t know you.

His hair fell differently, it looked more clean compared to the tousled mess due to work. You would've sworn he had a small crease in the corner of his eyebrow, but then it disappeared along with the mole on the side of his neck.

He smelled of citrus and leather before, a smell that made you turn when he walked into the room—you knew that smell more than you knew yourself.

Instead now, all you could smell was warm spice and amber. It almost made you smile when you smelt it on him as he walked past you that morning, a couple of weeks ago, until you realised that was the fragrance you got him last Christmas, the fragrance he said he hated and never wore.

The bed, too, felt subtly different beneath your weight, as if it dipped just slightly more than it used to.

It made you feel like your heart was tearing apart. On one hand, he was paying more attention to Gabriella, and she was thriving because of it. He took her to all the soccer practices, played with her and held her so tight that you’d think she’d pop.

You’ve never seen her so happy.

On the other hand, he was hardly in your presence. He hadn’t touched you for weeks, not even a kiss. The most he had done was argue with you, mostly about how close you and Gabriella was.

However, one thing that you couldn’t help but notice was the dark look in his eyes every-time Gabriella’s attention shifted toward you.

He was hardly around before, always at work, the gym or drinking with his co-workers at the bar across from town.

Nowadays it was hard for him to leave you and Gabriella alone.

Not to mention, it was like he grew twice in size. His shoulder looked broader, the veins in his arms popped, more defined. He could basically pick up your seven year old like a feather. Had he been working out more?

You shift on your pillow, eyes glancing down at his heaving chest as he slept. The only time he didn’t look so tense recently was when he was asleep. So peaceful.

You couldn’t help but reach out and dance one of your fingers on the side of his torso, quietly humming some annoying tune that wouldn’t leave your mind that morning.

"What are you doing, Gatita?" he quipped, unable to suppress a soft chuckle that escaped his lips, snapping you out of your thoughts and making you squeak.

As you tried to pull your hand away, Miguel quickly caught it in mid-air, his touch exerting a gentle but firm hold. His finger lightly pressed into your palm, a subtle reminder of his presence and it was almost like he was showing his desire to keep you near.

“What, don't you like touching your husband?" he playfully remarked, mischief dancing in his eyes. His gaze deliberately traveled down your body, as if savoring the sight before him.

Rolling your eyes and pouting, you couldn't resist the urge to make a bratty remark. "Well, it's not exactly enjoyable when the husband is such a pain in the ass." you huffed, your tone laced with a hint of childish defiance.

Feeling his firm hold on your hand, you let out a whine at the tightness. It was as if he was purposely trying to keep you close, unwilling to let you slip away. The intensity of his grip only fueled your frustration.

That’s an air between the two of you. You just couldn’t put your finger on it. The way you desperately try to search in his eyes for something, anything, that would tell you that the man you’re looking at, is, really your husband. The man you’ve spent nearly eight years with.

It’s almost like he’s trying to breathe you in, the way he looks like he’s trying to piece together your features, it makes you wonder if he even knows a thing about you.

The weight of the impending moment made you fidget, your fingers nervously playing with the edge of the bedsheet. You were acutely aware of the lingering tension between you and Miguel, and you attempt to find a way to wiggle your way out of his grasp.

A timid sigh escaped your lips, as a sense of unease settled upon your shoulders. "Gabriella will be waking up soon," you whispered, your voice tinged with a flicker of concern.

A cruel smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, invading your personal space. "Is my little wife hiding from me?" he sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm and mockery. “You know she’s not getting up for at least another hour.”

Your eyes darted nervously between him and the door, your mind already jumping to potential escape routes. You couldn't help but wonder if he was purposefully trying to push your buttons with his words.

"I just don't want her to-," you began to stutter, but were cut short as Miguel's grip tightened further on your hand. "Don't worry about Gabriella," he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. “She’ll be fine.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the sensation; it stirred something within you that you couldn’t quite explain. Within the eight years of your marriage, he had never made the room feel so..heated.

You gasped at the sensation of his lips pressing into your neck, sending shivers down your spine in a wave of desire and guilt. All logic told you that this was wrong, yet there was a part of you that wanted nothing more than to give in to the heat that bubbled within.

As Miguel's kisses grew bolder and more insistent against your skin, you couldn't help but writhe beneath him.

His groan reverberated through your body, stirring something deep within as he whispered against your ear "I know I've been a bad husband," punctuating each with another kiss along the length of your jaw.

"Miguel-" Your voice trailed off into a soft whimper as he shifted so that he was hovering over you, one hand moving to fondle at the curve of your hip while the other tangled itself in your hair.

"But I'm here now," he murmured between kisses before ducking back down to press his lips onto yours once again. The taste of him flooded through you even as he reached up under-shirt slowly caressing and teasing you, making sure not too much display signs of pleasure.

As the heat continued to build between you and Miguel, he began to part your legs, eliciting a soft gasp from deep within as his intent became clear. You felt his lips curl into a knowing smile at your reaction as he watched your mean facade fall away.

"Mmm," he hummed in appreciation as his eyes roamed over every inch of exposed skin. "Looks like my little wife isn't all mouth after all." He teasingly remarked before lowering himself once again so that his tongue could trace patterns along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

The sensation left you moaning softly in pleasure at the skilled touch, completely lost in the moment. It wasn't until Miguel's fingers found their way back up to her hips that you realized just how much control he had over this situation.

"You know what?" He said with a smirk pulling back to look at her face before diving down for another heated kiss "I think maybe have to put you in line more often."

You wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

eng translation:

1. “Si supiera que eras tan molesto, te habría dejado hace mucho tiempo, Muñeca,” — "If I knew you were so annoying, I would have left you a long time ago, doll."

2. “Las cosas que haría para callar esa boca tan bonita tuya.” — "The things I would do to silence that beautiful mouth of yours."

3. “Gatita” — Kitten

[selarina]

Bleeding Heart Dove

-> Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: In the quiet routine of a strained marriage, a simple proposal for a trip offers a glimpse of hope.

Tags: angst, slow burn, marriage au, marital strain, emotional hurt/comfort, implied emotional neglect, second chance au, rainy day, fluff, suggestive, mention of reader having boobs, unresolved tension (they need to fuck nasty), unedited

Word Count: 970 words

Author's Note: it's raining and I finally got a surge to write something <3 anyway, bleeding heart dovessssssss have my heart

Read on AO3 | Part 2

Today had been sad and gloomy, the rain pouring relentlessly as the clouds had been crying since noon.

He tried to make his entrance small, creeping in like a nimble thief in the night. Slowly, he removed his sodden shoes and coat, hanging them up to dry. His umbrella he placed on the ground, even more slowly. See, it was an old one, and tended to spring up and about with sudden movement.

He stepped inside the kitchen now. There was food on the table, just as always. He uncovered the plastic wrapping and placed it in the oven, not even bothering to check what was for dinner. Hunger was gnawing at him and he would eat a human hand if you let him.

"Hello," a voice cut through.

"Oh," he turned, startled. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"I was up anyway," you replied. Your business clothes clung to you like the remnants of a very weary day. You must have returned late as well. "Let me help, Nanami."

He didn't say anything, simply stepping aside to let you tend to his plate and yours. He had assumed he'd have the whole meal for himself, a strange notion given the portion size. But given that he hadn't eaten all day, he didn't question the rationality at first. Now, it made sense — you hadn't eaten either.

He started setting up the glasses, placing two for wine and two for water, movements mechanical and jittery.

"Here," you said, appearing before him with a corkscrew in hand, as if conjured by some quiet magic.

Your hands looked tired. Lagging. Your eyes bleary. An impulse stirred within him, as though a needle had pricked at his heart, he felt the urge to swipe his hands over your eyes, to wipe away the weariness. But he withheld.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking the corkscrew and setting to work on the bottle.

Your gaze lingered for a mere second on his hands, watching the way they flexed with the way he handled the bottle. Precise. Gentle.

"How was work?" you asked, turning to the oven.

He wonders if you actually cared about what he said. “Horrible,” he answered.

"Oh," you replied. Neutral. "Okay." Neutral again. It drove him a bit insane every time. But he was a calm man.

"And your work?" he asked.

"Oh, quite lovely," you replied, a soft, dove-like smile gracing your lips. It was a smile that brought a sting of sadness to his heart, for he knew you would not elaborate. Not for him.

"That's nice," he said, his voice hollow. He poured the wine into the glasses, filling yours to three-quarters and his to a scant half.

And then the two of you sat, on opposite ends of your teak dinner table. Eating and swallowing in silence. The clanking of the forks being the only music that filled the room. He thought about getting up to play set the record, playing some of those old jazz tunes you were quite fond of. But the record was likely dusty. It was much too much work.

So he remained seated, the silence between you so vast and impenetrable, it made you conscious about how loud you were chewing your food.

—

"Well," you returned from the bathroom. now clad in delicate sleep shorts and a camisole, applying your usual moisturizer to your elbows. "The water's cold," you commented.

"Yeah," he responded, glancing up from his spot on the bed. "Sorry, I prefer it cold so I didn't notice. I think it's the rain."

You chuckled, a sound that seemed almost out of place. "I know you prefer it cold, Nanami. We've been married for practically a millennium, for God's sake."

An exaggeration, of course. It had been six years. You did this a lot.

He offered a faint smile in response, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. "Right," he said.

He felt the bed dip slightly under your weight as you sat. "Will you get my back?" You asked, holding out the moisturiser as you turned to present your back.

He took it, as his hands lifted your camisole, all the way up. He poured some of the white lotion onto his hand as his eyes flickered up, only momentarily, to see your reflection in the mirror. The front half of your top had risen as well, cinching up your breasts.

His eyes trained back to your back, and he began to rub the cream in. Up and down. And up and down. And up and down. When he was finished, he smoothed down your top. He rubbed his hands over your shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze to let you know he was finished.

And then the two of you slept, side by side, waiting for sleep to come find you in the dark. And just then, he doesn't know how or why this happened so don't ask him. All he knew was that somewhere in those first twenty minutes, he had gotten up, his hands reaching for the night lamp to turn it on, leaving you sat up, surprised.

"What is it?" You had asked.

"We should go on a trip," he proposed, calmly.

"A trip," you squinted, your eyes adjusting to the sudden assault of light.

"Yes, we could go to Okinawa," he suggested.

You paused for a moment. "It's storming these days. The weather will be horrible."

"You pick," he said. "Wherever you want to go. We can go."

And then, you thought about it. For a few seconds, he was almost afraid you'd call him a foolish old man and fall back onto your pillow. But instead, you smiled—an earnest smile, outside of your usual politeness. And he felt his heart beating fresh blood.

"Okay, old man," you said. "I'll think of a place."

He smiled.

[spirk-trek]

hii this is really random but i'm writting a paper on star trek fanfiction from the 60s/70s and i was wondering if there were any fics youd recommend? are there any like iconic, keystone fics that are really significant to the fandom? (i'm having a bit of trouble sourcing pre-internet fics)

Hi! I'll try to help the best I can but I am by no means an expert- in fact, many people who end up seeing this may have better/more information so I'll extend it to any of them to answer as well :)

Disclaimer: many of the following links contain nsfw content!!!

Here is page 1 and page 2 of what might be the first known k/s fanfic published in Grup fanzine (1974). Grup is credited as being the first Star Trek fanzine with adult content. This fic, A Fragment Out of Time by Diane Marchant was vague enough that it had to be clarified as k/s in a later edition, but the author did do so.

Spockanalia is always a good source for early fandom. It is the earliest and best preserved example of fanzine content (beginning in 1967 before the second season had even aired). I'd definitely say that makes it influential! So much more can be found on the internet archive and on fanlore. Copies of Spockanalia found their ways into the hands of many people involved in the show, including Roddenberry himself.

Gayle F is a prolific fanzine artist (one of my favorites) for k/s and is also influential to k/s writing. She was behind the Cosmic Fuck Series (yes really lol) which begins with Desert Heat (1976) in which Spock prematurely enters his second Pon Farr with only Jim available to him. This is the first mention (that I know of) of Spock's "double ridges" which are still a fanon element of his anatomy today (fanlore link here).

Alexis Fegan Black is another name to know, but is actually the pen name for author Della Van Hise. She did a lot of her work in the 80s and beyond, so I'm not sure how helpful this will be, but I think she's very influential. You may know about her licensed trek novel Killing Time (1982) because the first edition was recalled for being way too gay (changes between the two versions are best documented here imo).

Jenna Sinclair was very influential but again, a lot of her works came a little later than what you're looking for (note: ao3 does NOT have the correct dates, you'll need to find those separately).

A few more links to throw at you:

List of Star Trek Fanzines

List of Star Trek SLASH Fanzines

Captain's Log (1968)

The Crewman's Log (1967)

Spock's Showcase (1968)

Spock's Underground (1968-71)

The Sensuous Vulcan (slash zine, 1977)

Thrust (slash zine, 1978)

I hope all these links work and at least something I mentioned is helpful for you!! Good luck! I'd love to hear about your research if you're so inclined to share :)

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | one

As exhaustion and stress threaten to consume you and your friends at work, Yoongi comes to the rescue with an enticing proposal: a collective vacation—a friendcation. Amid the backdrop of breathtaking landscapes and shared adventures, your feelings for him only deepens more. Yet, his lingering gaze holds secrets you can't ignore, leaving you to wonder if it conceals something deeper—an unspoken connection that may forever alter your friendship!

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin. → Genre/AU: best friends to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, slight angst, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 → Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 → Warnings/tags: bad crack/humor, longing and unrequited(?) feelings, accident involving a bra, exposure of breasts (through a shirt), ‘friendzone’, talk about past sexual encounters, vulgar language, a very lame game of ‘never have I ever’. → Status: completed! → Word count: 11,9k → Author’s note: This story takes place in South Korea — and I’ve never been there or to any of the places mentioned in this obviously. If something related to the locations, travel times and such, doesn’t make sense, that’s why. It’s fiction so I hope I can get away with that 🤭 Also, if you like it please let me know. → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

The air hummed with anticipation as the clock struck five on a balmy Friday evening, signaling the end of another grueling workweek. The city was alive with the promise of the weekend, and you could practically taste the freedom in the air. 

Your heart quickened with excitement as you left the office behind, knowing that the world was now your oyster. With the sun casting a warm, golden glow over the bustling streets, you rendezvoused with your closest friends, as you always did when the weekend beckoned. Laughter and camaraderie were your constant companions, and tonight was no exception.

As the night unfolded, you found yourselves in a new bar that had recently emerged as the hidden gem of the city’s nightlife. It exuded an inviting aura, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. With plush leather booths that cradled you in comfort and a softly lit ambiance that created an air of mystery, this place was different, and you could sense it.

Seated in a spacious booth with enough room for all eight of you, you felt the buzz of excitement ripple through your group. 

You take charge, ordering a round of beers for everyone, a familiar role you’ve come to embrace as the only woman in the group. The bartender nods with a knowing smile, having seen this ritual play out countless times before. 

With practiced ease, you slide the cold bottles onto a tray and carry them over to the waiting table, the anticipation of the first sip palpable in the air.

As you distribute the drinks, your friends don’t hesitate to lend a hand, their camaraderie a testament to the strong bond that holds your group together. 

Each bottle clinks against the table, a chorus of celebration for the weekend ahead. The men around you, usually boisterous and full of banter, fall into a brief, contemplative silence, their eyes fixed on the frothy brews before them. 

For a fleeting moment, the world outside fades away, and you all savor the taste of the golden elixir. It’s not just about the beer; it’s about the shared moments, the stories, and the unspoken understanding that binds you all together. The dim glow of the bar’s ambient lighting casts a warm, comforting veil over your group, cocooning you in a world where time seems to stand still. 

As you shared stories and caught up on each other’s lives, the bonds of friendship grew even stronger.

Seokjin, with a twinkle in his eye, leaned in and shared exciting news—he and his girlfriend were taking a leap of faith and moving in together. His face radiated happiness, and you couldn’t help but share in his joy, toasting to the beginning of this new chapter in his life.

Namjoon, nursing his beer, let out a weary sigh as he recounted the daily grind of his office job. The weariness etched into his features spoke volumes about his longing for change and adventure, and you empathized with his desire for something more.

Jungkook, the youngest of your group, excitedly shares his latest venture, a brand-new modeling gig that demands he showcase his sculpted physique. With each word, he vividly describes the sensation of being in front of the camera, the sensation of the studio lights warming his skin, and the countless hours he’s dedicated to chiseling his abs in the gym, transforming his body into a work of art.

Hoseok, the sunbeam of the group, exuded infectious enthusiasm as he described his teaching job, imparting the joy of dance to a classroom full of eager, smiling children. His laughter filled the air, warming the hearts of everyone at the table. You couldn’t help but admire his passion and the positive impact he had on those young minds.

Amidst the lively chatter, Taehyung leaned forward, his eyes lighting up as he shared his new passion for photography. He excitedly talked about the growing number of followers on his Instagram, each click of the shutter capturing a piece of his soul. The way he described his creative journey made it clear that this was more than a hobby—it was his escape, his sanctuary.

Jimin, on the other hand, slouched slightly in his seat, his eyes betraying the weight of his graphic design job. His once-bright spirit seemed overshadowed by the relentless stress that gnawed at him daily. He opened up about the overwhelming workload, the tight deadlines, and how the constant pressure was taking a toll on his well-being. You couldn’t help but empathize, for you too were trapped in a similar cycle.

You glanced at your own reflection in the condensation-covered beer bottle, a sigh escaping your lips. The walls of the corporate marketing world were closing in on you, suffocating your creativity, and overwhelming you with stress. Burnout was creeping closer, and you knew you needed a well-deserved break to reclaim your sanity.

Amidst the collective sighs and groans about the perils of office life, there was Yoongi, the mechanic. He leaned back, his expression content, almost defiant. While the rest of you complained, he cherished every moment in his garage, grease-stained hands and all. The smell of engine oil and the clank of metal were his symphony, and his love for his work shone through. The contrast between his satisfaction and your collective frustration was stark, a reminder that there were different paths to happiness.

The dimly lit bar provided a sanctuary for your candid conversation with Jimin. He sighed, his gaze fixed on the swirling patterns of condensation on his beer. The weight of your stressful lives hung heavy in the air, a shared burden you both desperately needed to unload.

“We should really consider taking some time off,” Jimin mused, his voice tinged with a hint of longing as he brought the cold bottle to his lips, his eyes locking with yours. The sincerity in his gaze made it clear that this was more than just casual chatter.

You nodded, a mix of agreement and resignation. “I’d love to, but you know how my boss is. Getting time off is like pulling teeth,” you admitted, deflated by the reality of your job’s demands.

Jimin’s lips curved into a sympathetic smile, his empathy palpable. “I know what you mean,” he said, taking a final swig of his beer, his shoulders slumping. “What would we even do on a break, though?”

With a sigh, you emptied the remnants of your beer, contemplating the questions. “Maybe just Netflix all day?” you suggested with a wistful laugh, the idea of relaxation feeling like a distant dream.

However, before the conversation could lose itself in the realm of impracticality, Yoongi interjected, his words cutting through the haze of doubt. “Or we could all go on a vacation together,” he proposed, his voice surprisingly confident.

The suggestion hung in the air, momentarily shocking you and Jimin into silence. The surrounding chatter among the other men faded, their curious glances turning in your direction. Gasps escaped your lips in unison, and the hushed anticipation in the room was palpable as everyone eagerly awaited your response.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your eyes widening in surprise as Yoongi’s unexpected proposal hung in the air.

Yoongi shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reached for another beer from the middle of the table. “We could take a trip in Holly,” he explained casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Holly, his self-renovated VW camper van, had seen its fair share of adventures, and tonight, it seemed destined for another one.

The idea seemed to catch like wildfire, sparking enthusiasm around the table. Jimin leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with wonder. 

“A camping trip?” he asked, already lost in thought, his excitement palpable.

Jungkook’s face lit up with a wide, boyish grin. “That sounds so fun, hyung!” he exclaimed, unable to contain his eagerness.

Seokjin, normally the voice of reason in your friend group, chimed in with a hint of excitement. “I’d have to check with my girlfriend, but it does sound like a blast,” he admitted, his willingness to consider the idea evident.

Namjoon, the thoughtful thinker, let out a hopeful sigh, “That actually sounds like just what I need,” he said, the weight of his office job still heavy on his mind.

The excitement and anticipation in the room were infectious, as if the mere mention of the camping trip had breathed new life into all of you.

The realization dawned that Yoongi’s beloved camper van, Holly, couldn’t accommodate all of you at once. It was a cozy van, filled with memories of countless journeys, but its space was limited. He had made the dining and back seats in Holly removable and customizable, so the seats could be turned into a bed big enough to fit two people. Then there was the overhead space big enough to fit one (or two every comfortable) person(s). Yoongi’s solution therefore, delivered with a sly smile, was to take turns with your vacations, ensuring that the bond of friendship remained unbroken.

“Let’s divide ourselves into groups of five,” he suggested, as you all huddled together, discussing the logistics. The prospect of close quarters and shared adventures only seemed to add to the excitement. You’d been friends for so many years that the idea of sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder with each other brought a sense of comfort rather than discomfort.

“The sleeping arrangement might be a tad tight,” Yoongi acknowledged, “but we’ve faced far worse challenges together.” His words were met with nods of agreement, a testament to the unbreakable bond you all shared.

Jimin, always the planner of the group, chimed in, “We can even set up a tent outside for those who prefer it, under the starry night sky.” The thought of sleeping beneath the open heavens, surrounded by the tranquil sounds of nature, sparked a sense of adventure in all of you.

As the discussion continued, you could feel the anticipation building. The prospect of taking turns with your vacations only made the idea more exciting. 

You imagined the laughter, the late-night talks around a campfire, and the shared experiences that lay ahead. The decision to divide yourselves into smaller groups only added to the sense of adventure, ensuring that each trip would be a unique and intimate experience. The camaraderie among your friends was unshakable, and the thought of spending quality time together, exploring new places, filled you with a sense of anticipation that was truly electrifying.

Each of you had to face the inevitable reality of asking for time off from your demanding jobs, but the mere thought of the adventure awaiting you was worth every ounce of effort. There was an unspoken agreement among you all, a silent pledge to make it work.

Jimin couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as he contemplated the escape from his stressful work life. His eyes sparkled with dreams of the places you’d explore and the memories you’d create. 

Jungkook, probably the most adventurous of the group, was practically bouncing in his seat, already mentally packing his bags for the journey. His enthusiasm was infectious, reigniting the fervor in everyone else. 

Seokjin approached the situation with a sense of practicality, contemplating the delicate task of convincing his girlfriend to join in on the adventure. Yet, his hopeful tone hinted at his desire to make it work, as he imagined the joy of shared experiences. 

Namjoon had already begun to envision the break as a chance to rejuvenate his weary spirit. His sigh of relief was almost palpable, the idea of escaping the office grind a beacon of hope.

And then there was Yoongi with a heart full of wanderlust. His eyes gleamed with determination, a silent promise that he would do whatever it took to ensure that Holly, his trusted van, would carry them on this journey of a lifetime. 

As Yoongi excused himself to go to the toilet, a charged atmosphere settled around the table. Like moths drawn to a flame, the guys leaned in, their voices hushed, concern etched on their faces. They knew, as well as you did, about the feelings you harbored for Yoongi, feelings you’d kept locked away for so long.

Jungkook couldn’t help but voice his worry. “Are you sure you’re okay with being cramped together in his camper van for so long?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his tone but genuine concern underlying his words. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any signs of hesitation.

You sighed, your gaze drifting toward the empty seat where Yoongi had been moments ago. “I’ll be fine,” you replied, your voice carrying a mixture of determination and trepidation. Deep down, you were already apprehensive, knowing that the close confines of the van could only fuel the feelings you’d tried so hard to suppress.

Memories of past vacations with your friends haunted you. Those trips had been both a blessing and a curse, bringing you closer to Yoongi, yet painfully highlighting the unspoken love you carried for him. It seemed that everyone except Yoongi was aware of your hidden affection.

When you first met Yoongi a decade ago, the memory remains etched in your mind like a vivid painting. Jimin had introduced you two, and from that very moment, you were inexplicably drawn to him. His soulful, dark brown eyes held a certain depth that seemed to see right through you, and his laid-back, carefree attitude enveloped you in a comforting embrace. 

Over the years, you watched as he dated other people, trying to suppress your own growing feelings. You, too, went through your share of relationships, attempting to bury your emotions beneath layers of fleeting connections. 

Yet, no matter how hard you tried, your heart continued to beat with an unrelenting ache for him. Your friendship with Yoongi deepened, and the more you got to know him, the more precious he became. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t bring yourself to confess your feelings, fearing it might jeopardize the beautiful bond you shared.

As time passed, you began to doubt whether he felt the same way about you. It seemed like the universe conspired to keep you apart, never aligning the stars in your favor. But your heart still held onto that glimmer of hope, a tiny flame of longing that refused to be extinguished.

You mustered the courage to approach your boss and request time off from work, your heart pounding with anticipation. 

To your astonishment, your boss, who had been closely monitoring your dedication and the extra hours you’d poured into your job, responded with a broad smile. 

‘Take as much time off as you need,’ he said warmly, his approval a beacon of recognition for your hard work. It felt like a dream, a reward for your dedication that you never thought possible.

Unlike the rest of you, Yoongi held the unique advantage of being his own boss, running his own successful business. The mere mention of vacation didn’t send shivers down his spine as it did for some of your friends who faced the daunting task of navigating office politics and requesting time off. Instead, Yoongi could simply close down his shop without the constraints of corporate bureaucracy, making the prospect of this vacation all the more tantalizing and carefree.

Deep in conversation in another bar, you and Yoongi contemplated the duration of your upcoming journey. As the words flowed between you, you couldn’t help but yearn for an extended break, a chance to escape the relentless grind of everyday life.

With a thoughtful look, you suggested, “What if we make it three months?” 

The idea of such an extended vacation felt like a lifeline, offering not just relaxation but also the opportunity to truly disconnect from the stresses of the world. It was a bold proposition, a leap into the unknown, and the very thought of it filled you with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation.

Discussions had swirled among the group about the length of the upcoming vacation, and the other guys had mentioned that they could manage to get three to four weeks off work. 

You and Yoongi exchanged a knowing look, understanding that your own schedules were more flexible.In a quiet moment, you leaned in toward Yoongi, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. 

“Maybe we could spend a couple of weeks on our own,” you suggested, the idea of sharing that intimate time with him making your heart race. It was a decision that felt like a secret shared between the two of you, a chance to deepen your connection amidst the adventures that awaited. 

You hope your heart can take it.

Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung eagerly synced their hectic schedules, determined to kick off the adventure with you and Yoongi on the very first stretch of the trip. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and the prospect of shared moments and laughter with your best friends at the start of the journey filled you with excitement.

As the days ticked by, anticipation grew like a wildfire. You could practically taste the adventure that awaited.

As the final week of work drew to a close, you couldn’t contain your excitement for the impending camping trip with your best friends. 

Your evenings were a whirlwind of activity, filled with carefully selecting and packing canned foods and your favorite snacks, to bundling up your comfy duvet, selecting just the right clothes for the journey, and securing your trusty bike, and the flutter of anticipation that danced in your chest with each passing day. 

It was a week of meticulous preparations and eager anticipation, a countdown to the adventure that awaited.

For the first leg of your journey, you and your friends had collectively chosen Busan as your destination, having found a perfect Park Auto Campground. 

The decision to travel to Busan held a special significance, as it was a place close to Jimin and Jungkook’s hearts—where they had grown up, shared memories, and formed deep connections. 

As you envisioned the adventure that lay ahead, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement building. Busan, with its pristine beaches, bustling markets, and the familiar laughter of friends, promised a week of nostalgia, bonding, and unforgettable experiences. It was more than just a location; it was a place filled with stories and cherished memories, and you couldn’t wait to explore it with Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook, reliving their past and creating new memories together.

The long-awaited day of your adventure had finally arrived, and the excitement in the air was palpable. 

With everything meticulously packed, you and Yoongi set off to pick up Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook, who were waiting eagerly, their laughter and chatter a prelude to the journey ahead.

The interior of the van was a testament to Yoongi’s craftsmanship, the extra seats he had skillfully fashioned providing a comfortable and cozy space for your friends. 

Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook settled in, their faces radiating anticipation as they found their spots amidst the camping gear and provisions. As you and Yoongi took your places in the front seats, a sense of togetherness washed over you. The engine roared to life, and the open road beckoned, promising a cascade of adventures and memories waiting to be made.

Together, you embarked on the journey to Busan, the road stretching out before you like an uncharted path of adventure. The drive was a symphony of laughter and camaraderie, the hours from Seoul to Busan passing in the blink of an eye amidst shared tales and uproarious laughter.

As you journeyed down the familiar highway, memories of your enduring friendship came flooding back, like cherished chapters from a well-worn book. Stories of your youth, of misadventures and inside jokes, wove a tapestry of nostalgia, each anecdote igniting fresh bursts of laughter and heartfelt smiles. 

The highway seemed like a time machine, propelling you into the past while carrying you toward the future. The miles melted away, but the bonds of friendship grew stronger, each passing mile a testament to the enduring connection you all shared.

After a journey filled with laughter and anticipation, you reached your destination: a Park Auto Campground next to the Nakdonggang River. The site greeted you with open arms, its serene beauty stretching out before your eager eyes as if welcoming old friends.

As you scoured the area from the van, Yoongi expertly maneuvered Holly to find the perfect parking spot. The soft hum of the engine came to a halt, and the atmosphere was filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of a nearby river. With Holly now parked in its serene haven, a collective sigh of contentment escaped your lips. 

The camping site held the promise of adventure and tranquility, a canvas upon which you would paint memories to last a lifetime.

The rhythmic clatter of camping gear being unpacked and the rustling of fabric filled the serene surroundings. With a sense of unity, you and Yoongi expertly set up the camper van, unfurling the marquee with practiced precision. 

Nearby, Jungkook and Taehyung worked in tandem, constructing their cozy tent under the sheltering canopy of trees. The spirit of teamwork and shared adventure was palpable, as each of you played a vital role in creating your temporary home. Yoongi and Jimin would convert the seats into a makeshift bed, ensuring their comfort for the night. Meanwhile, you would sleep in the top bunk overhead in Holly, a cozy vantage point that promised a night under the stars.

With everything set up and the campsite now a cozy haven, you and your friends gathered together, sitting in a circle amidst the rustic charm of your surroundings. The sun bathed you all in a warm, golden glow as you indulged in light snacks, the tantalizing aroma mingling with the sounds of shared laughter and conversations.

The relentless heat outside compelled you to make a bold wardrobe choice. 

You opted for a bikini, the cool fabric hugging your skin like a second, refreshing layer. Over it, you threw on an oversized, crisp white shirt that billowed gently in the warm breeze, and paired it with comfy shorts. The combination was a blend of comfort and casual chic, perfect for the scorching day ahead. 

While the guys collectively opted for a moment of relaxation, sinking into their seats to unwind, you felt a different kind of energy coursing through you. The allure of the campsite beckoned, and you couldn’t resist the call of adventure. 

As you ventured along the Riverside, the world seemed to slow down, and the beauty of nature unfolded before you.

The River stretched out before you, its cool, glistening waters an irresistible contrast to the relentless, sweltering heat of the day. 

You were well aware that the River wasn’t intended for swimming, yet the allure of the refreshing waters beckoned irresistibly. As beads of sweat formed on your brow, you couldn’t help but contemplate the idea of a quick dip. 

The prospect of the water caressing your skin, offering a brief respite from the scorching sun, seemed like a tantalizing temptation. A moment of hesitation hung in the air, your internal debate reflecting the eternal struggle between caution and the sheer joy of spontaneity. 

Would it really hurt to take a short plunge? 

With a sense of urgency, you hastily shed your shirt and shorts, driven by the need to escape the uncomfortable embrace of your clinging clothing. The scorching sun had left you longing for a moment of relief, and the thought of your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your body after your dip was unbearable.

As you wade into the River, the shock of its icy embrace sends shivers down your spine, an invigorating jolt that instantly cools your overheated body. 

The water’s chill becomes a welcome refuge from the relentless heat. As you ventured further into the refreshing waters, the sun’s warm caress on your skin, you reveled in the cool embrace of the River. The serenity of the moment was interrupted by an unexpected surge, a hidden current that wrapped around you with a sudden, forceful grip.

In an instant, the playful tug of the stream unraveled the delicate string of your bikini bra, causing it to slip from your body and disappear downstream. 

Panic surged through you, and you reached out desperately, fingers grasping at the elusive fabric, but it slipped through your trembling hands like a fleeting dream.

With your heart pounding and cheeks flushed, you instinctively covered your exposed breasts with one hand, the other waving frantically as you called out for Jimin, your voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

Desperation welled up inside you as you stood in the River, your voice carrying your distress with a pleading intensity. 

“Jimin!” you called out, the sound of his name echoing across the water. 

Each syllable was laced with a raw sense of urgency, as if your very survival depended on him hearing and responding to your plea.

Thankfully, Jimin’s sharp ears didn’t fail him. As he sat leisurely, engrossed in the pages of a book, the distant sound of your frantic yell cut through the tranquility of the campsite like a thunderclap.

His head snapped up, eyes widening in alarm as he quickly scanned the surroundings. The book slipped from his grasp, forgotten, as his instincts kicked into high gear. He’d heard your distress call, and without a moment’s hesitation, he was on his feet, ready to sprint towards the source of your urgency.

Jimin strolled briskly toward the Riverside, his curiosity piqued by your urgent call. 

As his eyes landed on your shivering form, it didn’t take him long to grasp the comical situation you’d found yourself in—a situation he’d shared with you once before. 

With a knowing grin, he couldn’t suppress a chuckle, the sound bubbling up from deep within him. His laughter, filled with camaraderie rather than mockery, drew the attention of your friends, who turned their heads to see what had captured Jimin’s amusement. 

There you stood, half-exposed, a mix of embarrassment and amusement dancing across your face as Jimin’s laughter rang out.

Expletives rang in your mind as you realized the collective gaze of your friends and even nearby campers had zeroed in on your predicament. 

The disapproving glares from unfamiliar faces added another layer of discomfort to your already embarrassing situation. 

Great, just great!

You couldn’t help but hiss at your friends, their raucous laughter ringing in your ears like a chorus of mockery. It was as if the universe had conspired to turn this innocent mishap into a spectacle, and you were at the center of it all. 

The heat of embarrassment flushed your cheeks, but your determination to salvage your dignity burned even hotter.

Jimin couldn’t contain his laughter as he turned to Yoongi, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Hyung, can you be our hero and help her?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

Yoongi let out an exaggerated groan, his reluctance comically evident. Yet, he couldn’t resist the camaraderie of the moment and rose from his seat with a theatrical sigh.

With determined strides, Yoongi made his way over to you in the River, his expression a mix of feigned annoyance and genuine concern. His willingness to help spoke volumes about the unwavering bonds of friendship that bound your group together, even in the most amusing of circumstances.

Jimin couldn’t contain his amusement as he descended from the Riverside, his giggles echoing through the campsite like a contagious melody. His laughter was an infectious blend of mirth and camaraderie, a testament to the enduring bonds of your friendship that could turn even the most embarrassing situations into moments of shared joy.

As Yoongi approached, his gaze landed on you standing in the River, hands firmly over your chest. His voice, tinged with a hint of weariness from his earlier relaxation, held genuine concern as he inquired, “What happened?”

You sighed, your voice tinged with both relief and lingering embarrassment.

“... My bra fell off,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping the river’s surface in search of the missing garment. As you scanned the water, your heart skipped a beat with both trepidation and a glimmer of hope.

Luck was on your side, as you finally spotted your bra, ensnared in the river’s embrace, just a short distance from Yoongi. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude and amusement as you pointed in his direction, your tone playful yet appreciative. 

“It’s over there,” you called out.

He hummed thoughtfully, taking cautious steps closer to the elusive piece of clothing. As his fingers extended, a gentle breeze teased at the fabric, causing it to flutter away like a playful phantom. 

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, a vivid blush warming your skin.

Yet, despite the mortification, a sense of relief washed over you as your oversized shirt remained firmly on the grass in the Riverside, preserving your modesty. 

A grateful smile tugged at your lips as you acknowledged Yoongi’s well-intentioned attempt. “Thanks for trying, Yoon,” you murmured, your voice laced with appreciation and a touch of amusement. 

“So, are you coming out or what?” Yoongi called out, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and playful impatience as he waited for you. With a laugh in your voice, you responded with a confident ‘yes,’ your words echoing across the tranquil waters. 

You moved through the water with deliberate grace, a sense of vulnerability washing over you as you became mindful of your exposed form. Your arms instinctively crossed over your breasts, each ripple in the water causing a flutter of anxiety.

With slow and deliberate movements, you located your discarded shirt and shorts amidst the rocky shoreline. As you wanted to dress, you called out to Yoongi, your voice soft but firm, “Turn around, don’t look.” 

You could feel the warmth of a blush rising in your cheeks, and the weight of his gaze on your skin only added to the intensity of the moment.

He obeyed your request without hesitation, the soft shuffle of his feet marking his compliance as he turned away, facing his back to you. The rustling of leaves in the nearby trees and the distant murmur of the River filled the silence, creating a cocoon of privacy around the two of you. 

The air seemed charged with anticipation, and you could feel the weight of the unspoken connection between you both in that intimate moment.

You reached for your shirt, the damp fabric clinging to your skin and offering a brief challenge as you pulled it over your glistening body. Each movement was a tactile reminder of the refreshing dip you’d taken, your skin alive with the sensations of the River’s cool embrace. 

Next, your fingers fumbled for your shorts, a playful dance with the wet fabric that seemed to take a lifetime. As you finally completed your quick change, a surge of excitement bubbled up inside you, making your voice tremble with anticipation.

With a smile that you couldn’t suppress, you called out to Yoongi, “You can turn around now.” 

The air seemed charged with a newfound energy, and the world felt alive with the promise of adventure and connection.

“Nice tits.” 

Yoongi’s mischievous comment hung in the air, punctuated by a chuckle that echoed with playful admiration. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks, turning them beet red as you instinctively glanced down your body, realizing with a sinking feeling that your white shirt had become transparent when it clung to your soaking body. 

Panic surged through you.

In a hurry, you covered your breasts with your hands, the wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Your heart raced, and your body felt hot, a combination of embarrassment and an unexpected wave of arousal coursing through you.

Why the fuck is he still looking? 

You thought with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. His gaze bore into you with a lazy smirk, and your skin prickled with a blend of vulnerability and desire.

“Stop looking,” you hissed, your voice trembling with a mixture of need and frustration. The tension between you was palpable, an unspoken connection simmering beneath the surface as the world around you faded into the background.

In an angry, trembling tone, you hissed at him, “And don’t you dare say a fucking word!” 

Your hands remained firmly pressed against your breasts, your skin still tingling from the electric encounter. 

With a mix of indignation and vulnerability, you turned on your heel and hurriedly retreated, the path back to the van stretching out before you, each step echoing the tumultuous feelings churning inside. 

You retraced your steps in stifling silence, the tension between you and Yoongi lingering in the air like an unspoken secret. Each footfall felt heavy, the weight of your thoughts bearing down on you, and the campsite that had once been a sanctuary of laughter and camaraderie now seemed like a maze of conflicting emotions.

Uncomfortable and flustered, your mind raced with a tempest of questions. He had complimented you, and it sent your thoughts spiraling into a whirlwind of uncertainty. 

Had he looked before? Were there hidden desires beneath his playful remark?

The stories your mind conjured were like a tumultuous storm, each thought a lightning bolt of doubt. You had to remind yourself, sternly, that Yoongi was a friend, nothing more. But the realization didn’t dispel the tension that had woven itself between you, leaving you with a sense of unease that clung to your every step.

As you finally reached Holly, a cacophony of laughter greeted you. 

Jimin’s infectious laughter rang out like a joyful melody, echoing through the campsite. With an amused glint in his eye, he couldn’t contain his mirth as he pointed at your drenched figure, a teasing grin splitting his face.

Beside him, Jungkook and Taehyung had their faces buried in their phones, their shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. The campsite had transformed into a stage of amusement, the camaraderie and playful banter among friends radiating with warmth.

Through gritted teeth, you hissed at Jimin, your frustration palpable in your tone. 

“Don’t you dare fucking laugh!” 

The words carried the weight of your embarrassment and irritation, the intensity of the moment etched on your face as you shot him a withering glare. With a frustrated sigh, you attempted to regain your composure, even as your cheeks burned with lingering embarrassment. 

Yoongi eased himself into a vacant chair, its worn surface embracing him with a sigh as he leaned back.

“Why? It’s not even the first time!” 

Jimin’s laughter erupted like an uncontrollable storm, his entire body shaking with mirth. The intensity of his amusement grated on your nerves, and you could feel a simmering fury building within you. The sound of his laughter seemed to echo endlessly, reverberating through the campsite and setting your teeth on edge. 

It was as if he was oblivious to the storm of emotions swirling within you, and his amusement only added fuel to the fire of your frustration.

Jungkook and Taehyung both lifted their heads from their phones, their curiosity piqued. “What do you mean, ‘not even the first time’?” Jungkook inquired, his eyes gleaming with interest.

Hushing your voice, you groaned loudly, the frustration evident in your tone. 

“Don’t tell them!” 

The words spilled from your lips with an urgency that bordered on desperation, and you shot Jimin a pleading look, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t let the secret slip. The air was thick with anticipation as the weight of your unshared secret hung in the balance.

He continued to laugh, his amusement contagious, and then leaned in closer to Jungkook and Taehyung, his voice lowering with a conspiratorial tone. 

“She lost her bra once when we were at a waterpark,” he giggled, the memory vivid and alive in his mind. As he recounted the tale, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and the campsite seemed to hold its collective breath, caught between the urge to burst into laughter and the anticipation of the full story.

Fuck.

Why did he have to tell them? 

The question reverberated within you like an unyielding echo. Although he hadn’t shared the whole story, a sense of exasperation washed over you, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. 

The campsite felt like a stage, and your emotions played out in silent turmoil as you grappled with the mix of embarrassment and annoyance. The memory had been a skeleton in your closet, and its unveiling, even in part, left you grappling with the desire to laugh it off and the lingering traces of annoyance that clung to you like a shadow.

“It happened when we were on a waterslide, and it just flew off!” 

Jimin continued to chuckle, his laughter resonating with your clear discomfort. The memory seemed to amuse him endlessly, and each guffaw only deepened your irritation.

With an exasperated sigh, you dramatically plopped down on a chair next to Yoongi, your grumpiness palpable in the way you crossed your arms and shot Jimin a pointed glare. 

The campsite was filled with the lingering echoes of laughter, but your mood remained as stormy as the clouds gathering on the horizon.

Jungkook and Taehyung exchanged knowing glances and erupted into contagious giggles, their eyes brimming with amusement. Their laughter seemed to dance in the air, and as they stole glances at you, their expressions shifted to ones of pity. 

“And you did absolutely nothing to help, some friend you are,” you retorted, your words dripping with spite and frustration. The sharpness of your tone cut through the lingering laughter, drawing a hushed silence over the campsite. 

The tension between you and Jimin hung in the air like a charged current, a stark reminder of the complexities that defined your friendship.

You made a brisk dash to retrieve fresh, clean clothes, the anticipation of changing into something dry and comfortable fueling your steps. 

The restrooms beckoned, promising a refuge from the lingering awkwardness. As you entered the private haven of the restroom, a wave of relief washed over you, and you couldn’t wait to shed the wet attire that clung to your skin.

As you returned, the flickering glow of a campfire had transformed the campsite into a warm and inviting haven. The crackling flames danced in the night, casting playful shadows that danced across your faces. 

The aroma of a delicious meal sizzling over the open flames filled the air, tantalizing your senses.

Amidst the camaraderie of your friends, you joined in the culinary adventure, the flavors of the meal mingling with laughter and lively conversation. 

The clinking of beer bottles punctuated the night, each sip a toast to the simple joys of friendship and the adventure that lay ahead.

Amid the warm glow of the campfire and the laughter of your friends, you couldn’t help but notice Yoongi’s gaze. 

His eyes, like twin embers in the firelight, lingered on your face a fraction longer than usual. It was a subtle shift that sent a ripple of uncertainty through you, leaving you to ponder its meaning in the midst of the lively gathering.

Questions swirled in your mind like sparks in the night. 

Was it a moment of connection or something more? 

The ambiguity hung in the air, adding an undercurrent of intrigue to the already memorable night.

That night, as the campfire’s last embers flickered out, you found yourself tossing and turning in your duvet, unable to find the solace of sleep. Thoughts of Yoongi swirled through your mind like a restless tempest, his lingering gaze haunting your thoughts.

Beneath the canopy of stars, you were consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. 

Excitement for the adventure clashed with the uncertainty of unspoken feelings, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this trip would be the crucible that tested your friendship’s boundaries. In the silent darkness, the future lay uncertain, and the weight of anticipation kept you awake, pondering the enigma that was Yoongi.

The morning sun bathed the campsite in a gentle glow, promising a new day of adventure. 

With your river escapade now behind you, you decided to venture into the nearby city with Jimin. The city’s vibrant energy and bustling streets held the promise of a new, exciting experience.

As you entered a quaint boutique, the colorful array of bikinis dazzled your senses. Jimin, with his impeccable taste, became your trusted fashion advisor. Together, you sifted through the options, his playful commentary and infectious laughter adding a layer of camaraderie to the shopping spree.

Jimin’s eyes sparkled mischievously as he picked out a bikini top that he insisted would not only look fantastic on you but also capture the attention of a certain dark haired man named Yoongi. 

Jimin’s playful commentary continued as he held up the chosen bikini top, his eyes dancing with mischief. 

“This one really accentuates your curves and hugs your... assets,” he said, punctuating his statement with a sly wink. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his cheekiness, a mix of exasperation and amusement in your response.

But deep down, his suggestion had struck a chord. 

There was a spark of confidence that came with his endorsement, and in the end, you found yourself reaching for the very bikini top he’d recommended. With a grin and a playful nudge, you couldn’t deny the infectious excitement that Jimin had injected into your shopping excursion.

Later in the day, as the sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the campsite, you and your friends decided to embark on a leisurely fishing expedition by the Riverside. The gentle breeze played with your hair, carrying with it the soothing scent of nature, as you cast your lines into the water.

The atmosphere was serene, punctuated by the occasional plunk of a line hitting the water and the soft rustle of leaves overhead. 

The Riverside flowed lazily beside you, a shimmering ribbon of tranquility that mirrored the camaraderie among your group. Light conversation flowed effortlessly between you all, the laughter and shared stories weaving a tapestry of connection that only deepened with each passing moment.

The following days sped by like a whirlwind of adventure and discovery. 

You and your friends immersed yourselves in the breathtaking beauty of the local nature, each step a new exploration, each vista a captivating masterpiece of nature’s design. 

As you ventured deeper into the wilderness, the serenity of the landscape wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. Majestic mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks kissing the sky. Pristine lakes sparkled like gems under the sun’s tender caress, and the lush forests whispered secrets as you wandered through their verdant embrace. 

Tourist attractions revealed the rich tapestry of the region’s culture and history, each site a new chapter in your journey. 

During your stay, one day brought the special opportunity to visit Jungkook’s family. 

The anticipation of the visit filled the air as you arrived at his childhood home. The comforting aroma of home-cooked meals wafted from the kitchen, welcoming you with open arms. Around a welcoming dinner table, you all shared delightful conversations with Jungkook’s parents and his older brother. Their smiles were as warm as their hospitality, and the stories they shared about Jungkook’s mischievous childhood added a layer of endearment to your friend.

As plates were passed, laughter echoed through the cozy living room, and the bonds of friendship extended to embrace the family who had nurtured Jungkook. It was a moment of shared intimacy, where the past and present converged in a harmonious celebration of friendship and home.

On another beautiful day of your trip, the anticipation of visiting Jimin’s family filled the air with excitement. 

You were welcomed into their home with open arms, the comforting scent of a home-cooked dinner beckoning you inside. Seated around a dining table adorned with love and care, you shared heartfelt conversations with Jimin’s parents and his younger brother. 

Their warmth and genuine interest in your stories made you feel like an extended member of their family. The dinner was a sumptuous feast of flavors, a culinary journey through Jimin’s heritage. As the evening unfolded, laughter and shared memories wove a tapestry of connection, bridging the gap between your friends and Jimin’s beloved family. 

It was a moment of shared intimacy, where the bonds of friendship extended to embrace the people who had shaped Jimin’s life.

Excitement bubbled within you as you made the collective decision to journey onward to the next campsite, nestled near the picturesque Songdo Bay Station and its inviting beach. 

The prospect of a fresh landscape and new adventures beckoned like a siren’s call, promising breathtaking vistas and unforgettable moments waiting to be discovered.

As you began setting up Holly once more at the new campsite, an amusing discussion arose. Jimin, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, announced his intention to sleep in the tent this time. “You snore like a freight train,” he teased, a playful grin dancing on his lips.

Yoongi, ever the easygoing one, didn’t seem to mind, and Taehyung chimed in with his usual enthusiasm. 

“I’ll gladly switch with Jimin then,” he declared, a wide smile brightening his face.

With excitement bubbling in your hearts, you made your way to the enchanting Songdo Bay Station, eager to experience the cable cars that awaited you. 

As you all huddled into the cable car together, anticipation filled the air. The ascent was a slow and steady journey, carrying you higher and higher above the city and the glistening expanse of the ocean. The view that unfolded before your eyes was nothing short of mesmerizing. The cityscape sprawled beneath you, a tapestry of lights and life, while the vast ocean stretched out to the horizon, its waters shimmering in the golden embrace of the setting sun.

Silence settled over your group, a shared reverence for the breathtaking panorama that surrounded you. The beauty of the moment transcended words, leaving you all in awe of the world’s majesty. 

It was a memory etched into your hearts, a reminder of the profound magic that could be found in the simplest of journeys.

Once you’d savored every moment of the mesmerizing view from the cable cars, hunger tugged at your stomachs like a friendly reminder of the day’s adventures. Following a recommendation from a friendly local, you ventured to a cozy, hidden gem of a restaurant nearby. 

The restaurant exuded an inviting charm, its wooden beams and rustic decor welcoming you like an old friend. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of local flavors and the hum of lively conversations. 

As you settled into your seats, the menu promised a tantalizing array of dishes, each one a tantalizing adventure waiting to be explored.

Lunch was a symphony of flavors, a fusion of local delicacies that danced on your taste buds. The laughter and discussions of your group mingled with the ambient sounds of the restaurant, creating a harmonious atmosphere of shared joy. With satisfied appetites and hearts warmed by the culinary delights, you bid farewell to the small local restaurant, the memory of the meal and its unique ambiance etched in your collective memory. 

It was yet another chapter in your journey, one filled with the flavors and colors of the region you had come to love.

As you made your way back to the campsite, the sun casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape, the anticipation for tonight’s dinner filled the air with excitement. 

You decided to make a quick stop for grocery shopping, the aisles of the local market brimming with fresh ingredients and culinary possibilities. The aisles were a treasure trove of flavors, their shelves stocked with vibrant fruits, crisp vegetables, and the tantalizing aromas of spices and herbs. Your group moved through the market, selecting ingredients that promised to transform into a delicious campfire feast.

Back at the campsite, you all sank into comfortable positions, surrounded by the gentle embrace of nature. 

The crackling campfire cast a warm, flickering glow that painted playful shadows on your faces. The tranquil symphony of chirping crickets and rustling leaves provided the soundtrack to your evening.

Yoongi, your group’s resident cook and culinary magician, took center stage. With an air of calm expertise, he orchestrated the preparation of tonight’s dinner. The aroma of sizzling ingredients filled the air, tantalizing your senses and stirring a chorus of eager stomachs. 

As you watched Yoongi work his culinary magic, a sense of contentment washed over you all. The shared anticipation for the meal, the warmth of the campfire, and the soothing sounds of nature merged into a harmonious tableau of camaraderie and relaxation. 

It was a moment of serenity and connection, a testament to the simple joys of friendship and the pleasures of a well-cooked meal in the great outdoors.

As you savored every bite of Yoongi’s mouthwatering Korean cooking, a tranquil hush settled over your group. The flavors danced on your taste buds, each dish a symphony of tastes and textures that spoke of culinary mastery. Around the campfire, the shared appreciation for the meal transcended words. The satisfying sounds of utensils against plates and the contented sighs of your friends filled the air. 

After a satisfying dinner that left everyone in high spirits, you fetched some beers to keep the camaraderie alive. The campfire’s glow seemed to flicker with the promise of a lively evening ahead.

As you settled back into your camping chairs, conversation flowed naturally, anecdotes and laughter intermingling in the night air. The soothing rhythm of your friends’ voices was like a comforting melody, echoing in the quiet wilderness. In a lighthearted moment, Taehyung suggested a game of ’Never Have I Ever’. 

Groans of playful protest erupted from most of the group, each member voicing their reluctance except for Jungkook. His eyes sparkled with excitement at the mention of the game, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

In the end, you reluctantly gave in to the idea of playing, and it was mostly due to Taehyung’s persistent enthusiasm. He had a knack for getting his way, especially when it came to sparking moments of laughter and adventure within the group.

Taehyung, with a sly twinkle in his eye, kicked off the game, looking around at your group with a mischievous grin. 

“Never have I ever… kissed a man,” he declared, his choice of statement drawing an intrigued chorus of ‘oohs’ and laughter. 

Jimin couldn’t help but tease, “Gosh, that’s so tame,” earning a playful eyeroll from Taehyung. However, as the game’s first round unfolded, both you and Jimin raised your beers to your lips, a shared acknowledgment of your past adventures.

It was now Jungkook’s turn, and he took a moment to contemplate his statement, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You let out an exaggerated sigh, feeling like you weren’t quite tipsy enough for this game’s antics.

“Never have I ever seen ___’s tits,” Jungkook declared, his statement dripping with a cheeky grin. There was a collective chuckle from the group, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fully aware of how this round would go.

As expected, Jimin, Yoongi, and you raised your beers in acknowledgment. Jungkook’s laughter filled the air, and you couldn’t resist a playful retort. 

“It’s not funny!” you quipped, shooting a mock glare in his direction.

Thankfully, it was now Yoongi’s turn, and you couldn’t help but anticipate that his statement would be just as amusing and lighthearted as the others. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he posed, “Never have I ever had sex while at work,” looking around the circle expectantly.

As his statement hung in the air, there was a moment of suspense before the inevitable. Jimin, with a sly grin, took a casual sip of his beer, and to your surprise, both Taehyung and Jungkook joined in with a shared laugh and a sip of their beer. 

Your surprised sigh was met with laughter from the group, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in playful disbelief.

Now, it was Jimin’s turn, and you couldn’t help but brace yourself for his cheeky statement. “Never have I ever had sexual fantasies about a close friend,” he declared, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. His playful wink was directed at you, and you responded with an eye roll that was just as playful.

Jimin’s statement hung in the air, thick with tension and teasing, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to be your wingman in your quest for Yoongi’s affection or simply trying to rile you up for his own amusement.

Everyone in the circle, except Jimin, raised their beers to their lips and took a sip, leaving you utterly flabbergasted. 

The implications of this revelation left your mind swirling with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. 

What did it mean? 

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Yoongi, hoping to find some clue in his enigmatic gaze. However, as your eyes met his, you realized that they were as inscrutable as ever. His poker face didn’t give away any secrets, leaving you to wonder whether this was merely a playful game or if there was something more beneath the surface. 

It was a moment of both intrigue and hesitation, and you couldn’t help but feel a subtle shift in the dynamics of the group, as unspoken emotions lingered in the air.

Jungkook suddenly perked up, his voice laced with intrigue. 

“Jimin hyung, you’re not being honest right now!” 

His statement hung in the air, a spark of curiosity lighting up the group’s expressions as you all turned your gaze between Jimin and Jungkook.

The unexpected twist in the game had injected a new layer of intrigue into the evening. The group’s collective curiosity swirled like a secret shared among friends, and you couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath Jimin’s playfully confident exterior. 

You observed Jimin’s eyes roll and heard an exasperated sigh escape his lips. With a sly yet playful glint in his eyes, Jungkook continued, “Remember when you told me about that dream you had, the one about ___?” His tone was teasing but carried a hint of mischief.

As Jungkook’s words hung in the air, a ripple of knowing glances and shared amusement spread through the group. The expressions on everyone’s faces ranged from mild surprise to knowing smirks, each reacting in their unique way to the revelation.

“What? You had a sexual dream about me?” 

The words burst from your lips in a gasp of surprise, and without thinking, you playfully slapped Jimin’s shoulder, your eyes wide with mock shock.

Jimin’s laughter rang out, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. The entire group joined in, the campfire’s glow dancing in their eyes as they shared in the unexpected revelation. 

“It was just an innocent dream,” he tried to brush it off, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he masked it with a low chuckle.

The group’s playful teasing continued, a delightful blend of laughter and camaraderie. Jimin’s attempt to downplay the dream only fueled the banter, making the moment even more lighthearted and memorable.

Then Jungkook chimed in, his voice carrying an air of mischief. 

“It wasn’t innocent at all! He told me that he wanted to f–” 

Your eyes widened in both surprise and mortification, hanging on the edge of your seat as you awaited the rest of the sentence.

But before Jungkook could spill the rest, Jimin hastily interjected, bringing an abrupt halt to the revelation. 

“It was nothing, okay?” 

Jimin’s voice carried a note of urgency as he sought to downplay the situation. “It happened in the beginning of our friendship. Soon after, I realized it was just misdirected...uh, you know, sexual frustration. We’re besties, I’m not into you like that, I would never,” His words tumbled out in a rushed, rambling attempt to reassure you.

With a pleading look in your eyes, you turned to Jimin and spoke softly, “It’s okay, Jimin. I might have had a sexual fantasy about you too in the early days.” 

The confession slipped out, fueled perhaps by the influence of the beer, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and surprisingly liberated. The group’s reactions were a mix of surprise and amusement, and the campfire’s crackling flames seemed to flicker in response to the newfound tension in the air. 

“I know I’m irresistible,” Jimin playfully swooned in response to your secret, earning himself a playful jab in the ribs from you. 

Jungkook and Taehyung chuckled, the atmosphere light with shared laughter. However, you couldn’t help but notice that Yoongi’s demeanor had shifted.

His usually expressive eyes had gone dark, and a subtle tension hung in the air around him. It was as if your confession had cast a shadow over his mood, leaving you to wonder about the thoughts swirling in his mind.

As the game continued, you found yourself growing tired of its increasingly revealing nature. With a sigh of exasperation, you announced, “I’m going to bed. You can keep playing if you want.” 

Your words carried a hint of weariness as you pushed yourself up from the campfire and headed toward Holly.

The night air was cool against your skin as you retreated inside, leaving the laughter and confessions behind. In the dimly lit interior of the van, you could finally take a moment to reflect on the events of the evening. 

Drifting off into slumber, the laughter of your friends provided a comforting lullaby, wrapping you in a cocoon of cherished moments and the warmth of camaraderie.

As the morning sun filtered through the van’s windows, its gentle warmth kissed your face, coaxing you awake from a restful night’s sleep. With a contented sigh, you descended from your sleeping space and stepped outside, greeted by the sight of your friends gathered around.

“Good morning,” you greeted them with a pleasant stretch, the feeling of relaxation coursing through your body. Their collective response of ‘good morning’ warmed your heart, but you couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that tinged both Yoongi and Taehyung’s cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” 

You couldn’t help but notice the startled exchange of glances between Yoongi and Taehyung. 

Their hesitation hung in the air, sparking your curiosity. Just as Taehyung was about to speak up, Yoongi cut him off with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. 

“You just snore a lot,” he replied, his tone casual but his gaze stern as he shot Taehyung a pointed look.

The atmosphere shifted subtly, leaving you with the feeling that there was more to their exchange than met the eye.

After enjoying a hearty breakfast together, the group prepared to head down to the beach for a day of relaxation, swimming, and—hopefully, avoiding any repeat incidents involving your bra.

As you all changed into your swimwear, you slipped into the new bikini top that Jimin had recommended. The fabric hugged your curves just right, making you feel both confident and comfortable. You couldn’t help but appreciate how his suggestion had turned out so perfectly.

Amidst laughter and chatter, you made your way down to the beach, burdened with towels, parasols, and an absurd amount of sunblock that could rival a sunscreen store.

You scouted out the perfect spot on the beach, carefully arranging your belongings and setting up sunshades to shield yourselves from the relentless sun. The sound of crashing waves and the scent of salt in the air instantly put you in a relaxed, vacation state of mind.

As you all took turns applying sunblock to one another, Jimin’s suggestion added a touch of intimacy to the moment. He proposed that Yoongi assist you by applying sunblock to your hard-to-reach back.

With a soft smile, Yoongi moved closer, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns as he massaged the sunblock into your skin. 

The sensation of his touch sent pleasant shivers and tingles racing down your spine, a subtle yet electrifying connection between friends. His fingers, roughened by years of mechanical work, offered a striking contrast to the tenderness of his touch. Each calloused ridge on his fingertips seemed to carry a story of hard labor and dedication. 

It was a subtle reminder of the many facets that made up Yoongi’s character—strong and rugged, yet capable of such gentleness. As his hands worked diligently to apply the sunblock, you found yourself lost in thought, reflecting on the layers of complexity within your friend. 

The intimacy of this simple act revealed a deeper connection, an unspoken understanding that transcended words and gestures. It was in these moments that you realized just how much you cherished the bond you shared with Yoongi and your group of friends.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip, a soft moan of unexpected pleasure threatening to escape. 

When he finally finished, you managed to find your voice, your words laced with a subtle undercurrent of emotion as you offered a heartfelt thank you.

You settled onto a plush beach towel beneath the cool embrace of a beach umbrella, book in hand. With your stomach against the soft towel and the rhythmic sound of the waves as your soundtrack, you lost yourself in the pages of your chosen book. 

As the words on the pages blurred together, a restlessness stirred within you. The call of the ocean grew irresistible. You closed your book and looked over at your friends, a glimmer of excitement in your eyes.

“Anyone up for a refreshing swim?” Your question hung in the air, a tempting invitation to embrace the cool embrace of the sea. 

Your friends exchanged glances, their laughter and shared history evident in their silent communication. None of them provided a direct answer to your invitation, and as you turned to walk away, a teasing voice broke the silence.

“I’ll join you,” Yoongi’s casual response was laced with a mischievous undertone. 

"Who knows, it might come in handy if you happen to ‘lose’ something again." His words prompted suppressed chuckles from the rest of the group, and you felt a heat rising in your cheeks.

As you and Yoongi ventured deeper into the ocean, the cool embrace of the water enveloped your bodies, creating an immediate sense of exhilaration. The waves danced around you, and the salty breeze carried laughter and shared moments. 

With every stroke, the water seemed to wash away the cares of the world, leaving only the thrill of the present moment. Your laughter echoed over the waves as you swam together, the sun glistening off the surface, and for that brief moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the joy of the sea.

You eagerly snatch a ball, its surface cool and slightly gritty against your fingertips, and dive into the inviting embrace of the ocean’s azure expanse. With each leap and twist, the saltwater splashes around you, the ball becoming an extension of your playful dance with the waves. 

As you spring up from the water, your breasts jiggle, a consequence of the light support of your bra. A subtle shift in Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, and you realize his attention has momentarily fixated on your chest.

A subtle blush crept up your cheeks, betraying your surprise and self-awareness, as you sensed his gaze lingering on you with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

“Hey lovebirds, we are heading back to the campsite, do you wanna come with us?” 

Amused by Jimin’s interruption, you turned your attention from Yoongi’s lingering gaze to your friend on the shoreline. His teasing tone and the ‘lovebirds’ comment sent an additional wave of heat rushing to your cheeks, but you welcomed the distraction.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you shouted back, “Sure thing, Jimin! Just give us a minute to dry off.” 

Jimin’s laughter carried over the water as you and Yoongi shared a brief, knowing glance before swimming back to join your friends, leaving the unspoken tension behind in the sea.

As you all gathered around the campfire to enjoy dinner, the conversation meandered through various topics, including cherished childhood memories. While engaging in the banter and laughter, your mind couldn’t help but circle back to Yoongi’s lingering gaze earlier in the day. 

Was there a hidden depth to his stare? Did he harbor feelings for you as well? 

These questions swirled in your thoughts, a tantalizing mystery you were both drawn to and hesitant to unravel. Inwardly, you cautioned against reading too much into it, aware of the fragile balance within your close-knit group of friends. 

The fear of altering the dynamics that had bound you all together kept your emotions in check, though your heart couldn’t help but hope for something more.

Over the next few days, you immersed yourselves in the vibrant heartbeat of Busan’s city life. 

Each moment was a sensory symphony, from the bustling streets to the enticing aromas that wafted from food stalls and restaurants. You ventured into the colorful markets, where every stall seemed to hold hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.

The city’s culinary delights tantalized your taste buds, from sizzling street food to lavish feasts at quaint eateries tucked away in narrow alleyways. With each bite, you savored not just the flavors but the shared laughter and stories around the table. 

Busan, with its unique blend of modernity and tradition, cast a spell on you all. The city’s enchanting sights, the harmonious rhythm of life, and the genuine warmth of its people made these days unforgettable.

Another day of your adventure led you to the mesmerizing Jeoryeong Coastal Walk, a place where the natural world intertwined with the human spirit. 

As you embarked on the winding path that hugged the rugged coastline, you were greeted by the panoramic expanse of the sea, its waves crashing rhythmically against the rocks.

The salty breeze kissed your cheeks, carrying with it the invigorating scent of the ocean. Seagulls soared overhead, their cries blending seamlessly with the soothing sound of the waves. 

Your footsteps resonated on the wooden boardwalk, a symphony of nature and human exploration. The scenery unfolded in breathtaking beauty, each bend revealing a new masterpiece of cliffs, coves, and pristine beaches. 

The connection to the earth and sea was palpable, reminding you of the immense wonder that existed beyond the confines of daily life. 

As you ventured along the Coastal Walk, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the cliffs accompanied your every step. The path stretched out before you, winding its way along the rugged shoreline. 

In the distance, your friends, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung, walked ahead, their laughter carried back to you in the salty breeze.

Walking alongside you was Yoongi, the man whose gaze had lingered on you during your coastal walk. 

The camaraderie of your friends was evident as they chatted and shared stories, but the proximity of Yoongi added an extra layer of complexity to your emotions. You stole glances at him, his profile etched against the backdrop of the sea. 

The sunlight played on his features, casting a warm glow that seemed to accentuate his allure. There was a shared silence between the two of you, a conversation unspoken yet deeply understood. In that moment, with the beauty of nature surrounding you and the bonds of friendship strengthening, you couldn’t help but wonder about the uncharted territories of the heart. 

The tranquil beauty of the coastal walk enveloped you both as you walked in tandem, the distant waves creating a soothing backdrop. 

“How do you like the trip so far?” Yoongi’s question cut through the stillness, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea.

You paused for a moment, taking in the salty breeze and the way the sun danced on the water’s surface. A faint smile played on your lips as you pondered his question, realizing that the journey held a deeper meaning than just the sights and experiences.

“It’s been incredible,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with genuine appreciation. 

“I mean, the places we’ve seen, the memories we’re creating... It’s more than I could have ever imagined.” 

As you spoke, you couldn’t help but glance sideways at Yoongi, catching the warmth in his eyes. In that fleeting moment, you felt a connection that transcended mere friendship. It was a shared understanding, a sense that this journey had the potential to change everything.

Yoongi’s gaze met yours, and a subtle smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of sentiment. “It’s been pretty special.”

“It’s been nice seeing the city,” you began, your voice carrying a sense of nostalgia for the urban adventures you’d shared, “but I really look forward to the more rural camping, like in a forest by a tranquil lake or something. To experience the ultimate relaxation, you know?” 

As the words left your lips, you couldn’t contain the excitement in your eyes. The mental image of a secluded forest, the scent of pine trees, and the gentle lapping of water against the shore made your heart race with anticipation. 

Yoongi turned to you, his gaze meeting yours. “I can already picture it,” he admitted, his voice laced with a sense of shared anticipation. 

“Just the sounds of nature, the crackling of a campfire, and the peace that comes with it. It sounds perfect.”

“Hmm, yeah,” you replied, nodding in agreement as you shared Yoongi’s appreciation for nature’s serenity over the bustling city. 

“I also prefer nature over the city. I think next week we’ll head to Hadong. There’s this stunning river surrounded by lush forests and pristine beaches. I’ve heard it’s incredibly beautiful,” Yoongi said, his voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

Yoongi’s comforting smile widened as he looked at you. 

“That sounds like the perfect destination,” you remarked, his eyes lighting up with a hint of adventure. “A serene river, the tranquility of the forest, and the endless beaches—what more could we ask for?” His words conveyed the shared excitement and a growing connection between the two of you, making the upcoming journey feel even more promising.

As you walked alongside Yoongi, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun, you found your thoughts drifting to uncharted territories. 

Have his lips always looked so soft and inviting? 

You couldn’t help but wonder, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

The gentle sway of the conversation and the captivating scenery seemed to fade into the background as your mind fixated on this newfound awareness. 

“And you’re fine with just the two of us camping together in a few weeks?” 

As the two of you continued walking, Yoongi’s question hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race at the thought of the upcoming weeks. His casual inquiry concealed a world of unspoken emotions. 

With a subtle smile playing on your lips, you met his gaze, locking eyes for a brief moment before answering, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, but your voice carries a hint of hesitation that lingers in the air. 

The uncertainty in your tone reflects the unspoken feelings you’ve been harboring. You wish you could say more, reveal the truth, but the fear of changing the dynamics of your friendship holds you back.

Yoongi offers a gentle smile, his eyes holding a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“We’re best friends,” you continued, your words tinged with a hint of longing that you couldn’t quite conceal. “I love spending time with you.”

→ Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think;  your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜 → Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts, @constancelayon, @wobblewobble822, @ktownshizzle, @moonchild1, @ultimatefangirl0, @baechugff, @jimintaemin, @parapiop7, @fckkntired, @iluvfndms, @citypop-princess, @tarahardcore, @massivelyfullenthusiast

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[dirtylittlefairytales]

Don't play with fire | - Part 1 - |

Authors Note: Hey. This is my first try ever writing in English, since it's not my first language. I read it over several times, hopefully to correct all mistakes. Also this is the first try of fanfiction since 2016. Sooo I appreciate feedback and let me know what you think.. Please be kind. 🙏🥹

Originally I wanted to write a short backstory, but I think it’s just going to be multiple parts if you want to read it. So see this as a kind of introduction. In further chapters I wanted to try myself to write my smut fantasies out. I'm also going to upload this later to Ao3 under the username Lorily96.

-> Writing in 'italic' is supposed to be the your thoughts

Warnings: Describing of a Panic attack, Age Gap (Legal)

Word count: 8k

Tagging: @a-movie-that-youve-never-seen, @amethystblackkchaos, @hereforthehitsbaby

Some people say life is a cruel joke. Unexpected twists and pain waiting around every corner. Some people say the glass is never empty and everything happens for a reason. You can learn from anything.  Everyone you meet is either there for a reason, for a season or... for ever. However the world is not black and white, sometimes there is no reason at all. You know how you sometimes laugh when something bad happens to a stranger or friend. Like their ice cream falling to the ground, seeing a cop writing a ticket for somebody else. I think ‘Life’ itself is bored just like us. That's why sometimes you feel like it’s only getting worse. Doesn’t matter what you do, there is no luck to be found. That's exactly how you felt that day. Just strings of bad luck and to this day you still question yourself. Why? Why didn’t you say something? Why did you do it? Why didn’t you walk away? How did all of this happen in the first place? The events of that day living rent-free in your head, keeping you up at night.

~ Sometimes Life has a dark and twisted humor. ~

All those overprotective dads, who only want the best for their daughter. Your dad was one of them. He always told you: "Be wary of strangers", "Never tell someone your name if you feel something is off", “Go with your gut feeling” and "don't go near the car of a stranger". Seriously, he had good points.

Unfortunately, he didn’t tell you what to do, when you suspect someone is a serial killer. Maybe running or keeping your nose out of the situation would have been a great option. Well, since daddy had been out of the picture since you were 12, maybe he would have some kind of advice for that. Your mom had found out he was cheating, and after the divorce, he cared more about his new girlfriend and son than you. Why care about the daughter you raised for 12 years, your beloved wife, when you can just throw it away and play happy family with the next woman you find.

At times, you wonder if that's the reason you had some kind of daddy issues. Perhaps you liked older men like him because of that. Even today, his face still haunts and excites you at the same time. Remembering how drawn you were to him. He was so charming and devilishly handsome. You felt sick and appalled at yourself for feeling this way. Everything he did, seemed to play into his hands. Who would suspect the nice and charming dad next door? How many times did you lay awake in bed at night, the events of that day replaying themselves over and over. Like a continuous loop with no escape… 

It felt like yesterday. The only reason you were at the concert in the first place was because one of the other guys quit a week before. You couldn’t even blame him, since your boss was a total dick. Ever since you started working in the company a year ago he was just looking for a reason to fire you. Always criticizing you, commenting when your bathroom break was too long. Wore a skirt? Too provocative. Wore a sweater? Be more professional. You could make a whole list of the things he pulled off. You fucking hated working in that place and even more to work outside or around many people. You chose to work in IT because you could work alone and in peace. 

Outside of work, you were a relatively social person. Many friends and people seemed to like you. Despite preferring to rather stay home alone, with your cat and books, you were surprisingly good at making conversations. It felt strange, kind of ironic. Life had a stupid sense of humor. Sometimes you even felt like you were good at reading people. Your mom called it your sixth sense.

Working at the arena for the concert was a real hassle. It was so stressful. Over a week before the actual concert there was already a meeting. Everybody working in the stadium that night was there. They didn’t reveal too much that day. Apparently the whole concert was also a trap for this serial killer? 

They called him - The Butcher 

You remember hearing and reading about him in the news. He had killed 12 people till now and the FBI was sure he was going to show up there. Everything was top secret, everyone had an extra card for controls during that day and a code word. On the day of the concert you arrived extra early to get the last directions for the day. They even told you what he potentially could look like.

Work was boring. The company you were working for was responsible for ensuring that all the screens, cameras were working, both on the outside and on the stage, that the wifi was stable and so on… not the hardest task. There also were others who ensured the overall technology and speakers worked, but that wasn’t your job. Most of the time you and your colleague were sitting backstage, talking shit about your boss and listening to the show, at least you were, because lovely colleague Eric would do most of the stuff alone. What a sweetheart, right?

It felt a bit bad taking advantage of him. You knew he had a big crush on you, he wasn’t exactly hiding it. Relaxing backstage appealed more to you. Therefore it was totally fine with your conscience. This job was a pain in the ass and you already started applying for new jobs. You just had to hang on for a few more weeks. Hoping you could quit soon and work in a non toxic environment.

The first half of the concert remained uneventful. Fortunately, because your room was in the backstage area, you even talked to Lady Raven for a bit on her break. She was so nice and friendly. On and off stage, her whole personality was the same. Which you found truly great, a person like that was hard to find nowadays. The thinker for example seemed like a total dick from what you saw. Lady Raven and you also had some similar interests, it was so easy to talk to her.After asking about it, she told you that they hadn’t found the Butcher yet. She even told you a few more details on how the police got the information of him being there. Before she left you wished her good luck with the rest of her show and went back to work for a bit. 

Later on during the second half of the show, you stepped near the stage. The atmosphere felt incredible. The lights, the performance on stage and the fans screaming and singing the songs of Lady Raven. How you wished to be standing in the crowd just vibing and dancing to the music instead of working. If it weren’t for all the extra police and security in the arena, it would be a normal concert. 

Slowly you started making your way backstage as you saw people approaching from the audience room. Honestly you weren’t keen on talking to many people. Lady Raven started talking and announcing her dreamer girl, Riley. That must be why the people came in from the audience. At the end of the stage you turned around again. On your former spot stood a man. He was tall, with a nice backside, no doubt the father of the dreamer girl, looking at the stage.  Though he seemed to take a quick look around every now and then. Looking at him, he didn’t look like he was having much fun being here. He looked rather stiff. As you started walking back in his direction to get a better look, Eric called you. Sighing, you turned around. As you were making your way backstage, you felt like someone was watching you. 

“Hey, somewhere outside, a monitor has a bluescreen. I'll quickly go fix it. The show is nearly over. After that, we can start with cleaning things up.” Eric told you, as you walked down the stairs towards him.

“Okay, do you need my help?” You asked him, pushing a blonde strand of hair behind your ear, batting your eyes at him, hoping he would say no. 

“No of course not! I can do it alone. The problem is not that hard.” he answered, trying to show off.

You smiled. “Okay great! Then, see you later.” 

You walked past him into the backstage area. It wasn't that you disliked him, he was nice for a work colleague. However, nothing more. For one you had not much in common besides work, and he was a pushover. You could not imagine being with a man who had no opinion and just waited for you say anything until he stated his opinion. 

‘Like have an opinion, Boy?’ Rolling your eyes at the mere thought of his personality, you grabbed yourself a drink and went back to your little break room.

There you waited for the concert to finish, which you knew shouldn’t take too long now. When you heard the last song finished you decided to grab your purse and go into the hallway. Considering it was too good of an opportunity to pass by. When would you ever see celebrities up so close again? Maybe you could ask Lady Raven for a selfie? Or an autograph? You weren’t the biggest fan, but there was a possibility you could sell that autograph later on.

Uncertain where to go, you stood in the hallway. Dancers ran past you. Nobody seemed to take much notice of you. Coming from the left, you saw the thinker walking towards you, and kind of flirting with someone behind him. ‘Spicy.’ A light chuckle escaped you. Curiosity filled your brain and you decided to head in the direction he came from.

In the middle of the hallway, where several corridors met, stood Riley, the dreamer girl and her dad. If you remembered her name correctly that is. You stopped walking and observed them quietly from a little further away. 

‘Did the Thinker flirt with him?’ Now that you got a better view of him, you found that theory pretty reasonable. It felt almost unfair how attractive he looked. 

‘Was he married? Presumably.’ Not that you would consider making a move, besides his daughter was standing right next to him. That would be so awkward. Also remembering, the last time you let someone in, things unraveled in ways that left you a bit guarded. Despite your people skills, your mom and you apparently both had a thing for cheaters. After a year of being single, you told yourself it was for the best. Except for your job, life was good– At least that's what you tried to tell yourself.

Nevertheless you would never have considered being attracted to older men. He was at least 10 years older than you, maybe more. You were 25, and he could easily be in his 30s or even early 40s. All of a sudden the profiler’s description came back into your head: tall, strong, dark hair... 

Even though you've never been overly spiritual, you did believe in a sixth sense. The longer you thought about it, him standing in that hallway backstage. The way he subtly kept looking around for a second. Nobody noticed. ‘Wait… Did he notice you watching them?’ 

Pulling out your phone, you started swiping and typing randomly. Trying to look busy. Your thoughts were racing. He matched the description perfectly, and here he was, casually joking with his daughter like he didn’t have a care in the world. Despite his friendly smile and demeanor, there was something unsettling about him—a bit too friendly, almost fake? 

After looking at him a bit more, it just clicked into place. You couldn’t shake off the feeling that that may be him, the Butcher. Until now they hadn't found him, not that you knew of. So they were still searching for him. People backstage were rarely searched, except when they wanted to leave the arena.

‘God, you should think rationally. Could that really be him? Still he seemed normal…’

Except the look in his eyes. That look gave you unpleasant goosebumps. You grew anxious, you knew where the camera room was. Police officers were definitely going to be there and maybe the profiler was there. Then you could ask her if the man had been checked by security or talk to her about your uneasy feeling. 

Unfortunately you would have to pass him to get to the camera office. If he hadn't noticed you before, he certainly would then. Could you keep your cool? It didn’t matter. You knew you would overthink it in the evening, you had to do it. Your heart was starting to pound audibly in your chest. 

‘Deep breaths–

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Close your eyes, take a deep breath and go. Don't panic.’ Grabbing your phone tightly in your hand, you started walking. 

As you approached them, Lady Raven emerged from her dressing room and started talking to Riley. She was so happy, grinning from ear to ear. As they chatted happily, the dad leaned forward and whispered something to Lady Raven that you couldn't make out. 

As soon as you heard her tell his daughter that they would talk shortly, alarm bells were going off in your head. Your brain stopped working, and your legs and mouth moved on their own. You felt a certain hero complex activating within you. ‘What if he was the Butcher? There was a possibility’

You felt uncomfortable leaving her alone with him. Something felt off. Before they could leave, you sprinted the last few meters towards them. Trying to cry on arrival. 

“Lady Raven, hay… I eh.. I.. I don't... Could I.. could I talk to you for a second? Please, I don't know what to do.. I–” you sniffled. You tried your best to cry. ‘Come one, you could lie better than that’, you thought angrily at yourself. ‘Who would believe you like this?’ This wasn’t going to be the first lie you ever told. You even lied on your last résumé. 

She immediately turned around her face full of concern and worry. For a second you thought you saw his jaw tensing and left eye twitch. ‘Did you imagine it? ‘

“Oh no. Hey, what's going on? You’re Y/N, right? We met earlier.” You nodded your head, keeping the hand over your lower face, while trying to remain in tears. For once, you were glad that you chose to wear your hair open today. Your long blond locks shielded your face even more from the prying eyes around you. 

“What's going on? Are you alright? Did something happen?” She asked more and more questions, putting her hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you.

“There was an accident, I...“ You just kept mumbling incomprehensible nonsense. Still shaking, sobbing, trying not to look up. You didn't even know what to do, what to say. 

“Hay, ehm… I’m so sorry. Could you give us a second? I will be right back. It won’t take long.." she said, apologizing to the two of them. 

“Of course, no problem. This seems serious! Take your time.”, said the man, his voice laced with concern.

‘Why did he sound so genuine, like he is truly concerned? Maybe I judged him too fast?‘

Gently Lady Raven took one of your hands and started to lead you away. It didn’t matter anyway, there was no going back. Now you need to play your outburst to the end and come up with a plausible story. While she brought you into her dressing room, it felt as if someone was staring holes into your back. 

After the door closed, you immediately felt more at ease. Bit by bit you tried to calm yourself. At least that was what it seemed on the outside. You don’t remember much of what you told her, some kind of sob story. The first idea that came into your mind. About your dad having a car accident. The whole car crashed... With your car being parked further away from the arena and you were so afraid your dad could die. That you at worst wouldn't make it to the hospital in time with all the police controls going on in and outside the arena. 

You cried, trying to think your story would be about your mom and not your dad. Which did the trick and made you sad. Being the kind person she is, Lady Raven suggested that you could drive with her in her limo, so you didn't have to go through the queues or security, and she would take you to the hospital or your car. You thanked her over and over again, as you wiped your tears away. 

How high was the possibility that the dad would like to briefly speak to Lady Raven again, when you went in the hallway again? Then everything would have been in vain. However you could’t pressure her. Something came over you, so you suggested that perhaps the other two could join them. Maybe they could also drive in the car? You tried explaining your suggestion somewhat rationally. That way she can still talk with the dad,

you would feel extremely bad if you kept her from talking to her fans. You didn’t want to cause any more trouble. 

Surprisingly, that seemed to work? No further persuasion was necessary. Which left you very surprised and perplexed. Was she truly such a kind person? Who was so trusting? Especially with everything that was going on here today. ‘Did she have such a shielded and good life, that she blindly believed you?’ You wondered.

‘Unimaginable…that could not be the case. You didn’t believe there were any truly good people left in this world.’

After another minute of collecting yourself, you went after Lady Raven. She had already gone ahead and had already told them the short version of what was going on, when you arrived. Asking them if they wanted to come too, so she and the dad could have their talk. She was way too kind and somewhat naive to even suspect you’d be lying. You almost felt ashamed of yourself, even stupid. What were you even doing?

The daughter gasped and tried not to jump up and down in joy, the way she gripped her dad's arm. She seemed to be torn between worrying about you and happiness. By being asked to drive with Lady Raven, her seemingly favorite artist in the world. She was honored and extremely happy for a few seconds, then she stopped and looked at you sympathetically. 

“I’m so sorry about the thing with your dad...” Nodding weakly at her, trying to keep your act up, you gave her a half smile. Unknowingly to you, you had started twisting the ring on your middle finger. A Tic. Something you always did when you're stressed out or nervous. 

The ring was nothing special. A plain black ring with some Greek numbers on it. A gift from your mom; from the only holiday you ever had taken outside the USA and since you were eighteen, there was hardly a day you didn’t wear it. 

“Why don’t we lead the way? That way, we can talk.” said Lady Raven and gestured to the man. 

“Yes of course... I mean, the circumstances are not the best, but thank you for considering Riley and me. We appreciate it.” He replied, looking concerned but with something unreadable in his eyes that made you want to look anywhere but at him. 

“It is no problem at all. Actually it was Y/N here suggesting it. She would have felt bad if we hadn't been able to have our conversation because of her.”

He raised a brow at you. “That is so thoughtful and kind of you to still think of others. Something really rare these days”

As he walked past you, he briefly touched your shoulder, making you nearly jump out of your skin. “And I’m really sorry about your dad. I hope he pulls through. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help” he smiled kindly at you.. 

“Yes, I hope so too. Thank you…” You trailed off, realizing you didn’t know his name. 

“Oh I didn’t even introduce myself. I'm Cooper, just call me Cooper.” holding out his hand.

“Well, thank you Cooper. Also, for your offer, maybe I will come back to that." you shook his hand. He had a firm, but not to strong grip. 'so he was married'

"Let’s get going, please.” Somewhere in between Cooper coming close to you, you almost forgot that you had a mission to get to the hospital fast. Daddy dearest was waiting.

He nodded and as he passed you, walking ahead, you suddenly realized just how big that man was. You hadn't even noticed it before. However, standing right next to him you realized it. He was at least 6′2″, not overly muscular, but also not skinny either. Lady Raven seemed tiny next to him, and you weren’t tall yourself—maybe around 5′5″ on a good day. 

Still, something about his vibe felt off. He seemed caring, yet on the other hand, almost relieved—or amused? 

Riley and you walked a bit behind the two to the cat, nobody had to go through any controls. Riley was such a sweet girl, asking you questions or talking about the concert to ‘take your mind off of your situation’. She was so nice. You kind of wish that you had a little sister like her, but no, you only had a half brother. The only reason he ever contacted you was for money from our grandparents' inheritance.

It was only when you reached the end of the corridor, you noticed Cooper looking over his shoulder. One corner of his mouth pulled upwards and his expression changed. Something sinister in his eyes for a split second. So fast that you were doubting yourself again.

Near the limousine, you felt your phone vibrating, probably Eric wanting to ask where you were. You had no time for that now. Shaking your head, you declined the call and started to write to him, saying that an emergency had come up and you would be back later. You didn’t notice that you arrived at the car until someone cleared their throat in front of you.  

Fuck, you almost ran directly into Cooper. Lady Raven and Riley had already gone inside. He looked at me expectantly, a small smile at his lips. You quickly locked your phone and held it up. “Sorry, my… Sister. She gave me the latest updates on our dad.." you explained, the lies just kept rolling off your tongue, and you just hoped they sounded believable. With that you went straight to the car, without waiting for a response. 

Maybe you should have started an acting career… 

You quickly sat down in the car, with Cooper following shortly after you. Keeping your phone in your hand to secretly keep twisting your ring behind it.

This guy was making you so nervous, not only him but also the lies. You even thought you heard a small deep chuckle from behind you, maybe it was just your nerves? The car started moving. You wondered what they talked about… What did he want to talk about to her? 

Lady Raven's voice brought you out of your thoughts. “Y/N, where should I let you out? You remember where you parked your car? Or should we drive directly to the hospital?” 

Car yeah… you almost laughed. You knew exactly where your car was, a few miles away at the mechanic, because your lights weren’t working. Why hadn’t you thought of that. 

“Eh no, no! Just let me know where my car is. It’s a few blocks away. At this free parking space. There’s my car; let me look up the street real quick…” That wasn't a complete lie. Normally, you would park your car there, because it was just cheaper than parking near or in the stadium. Now just your bike was parked there, well, if nobody had stolen it.

You started to unlock your phone to look up the address. A large hand grabbed your hand with your phone to stop you. Before you could even protest or say something, Cooper started talking in his chipper, happy voice. 

“Really? What a coincidence! I think that should be the same parking lot where Riley and I parked my car earlier. I do know the address, it’s just around the corner.  You don't have to look it up.” Lady Raven pressed a button and Cooper told the chauffeur where to go. The address did sound somewhat familiar. You pulled your phone and hand out of his grip. There wasn't much resistance and he put his hands back into his lap. 

You looked back at Riley and Lady Raven, they were deeply engaged in a conversation with each other. Noticing nothing around the. The phone in your hand started ringing again, and you quickly looked at the screen. This time, it was your boss; should you just accept the call? You did not get much time to think about it. 

“Have you heard anything yet?”, came Riley’s question towards you. 

You started twisting your ring again. 

“Ah yes, yes… My brother texted me..” your breath caught in your throat. Realizing you messed up. ‘Didn’t you just say to Cooper that it was your sister? Maybe he didn't notice. Good thing you hadn’t pursued your acting career…‘

“...and the doctor said it doesn’t look critical. Our dad seems stable at the moment… but he needs to be operated on quickly.. I'm sure I will get more information as soon as…” 

All of a sudden the whole car jolted to a stop, followed by wild car honking. You tried to find your footing, unintentionally gripping onto Cooper's thigh. Right before you could fall off your seat a hand pressed against your shoulder and pushed you back into the seat. You dug your nails even more into his thigh. Riley's bags tipped forward and many of the contents scattered a little on the floor. “Sorry, Lady Raven. The car in front of us braked abruptly." The driver apologized. 

“Everyone alright?” Cooper asked, concern dripping in his voice. 

“All good” said Riley and Lady Raven nodded. 

“Yes, I think so..” you  breathed. He came closer pushing a loose strand behind your ear. A blush crept on your face. After another second, you noticed your hand was still on his thigh, and you blushed even more. 

“Oh I’m sorry!” You exclaimed in a panic. He smiled kindly. 

“No problem. I’m glad nobody got hurt.” Then he got up from his seat to help Riley pick her things back up and put them back into the bags. 

Your phone began to ring again. ‘It’s now or never; it would only get worse.’

With a sigh, you picked up the phone and immediately held the phone as far away as possible from your ear. A loud voice screaming through the speaker. Seemed like your boss just started screaming at you at the top of his lungs. 

You mouthed a quick ‘Sorry’ to the others in front of you. He kept on screaming, ranting about how you were not at work and how he always knew you were a lazy piece of shit. He should have fired me months ago… The list goes on.

As Cooper sat back down. You tried to move your body back in the direction of your phone. Seeing as you didn't want to be too close to Cooper. He didn't seem to mind and put a calming hand on your knee this time. Your mind seemed to go fuzzy when you got near him.

Overall this was not your day, your nerves were all over the place. Your feelings felt like they were on a rollercoaster. You still weren't sure if your gut feeling was right… but you also didn't want to find out. All the lies you told today and now your boss is screaming at you? It was just too much. Clenching your fist and putting the phone near your ear again. 

“I quit.” were the only words you said, dry of any emotion. 

“What did you say?” came the angry reply. 

“I quit” Hot tears were forming in your eyes, Cooper gently started to caress your knee. “i’m so fucking done. You don't know what I am going through right now! Someone could die, and you don't even let me explain myself. So go to hell, and I fucking quit.” Enraged, you ended the call and immediately blocked his number. 

You put your head in your hands and sigh. 

“I'm sorry… Sorry, you had to hear that. Everything goes wrong…” And with that, a sob escapes you. 

‘Nobody can see my face, right? So maybe act even more sad? ‘

This whole day was a curse, why were you even here? Because you felt bad vibes from the dilf next to you? You just wanted to laugh over the whole situation. 

‘You were fucking stupid and now jobless. Great work. Just because you wanted to play the hero, because of a stupid gut feeling. He was a normal dad. Not the Butcher. ‘ 

“Don't think like that. You said it yourself; your dad is stable, so that's a good thing. Maybe I can help you get a new job!” Lady Raven is really trying to cheer you up. 

Someone rubbed your back gently, and there was only one person who could do that. You tried your hardest to ignore his comforting touch. 

“Hay Y/N, I know you just met us, and you don't know me. But I bet a girl like you will easily find a new job. You seem like a good person. If you tell me in which field you work, I'm sure I could help. See if someone I know is hiring. How does that sound?” Cooper really tried to comfort you. He was so sympathetic and strangely charming. 

A small laugh escapes you. "Yes, I probably will..” You wipe away your angry tears’. 

“I mean… I already sent out job applications. I wanted to leave anyway, maybe I will get a job here in Philly or maybe where my mom lives. She lives more in the suburbs, like an hour away I think…” you paused. 

‘Why did you suddenly decide to tell him so much about yourself? Didn't you want to keep a low profile and not give too much real information?‘

This guy certainly knew how to make people talk. About everything, even things they may not want to share and then do without even realizing it. ‘Fuck’

“See! Now you're even smiling again. You just need to see the positive things.” With that, he squeezed your shoulder lightly and withdrew his hand from your back. Making you almost miss the comfort and warmth they had brought you. 

Stop crushing on the hot dad next to you! You tried to remind yourself and also remember all the things you thought were off with him.

“We're here,” the chauffeur announced. Great, finally. This car ride felt like an eternity. 

Cooper and Riley got out of the car first, and they said their goodbyes. Riley, of course, needed one last hug, and Cooper simply thanked her again for what she did for Riley. Before you got out of the car, Lady Raven pulled you in for a hug. 

“Please keep me updated on how things are at the hospital and if you need something. Just text me.” She pulled out her phone and pulled up Instagram. 

“Just search for your username, and I'll add you. That way, we can keep in touch.” 

You nodded and put in your name, and handed the phone back to her. 

“Thank you.. so much. Again. I'm so sorry for any inconvenience I caused. I won't forget this. Thank you! Next time, I’ll be in the front row singing your songs.” 

She laughed at that and nodded. While stepping outside the car, you crossed both fingers that the other two were gone.

Unfortunately, Cooper and his daughter waited for you. You had thought that by staying longer in the car, they would be gone already. No lucky day for you

You scanned the parking lot, and of course, your bike was stolen. The universe was just being cruel now. 

“So let us walk you to your car!” Cooper was way too happy, waving the limousine of Lady Raven goodbye. “Sure..” You started walking towards the cars. 

You were clueless on how to get out of this situation. Abruptly stopping, you looked around. 

“I don't see my car..” you say while looking around again. You sigh extra loudly. 

“Fuck me..”

“Your car got towed?” Cooper 

“Maybe” a dry laugh escapes you. 

“Or maybe with everything going on and all the things that were going on at the concert, I… just forgot where I parked my car.” You ran your fingers through your hair. 

"Well, if you tell me which hospital you need to go to, I'm certain Riley and I can make a little detour on our way home. Right Riley?” Riley nodded. 

“Of course, I’d be happy if we could help you out” she said, hopeful.

Right… the hospital. You should get better at remembering your lies. You were torn between keeping your lie up or simply turning around and walking away. 

You didn’t know what to do. Cooper seemed a bit strange at times, but he could not be the Butcher, right? Still while looking at him you felt like something didn't add up. Sometimes… you didn’t know how to describe it… He felt too perfect, too caring or too sweet. Maybe that was just who he was? You were lost in thought.. The look in his eyes was making you feel a bit uneasy. 

All of a sudden, Cooper's hand was behind your back, and he slowly pushed you forward. “If you can't decide, I will decide for you. Going to the hospital should be the most important thing. So we'll drive you and then you can worry about your car later. Okay?” 

You nodded your head at his idea, simply because you didn't trust your words at the moment. His hand wandered up to your shoulder, where he kept a firm grip and pushed you in the direction of his car. 

Riley was already running in front of you. You winced under his touch, did he know his own strength? You wondered. He certainly didn't look that strong. He opened the car a few meters away so Riley could already put her bags in the trunk. 

A black van

You suddenly remembered what Eric told you about the profiler, she suspected the Butcher to drive a car like this? 

Your body tensed up, and you felt like the pressure on your shoulder increased, which was almost painful. Surely that was going to bruise . Cooper opened the back door for you like you were a child being escorted home. You tried to muster your best friendly face before you sat down inside. 

“Thank you... Have you had this car for a long time?” You asked before you could stop yourself. Cooper raised an eyebrow, clearly pondering the question before answering. 

“Yes, I have had it for quite a few years now. Why are you asking?” Should you just tell him? 

It was just the trip to the hospital.. then you would never have to see them again. You could not fuck up even more than you already had, and until now, it was just an uneasy gut feeling. Also, you were trying to move back to your mom, who was at least an hour away. 

“No real reason.. Just that profiler from the concert. She talked so much, about everything and also about cars... especially mentioning a car like this, which could potentially be the car of a-… killer.” 

He only stared at you. 

‘Did you say something wrong? Maybe you’re the weird one now.’ Nervously rubbing your neck, you tried to lighten the mood with a laugh. 

Thankfully, Riley was just on her way to the passenger seat. She didn't hear her, no need to scare her. You didn’t think she knew about what was going on behind the scenes of the concert. 

“So maybe you should switch it up? But maybe she was just talking nonsense..” you tried to diffuse the situation, massaging your sore shoulder. 

Cooper smiled and laughed softly. "Well, thanks for the tip. I thought about getting a new car. Maybe I should finally get one. More family friendly, any ‘smart’ suggestions perhaps?” - 

“Hmm..maybe just something smaller, maybe in white, silver, or another color? Definitiv not black..” you smile. 

“Great. I will keep that in mind when I buy a new car.” he smiled back at you and closed the door, and got in the driver's seat. He seemed like he wanted to ask more questions, tapping his finger on the steering wheel. 

Quickly, you got your phone out and searched for a hospital near you. You found one which was 15 minutes away. When Cooper started the car you leaned forward, so much that your head nearly reached his shoulder and you could smell his aftershave. ‘He even smelled good.’ You showed him your phone. 

“Here, that's the hospital where I need to go.” He slightly turned around to get a better look at the screen. 

“Can I?” He gestured to the phone. “Just to get a better look.” 

You gulped, a nervous feeling growing in your stomach. “Yeah sure..” 

He didn’t even wait for your reply and grabbed the phone. 

“You got some kind of privacy screen on here?” he asked with a raised brow. 

Oh yeah, how could you forget, and here you thought he wanted to take your phone from you. When he couldn’t even see the screen. 

“Yeah! Sorry, I totally forgot. My boss had cameras everywhere in the building, I got a bit paranoid, so I bought one of those..” you laughed. 

“He doesn’t sound very nice. Maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have to work there anymore!” replied Riley. 

“Yeah.. maybe”

“You could just work at my school, our teacher for IT sucks..” 

Cooper glanced at her disapprovingly, slowly shaking his head.  “Riley…”- 

"Sorry, dad, it's the truth. He lives in the past. No one uses Windows XP anymore." Riley grumbled. 

Cooper started the car, and Lady Raven's music was playing loudly over the speakers before he turned the volume down. After a few minutes of driving and Riley vibing to the music, Cooper cleared his throat. 

"Here, you can have your phone back. Oh and I took the liberty of saving my number on your phone. That way, if you ever need anything or some help finding your car later, you can just give me a quick call.” 

What the fuck. He did what now?

He smiled at you through the rearview mirror, his eyes watching you closely. Carefully, you grabbed your phone out of his hands. 

“That's so… thoughtful. Thank you” You tried to put a smile on your face. 

"So, Riley, how did you like the concert?” You tried changing the topic. Oh boy, that worked. Riley started rambling about everything, including how cool it was to be on stage with Lady Raven. Unconsciously, you found yourself smiling a real smile, she was just so cute. Your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror every so often, and as soon as you met Cooper's eyes, you looked back at Riley. Let’s not get lost because of his good looks. You still felt uneasy.  

You tried telling yourself in your head. Somehow, you felt like a prey being watched by his predator. Once in a while you felt like his expression would flicker for a split second, his eyes becoming way darker, but it was gone so soon. You weren’t even sure if you saw it correctly or if it was your imagination. Even though the feeling was only there for a split second, He looked so friendly, encouraging Riley to talk more. 

Finally, you could make out the hospital in the distance. About time, you thought. 

“Hey Y/N?” Riley asked. 

“Yes?”- 

“Maybe when your dad is better again, you can visit us? I feel so bad for you. Today should have been a great day. _You seem really cool… I mean, your dad and family can come too..Right dad?” Cooper smiled and nodded. 

“Great, Like a family dinner, my mom is a great cook.” So he was married. “I just would like to do something nice for you.” Oh god, the world didn’t deserve her kindness. 

“Of course, you don't have to feel compelled to do so. Think about it, you don’t have to decide now..” Cooper interjected. 

“The two of you are too kind. I can't,” more like won't, “give you an answer right now, but I promise to think about it. Okay?” You fake-gushed at the two, your face hurting from keeping the smile on your face. 

Both Cooper and Riley seemed satisfied with the answer. You felt like you were in the wrong movie, was there a hidden camera somewhere? You arrived within the next minute. Cooper parked his car near the emergency exit. One moment away from freedom, away from this lie. 

“I can’t really thank you enough. Thanks for driving me here. I hope you had a great day. Have a safe drive home.” You tried opening the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “Oh, child safety must be on. I’m sorry, I forgot.” apologized to Copper and exited the van to open your door. You didn’t believe him, it just matched too well. 

“I hope you get good news inside. Dad acted really strange today, but I’m happy everything is normal again.” she smiled, before you could answer, and your door opened. 

Daddy is acting strange today. You don’t say…  

“Well, bye, Riley.” You waved at her and got out and barely got your hand out of the doof before Cooper shut it close. 

“I’m so glad we could help you.” he said with that charming voice of his. He started to walk with you towards the building. “With all the extra police force, because of the Butcher, it could have taken you at least an hour to get here.”

“That's true. Well maybe next time he shouldn't let his recipes laying around in his hideouts. What does he even want at a pop concert?” you snorted. 

“Did he now?” Cooper asked intrigued.

“At least that's what I overheard from a few higher up people today.”, no way you were saying that it was Lady Raven who told you.

“Seems like he needs to be cleaner and more careful.”

“If not, they might just catch him next time,” you joked.

“I don't think that will happen, sweetheart.” His mouth twitched in amusement.

That was a weird response. He must have seen the frown on your face, as he quickly started to explain himself.

“I mean if they didn't catch him today, while they knew he was going to be there. I think the chances of the police finding him again are relatively close to zero.” His reply sounded reasonable. 

“Well yes, but he fucked up once. Maybe he is getting sloppy with time. Nobody knows.” 

His jaw clenched. “You think so? Maybe you're misinterpreting the situation. I would imagine someone like him to be very calculated.  Otherwise the police would have found him already, if he was being sloppy.”

“True…” You shrugged your shoulders. Maybe you were wrong, but why did he sound somewhat angry at your statement?

He was honestly acting strange now. 

“Well I think this is where I leave you.” Cooper announced after a few seconds of silence. His behavior over the last meters made you feel unsettled again. He seemed strange. ‘Why was he like that?’ 

“Okay…”, should you with your gut feeling, you wondered? Fuck it, it was just a guess, a wild guess. You always knew your big mouth would get you into trouble someday. Maybe he was just a normal dad and you were overthinking the situation. If that was the case, he wouldn’t think anything of it.

“By the way B-...Cooper” you began, and Cooper turned around in a second, looking at you expectantly, one of his brows raised. His face was unreadable. “You're welcome.. You know that? For getting to drive with Lady Raven"—for  getting out of there without the security controls - was what you wanted to say. Even if he were the Butcher his facial expressions and body language didn't betray him. He smiled and stepped back toward you. Every bone in your body wanted to run. ‘Fuck, did this creep you out.’ You felt like you were pushing your luck today 

“Yes.. of course. I am very grateful for that…” Before he could say anymore, Riley pulled down the window. 

“Dad! Let's go home! Y/N needs to go to the hospital! And I want to tell mom all about the concert!” 

“She's right. I don't want to keep you from your father any longer. I bet your sister is waiting for you. Better go inside.” ‘He knew, he knew you lied when you fucked up with the sister and brother thing.’ Panic started to set in, you swallowed hard, your throat dry.

He came even closer and engulfed you in a tight hug. You stood there, frozen in place. He leaned his head down to your ear, his hands holding you even tighter. One of them slowly wandered to your lower back while he talked.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You sure made it easier. I’m sure Spencer will be soo grateful. I’ll let you know…” a dark chuckle escaped him.

“It's a small world. I'm sure we will see each other again.” His deep voice whispered in your ear, which sent shivers down your spine. You felt trapped. Like a tiny mouse next to him, holding your breath unintentionally. He patted you on the back. Smiling, he stepped away. 

‘Breathe– mask your emotions. Get a grip.’ Many different thoughts running through your head.

Tilting your head to your side you looked at him. Moreover you were confused. Even a tiny bit scared.

‘Please don’t let him notice. Who was Spencer? Did you know Spencer?’

Furrowing your brows you asked “Spencer?” your voice slightly quivering.

He grinned even more— it looked unnerving. It was replaced by a much friendlier smile after another second. “Don’t worry about it.” 

‘Were you imagining things? Now you knew why people said “don't play with fire.” Why had you said anything at all...’

His voice became louder, having that charming undertone again “and make sure to call sweetheart. Riley would be very happy if you came over.” Winking at you he turned around and walked back to his car. 

You felt like your chest was about to explode.

“Yes! Once your dad's out of the hospital and things settle down, Make sure to call my dad. Then we can have a fun dinner.” giggling Riley's voice went even higher. She was practically shifting in her seat, unable to sit still. 

‘Fun dinner? Yeah.. sureeee kid..’

You mustered your best smile and gave her a thumbs up. 

“I will kiddo. See you around.” trying to steady your voice. You needed to get away fast. turned around and walked towards the hospital, near the end you were almost running. 

Once inside, you had the feeling that it was getting harder and harder to breathe. As if you weren't getting enough air. Your breathing became more and more rapid. Your vision was blurred. 

‘Was this hyperventilation? What was going on? Was he really the Butcher? Were you right? Would you die next? Maybe he would keep you alive because you unintentionally helped him?’

Anxiety welled up inside you. You barely noticed the loud voices around you. 

‘Did you hear someone calling for help?’

You had the feeling that the world was spinning around you. ‘Were you still walking?’ It felt like your legs were made out of jelly.

Someone was talking to you, holding you by the shoulders. Shaking you. Waving something in front of your face. However, you couldn’t make out the words. You couldn't recognise the face in front of you. Everything sounded dull, like it was far far away. The world became increasingly blurred before your eyes, spinning more and more– 

until you finally gave in and everything went dark. 

[ugh-yoongi]

about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter.  Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

[yaut-jaknowit]

Perhaps the reader is teasing Vic’tao too much, maybe it’s time he truly gets his revenge lol. 🤔 I wonder just how good he is at tying rope

Pushed Too Far

Pairing: Vic'tao (male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: rough sex (like I may have gone a little overboard), P in V, P in A, anal, kind of painal, rope usage on reader, pain kink, rough fingering, consent. (I may write rough scenes but there's always consent between my characters. Said in the one-shot or not.)

Word Count: 3457

Summary: Vic'tao is peacefully catching up with a few hunt brothers before you come along. You sneak into the cockpit and distract him from his friends. Oh, how you will pay for that.

Author Note: I just came to realization that consent isn't always said in my writings. I will state that consent between my characters is always there. It may or may not be said in a one-shot but it is there. I do try to make sure there is a subtle pause to show in rough scene that the Yautja or reader is cared for, no matter what.

Masterlist

Ao3

In the cockpit of the ship, sat the handsome, lean form of Vic’tao. His off yellow scales covered his hide. He relaxed into a comfortable position in the co-pilots chair. One arm holding up his head. His bright eyes observing the screen of three other Yautjas. A smirk spread across your features.

Best of all Uihoy wasn’t here to interfere. Depends on his mood to either join in on the torment or tell you not to.

Since living on the ship for the last two years, you’ve learned the ins and outs of the space. You carefully lowered yourself down and snuck around the edge of the cockpit. All while staying out of his and the camera’s line of sight. He may be a hunter, but you know him well enough to be stealthy.

It works. You crawled underneath the main console and began to move closer to Vic’tao. He may not look entirely engrossed in what the three other Yautjas were speaking about, he was pay attention. That much could be told by just his eyes alone. They were zeroed in on the screen. Perfect. You continued on and crawled all the way to his seat. He never once changed his gaze.

Within those two years, they have taught you useful skills as a hunter. Skills you used to sneak forward on your knees until you were knelt between his open legs. This was always a sight you loved to see. The handsome face of your mate above you. You smiled then gingerly placed your hands on his knees. He jerked at the touch, head whipping down to find you.

That curl of your lips was dangerous. The yellow Yautja relaxed in front of the camera. His free hand dipped down to rest on top of your hand on his leg. You leaned forward and placed a kiss against the inside of his softer thighs. The muscles underneath your touch tensed.

His finger twitched against your wrist, nails slightly digging into feeble skin. Another kiss to the tense muscles had one of his mandibles quaking. He may be a hunter in a lot of ways but his strength leans at your gentle caresses.

The intensity of his eyes met yours. Warnings floating around in the yellow irises. Warnings you’ve never listened to once in your life.

When you leaned down again, you ran your tongue up a few inches. The hand on your hand snatched the top of your hair and pulled you off. All in his eyes shone need. A need for you. You airily giggle and stuck out your tongue at him. Vic’tao lifted his head off of his other hand and stuffed two fingers into your mouth.

You choked on the two long digits invading your mouth and swallowed awkwardly around him. Vic pushed down on your tongue. Your mouth was forced open. A hum sounded from the male before his attention snapped back to the three Yautjas beginning to chitter. You only knew some of language to understand they were teasing Vic.

The sound you had made reached the microphone and relayed to them. Vic’tao grumbled and rolled his eyes but refused to take his fingers out. Drool began to drip down your chin, unable to swallow properly.

“I wanna see the beaut that has Vic’s attention,” one taunted in a deep voice. “Why don’t you show them off? Fuck them on the chair you’re on?” Your eyes snapped wide while gazing up at Vic, wondering if he would just that.

A resonating snarl ripped from the tall male above you. His fingers gripped the strands of your hair tighter. “Don’t even imagine what they look like. They are ours.” Your core fluttered around nothing. Fuck, you loved when he got possessive with you. The marks they permanently scarred your skin with are a clear sign that you belonged to them. As much as they belonged to you.

“Look at little Vic, showing his nature off,” another jesters and laughs. Neither Vic or Uihoy would allow for another to see you naked. It is their privilege; one you agree with. Only they are allowed to see every inch of you.

The screen disappears before your very eyes. Vic’s mandibles are wide in a display. He drags his fingers out of your mouth and wraps that hands around throat. Despite the trust in him, you couldn’t help but grasp at his wrist. Your nails dig into his scales, unable to break the surface let alone leave a dent in their wake.

Vic drags you to your feet and bends down to push his face into yours. “Little hunter grew brave today. But will come to learn how much of a mistake that will be,” he rumbled and squeezed around your neck, fortifying his words. You held back a giddy smile and looked at him with wide eyes. “Fight me all you want, but you are begging for this.”

Instantly, you knew you were in deep.

Your scalp is released. He leads you out of the cockpit and towards the bedroom door. His steps are long and quick, forcing you to stumble and rely on his hold to keep you upright.

Once in the confinements of your shared bedroom, he shoves you back and let’s go. You are finally free. Or are you? The look in his eyes increases, showering you in a predator expression. A shudder runs along your spin. You felt like prey but you weren’t going to run away.

His fist slams against the keypad by the door, officially locking us in here together. Vic stalks to the side, towards one of the hidden compartments around the room. “That was sneaky of you.” The cabinet opens at a single touch. “To come while I was distracted by some of my old hunt brothers.” He grabs something colorful before it’s hidden by his torso. “Then to tease me, knowing I couldn’t expose you. I would never expose you in front of anyone besides myself and Uihoy.”

He spins on his heel to face. Rope was held in his large hands. “It irks me they dared to ask such a thing. Only your skin is for our eyes to see.” He stalked towards you in a slow, deilbrate manner. Every one step, you took two backwards. “I will punish you. You don’t get to tease me and walk away freely.” A smirk pulled at his mandibles. “I should say, you won’t be able to walk at all.”

Your back met the smooth, cool wall, shoulders jumping. Vic stood less than ten feet away before he ate up every foot between the two of you. His torso trapped you to the wall, officially pinning you in place. You had no place to run to.

Two fingers pinched your chin and tugged it up to face him. Your hands were splayed on the wall, frozen in place. His other hand trapped your neck. That’s when your own wrapped around his wrist, nails again biting into thick skin. The Yautja chuckled lowly into your ear. “Give me a good fight, little hunter,” he purred. The vibrations caused goosebumps to appear on your arms.

He wants you to fight him, like a female would.

A brow was raised at him before you locked down. One foot kicked out struck a softer area on the inner thighs. He grunts, hand loosening. You took the chance to force his hand off of you and kicked him in the torso. Vic stumbles back and stands up straight. A glint enters his yellow eyes. You forcefully swallow down a growing lump.

Vic’tao lunges. You roll just in time out of the way and scramble away from him. He follows. Like a game of cat and mouse. Every time he would attempt to grab you, you would dodge barely in time. He growls his frustration after the fourth time.

“Such a good game. Able to stay away but for how long can you keep this up?” His claws skate across your arm, leaving nothing in their wake. “Soon you’ll tire.” His heavily body crashes you to the floor and captures both of your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head. Vic leans down. “Then, you’ll be at my mercy.” His long, skinny tongue licks up a bead of sweat rolling down your face.

Despite the weight difference, he uses just enough to keep you pinned in place to the hard, metal floors. Your legs kick out, kneeing him in the back. But, he just uses his lower legs to trap your thighs, effectively trapping you.

His palm touches your sternum and dipped down a little before ensnaring your throat again. “Remember the time you had tied me up? Remember that? When you had the time to do anything you wanted?” Your lips pressed into a tight line. That’s why he pulled out the rope. “I think it’s your turn.”

Your breath came out in shuttering pants.

You were turned onto your stomach before he slipped off to be knelt at your side. “Now, be a good little ooman,” he purred deeply before maneuvering you into position. The fight had left you. You wanted to experience what he was about to punish you with.

He put you on your knees, chest pressed to them with your arms back. With the rope, he tied both your forearms and calves to one another. This forced your ass up into the air to keep a more comfortable position.

One of his hands caress the swell of your butt cheek then grabbed a handful. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you. “This is a sight to behold, little hunter. Bent over and at my mercy. Paya smiles down on me today.” His hand lands beside your head as he curls over your back. His mouth next to your ear. In a low voice, he whispers, “Say red and I’ll immediately cut the ropes off.”

“Okay,” you responded quietly as well. He hummed then returned to his knees. Both of his hands touched the small of your back and ran up its length. All of your clothing still hugged your body.

This isn’t the first nor will it be the last he’ll have you tied at his mercy. Your empty cunt fluttered around nothing as he touched you in a non-sexual way. “Do you know the ways I could take you? And there is nothing you could do to stop me. These ropes far too thick for you to break.” The back of your shirt was crumbled then torn straight off of you.

A gasp tore at your throat. Not that you were surprised. It seemed to be a favorite thing for the two of them. “Vic’tao!” you scolded and pulled on the ropes but they didn’t even groan in protest. Fuck, he’s got these on there tightly.

“Hmm, much better.” He drags his claws over your exposed back. You tried to arch away from him but couldn’t due to the position he’s tied you in. They never cut. He hooked a claw on the waistband of your shorts and pulled. It tears through the fabric easily.

You whined at the feeling of being so exposed to him and tried to inch forward away from him. Until he palms at your soaked underwear. All movement stops. Only thing you could hear is the thundering of your heart and his deep laugh. He hooks a finger around the section blocking off your pussy and pulls. Before it could rip, he lets go and it snaps against your skin. You mewled, body trying to straighten despite being tied in a certain position.

It stung against you throbbing clit. You turned your head to press it against the cool floor and closed your eyes. He pulls at the fabric again until it rips from his strength. The rough pad of his thumb is soaked and pushed against your clit. You panted out mewls and whimpers. “My little hunter is singing for me. I sure do love the sound.” Your hips grinded down on his thumb, sending pleasure up your spine.

Fingers grabbed at the roots of your hair and tugged you up. A cry left your lips. “Such a needy little ooman, grinding on my fingers. Are they not good enough for you?” He eases your head down back to the floor.

Dulled nails prodded against your soaked entrance before three were shoved in. Your eyes snapped open as you choked on a gasped. The soft, plush walls of your pussy clenched down on his hand. He roughly presses down on your sensitive bundle of nerves sending shocks of pleasure-pain up your spine.

“So tight around my fingers. You could push me out if you wanted but I feel how greedy you are. You are sucking them in. You want me deeper, hm?” He continued to push more into you, overpowering the muscles of your vagina. “You want me deep. Say… here?” His fingertips brushed against the smooth texture of your cervix. Your knees knock against each other at how fast your closed them. As if that’ll do anything to stop him.

A groan resonates from his wide chest. You squeaked out his name, feeling overwhelmed. He pulls out his fingers and licks them clean. “Don’t fret. I’ve got something better than just my fingers. Something that’ll reach that deep.”

The familiar feeling of a pointed cockhead pressed to your entrance. As you took a breath in to relax, he forced the entire length inside of you. You cried out and clawed at you calves; the only thing you could reach. It hurt but fuck, it felt so good.

Vic’tao placed a hand between your shoulder blades and leaned down. His palm rubbed soothing circles there. “Good little hunter. I feel you so tight around me,” he praised before lifting back off of you and pinned you down by your upper back.

There was no time to recooperate your feelings or emotions. Vic’tao pulled back until only the head rested inside of you then shoved all the way to his hips. And he didn’t stop. You whimpered and whined while shimming your knees wider.

“That’s it. I feel you opening up to me. You like it when I take you rough, like I would do to a female Yautja,” he growled and slammed harshly into you. You hissed behind clenched teeth and panted heavily. “You want me to bend you over any surface and push my cock into you. I can do that. Anytime. Lay my claim on you on every surface of our home.”

His pace began to speed up. If it wasn’t for the pressure between your shoulder blades, he would’ve pushed across the floor.

Obscene sounds echoed back at you from the force of his thrusts pushing your juices out. You whimpered and glanced over your shoulder at Vic’tao. The man had a possessive look on his face. His hunt brothers’ words probably whispering into his ears as he ravaged you. He growled when he noticed you peeking at him.

The hand that held your hip in a bruising grasp moved. The slightly wettened thumb toyed with your other hole. You inhaled sharply and whipped your head up. It wasn’t like they haven’t before but you weren’t expecting the touch. Vic pressed in. A low moan escaped your throat. The feeling of being filled in such way was delicious.

“You just got tighter. I wished Uihoy was here. He may not like the fact I treat you so roughly despite you craving it. But when the two of us are inside of you at the same time…” Vic’tao trailed off into a groan, head tilted back. “It’s a feeling I would never forget about.”

Then, Vic’tao pulled both his thumb and cock out of you. You shouted and whipped your head to look at him angrily. You were getting close. Yet, the glint in his eyes before the head of his cock shoving into your other hole had you screaming out. Pain shocked through your system and lightning raced up your spine. You groaned and squirmed. His sharp hip bones kissed the swell of your butt cheeks. He stayed still.

The weight of his hand lifted off of your shoulders when he curled over you again. “Remember, red if you want to stop. Is this okay? It’s not too much, right?” he whispered into your ear. One of his hands cards his long digits through your locks.

At first you groaned, soaking in the pain. “I-I’m fine,” you responded in a quiet voice. With every molecule in your body, you trusted not only him but Uihoy with your life.

He grunted but stayed blanketed on top of you. His hips shifted and pulled his cock out slowly. You moaned. The head stayed nestled inside of you. Vic pushed at the same speed as before and filled you again.

There was something different, maybe primal about the way he’s claiming you. It reached deep into your heart and brought out a whole different person in the moment. Not only does he need this connection with you, but so do you. You need to feel him everywhere.

One of his hands reaches below and goes between your legs. Rought finger pads pressed against your throbbing clit. A high pitch whine escaped you at the extra pleasure. Your toes curl in. He hooks his entire arm around your throat and forces you slightly up. Your arms fight against the ropes to claw at his arm. Yet, the ropes stayed.

“That’s it. Take it. Good, so good for me,” he growled and started to pick up his pace. The pain melted away like always and brought forth a different kind of pleasure soaking into your bones.

Your muscles allowed him in, relaxing. It wasn’t long before harsh slapping echoed back at you. With the way his arm surrounded your neck, your weight and his forceful thrusts slowly deprived you of air. Your head grew light, face turning red. There wasn’t anything you could do to stop it.

And you just let it happen.

Vic’tao tensed the muscles in his arm and quickened his speed of his thrusts and fingers. Your legs began to shake before you knew it. “Yeah, yeah. That’s it. I can feel you tightening. Come around my cock and milk me inside of your ass.”

With a choked mewl, you harshly locked down on his pounding cock. A grunt echoed in your ears. Your entire body locked up, unable to move from this position. The lack of air made you dizzy, uncoordinated. You felt like you were floating above your own body.

The harsh reality slammed back into you when he didn’t stop rubbing his fingers across your oversensitive clit. You tried to squirm away from the assaulting digits but he didn’t relent. Your eyes widened. Pained pleasure washed over you and rubbed every nerve raw until you were crying.

A familiar pain expanded your hole wider before sitting just past the tight ring of muscles. You groaned with relief when the fingers stopped, body going lax in Vic’tao’s hold. The Yautja grunted and continued to rut his hips ruthlessly until the last drop of seed was spilled inside of you. Only then, he carefully slid his arm from underneath your neck and let you lay limp on the ground.

Massive hands petted your back, soothing your panting and subtle whines. A body draped over you. Warm digits brushed through your hair to get a clear view of your face. “How are you feeling?” he questioned in a voice that matched the soft ambience of the new scene.

You peeled open a crusty eye and found him peering down at you softly. A throat hum answered him. He returned his own. “Hm, that’s good to hear.” He worked on a knot in your hair for a moment. “I hope you remember this punishment for interrupting me. It’s a lesson well learned.”

Despite the drool leaking from your lips, your mouth curled into a subtle smirk. “Yeah, lesson well learned,” you mocked and laughed hoarsely. If that punishment meant you got tied up and pounded within an inch of your life, sign you up again.

His claws dug into your scalp for only a moment. “Oh, you sneaky little devil. If only I hadn’t knotted you. I’d show you how much of a punishment I can dish out.” The grin didn’t leave your lips. You purposefully clenched around him. He snarled straight into your ear. “By Paya’s name, you’ll won’t be able to walk or even sit down properly once my knot goes down.”

All you could hope for was for that to be a promise.

[shadowkoo]

What Friends Are For

→ Summary: When your closest friend confides in you with something truly surprising, it's only natural to step in and offer your assistance, because that's what true friends do, right?

↠ vernon x f.reader | 2.8k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, best friends, friends to lovers, virgin/first time au

→ Warnings: explicit & unprotected sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), handjob, doggy, language, creampie, jealousy, teasing, slightly dominant!vernon, virgin!vernon, riding, breast play, nipple play, dirty talk, fingering, rough sex, deep dicking, hair pulling, begging, cum swallowing, deep throating

→ Author note: This is an updated version of an old fic of mine, I hope you enjoy it!!! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“You can’t be serious!” you burst out laughing, sharing a dumbfounded look with your best friend. You’re at his apartment and he just finished telling you the most ridiculous thing ever. You chuckle again while you continue to look for a movie to watch. “You are such a liar.”

“I’m dead serious, don’t laugh,” Vernon huffs, “You have no idea what it’s like having to pretend with the guys like I know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh please, I know you’ve watched porn before and I still don’t believe that you’ve never at least gotten a blowjob before.” He can’t be a virgin. And you seriously doubt he’s made it to twenty-five without ever having his knob slobbered on.

“Well, it’s true! So just let it go,” he barks. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You look over to see if he’s just playing with you, he has to be. But you’re surprisingly shocked to see that he genuinely looks upset.

Realizing you hit a nerve, you apologize. “I’m sorry, I guess I just can’t believe it.” You click on a random movie to ease the awkwardness and decide to text your friends.

♡y/n♡: okie serious question, who wants to blow vern [7:50 pm]

♡cee♡: askjlasjdflkj !! [7:50 pm]

♡mal♡: giiiirl what are you on [7:50 pm]

♡y/n♡: he’s feeling down, someone’s gotta take one for the team [7:50 pm]

♡anna♡:: 👀 …. [7:51 pm]

♡anna♡: KIDDING [7:51 pm]

♡anna♡: but on a real note, why can’t you?? [7:51 pm]

♡y/n♡: ur joking right [7:51 pm]

♡cee♡: yeah you do it, i’m busy rn [7:51 pm]

♡cee♡: plus we all know he wants none of us [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: lmao truuu [7:52pm]

♡y/n♡: what’s that supposed to mean?? [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: idk why don’t u suck on ur boyfriend [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: sorry i mean boy FRIEND [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: major emphasis on the friend [7:52 pm]

♡y/n♡: i hate you guys [7:52 pm]

♡anna♡: no u don’t, now grow a pair of balls and play with his [7:52 pm]

♡y/n♡: OMG [7:53 pm]

♡cee♡: ur with him, aren’t you? sounds like the perfect time to do it [7:53 pm]

♡anna♡: and let us know after how it was 😏 and size, we’re all curious [7:53 pm]

You set your phone down intentionally upside down so Vernon can’t see the messages. At one point, you did have feelings for him but you pushed them aside in fear of ruining your friendship. How pathetic is that? Peeking over at him, you wonder if those feelings ever actually went away, or if you’ve been pretending this whole time.

He’s very attractive, that’s obvious. The last time you thought about your feelings for Vernon was about a year ago when he started dating this horrible girl. She was awful, but he was trapped under her spell and it drove you two apart. Back then, you thought that it was for the best since you wouldn’t have had the courage to tell him to break up with her and date you instead.

They dated for almost 6 months, and when they broke up Vernon was devastated. It didn’t take long for your friendship to go back to normal after their time apart, so that’s why you didn’t want to take any chances now.

Those 6 months without him were miserable and you didn’t want to live without Vernon in your life again. He was too special to you to let something as silly as old feelings come between your friendship. You don’t want to mess it up.

But on the other hand, you’ve heard friendships often create the best relationships. Would yours?

Vernon cares for you, that’s a given. But how far does it go? Sure, you two pretty much act like you’re in a relationship, but you haven’t kissed. Other than that one time when you brought drunk Vernon home… but that didn’t count because he was trashed at the time and didn’t remember it, or so you told yourself.

If you are ever going to make a move, now is the time. Do you really want to lose another chance that the universe is obviously lining you up for? Why else would he bring up the fact that he’s never had a blowjob unless he secretly wants you to give him one? Does he want more than a blowjob? Does he want you to…take his virginity?

You force yourself to quit overthinking and muster up enough courage to ask, “Vern?”

“Hmm?” he responds. He’s so caught up in the movie you’re watching that he doesn’t seem to notice you sit up and scoot closer to him. Your hands are shaking but you aren’t going to let that stop you.

‘God, what am I doing? This is so embarrassing…’

“Can I…” You mumble nervously, not being able to finish the sentence.

“Can you what?” He asks back, still not really registering what you are about to say.

’Well,’ you think to yourself, ’It’s now or never.’

You move off the couch to kneel in front of him and rest a hand on his thigh, commanding his attention away from the TV screen.

“Please, let me.”

It takes Vernon less than a second to understand exactly what you’re asking and he has no idea how to respond.

If he’s being honest, he’s always had a thing for you. Though he’s never had the guts to make a move or even admit it to you.

He swallows nervously as his length inevitably twitches in his pants. “You’re joking right?” ‘She can’t be serious. There’s no way. This had to be some kind of sick joke. But you don’t look like you were joking. In fact, you look like you’re pleading. Holy shit…’

“Not at all. I mean, we’re friends, right? Friends help each other,” you say while sliding your hands up to the button of his jeans. His eyes follow your movements as you unzip his pants and reach a hand in.

“You really don’t have to. Mingyu’s having a party and I’ll find someone and get laid this week-” his words are lost in his mouth as you wrap your small hand around his rather growing member.

“Why would you want a stranger to do it when you could have me? That’s what friends are for, silly.” You’re trying your damn hardest to make it sound like you’re doing him a favor as a friend and not doing this out of your own desire, your own need to touch him - to taste him. It’s your safety net in case he says no. In case this ends badly. However, you aren’t so sure that’s the message you’re sending since you’re quickly pulling his pants down his thighs.

You look up at him and run a finger over his tip before bringing him into your mouth for a taste. “Before I continue, I need to hear you say that you’re alright with it. Tell me that you want my mouth on your cock,” you demand playfully while your hands stroke his length.

Vernon is at war with himself. Should he give in to his desire of wanting you? Or should he pull back, laugh this off, and forget about this? How the hell is he supposed to forget about this? To forget the look of you on your knees asking to suck him off? There’s no way. It’s impossible.

“Fuck,” Vernon rubs a hand over his face and you freeze in fear of what he’s going to say. “Babe, you can do whatever you want to me. Fuck.”

Without hesitating a second longer, you lean down to take him in between your lips. His girth stretches your mouth in the most wonderful way, and you’re unable to control the moan that escapes from your parted lips. God, you aren’t even embarrassed. You lift your eyes up to watch him, his mouth ever so slightly opens and his tongue drifts out to lick his lips.

Vernon is lost. Is he supposed to hold your hair? Is he just supposed to sit here and watch? Should he be praising you right now? He has absolutely no idea. All he knows is that what you’re doing with your mouth is driving him crazy. “Oh my god, this is what I’ve been missing out on? This whole time?” Vernon leans his head back in pleasure. “Fuck,” he gasps, “I have a lot to catch up on.”

Hearing his words gives you more courage, and you relentlessly bob your head on his length, making sure to have just enough suction while doing so.

You pull back for air and let your hands tug on him while you kiss his tip, listening happily to his husky groans. Honestly, this is the best part of giving a blowjob. Knowing that you can make a guy, let alone Vernon, feel this good. You feel him twitch in your mouth and moan in pleasure. Drool is running onto your hands at this point, proof of how much you like his taste.

Vernon smirks, “I don’t know who’s enjoying this more. You,” he quickly inhales as you shove your mouth further down onto his length, “Or me.”

You slowly pull your mouth off of him, watching his face twist as you tease the underside of his tip with your tongue. “I don’t know, the look on your face tells me that you’re enjoying this a lot,” you taunt.

His legs quiver as his length once again finds the back of your throat, your hands massaging his balls. It’s too much. He has to cum, he can’t wait.

Wanting to help him out, you hum and instantly feel the sticky liquid running down your throat. Your hunger grows listening to Vernon call out your name, his hand pulling at the hair by your neck.

He watches in wonder while you swallow him, licking some of his seed off his length when you release him from your mouth. You lift a finger to rub the remaining cum around his tip, “You came.” Vernon shudders while you tease his sensitive member.

“Shit, Y/N,” he whimpers, “I couldn’t hold it any longer; not when you were doing that last thing.”

“I hope you’re not tired because I am so not done with you yet,” you whisper. You had a taste of him, and now you want more. You want all of him, and you don’t want to wait another second.

The lingering salty aftertaste in your mouth is washed away by Vernon's kiss as he pulls you up onto his lap. He lifts your shirt up and off of you, barely breaking contact with your lips in the process, before he takes off his own in the same manner.

Your hands rub along his chest, feeling his muscles tighten and relax as your touch moves along his silky skin. His head dips down to catch one of your breasts in his mouth. You roll your head back as his tongue plays with your hardening nub, a gasp leaving you when his teeth graze your nipple.

Your head snaps up when he pulls away from you.

He chuckles, “Relax, it’s time for me to return the favor.” He leaves a wet kiss on your other breast and moves down to nibble on the inner part of your thighs. After what feels like years, his hands reach for the waistband of your shorts and pull them and your panties off of you.

His tongue protrudes out and licks your center before moving closer to your clit, which he circles and sucks on gently at first. His mouth on your heat pulls moan after moan out of you, and you involuntarily take a fistful of his blonde locks when his tongue enters you repeatedly.

Vernon pulls back all out of breath and his cheeks glistening. God, it’s such a turn on to see him like that, his face damp with your cum. He reaches for you at the same time you grab for him. His lips crash against yours, your tongues twisting with each other.

Vernon slides a hand back down between your naked bodies and rubs your sensitive clit, making your back arch in pleasure. You moan into his mouth which he gladly swallows before sliding two fingers into your dripping heat, bringing you right back to where you just were. Only this time, your juices cover his long fingers instead of his face.

Just as you finish riding out your amazing orgasm, Vernon starts to sit up. Although, your hands are wrapped around his neck so he doesn’t make it that far. You pull him back down onto you, which he isn’t ready for. His knee falls next to yours, his other foot landing on the floor, causing his length to rub right up against your wet heat.

You both gasp at the contact, but it isn’t enough for you. Your hand moves to grip his member and bring him further between your lower lips, your hips moving along with his - until he hesitates, his eyes full of worry…

Vernon bites his bottom lip as you ask, “What is it?”

“I don’t know if we should go any further. I don’t have protection,” he explains.

“Oh Vernon, I don’t care. I need to feel you.” You kiss him again. “I’m on birth control anyway. I need you inside me,” you finish before gripping his hair to pull him closer to you. “Fuck me, Vernon. Fuck me hard, please,” you beg, “It’s all I’ve dreamt about. I need your thick cock stretching me out. Please, Vernon,”

Vernon almost dies hearing you say that. Shit, he’s dreamt about this moment too, and watching you beg him to fuck you like that made his length twitch with excitement. There is no way in hell he’s going to say no to you after hearing that. He leans in to kiss you hard before dipping his tip into your dewy folds. He’s being too gentle for your liking, typical Vernon behavior, so you push him to sit up and lean against the back of the couch, yourself following, and slide the rest of the way down onto him.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself before rolling your hips into his. Once you’re ready, you anchor yourself by holding onto his shoulders and he lifts his hips up to meet your delicious pace.

Your arousal soaks his member as he slides deep inside you. It’s a perfect fit, he hit all the right places and has you squirming in his arms.

“Oh my god, Vernon!” you whine, gyrating your hips to bring some relief to your aching bundle of nerves. Sweat covers both of your bodies as you fuck each other. The pleasure is almost unbearable; your insides scream for release.

As if he knows exactly what you want, Vernon flips you over and squeezes your ass cheeks before he enters you from behind. You push your face into the throw pillow below your head and grip the sofa’s arm for dear life.

“Oh god, don’t s-stop,” you drag out while he ferociously pounds into you. Vernon groans and hovers over top of you. His hand wraps around your neck and pulls your back against him.

This new angle has you shivering and Vernon can tell that you’re close again. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you down onto him harder. The sound of your arousal echoes through his living room, your breaths combining with the creaks of his couch.

You feel Vernon stiffen inside you, he’s close. “Cum in me. I want to feel you cum in me,” you sigh, begging for him to do so.

Vernon grits his teeth, there’s nothing he wants more than to fill you up with his cum right this second. Your legs clench as you tip over the edge. The climax hits you both instantaneously and sends you spiraling.

“Oh my god, oh god!” you cry out. Wave after wave of pleasure passes through your limp body. Thankfully Vernon is still holding onto you or you would have fallen off the couch. Resting against him, your breathing matches his.

His delicate touch leaves goosebumps along your body where his fingers trace. Everywhere tingles. You can’t remember the last time that you came this hard. It’s earth-shattering, exhausting, and yet you feel totally full of new energy at the same time.

Vernon’s cum starts leaking out of your folds, it’s a strange feeling. This is the first time you let someone cum in you and it felt oddly satisfying. Vernon reaches over to the coffee table and grabs a tissue to clean you up with before laying back down on the couch, bringing you on top of him.

“Jesus,” He pants, still completely out of breath, “Where the fuck did that come from.”

“I don’t know but I’ll be needing more of that when I wake up,” you moan, your eyelids feeling awfully heavy. Vernon’s chest vibrates, laughing at your response. He puts an arm around your waist as he whispers, “Thank you, for… well you know. That.”

“Mmm, no problem.” You turn your head over to look up at him and smile devilishly, “That’s what friends are for, remember?”

©shadowkoo 2023. All rights reserved.

[damekathearasi]

A Spanking with Sylus - Love and Deepspace

Prompt Day 17: Impact Play

Word count: 1,113

NSFW - MDNI

Warnings/Tags: Spanking, Impact Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Pet Names, Smut, Pussy Spanking, Vaginal Fingering

Author's Note: Prompt from Visions of Temptation 2024, hosted by @xxsycamore. First fic in a year, so here I go.

Fic below the cut and on AO3

It's no secret that Sylus can't keep his hands to himself and this includes a love of your ass. Sometimes you wonder if his hands are magnetically drawn to it. He's constantly sneaking a touch or a grope, maybe even a pinch. He's always so calm and cool that no one ever notices, even if you think it was not that subtle at all. His favorite activity involving your butt though? Sylus likes to put you over his lap and spank you. He always has an excuse. Biting your nails? Punishment. Didn't bite your nails? Reward!

Today he tells you that he has a special reward for you because you were just extra sweet today. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and gets you in position. You are on all fours in your undergarments positioned such that you can feel his warmth and are barely touching him, but your thighs are almost perpendicular to your torso. Giving him all the access he could want.

He starts out slow, caressing your butt with his left hand and reaching in your bra to caress a nipple with his right. The first couple smacks are always a shock even though you are anticipating them. Sharp and firm, but not cruel. They make you yelp each time. 

He rubs the sting away with a chuckle. "I know you can take this, kitten." He leans close to your ear and breathes. "And so much more."

At first, you had barely been touching him, but now you can feel his cock pushing against you as he gets more aroused. Every smack this whole time jostles you making you rub against him, making him harder which only serves to increase the effectiveness of the contact.

Now the impact still hurts, but the way it travels through you starts to make you not just yelp, but gasp and moan too. Every sound you make is a mix of pain and ecstasy and each one makes him more excited. 

slap slap slap

"You have been so good for me recently." He muses as he soothes your reddened ass. "Maybe a different reward is in order for you soon." Sylus switches to firmly pressing two knuckles against the growing wet spot on your panties. 

"But not this soon." 

slap slap

Gentle fingertips skate across your skin, eliciting a whimper from your lips.

slap You yelp and moan.

Those knuckles are back with their pressure as the hand that had previously ceased playing with your nipples resumes. Every bit of auditory feedback you give seems to excite him further.

slap

slap

This time his right hand is gently requesting you let 2 large fingers in your mouth. When you oblige, the sensation of having your mouth filled by him makes you moan around them, thinking about how he'll fill you soon. The warmth of your mouth, the vibration of your moans, and the sucking you have gotten to work on makes him moan and grunt as he reflexively bucks his hips. The feeling of his cock grinding against your skin just makes you that much wetter.

You whimper when he takes his fingers out of your mouth reluctantly and returns to cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples.

slap

slap

slap

You can tell that he's getting eager to move on to other activities. As he touches your skin it feels like he is vibrating with excitement. This time he doesn't soothe the places he hit. Instead of his knuckles applying gentle pressure to your soaking wet pussy, he's slipped his finger tips under your panties.

Teasing your entrance without slipping in, he wets his fingertips and rubs your clit in strong steady circles. "I need you, Sylus. Please."

"Soon." 

slap slap slap

Now you are so excited and filled with endorphins from all the spanking and attention. It's like a runner's high. The line between pleasure and pain is so blurred it is practically gone. You just moan like you're in heat with each hit.

slap slap slap

The shockwaves that go through you make it feel like he is rearranging your insides not spanking you.

slap slap slap

"You look like you could just about come from me spanking you." The humor in his voice tells you what is coming next and it makes you moan.

He slips your underwear off of you and runs his hand over the soaking wet slick between your legs. Applying brief pressure to all your sensitive bits with his palm.

He cups his hand and spanks your pussy once. It's like a jolt of electricity running through you.

"Sylus...." you whimper his name.

He's rubbing your pussy, while he caresses your face. "Are you still doing okay, sweetie?" You could hear the concern in his voice cut through the arousal. Pussy spanking was always your idea and seeing you like this always wound him up, but it still made him nervous.

"More... please..."

Sylus chuckles, "sure, but only a little."

slap

As he rubs your pussy, you buck against his hand.

slap

"I need you, Sy."

slap

"Do you? Are you sure?" One fingertip dips inside you. You feel about ready to explode.

slap

One finger whisper light teases you. Running up and down the very edge your labia, around your clit and back down. Repeating the same route. "Hmm? What do you say? Tell me what you need."

"Sy, please... I need... you to fill me. I need you to fuck me. Fuck me with your big hard cock and fill me with your cum until you can't any more. I want to satisfy your every need and desire. I want it all and I want all of you, because all of me is yours."

He stops circling your pussy and pushes two large fingers into halfway your pussy. "Sweetie, you're so...", Sylus gasps and involuntarily bucks against you. "Wet. Ugh... and tight." You can hear the desire thick in his voice.

He pushes his fingers the rest of the way in and you gasp and moan as you wonder how just two fingers still make you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you.

One slow thrust.  Two...  Three...

He stops caressing your face and slips his hand into your hair grabbing a fistful at the roots and makes you turn your head to look at him as he slowly takes his fingers out. Desire and need fill his handsome face. You blush as he stares into your eyes while slowly licking his fingers and hand clean. Indecent moans and licking and sucking sounds fill the air.

"If that's what you want, I hope you are ready for the rest of tonight... and tomorrow, too..."