#and i wish they would keep literally any of us who are too young to have been a kid in the early 90s in mind. you know

[sonknuxadow]

idk its weird how a lot of the companies making sonic merch just go "oh we'll do classic sonic stuff for the adults and modern sonic stuff for the kids" when some of the modern sonic games are old enough now for there to be adults who grew up with them or weren't even born yet when they came out. and there's also probably plenty of adults out there who like modern sonic games despite not playing them as a kid for whatever reason. there's not a strict never broken pattern for the age group someone falls into and the sonic media that they like. now please make more modern sonic shirts that fit me thank you

[atiny-desire]

Glitter and Gold

Pairing: Yandere Dragon! Seonghwa × Reader Summary: You get sent away as a sacrifice to the dragon, but instead of being met by a fire-breathing dragon, you encounter a handsome man who seems too good to be true. Word count: 2.8k Disclaimer: I'm in no way condoning, justifying, encouraging nor promoting this kind of behavior. This is not supposed to represent Seonghwa in any way. Warning: Some kind of soulmate bond, yandere behavior, mention of murder.

A/N: Didn't post in a long time because I had literally zero inspiration, and on top of that Ghost from Call of Duty kind of had me in a chokehold (I wish). Anyway, here's a small oneshot and I hope some of you like it. :)

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You could feel it. The burning jealous stares that followed you as you walked through your village, they wanted to puncture your skin, burn it off with just their stare. It was mainly young women who looked at you like that, their beautiful faces were adorned by angry frowns. Normally it would have made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out again, but now your chest was swelling with pride your head held high as you felt an odd sensation of satisfaction. You were the chosen one, the one who would be sent to the dragon as an offering. A sacrifice, that's what you are, but it's an honor. Your sacrifice would be the reason why your village would be able to live in peace for another year. It was said that only the most dazzling beauties would be chosen worthy enough to be sent away.

And now the time has come, you were the chosen one. Not those girls who looked down on you throughout all of your life. You're not pretty enough, not smart enough, not charming enough, and most certainly not worthy of anything, not even the same air they breathed. That's what they had always told you. For the longest time, you were their personal punching bag, their outlet for all of their frustration and pressure that was laid upon their shoulders. This was over now.

Your departure was quick and almost anticlimactic, but you didn't mind it. You had no interest in getting emotional with people who had tormented you your entire life, although not everyone did it, everyone knew about it, yet no one did anything to intervene.

The first step outside felt like you had achieved true freedom, even if the sentence of being a sacrifice hung heavy over your head. You had thought about running away, but there was nowhere you could go. Your small village was located in a valley, surrounded by huge snow-capped mountains and vast forests which were the homes of dangerous wildlife. Now, a mountain inhabited by a dragon might not necessarily sound like the safer option, however, you had a reason to go there. It was also the reason why everyone was jealous of you.

It was an old tale, no one really knew if it was true, but everyone believed in it nonetheless. It was said that if you were chosen by the dragon as worthy enough to be kept alive, you'd spend the rest of your life living in wealth. That's why you decided to take your chances with the dragon, rather than just accept your certain death.

The euphoric feeling of being free from those damned people that had been tormenting you your whole life, and the determination of wanting to live a better life, kept the fear that wanted to envelop your heart at bay. No matter how much you might fear walking through the dark forest which never seemed to end, or the thought of what lived inside the mountain you were approaching, you would keep walking because you were desperate for a new life.

Your feeling of hope diminished quicker than you would like. After almost four hours of foot walk you stood in front of the beginning of the mountain trail that would lead toward the cave. The muscles in your thighs were burning as well as your feet, you weren't used to walking this long without a break but you had forced your body through this ordeal, you didn't care how much it hurt. Your heart was in your throat and not just from physical activity, but from anxiety too. Understandably, who wouldn't be afraid of the outlook of meeting a fire-breathing dragon?

As soon as you set foot on that trail it felt like an invisible barrier sucked out all of the energy that was left in your body. Your legs suddenly felt like jelly, ready to give up from underneath you at any given second, but once again, you forced yourself through it.

Faster than you'd like you stood in front of the massive cave. Your mouth was opened in awe as you stopped in your tracks. Mountains of gold coins, gems, and glittery jewelry filled the cave as far as you could see. A small path between the huge piles leads deeper into the cave. Carefully you followed the small path, you were tempted to reach for the jewelry, or the gems that glittered in various colors between the gold coins, but you kept your hands to yourself. If there was truly a dragon living in this cave, it certainly wouldn't be very pleased should you touch any of its treasures.

As you walked deeper into the cave, your anxiety rose within you. Every corner was filled with treasures, there was barely any walking space. You started to doubt the dragon's existence, after all, how could it live with such minimal space?

Steps echoed off of the walls from deeper within the cave, steps that weren't your own. You froze in your tracks, straining your ears to pick up on any more sounds that might follow. Your body refused to move, even when you saw the silhouette of a human coming out of the dark. The sunlight from outside provided minimal lighting, but enough to illuminate the man who stepped in front of you.

You held your breath, you knew immediately that he was different from you. Small patches of red scales covered him in some places instead of skin, but eventually, they merged with his normal skin. The man came to a halt shortly in front of you and stared into your eyes. Unnerved by his stare and the serious look on his face you shifted your weight on your legs and inched a little away from him.

His eyes wandered over your face and down your body, his gaze was analyzing and cold until something suddenly shifted in him and his eyes seemingly softened. Even a small smile stretched on his face. "You can breathe, you don't have to hold it just because of me." He almost had a teasing tone as he spoke to you.

You let out the air you were holding in your lungs. It was as if your body was reacting to his smooth voice because your tense muscles relaxed a little as soon as he spoke to you. "You're not a dragon." You blurted out.

You managed to draw a low chuckle and a headshake from him. "Oh trust me, I am." His hand reached out to grab your chin before you could flinch away he had caught your face between his fingers and forced you to properly look at him. "Beautiful." He mumbled while he turned your head from side to side, so he could examine your face from every angle.

"That's a little too much touching for a first meeting, don't you think?" You mumbled quietly and pulled your head back as you became flustered. While you talked you couldn't look away from him, his eyes were mesmerizing. They were golden, almost seemed like they were glowing, and the color in his irises swirled like liquid gold.

He let go of your face, but not without a dissatisfied grumble. "Is it? But you're a sacrifice to me, are you not? You belong to me now."

His brazenness left you speechless for a short moment, but you didn't need to say anything anyway because he took the word again. "Don't worry, I'm just messing with you." He said with a smirk on his lips. However, with how serious he said it, you doubted that he was just messing with you.

"I... what are you?" This question has been burning on your tongue since you first spotted the scales on his body.

"Asking the important questions right from the beginning, hm?" His hand came up to his face to brush away a strand of his black hair that had fallen into his eyes when he leaned closer to inspect your face. "As I said, I'm a dragon. I might not look like one right now, but in my true form I'm indeed a dragon." He motioned down his body and continued, "This human body is just a costume. I learned that it's less intimidating for mortals like you, and honestly, it's way more practical too."

"Do you have a name? How old are you, and how does this whole dragon thing work?" The questions spilled from your mouth like a waterfall once you realized that he wouldn't be a threat, at least for the moment, and your body relaxed.

Another chuckle with his smooth voice reached your ear. "Curious little thing aren't you? You can call me Seonghwa. My age?" He shrugged his shoulders, looked away from you for a second, and fixated his gaze back on you shortly after. "I stopped counting the years, and as for how my nature works, how about we talk about this at a different time? I don't want to overwork your pretty head."

You couldn't help but feel a little offended. He made it seem like you were too stupid to comprehend what he would tell you. "Fine. Where are the other girls that got sent here?"

"Other girls?" He seemed bored just thinking about it, his brows furrowed, he looked like he had to remember what you were talking about. As if there weren't any girls sent to him, every year for multiple centuries. "I killed them." He finally answered.

Your breath got caught in your throat, fear started to claw at your heart once again. So, was this going to be your end? The scaled man in front of you chuckled when he saw the fear in your eyes. "Don't you worry, my precious little gem." Seonghwa's hand reached out again to get a hold of your chin, his thumb brushed over your lips, and his eyes followed his own movement. "You're the one I've been waiting for."

"The one you've been waiting for?" You asked a bit unsure. You didn't know if you had to fear for your life or not.

He nodded. "You're destined to be with me, you, a mere human doesn't feel it, of course." He paused and you almost flinched away when he suddenly put his hand over your chest exactly where your heart was located. "But your heart. It only beats for one purpose, and that is to belong to me. It's beating in a specific rhythm, almost as if it's calling out to me."

You swallowed down your fear, or at least you tried to, and replied to him with a hint of doubt in your voice. "A specific rhythm? Doesn't every heart beat in the same way?"

You could swear that he rolled his eyes a little, but he quickly overplayed it with his charming smile. "You don't get it. As I said, you're just a human." He put his hand under your chin and grabbed you with his thumb and his index finger to tilt your head up. "You're the one I've waited for, everything else is meaningless now. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Stop calling me pretty."

"Why? It's the truth after all." Seonghwa leaned closer, getting into your personal space more than before, to the point you could feel his warm breath fan over your face. You panicked a little when he didn't stop crossing the distance between you two, you were sure he would try to kiss you. You were about to pull away when he did something against your expectations.

Instead of kissing you, he pressed his forehead against yours and his hand came up to cup your cheek, you felt his thumb brush over your skin, gently, almost as gently as a feather, it felt like you were just imagining his touch. "Don't worry," he murmured. His breath smelt like the smoke of a forest fire but somehow it wasn't unpleasant. "I waited so long for you, I can also wait until you're ready to fully be with me." The words he spoke were nothing but a mere whisper. "I can wait," He repeated a bit more firmly to make sure that you heard him properly.

He moved his head away from your face and more to the side so he could whisper in your ear. "I'll wait until I can kiss you, until I can explore every inch of your body," Seonghwa took a small break, his eyes glinting with mischievous as he added, "Until you're willing to let me claim you, in every possible way."

Seonghwa gently brushed your hair back before his hand landed on the side of your neck with his thumb caressing your cheek. He brought his face closer to yours again, your eyes widened and you were about to pull back again however, he was faster than you because he stopped shortly before his lips would touch yours. You felt his warm breath on your lips, it distracted you to the point you nearly missed the words he whispered to you. "My desire to kiss you is overwhelmingly big."

"Don't-," Seonghwa shushed you before you could protest any further. Another chuckle resonated from deep within his chest. "Don't worry, I won't. I told you, didn't I? I will wait until you want me as much as I want you." He distanced himself a bit from you, a lazy half smile tugged at the right corner of his mouth. "But when that time comes I might make you beg for my touch." It seemed like he wanted to make a joke, but you had a feeling that he was dead serious.

With a sigh, he moved away from you, this time he really left your personal space. Seonghwa held his hand out to you, waiting for you to grab it. "You've asked enough questions for now, don't you think? It's time you see where you will live with me." You were too busy staring at him in awe, so you didn't catch the words he muttered under his breath. "For eternity."

The way he stood, with his posture being flawless, as well as his perfect face and the gentle smile on his lips, you could have thought that he was royalty, if it wasn't for the red scales embedded into his skin. Maybe he was royalty, some kind of dragon royalty if it even exists, you thought to yourself as you took his hand.

Together with you, he started to walk deeper into the darker part of the cave. He seemed to navigate in the darkness just fine, while you were stumbling after him like a newborn foal, with just his hand as your guide. Eventually, a small source of light fell into your eyes, and as you walked closer you realized that the light were torches attached to the cave walls. Seonghwa stopped in front of two ridiculously big oak wood doors. You and to crane your neck to be able to see where they ended.

How would those doors even open? "How-" And again, Seonghwa didn't let you finish your sentence. He let go of your hand walked up to the door, and pushed one of them open with ease. "I might have a human body right now, but I still have the strength of a dragon. Now come." He nodded toward the inside, silently telling you to go in.

Those huge doors made you a little nervous, inside your head, you were imagining what would happen if the door suddenly closed while you were walking through it. Swiftly you scurried inside and Seonghwa followed with a smile. A loud noise echoed through the room as the door fell closed behind him. You were surprised to see a fully furnished living room. Everything was illuminated by torches attached to the wall, allowing you to see the extravagant furniture.

"You like it?" Seonghwa quietly asked you close to your ear.

You only gave him a small nod as you continued to look around the room. There were more cave tunnels, leading away from the living room probably to more living space, such as a bedroom. "I'm glad. You'll be spending a lot of time here." He was still close to your ear and whispered to you while he stood behind you.

While you looked around your gaze traveled to the, now closed, oak doors. You didn't think about it at the time, but you were trapped now. There was no way you would ever be able to push these doors open on your own. Your breath hitched when Seonghwa suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his body. "A lot of time." He growled into your ear. In this moment you realized that it wasn't just something he said without real meaning. It was a promise and a threat at the same time. However, you realized it too late, you were already in the claws of this dragon and he sure as hell would never be willing to ever let you go again.

[peachhcs]

all eyes on you

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will and samy have to relearn how to be in a relationship together on top of will's new found fame as an nhl player

2.6k words

MAKING MY RETURN ONCE AGAIN! here's something i wrote that i didn't hate!! so sorry it's been so long i keep getting writer's block lol anyways writing hate comments is lowkey so fun hahaha but here's will and samy navigating their relationship after getting back together :)

au masterlist

will was beyond excited to finally get a weekend off. he'd been going, going, going since preseason back in august and now with it being almost november, the sharks didn't have any weekend games for once. as soon as thursday night hit, will was packing his bag for michigan to see guess who? samy.

he did feel a little bad he wasn't using the weekend to go home to boston, but his parents assured him it was okay he flew out to michigan instead. it had been months since the couple saw one another, so the blonde wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to see his girlfriend for a few days.

samy waited patiently in the arrival line of cars, eyes scanning the doors for her boyfriend. she was bouncing off the walls all week getting the place ready for him and rambling on to hannah and her other roommates about their weekend plans—surely talking their ears off about the particular blonde.

she spotted him first when the doors slid open. samy jumped up, waving her hands around to catch his attention as he scanned the line of people for her. when their gazes finally met will quite literally rushed into her arms. he scooped her up into a tight hug, her feet lifting off the concrete as the two spun around.

"i missed you so much," will mumbled into her shoulder, her hold getting even tighter.

"i missed you, too. it's so good to see you," samy beamed up at him, her hands already threading through his longer curls.

"god, it's been so long," will embraced her again, the couple melting into one another when a click caught their attention and someone tapping the boy's shoulder.

will turned, confusion on his features when two girls stood behind him with large smiles, "will smith, right? we're big fans."

the blonde flushed, eyes flicking around—he didn't quite expect running into fans at the airport, but he sported a smile nonetheless.

"yeah, hi. it's good to meet you guys."

samy watched from behind will as he signed their hats, a gentle smile on her lips. she loved watching her boyfriend interacting with fans knowing how many people looked up to him nowadays.

"thank you so much!" the girls grinned before hurrying away. will watched them run back to their own car, eyes turning back to his girlfriend.

"okay, big shot," she poked his chest, another flush spreading across his cheeks.

"sorry about that," he murmured, slightly embarrassed that their moment was interrupted.

"i gotta remember my boyfriend's a big star now," she flicked will's cap before climbing back into the car.

the embarrassment was quickly washed away hearing samy's appraisal. to will, she would always be his number one fan. they pulled out of the line and began driving back to the university. his hand slipped over her thigh, squeezing lightly while leaning back in his seat. for a moment, everything felt like before—before the nhl, before the fame, before college when they were still young.

"ryan and gabe are jealous i get to see you this weekend and they don't," samy joked.

for a second will frowned, the guilt that he didn't go home to boston still lingering in the back of his head, "i wish we could all be together."

"i know, i told them they should fly out, but they have a game tomorrow so they can't miss it. i said we could facetime or something," the brunette giggled and will chuckled.

"hopefully i'll see them in a few weeks. i'm going to boston on the next weekend off," the blonde hummed and he felt samy squeeze his hand resting on her leg.

"has it been everything you've dreamed of?" samy wondered, her gaze meeting will's briefly.

"yeah, it has. it's really great. the guys are awesome. i love san jose. it's cool doing it with macklin. really couldn't have asked for anything better except wishing you were there or that everyone was there," the nhl seemed like a dream so far away for will and it was still hard to believe he was actually living it.

"i'm really proud of you. you're really glowing there, literally and figuratively," she pinched the boy's cheeks meaning the nice tan he acquired.

"thank you. i still miss all of this though. i wish i could do both," as they got closer to umich, will couldn't help but think about boston and how fast everything went. too fast.

"well, i guess this weekend can be your three day escape back into it. eth and mark are excited to see you too," the brunette grinned and will laughed.

"figured, but i'm surprised to hear that considering last time i was around they hated my guts."

"i mean, rightfully so. don't worry, they're cool now. they might rough you up, but they're excited to see you," the couple exchanged a smile and will squeezed samy's thigh, all of the stress from the last three months finally leaving his system for the weekend—and will couldn't be more relieved.

—

with any high profile job, there was always the negatives. it couldn't be escaped no matter how hard one tried to get rid of it. will knew all the fame would bring its critics. it was kind of a given that there would be haters and negative comments here and there. his agent prepared him for it, or at least tried to. he just had to ignore them and not engage knowing anything he said online could be used against him.

it was a whole thing the blonde was still getting used to. he had to watch what he said, posted, liked, commented on—he basically couldn't really breathe on the internet anymore knowing someone was always watching.

it was easy until will was scrolling through his feed and landed on a photo of him and samy at the airport.

the boy sat up, scanning the photo closer. it was zoomed in like whoever took it was further away. he could see the two fans about to come up to them. a somewhat uneasy feeling settled into will's stomach not really liking that there was someone watching that entire interaction between him and samy.

it was the caption and all the comments that got him though. there was about 200 since the photo was posted an hour ago and the caption said: first weekend off for the san jose sharks and newest prospect will smith is spotted in michigan visiting his girlfriend. spotted talking with fans!

will was told not to read the comments on things like this because if they were bad, it'd send him into a spiral he couldn't get out of. usually, he didn't and just scrolled past but the ones showing up in the preview wouldn't let will tear his eyes away.

user1: HUH i thought he broke up with her??

user2: goddd he's back with her?? thought he was over her for good.

user3: he could do so much better than her jesus. i literally thought she cheated on him��

user4: ignoring fans for a worthless girl 😭😭

user5: woah these comments did not pass the vibe check why is there so much hate??

user6: i actually hate their relationship sorry. people think she's so great because she's quinn and jack's little sister. she only got into umich bc of her brothers. she actually sucks ass at soccer    | user9: uh hello?? this is crazy she's actually really talented and really smart. she got into umich all on her own    | user6: nahhh bro u crazy fans are so brainwashed into thinking that just bc she's a hughes    | user10: uh her last name has nothing to do with anything. she's good on her own wtf u on??    | user6: i'm just being real. she's been leaching off smith for YEARS and y'all don't even realize it    | user9: leaching?? wtf she was way more known than will she is not leaching. who hurt u wtf

user7: GET HER OUTTA HERE BRUHHHH

user8: samy hughes they could never make me like you

user11: he's probably only with her bc he gets to get a taste of that 🍑🍑

will shut his phone off, eyes blurry. he couldn't believe people were saying those things about samy or how they could even post those things knowing others were reading it. suddenly, the blonde worried samy would see those comments.

"okay, i'm off to practice. you gonna be okay here alone? hannah should be back around 6:30?" samy walked into the living room dressed in her practice uniform.

"yeah, yeah. i'll be good. have a good practice," will put on his best smile, leaning up to place a gentle kiss to the girl's lips.

"thanks, i will. are you okay?" samy saw her boyfriend's flushed state.

"hmm? oh, yeah. i'm good," the blonde nodded.

"okay, i'll see you later then. i love you," will grinned, waving to her as she slipped out the door.

will grabbed his phone again, going back onto the post. there were even more comments than when he just looked at it, his breath catching in his chest. he couldn't believe there was so much hate and how people were taking the context out of proportion.

it didn't help either that will and samy were still relearning how to be in a relationship with one another. they were still working out their kinks which wasn't easy being across the country from one another and now there was this.

hannah walked into the apartment an hour later, gaze on her best friend's boyfriend staring at his phone. she raised her eyebrow, "hey will?" 

her voice startled the boy as he jumped up, but calming when he saw that it was only hannah as she shut the door behind her. "oh, hey. sorry. you scared me," will mumbled, sitting back down. 

"are you okay? you looked stressed," the brunette set her keys and backpack on the counter, reaching for the cabinets for a snack. 

"oh, i'm fine," unfortunately, hannah didn't believe him. 

"you sure? you look like you've seen a ghost," the younger duke sibling laughed. 

will knew he could trust hannah, so he motioned her over to look at his phone where he hadn't stopped reading all the comments. he let her look it over, the girl slowly scrolling through all the comments under the post. 

"jesus, these people are so ruthless," hannah mumbled. 

"i can't believe they're saying that stuff. how could people be so rude?" will said in disbelief. 

"they're just jealous and petty that you're not their boyfriend. don't let it get under your skin," hannah handed him his phone back, but her words didn't ease the boy's worries. 

"how are you so cool about this?" will didn't get how hannah seemed so chill about what people were saying unlike him who was ready to punch someone in the face. the girl shrugged. 

"i don't know. i mean i hate that they're saying that shit and it's really gross, but you gotta remember samy and i are kind of used to it. samy more than me i guess. we've been in our brother's shadows our whole lives. people have always had shit to say about us," she had a point that will didn't think about. he settled back into the couch. 

"okay, fair, but i still hate it. they know nothing about my life and shouldn't be disrespecting my girlfriend like that," will stated. 

"maybe you could say something? from what i've learned, haters will stop when they hear it from the source." 

will considered hannah's words until samy got back from practice. she smiled when she saw her boyfriend in the same spot she left him in, going over to kiss him on the forehead as she shedded herself of her bags. 

"hi, get bored while i was gone?" samy chuckled. 

"no. how was praactice?" will pulled samy down to the couch with him for a bit. 

"it was good. we ran some drills and a possible new formation coach wants us to try at the next game," the girl explained. 

"sounds just like hockey practice," the blonde chuckled. 

"yeah, sometimes i feel like i'm at hockey practice," samy hummed, pulling her phone out to look at since she hadn't since practice ended. 

will quickly grew nervous again. he was scared samy would see the post knowing people were starting to mention her in the comments. even though hannah told him they were used to it, it still made him feel uneasy that all of those strangers were saying such horrid things about them. 

"you okay? you've been looking like that since we got here," samy noticed her boyfriend's expression again. 

"yeah, fine," will nodded, but samy gave him a look because she knew he was lying. 

"will, i know you're lying. you're so easy to read," she poked at him with a tiny smile, the boy flushing in embarrassment. 

"i promise it's nothing," he said. 

"it has to be something if you keep looking like you saw a ghost," samy poked some more and will knew he couldn't keep this from her. they were being honest with one another now. 

"i just..there's this post on instagram. i guess someone saw us at the airport and took a photo and now everyone's commenting on it saying some pretty mean things," will finally explained himself, studying samy's reaction as she digested his words. 

"oh." 

will pulled his phone out so he could show her, cringing as samy began scrolling through some of the comments. she read a few of them and will kept studying her expression, yet her features stayed fairly neutral. 

"i swear, some people just really like to say anything," the girl shook her head, handing will's phone back. 

"you're not upset?" he was surprised at her calm disposition. 

"i mean, it's gross and weird they're saying that stuff, but i'm not like overly hurt by it," the brunette shrugged. 

"oh." it was will's turn to be shocked now. 

"did you think i would be more hurt by it?" samy pinched the boy's cheeks and he flushed under her touch.

"i was just scared you'd see them and i didn't want you to be hurt by them because it's just nonsense and i don't agree with any of it," will admitted a bit shyly. samy's lips tipped up into a smile as she cuddled herself closer to him. 

"you're sweet, but trust me, that stuff doesn't bother me as much anymore. i'm pretty used to it. you forget i've been compared to quinn, jack, and luke all my life. it just kind of rolls off my back," samy said exactly what hannah told him earlier. hearing it from her though made will feel a bit more relieved than last time. 

"i just bothers me that people think it's okay to say that stuff. i guess i was worried you'd like..not wanna keep doing this because everyone has something to say about my life now," the blonde frowned and so did samy. 

"i'm not gonna leave you just because i can't take hate comments. i get that this is a lot now with more eyes on you, but i can take it. don't worry. i've been doing this since i was like ten," they shared a laugh. 

will leaned his head onto her shoulder, the worry in his chest much better than it was two hours ago. "how'd i get so lucky?" he pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

"i don't know, but i'm hungry. mark and eth said they'd pay for our dinner tonight," samy jumped up, arm outstretched to grab will off the couch too. 

"oh, goody. i'll take free food," the blonde grinned, following his girlfriend back out of the apartment to meet the guys. 

[loudstan]

Fuck the Police

Summary: Your ability to read people's minds is very useful for the police during interrogations. And that's how you meet Yuta, a werewolf accused of stealing a car.

Pairing: Werewolf! Yuta x Witch! Female reader

Warnings: Magic AU, werewolf AU, smut, Yuta being a menace

“How many times do I have to tell you? You got the wrong guys!” Yuta repeated after who knows how many times. He tried to be as calm as possible at first, reminding himself that these people were doing their job, but god was this dude dense.

“They saw you,” an equally exhausted policeman groaned. He had easily been arguing with the suspected criminal for an hour without getting any information from him. The younger boy next to him, Shotaro, wasn’t particularly helpful either, squirming nervously on his seat and nodding to everything the older man said.

“No one saw us because we were not there! Jesus, are you dumb?!” Yuta exclaimed, raising his voice.

The policeman tilted his head and stared down at Yuta. “If I were you, I would be very careful with how I talk to the police.”

“Fuck the police,” Yuta hissed, and at that minute the door opened and a beautiful young woman came in. Yuta’s mouth fell open. He wasn’t a fan of police uniforms but damn did it look good on you. Or maybe it wasn’t the uniform, but you? Because no matter how much the clothes covered, your curves were still visible and oh so much appreciated…

“Did you call for me, Officer Choi?” You asked your colleague.

“Sorry to bother you, officer L/N. I’m afraid I need some help interrogating these two,” he replied, standing up and pulling out an empty chair for you to sit like he often did. Damn, Yuta wished he had been the one to do that for you but he was handcuffed to the table.

You nodded and thanked him, before taking a seat in front of the two Japanese men. One of them kept looking at his own hands on the table and looked like he was about to cry. The other… was basically devouring you with his eyes.

You weren’t new to this type of scenario. Your ability to literally read people’s minds was often needed for interrogations, and you knew how to keep a straight face no matter how intimidating the criminal was. But this guy? He was fucking hot.

You cleared your throat and focused on your task instead. After reading the documents and hearing what you needed to know from Seungcheol Choi, you started the interrogation. “Did you steal this car?” You asked straight to the point, showing the two men in front of you a picture of the missing vehicle.

“…What if we did?” The guy who according to the document in front of you was called Yuta Nakamoto replied after a few seconds.

You couldn’t help the surprised look on your face, which wasn’t as surprised as Seungcheol’s; so this guy really argued with him for hours just to confess the moment you walked in? And the winning prize goes to Shotaro, whose eyes were wide in terror as he stared at Yuta.

“…So, did you?” You insisted.

“I mean, we could have,” Yuta shrugged.

“WE DIDN’T!” The younger, terrified man let his voice be heard for the first time, shaking his head. “We really didn’t!”

You looked into Shotaro’s eyes and concentrated on reading his thoughts. He was being honest. But then what was the other guy’s deal? You tried to read Yuta’s mind and regretted it immediately; all his thoughts were focused on you, your face…

That mouth, what pretty sounds can it make?

You sat up straight and tried not to blush too hard.

“Please, concentrate on the question, Mr. Nakamoto,” you said through gritted teeth. “Are you innocent?”

“I’m far from that,” he replied, allowing his eyes to travel down your body. Next to him, Shotaro groaned.

“This is the worst possible moment to flirt! I don’t wanna go to jail!” He hissed at Yuta in Japanese.

“We’ll go to jail if we have to,” the older replied firmly.

“We literally don’t have to! We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Shotaro, just trust me.”

“ No!” the younger replied. “ You’re not thinking straight because you’re horny.”

“I’m not just horny, pup,” Yuta chuckled, his eyes sparkling like never before. “I have just met my forever mate. I imprinted.”

“HUH?!” Shotaro yelled.

On the opposite side of the table, Seungcheol and you stared at each other and then back to the wolves who suddenly seemed very excited about something.

“What’s going on?” Seungcheol mumbled.

“I don't know! They’re thinking too fast and in a language that I don’t understand!” You hissed back.

“Hey!” Seungcheol yelled, his authoritative tone catching everyone’s attention. “Did you do it or not?!”

“Maybe,” Yuta said.

“No!” Shotaro said at the same time.

 And then they went back to arguing with each other.

“That one seems to be honest,” you told Seungcheol, pointing at Shotaro. “But the other guy’s head is a mess, so I can’t be sure…”

Seungcheol let out a frustrated sigh. His job could be so exhausting sometimes. 

 And then he suddenly smirked, his eyes shining excitedly like he just had the best idea ever. 

“Could you please get us something to drink? I bet these men are very thirsty,” he said, giving you a pointed look that lets you know immediately what type of drink he was talking about. The serum of truth wasn’t something your department would normally use. They carried out regular interrogations by just talking to suspects and, if it was really necessary, they would call you to read their minds. But this interrogation wasn’t going anywhere even with you there, and neither you nor Seungcheol was getting paid extra hours.

So you came back to the interrogation room after a few minutes, carrying a tray with four glasses of water, making sure to remember which ones had the serum and placing them in front of the two men who were giving you and Seungcheol a headache. They thanked you, and Yuta was the first to drink it absentmindedly while still talking to his friend like two policemen weren’t there waiting for them to finally confess, and then he grimaced. He put his glass down and grabbed Shotaro’s hand when he was about to drink his own. Shotaro gave him a confused look but Yuta turned his attention to you.

“What a naughty girl, officer,” he purred, licking his lips. “Making regular citizens drink the serum of truth.”

“It’s legal in this state,” Seungcheol answered quickly, making Yuta’s attention turn to him instead.

“Not without consent,” Yuta scoffed. “You tricked us into drinking it.”

“We didn’t,” you said. “The glass simply was on the table and you took it by choice. We didn’t say a word to you.”

Yuta’s eyes were on you again, and his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “God, I love a smart woman,” he said. “You’re so fucking attractive.”

“Watch it,” Seungcheol hissed in a protective manner, while you tried your best to remain unaffected in spite of your ears and cheeks turning hot.

“I thought you wanted me to be honest,” Yuta challenged. “Well, I have no choice now, so ask me anything.”

You cleared your throat and tried to start the interrogation again. “Did you–”

“I imprinted on you,” Yuta stated before you had the chance to finish the question. Next to him, Shotaro sighed tiredly and rested his forehead on the table. The situation kept getting worse, and the chances of him not sleeping in a cell tonight were slim.

“W-wha– That’s not what I was gonna….” you stuttered, confused. You scanned the documents in your hands again, just to see that the photocopy of this man’s ID indeed stated that he was a werewolf. “What?” you repeated dumbly.

“I said I imprinted on you. My human side wants to date the fuck out of you. My wolf wants to mate with you. Should I go into detail –?”

“No!” you exclaimed, not able to hide your nervousness anymore. “I…I know what imprinting means,” you mumbled.

“Well, shit…” Seungcheol murmured next to you. “Y/N,” he called your name softly and then corrected himself when he saw Yuta’s eyes sparkle at the discovery of your first name. “I mean, officer L/N, you don’t have to continue with this interrogation. I’ll take care of it, just go home.”

Don’t go, Yuta’s pleading voice said. He hadn’t spoken. It was his thoughts resonating in the back of your head. 

You looked at him, and he seemed to be breathing heavily compared to before. His intense eyes were still glued to you, but now they were as red and shiny as a ruby.

Shotaro’s whole body suddenly tensed and he lifted his head to stare at Yuta cautiously. 

And then someone knocked on the door and entered the room, interrupting the tense moment. 

“We caught the culprits,” one of your colleagues said. “We found the missing car too, so these two are free to go,” he added, pointing at the wolves.

Shotaro’s soul seemed to come back to his body and he quickly addressed his pack brother. “You hear that? We’ll be home soon! Hold it just for a bit longer!”

Yuta grunted but nodded. He had been through his rut plenty of times before and he was usually very good at controlling it, but it was really fucking hard when you were right in front of him.

“Is he in rut?!” Seungcheol asked incredulously. “You should have said something sooner!” he exclaimed, standing up and walking around the table to uncuff them. But when he stood next to Yuta and saw the way he was eyeing you like he was ready to pounce on you, he hesitated. “Officer Lee, please take Officer L/N home immediately. Make sure she’s safe,” he instructed. 

The other officer nodded quickly and waited for you to follow him, but you didn’t move from your seat.

 You were looking back into Yuta’s eyes in a daze. You didn’t want to leave. It was like he was luring you in with all the romantic and dirty promises he was making to you in his head. You could hear every thought he was having right now, every little fantasy; and you were the protagonist of all of them.

“Officer L/N!” Seungcheol’s voice brought you back to reality. “Go.”

You let out a heavy sigh and stood up quickly, trying to block Yuta’s thoughts from entering your head. 

Yuta’s eyes followed you as you left the room and then he grunted, scrunching his eyes closed. 

Seungcheol, who had just finished uncuffing Shotaro, waited until he heard the car start and drive away before he freed Yuta too. 

“You have outstanding self-control,” the officer praised the wolf, who was panting on the chair, burying his claws on the wooden table. “I know you could have broken those handcuffs easily if you wanted to… Oh, and  I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“If you’re really sorry, tell me Y/N’s work schedule,” Yuta grunted in pain, allowing Shotaro to help him get up from the chair. 

“I can’t do that,” Seungcheol said, giving him a sympathetic smile. Yuta seemed like a decent guy, but that didn’t mean he was entitled to have you. “But I can at least give you guys a ride home, let’s go.”

When you got home, you felt incredibly drained. Mind reading was an activity that often took a lot of your strength, but also Yuta’s thoughts had been so intense, he made you weak on the knees.

So your name is Y/N? That’s lovely, just like you.

I want you to be the first thing I see every morning.

Make you breakfast in bed, you won’t have to lift a finger.

Make love to you until you see stars—

You shuddered. You had found him attractive the moment your eyes landed on him, but your expectations for a partner were…different. You were hoping to end up with a simple office worker who had a stable routine and live a calm life together. And Yuta, with his leather jacket, talking back to the police and being half animal was far from what you wanted to attract.

There was no way you would accept his “confession”… but your heart skipped a beat as you thought of him and your groin pulsated when you remembered his unsolicited dirty thoughts invading your head.

I would let you step all over me.

Use me however you want.

“Fuck,” you sighed and plopped down on your bed. 

But then it will be my turn.

And I can go all night, officer…

Unconsciously, your hand made its way down your stomach and into your panties. You were soaking.

You knew you shouldn’t.

I could make you feel so fucking good…

But maybe just a little wouldn’t hurt, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone would ever know, and you were so hot and bothered, and his voice wouldn’t leave your head. Just once. Just once and then you would never think about him again, you told yourself, sighing in relief and arching your back.

“Why are the police outside our house?” Ten asked, looking out the window.

“Don’t look at me,” Chenle shrugged, not even bothering to pause the videogame he was playing with Jisung.

“Oh, I wasn’t looking at you,” Ten assured him, crossing his arms and glaring at Haechan.

“Wha-?” Haechan almost choked on the cereal he was munching straight out of the box. “Why me?! I didn’t do anything!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. You called the police for absolutely no reason last month.”

“No reason?” Haechan gasped. “No reason?! Renjun was trying to kill me!”

“Please, I barely touched you,” Renjun rolled his eyes at him.

“Did you say the police?!” Yangyang suddenly ran into the living room, pale and distressed. 

“...Yangyang, what did you do?!” Ten asked in panic as he heard knocking on the door.

“NOTHING!” Yangyang yelled, eyes darting quickly from the main door to his room. “Hyung, please don’t open the door just yet. I need 5 minutes–no, 3 minutes–”

“Good evening, officer. Can I help you?” Taeil greeted a stoic-looking policeman at the door. He had dismissed the entire conversation and made his way to the door to open it, tired of the insistent knocking. 

“Good evening, I was wondering if–,” The officer spoke only to be interrupted by an agitated young wolf.

“THEY ARE JUST PLANTS!” Yangyang defended himself from the inexistent accusation, causing all eyes to land on him.

Officer Seungcheol Choi glared at him in silence, before deciding that he really did not care what the hell he was talking about. His shift had finished hours ago and he was not getting paid enough for the headache he had right now. “I was wondering if Yuta Nakamoto and Shotaro Osaki live here.”

“Yes,” Taeil replied quickly. “W-why? Did something happen to them?”

“They are both fine,” Seungcheol said. “One of them entered his rut at the police station so I brought them here,” he said, pointing at the car where Shotaro was opening the door, allowing them to see Yuta lying on his side in the back seat.

“Shit,” Taeil murmured, rushing towards the car, followed by Ten. 

The other members who were in the living room quickly gathered at the door to see what was going on while Seungcheol helped Shotaro get Yuta out of the car and into Ten and Taeil’s arms.

Yuta laughed weakly. “Why would the weakest members come to my rescue?”

“You’re in no position to complain,” Ten chided, circling Yuta’s waist with his arm. 

“The big, strong ones are all out, so it’s either us or the kids,” Taeil added, ignoring the complaints from the youngest members yelling they were not kids. 

They thanked the policeman and dragged Yuta into the house, managing to make him drink some water before giving him some privacy.

“That’s weird,” Renjun hummed when he came back to the living room after giving Yuta some suppressants. “Yuta hyung is usually very careful when it comes to his cycle. He always makes sure he’s home before his rut hits.”

“Unless…” Ten’s lips morphed into a teasing smile. “Someone triggered it.”

“No way!” Taeil raised his eyebrows and let out a little laugh of disbelief. “Did he find…?”

Shotaro, who was lying down on the sofa, looked at them with tired eyes and nodded. 

“He imprinted?!” Renjun asked. “It’s happening so fast…Everyone’s finding their mate…”

“Don’t be sad, Renjunie,” Haechan cooed, hugging him.

“I’m not–,” he responded, trying to push him away.

“You’ll find yourself a kinky bad bitch who puts you in your place—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Renjun snapped at Haechan, slapping his back hard several times until he whined and apologized. 

“What is she like?” Chenle asked absentmindedly while resuming his videogame with Jisung.

“I don’t know much about her but she works for the police,” Shotaro replied vaguely.

“Okay. Hot,” Ten approved. 

“I fail to see how that’s hot,” Renjun refuted.

“Uh, hello? The uniform? The cuffs?” Ten explained very slowly like he was talking to an idiot and Taeil laughed, shaking his head from side to side.

“You hear that, Jisungie?” Haechan teased the youngest, who was trying very hard to pretend he didn’t hear him. “Handcuffs, like the ones I gifted you. Have you tried them on your mate yet?”

Jisung froze and his character on screen died right in that moment. Chenle laughed blatantly and celebrated his victory, giving Haechan a high five while Jisung quickly excused himself to go to the bathroom. 

Renjun frowned. “You know, one day Jisung will finally notice he’s grown to be taller and stronger than you and he’ll kick your ass. And I’ll enjoy it very much.”

“Just say you like my ass and go,” Haechan winked and quickly ran away, with Renjun chasing after him with murderous intent. 

“Why were you at the police station anyways?” Taeil continued the conversation like nothing happened.

“They mistook us for someone else. Thought we stole a car or something,” Shotaro mumbled, pouting cutely. “And then Yuta hyung’s brain malfunctioned when he saw his mate and tried to confess to a crime he didn’t commit just to buy time with her.”

Chenle, Taeil, and Ten burst out laughing. They would make sure to tease Yuta about that later since he always prided himself on being cool and collected.

He was not cool and collected at all in his room, fucking into his fist and biting his lip. All he could think about was fucking the rut out of his system so he could go out and see you again. And then fuck you. He was sure you would feel way better than his hand; tight and hot around him as your tits bounced each time he thrusts inside you. He didn’t even need to picture you naked; he was more than okay with unbuttoning your blouse and riling your skirt up, taking you while still wearing your uniform and not caring if the entire police station saw. If you blushed just like you did when he confessed he imprinted on you, you would look so fucking cute. And if only you said his name a bit louder… He wasn’t a fan of people calling him by his last name, but the way you had called him ‘Mr. Nakamoto’...

“FUCK!” he grunted, cumming so hard that some drops landed on his face. His body finally relaxed on the messy bed sheets and he let out a breathy laugh. He was mostly laughing at himself; he had never been so desperate to cum before and it had been so intense he was sure he stopped breathing for almost an entire minute. If he felt like this just to the thought of you, then he knew actually touching you would be the end of him. 

It was 4 days later that you saw Yuta Nakamoto again. He was casually leaning against the wall outside the police station like he owned the place.

“Hi, beautiful,” he called for you, smiling happily and approaching you.

“It’s Officer L/N to you,” you hissed, but couldn’t hide the blush on your ears at the memory of what you had done alone in the darkness while thinking of him.

“Officer L/N,” he corrected himself, biting back a smirk like he found the whole situation very amusing. “I wanted to see you.”

“I’m working,” you said. “Unless you have an emergency that the police can help with, you shouldn’t be here.”

Instead of sulking, he smiled.

So if I make an emergency happen I can come here?

“Don’t!” you yelled too quickly when you heard his thoughts.

His smirk grew wider.

I knew it. You can read minds.

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You froze. Your ability was precious to the police so you were instructed to keep it a secret. As for your personal life, many friends got awkward around you when they found out you could read their minds in the past, so you had learned to control your expressions and behavior so people couldn’t even suspect you knew what was going on in their heads. People didn’t like having someone in their heads. It was invasive, embarrassing,...

“Perfect,” Yuta said out loud this time. “That will make things easier.”

But Yuta didn’t seem to mind it.

“W-what?” you stuttered.

“You’ll know I mean everything I say.”

“...So what?”

“So you can trust me.”

“Trust you?” you scoffed and started walking away, but he quickly followed your steps and walked next to you.

“Can’t build a relationship without trust, can you?” he said casually. 

“There’s no relationship between us.” 

“Yet.”

“Listen,” you stopped right before the gate and turned to look at him. “You’re not my type.”

“Too bad. You’re totally my type,” he countered. 

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said between gritted teeth. 

Yuta laughed and the sound was endearing. “I’m afraid it’s very much your problem too.”

You gulped. “Meaning…?”

“I’m a man who knows what he wants,” he said staring at your lips.

And I don’t stop until I get it.

You glared at him, hoping he didn’t see the way your body shivered.

You know what I want right now?

You didn’t even need to read his mind to know the answer. The way he was staring at your lips and closing the distance between you told you all you needed to know.

“Officer L/N,” Seungcheol’s voice called for you. “All good over here?”

Thank god. Seungcheol had arrived to start his shift as well.

“All good,” you grumbled as Seungcheol stood in between you two, facing Yuta.

“How are you doing? Is your rut over?” Seungcheol asked.

Yuta nodded, his eyes still finding you behind your colleague’s figure. “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

“That’s good,” Seungcheul replied politely. “It was nice to see you but I can’t let you past this gate unless you have an emergency to report.”

“Right…” Yuta sighed. 

Gotta cause some trouble first then, huh?

You glared at him over Seungcheol’s shoulder and shook your head. Even if Yuta couldn’t read minds he knew you didn’t want him to do that.

Unless you let me see you after your shift…

You rolled your eyes and got ready to walk away.

Got it. It’s been a while since the last time I broke into private property. I’ll see you after–

“My shift finishes at 8,” you blurted out suddenly. Or at least for Seungcheol, it was sudden; he had no idea about the mental conversation you had just had with Yuta. 

“Great,” Yuta chuckled. “I’ll pick you up then,” he declared, before waving both of you goodbye.

“Uh…” Seungcheol hesitated as you two entered the police station. “Are you two…?

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ll just meet him once and tell him I’m not interested.”

“...You’re not interested?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed and got irritated when Seungcheol just stared at you blankly. “He’s definitely not what I look for in a man.”

“You could have just told him that earlier.”

“I did! He’s just so stubborn–”

“So instead you agreed to go on a date with him?” Seungcheol scoffed, mocking you. “Sure, not interested at all…”

“It is not a date.”

“Mhm…”

“Seungcheol!”

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” he winked at you, before going into his office.

Time went by incredibly fast during your shift and you became more anxious as the clock got close to announcing 8PM. You collected your stuff slowly, kind of hoping if you took long enough Yuta would get bored and leave (if he even was out there waiting), but when you dragged your feet to the main gate you were met with his easygoing expression, like you hadn’t made him wait for almost half an hour. 

“Tough day, officer?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, as you can tell I’m a busy person. Just go ahead and say what you have to say.”

“Sure,” Yuta said offering you a…helmet? “We should get going then.”

It was then that you noticed that this time, instead of the wall, he was leaning against a motorcycle. You looked at the helmet in your hands and then at Yuta who was swiftly getting on the motorcycle and patting the seat behind him, indicating for you to follow. 

“Absolutely not,” you deadpanned.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” Yuta feigned confusion.

“Let’s just talk here.”

“Oh, alright, if you don’t mind your coworkers hearing that you triggered my rut and I spent days thinking about–”

 You shrieked and quickly covered his mouth with your palms.

—you. I spent all these days thinking about you, and I know you’ve thought about me too.

 You blushed and looked around. Some of your coworkers were leaving and waved at you in a friendly manner. You waved back. This was not something you wanted them to hear. So you put on the damn helmet and sat behind Yuta, trying to keep some distance between your bodies.

“You need to hold onto me,” Yuta said when he noticed your hands barely holding onto the edge of the seat behind you.

“You wish,” you spat back.

“I do,” he agreed. “But also, you’ll fly off otherwise. I don’t want you injured on our first date.”

“This is not a date—” you wanted to argue with him but as soon as you heard him starting the engine you panicked and your arms surrounded his torso automatically. 

Yuta’s body tensed when he felt your body so close to his and then he released a long breath.

So warm…

You barely hear his thoughts over the sound of the motorcycle, but you were thinking the exact same thing: he was so warm. You gripped his clothes tightly as the vehicle started moving.

Just like that. Don’t let go.

You tried to let the wind hitting the helmet drown the sound of his thoughts but they were so loud, by the time you arrived at your destination you were dizzy, a blushing mess and your heart was beating hard and fast against his back.

“Officer L/N?” you heard him call your name. “We’re here. You can let go now.”

…Or don’t. I don’t mind staying like this.

Immediately, you pulled away from him and jumped out of the bike, your hands flying to fix your skirt which had ridden up your thighs, ignoring Yuta’s charming (annoying) laugh. 

“What is this place?” you asked, looking around. 

There was no one around besides Yuta and you. All you saw was the road, the forest and… a view of the whole city. You gasped out loud; even if it was a small city, with no big skyscrapers, the city lights still shone like a kaleidoscope contrasting the dark sky. You had asked to be transferred to work and live in a small town, away from all the noise and stress that the capital city had made you deal with. Since you moved to this town, you were glad that crime was low, people (humans, and non-human creatures alike) were mostly kind and you had a calm life…but you hadn’t paid proper attention to the beauty this city had to offer. 

Speechless you turned around to look at Yuta, whose dark eyes were reflecting the city view. But he was looking at you, leaning forward while still sitting on his bike, his head resting on his arms lazily.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. 

And that was exactly what you were thinking about him. But you wouldn’t say it out loud. 

“I asked you where we are,” you said firmly.

“My favorite place,” the werewolf said as he reached for the rear suitcase and unpacked whatever he had brought with him. “Cool view, huh?”

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked him in an irritated tone, not wanting to admit that the view was the most beautiful thing you had seen in a while.

“To spend time with you,” he replied as if it was obvious, as he laid down a blanket on the grass and placed several food containers on it.

“Is this…a picnic?”

“Yes.”

 That was surprisingly…sweet. Not something you would expect from the werewolf in the leather jacket who rides a motorcycle around town. You kind of hoped your future partner would take you on cute little dates like this one. But Yuta was not in those plans.

“Nakamoto.”

“Hm?” he looked up at you, giving you his full attention. Your heart beat a bit faster when your eyes met but you had to stand your ground.

“I’m not going to date you.”

He narrowed his eyes, a glint of amusement in them. Then he hummed and went back to arranging the food. “You already are.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know I’m interested in you, yet you let me pick you up from work and take you for a ride at night. Now we are alone in a place that looks like a movie scene, about to eat food I made for you. Tell me that’s not a date.”

Well it did sound like a date when he said it like that, but you never agreed to that. “I’m going back.”

“Oh, yeah? You gonna walk all the way back to town in those heels?” he challenged you. “There are no other cars around the area, and phone reception sucks up here.”

 You looked at your phone and confirmed that you wouldn’t be able to get in touch with anyone. The place looked deserted too. “You’re a psychopath.”

Yuta laughed out loud. This was the loudest and most cheerful you had heard him laugh before and it was quite cute how he threw his head back and his mouth opened wide, displaying his perfect smile without trying to look elegant at all. His laugh sounded so pure.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” he admitted when he calmed down, still giggling a little. “I didn’t plan to trap you here. I just wanted to take you somewhere nice and get to know you better, and I thought you might be hungry so I prepared something to eat. That’s all.”

As if waiting for the sign, your stomach growled loudly. How embarrassing. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Yuta asked, a hint of concern noticeable in his voice.

“Uh, not sure…” you admitted. “Our shifts are a bit unpredictable sometimes.”

Yuta sighed. “Just eat with me? I’ll take you back right after. I promise. You can read my mind if you want.”

You rolled your eyes but let out a tired laugh. You didn’t even need to read the mind of someone who was such an open book. You finally sat down in front of him and looked at the food in front of you. “So, what do we have here?”

The Japanese straightened his back and started presenting you with a variety of food. “So, some of these may have gone a bit cold by now but we have here some yakisoba, this is sushi that should be eaten at room temperature so this is a perfect time… or if you are a vegetarian, you can try vegetable fried rice…or if you’re not into any of this stuff I prepared some sandwiches,” he rambled, looking a bit nervous for the first time since you met him.

“Did you make all this yourself?” you asked him. 

“Yeah,” Yuta bit his lip nervously. “I’m not a chef but it should be edible.”

“You could have just bought some snacks.”

“I guess I could have but… I know that when people work a lot they end up eating just whatever and I wanted you to have a proper home-cooked meal…”

Another surprisingly sweet gesture from Yuta Nakamoto. It was so thoughtful and it probably took him hours in the kitchen. For you. Well, you were starving so why not give it a try?

 You reached for the utensils he had placed in front of you and tried food from the container closest to you, under his expecting eyes.

It was delicious. If he wasn’t a chef then he should consider becoming one.

“...Not bad,” you commented like it wasn’t the best meal you’d had in months. 

Yuta bit back a smile and started eating too. He didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled and you almost sighed when trying his food, so he was incredibly proud of himself. 

The more you ate the more you let your guard down, allowing Yuta to ask you simple questions about your hobbies, life, and general preferences. He also answered any question you had for him quite openly. 

He kept his promise and took you home after. He didn’t try anything on you, but he did show up every Friday evening to pick you up from your shift. No matter how annoyed you were or pretended to be, each time you showed less resistance to getting on the bike, and you had stopped making plans for Friday night, knowing he would be waiting for you. Not that you would tell anyone this, but you were counting the minutes for your shift to end to see him again.

You enjoyed your time together until it was time to address the elephant in the room.

“This was fun…” you trailed off.

“But?” Yuta asked, knowing you were about to find an excuse.

“I have…plans, you know?” you sighed. “A reckless werewolf I met in the interrogation room imprinting on me is not part of my plans at all.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t supposed to be interrogated in the first place,” he said. “But I’m glad it happened.”

You sighed again. “You can’t give me what I want.”

“How do you know that?” he murmured. He was looking at you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes, looking at the city view instead.

“I want calm. I want domestic,” you replied, frustrated and a bit tired.

“But you also want me,” he said.

“Nakamoto…”

“Can we stop calling each other by our last names?” he was starting to sound frustrated too.  “We’re not strangers, Y/N.” 

 He was right. That was just your childish way of keeping some distance between you two. 

“...Can you drop me home now?” you finally asked, not wanting to continue this conversation. 

 Yuta glared at you. 

Won’t you even look at me?

You didn’t. 

He scoffed.

As you wish.

The ride back was silent. You tried to get into his head and hear whatever he was thinking about, but he was thinking in his native language, blocking you indirectly. Since you met, he had tried to think in a language you would understand, giving you complete access to his head and heart, but you had hurt him. You didn’t get to read his thoughts if you weren’t capable of opening yourself up to him in return. 

“Thank you,” you grumbled when you arrived at your destination, giving him the helmet back.

“You’re welcome,”  he said dryly. 

“You don’t have to pick me up from work next week,” you added.

“Gotcha,” he simply said, like he didn’t care. It angered you, but it was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you didn’t say anything else and watched him leave. For the first time, he didn’t wait until you got into your house.

Did you regret it as soon as you reached your bed? Yes. Your chest felt tight and your eyes stung like you wanted to cry. 

Would you do something to fix it? No. Because you were a coward, afraid of such an unconventional man, no matter how kind and lovely he was, approaching you and telling you he wanted to stay with you for life.

And he indeed didn’t pick you up the next week. When you finished your shift and left the station, no one was waiting there for you. Why would there be? You had told the poor guy to leave you alone, and he did. Perfect.

Just perfect.

But for some reason, you still cried yourself to sleep that night and woke up in the morning to a call from Seungcheol. 

“Hello?” you groaned, rubbing your eyes sleepily. 

“Hey, Y/N, no time for small talk,” Seungcheol said from the other side of the line. “I know you don’t work today but I really really think you should come.”

“W-why? What’s wrong?” you asked, very confused, but all these years of work had your body getting out of bed and getting ready automatically.

“Don’t panic,” he said now in a more calming tone. “What matter’s that no one got hurt–”

“What happened?!”

“Just come to my office!” he said before he hung up the phone.

You basically run to work, your feet hurting on your heels, your uniform all wrinkled, and your hair a mess, not even bothering to tie it up and look appropriate. You nervously greeted your coworkers and went straight into Seungcheol’s office.

“Seungcheol–”

“Finally!” he sighed, letting you in and locking the door behind him. “It’s gonna be okay, nobody else knows–”

“Know what?! Can you please give me some context?” you hissed nervously.

Seungcheol inhaled. “Do you know where your boyfriend was last night?”

“My what?!”

“Your boyfriend?” he repeated, now sounding as confused as you.  “The Japanese one?”

“He’s not my boyfriend–”

“What do you mean? You guys have been dating for— it doesn’t matter. Just take a look at this,” he said, pointing at his laptop screen.

You got closer to his desk and watched the screen where security footage of some type of store was playing. You were about to ask what all this was about when you saw a familiar face entering the store and going through the product shelves urgently. 

“Yuta…” you whispered. 

In the video, the man opened a few jars, straight up drank the content of some of them, and emptied others in a bottle he was carrying. After a few minutes, he made a pained expression and bent down on the floor before he passed out. 

 You were holding your breath, your own body hurting at seeing him like that. Seungcheol skipped some parts of the video until someone who worked in the store discovered Yuta, who stood up and left, looking disoriented. 

“This is the apothecary near the beach,” Seungcheol said. “The store owner won’t present charges because he didn’t actually steal. Apparently, he left cash on the counter for the stuff he took. The door wasn’t damaged either. It’s like he has experience breaking in.”

“W-why did he…. Oh, god,” you sighed. 

“I checked his house. His pack hasn’t seen him since yesterday,” Seungcheol continued. “Any idea where he could be?”

“No…wait! Maybe—... I’m not sure,” you answered vaguely. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Seungcheol asked.

“No,” you said more firmly this time. “I think I’ll be fine by myself.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol agreed, passing you the patrol car keys. He could tell that something had happened between the two of you and that he should let you solve things by yourself. “But let me know of any updates. If you can’t find him by the end of the day his pack will file a missing report.”

“I’ll find him,” you assured him. He had to be at that place. The place where you had most of your dates. So that’s where you went.

And there he was, sitting on the grass and looking at the sunset over the city, in the same place where you had the most fun and heart whelming moments the last couple of months. You managed to send one last message to Seungcheol letting him know you had found Yuta before your phone service abandoned you.

 Yuta looked at you getting off the car over his shoulder and went back to look into the sunset.

“Good evening, Officer L/N,” he said sarcastically. 

You grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

You sighed and sat down next to him. He didn’t spare you a glance, just reached for his  thermos bottle and filled his cup with tea.

“What happened yesterday?” you asked.

“Many things…”

“Okay…,” you nodded. “Why did you break into the apothecary?” 

“I was in pain,” he said, grabbing another little cup from beside him and filling it with tea before offering it to you. 

“What type of pain?” You accepted the cup, glad that he was somehow communicating with you. “Are you sick?”

“No, not sick,” he said raising his cup towards yours as if there was anything to cheer to.

“Then why were you in pain?” You clinked your cup with his and drank the tea, shuddering at the contrast between the warm beverage and the cool breeze caressing your face.

“My wolf was acting up…” he murmured, refilling both your cups. “I think he got used to seeing you every Friday and when it became late at night and didn’t have you near, he thought that starting an early rut would make me go find you,” he laughed bitterly and drank some more. “I really wanted to see you, but you told me not to, so I went to buy something for the pain instead but it was closed. It really fucking hurt so I entered anyways…Well, let me finish my tea before you arrest me.”

“You’re not under arrest. The owner won’t present charges,” you said. “I was just worried about you.”

“Why?” he asked, looking at you drink your second cup of tea.

“Because I care about you,” you admitted almost too easily. 

“Then why do you push me away?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m kinda scared,” you said. “This whole imprinting thing…I didn’t see it coming.”

“That’s valid,” he sighed. “Did you at least enjoy hanging out with me?”

“It was the highlight of my week,” you giggled. “I loved it.”

“I’m glad,” he murmured before he winced in pain.

“What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, placing a hand on his back. You could feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

“Told you,” he groaned. “Early rut.”

“You–...you’re in rut right now?!”

“Were you not listening earlier?” he laughed half-heartedly.

“I was! I just didn’t— fuck, okay, let’s take you home,” you said urgently, pulling his arm and making him stand up.

He let you guide him to the car and get him in the back seat without resistance. He focused on your face instead, like you were fascinating to look at and he had all the time in the world (which wasn’t the case; you had to get him back to town as soon as possible).

 “Where are we going?” He asked tiredly as he let you lay him down.

“The hospital,” you said firmly. “Or wherever you can take care of your… uh, state,” you pointed at his body vaguely and then you gulped. 

Did he really need to look this good in such a critical moment? Leaning on his forearms, with his legs slightly spread, his messy hair sticking to his forehead and nape, and his lidded eyes scanning your body. 

“I like your hair today,” he casually said.

You clicked your tongue.“I didn’t have much time to get ready.”

“You look so hot. I want you so bad…”

You stopped trying to push his feet in the car and looked up to meet his reddened eyes. 

Come here.

“I-...I have to drive,” you stuttered, trying to push him back when he leaned toward you. 

 He grabbed your arm before you could make your way to the driver's seat. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he simply mumbled. “It’s a long way to town…I won’t be able to resist you.”

“Then don’t,” you said simply and then you gasped, your hand flying to cover your mouth. Did you really just say that?

“Is that so?” Yuta purred while his fingers caressed your arm. “Officer L/N wants me to fuck her?”

You rolled your eyes, ready to tell him that you were not interested but instead what exited your mouth was: “Of course I do– shit!”

Now you covered your mouth with both hands. What the hell? What were you saying?

You looked at Yuta with wide eyes, but he didn’t seem surprised; if anything he looked smug. 

Wait…

The tea.

“Did you put something in the tea?” you asked him angrily.

“Serum of truth,” he said shamelessly, pulling your body closer to his firmly so now you were in the car too, lying on top of him, your hands resting on the door behind his head.

“W-what?!” you shrieked. So that’s why you were saying everything you felt out loud. “Where did you get it? It’s not available in any store–”

“I made it myself,” he said, as his hands caressed your face. “Last night in the apothecary.”

“Y-you!” now you were furious. “Regular citizens can’t administrate the serum of truth. Ever!”

“What are you gonna do about it, hmm?” he cooed. “Call the police?”

“Uugh,” you groaned. You hated the guy. Except you didn’t. 

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting me, officer,” Yuta assured you. “I want you too. I have had the best orgasms since I started thinking about you when touching myself.”

“Shut up!” you yelped, now covering his mouth with your hands.

Thought about fucking you in this skirt. 

Giving it to you so hard you would drop the fucking attitude.

“Oh my god,” you whined.

Have you thought about me too? You looked away. Embarrassed. 

I bet you have. I could smell how wet you were the day we met.

…Shit I can smell it now too.

“Nakamoto,” you warned him but it sounded like a plea.

He hummed against your hands, deciding there was no reason for him not to use his hands on you too. He grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled them to have you sitting on his crotch in a swift motion. You gasped as your skirt rode up and you could feel his hard member pulsating against you in spite of the remaining layers of clothing between you.

Did it feel good? 

Touching yourself with these beautiful hands, imagining it was me?

He kissed your palms and fingers lovingly like he was praising them for a job well done.

“S-so good…” you admitted in a tiny voice.

Yuta groaned, sending vibrations to your hands and then biting your finger playfully, finally making you release his mouth with a yelp.

“That should have been me touching you,” he grumbled, grabbing your hips and pressing you against his hard. “Why play hard to get if you were getting off to me anyways? So you kept going on dates with me, telling me you weren’t into me every time, just to go home and fuck yourself with these tiny fingers?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him an answer and also because you were sure any sound escaping your mouth right now would be embarrassingly pathetic with the way his clothed crotch was rubbing against yours. 

When you kept looking away he grabbed your face with his hand and made you face him. “Who do you think of when you fuck yourself?” he growled. 

He seemed to think you were taking a little too long to reply because his other hand landed on your ass cheek loud and hard. You gasped and your hands grabbed onto his wrinkled shirt.

 “I asked you a question,” he insisted when you only gasped and hissed instead of offering a proper answer.

“Answer me,” he breathed against your lips, his tone low and demanding, slapping your ass even harder twice. “Who were you thinking about?”

“Y-you!” you finally yelped. “I imagined it w-was you… every time…”

And with that,  Yuta’s lips were immediately on yours, kissing you softly but firmly, letting out little pained whines. He honestly had no idea how he spent months seeing you without doing this before. It was like the tension was finally leaving his body.

You kissed him back nervously. You still couldn’t quite comprehend that you were finally giving in and allowing your body and heart to do what they really wanted. Then you felt the same hands that had slapped you gently massaging the mistreated area.

We’re done playing games. You’re mine now.

You moaned and he nipped at your bottom lip and slid his tongue into your mouth, licking and sucking eagerly and making it hard to keep up with him. 

You want that? Want me to make you mine?

“Y-yeah,” you barely breathed out as he kissed your jaw. And damn, the stupid serum was still making you admit to the most embarrassing things. “But–”

But you want calm and domestic.

He fixated on your neck, biting and licking. 

And you think I can’t give you that?

“N-nakamoto…”

If you like my last name that much you can have it.

What do you say? I really like the sound of Y/N Nakamoto.

“Fuck…,” you sighed. He seemed to have found his favorite spot on your neck, sucking like he couldn’t get enough.

Say it. Say you want to be mine.

 You finally gave in. “P-please…–Ah!” 

And then you felt a sharp sting on the same spot he had been sucking on. He moaned as his fangs pierced your skin, one of his hands holding you by your nape while his other arm circled your waist. Your neck started tingling;  a funny sensation that soon spread until reaching your toes and making them curl. 

“Taste so good,” he whispered against your neck. 

You whined, gripping his clothes desperately, to the point he could probably feel your nails digging into his skin through the fabric. Your body was tickling all over like you were being caressed with feathers and it felt frustrating. You needed something, but you didn’t know what. Your body seemed to have a clear idea though, your hips moving slowly against Yuta’s. 

 He let go of your neck, kissing your lips sweetly before looking down where your bodies were moving in synch. He let out a heavy sigh and placed his hands on your ass, helping you move.

“It’s– It’s not…” you mumbled, letting out a frustrated whimper.

“Hmm?” he asked, unable to look away from the tent in his pants digging into your wet underwear, having pulled your skirt to your waist. 

“It’s n-not enough,” you finally said.

“Agreed,” he grumbled. His hands flew toward his jeans, unbuttoning them and lowering the zipper clumsily. 

 Your lust-driven brain made it hard for you to think clearly, but you understood what was important: those jeans needed to go. So you lifted your lower body to give him some space to undress himself, but he growled. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” he asked, pulling his pants and boxers down hastily, just enough to free his reddened cock. His thighs would probably hurt with the way the fabric would cut the circulation but he couldn’t care less right now. He wanted your warmth back on him. “Get back here.”

 “Wanna take these off…” you trailed off as you pointed at your panties, trying to untangle yourself from him in such a small space.

“Later,” he breathed out, bringing your body closer to his again. “Can’t wait.”

He pulled your panties to the side and positioned your hips right over his until your pussy was pressed against his member resting on his lower abdomen. 

“O-oh god,” you whined, as the head of his cock rubbed against your clit. “It’s so warm…”

“So wet,” he groaned at the same time. His shaky hands caressed your waist as you started moving experimentally, gliding against his cock. He let out a choked moan. “F-fuck!” 

He reached for your shirt and unbuttoned it hurriedly, lowering it down your shoulders and pulling your bra down as you continued moving back and forward. He sighed at the sight of your uncovered breasts, and let the tip of his tongue tease one of your nipples.

I’ve been wanting to taste these tits for so long.

The same nipple got engulfed in the warmth of his mouth as he sucked hard.

“Ah— Haa….” you moaned, arching your back.

Faster.

You obeyed, grinding harder and faster, feeling your climax building up as a knot in your stomach. “I’m close….Oh!”

He hummed but his mouth was too occupied toying with your breasts to speak. Luckily he didn’t need to speak out loud for you to hear him.

Me too, beautiful. 

Your taste’s driving me fucking crazy.

Can’t wait to taste all of you…

You gasped and a shiver ran up your spine.  “O-oh fuck…”

May I?

Can I eat your pussy?

Your eyes rolled back and your mouth hung open, your movements turning desperate as you pressed your clit against the head of his cock.

Tell me I can, beautiful.

His tone was pleading, like he didn’t know you would say yes to anything he asked. 

Yeah? Can I?

Opening his eyes to look up at your face, he stuck the tip of his tongue out and flicked your hardened nipple quickly, no doubt imitating the way he would toy with your clit. All you had to do was say…

“YES! Yes, y-yes, fuck! Yuta, yes!” you screamed. Your body convulsed on top of his, covering his dick with your release.

He finally let go of your sore nipples, looking at your orgasmic expression in awe. 

Suddenly he grabbed your hips and started thrusting up rapidly.

“S-shit, Y/N…,” he gulped. “Feels t-too fucking good I…Ah! I can’t—,” his words were interrupted by a gasp, and then his body tensed as spurts of cum tainted his wrinkled shirt. 

He lay on his back and you collapsed on top of him, both of you panting tiredly.

“...You called me by my name,” Yuta whispered.

You pushed against his pecs to lift yourself a little, looking at his delighted expression. He looked like it was Christmas and he had received the most precious of gifts.

You tried not to smile. “Really? Among all the things that just happened, you’re happy that I said your first name?” 

“Mhmm…it makes me really happy,” he agreed, surrounding you with his arms. “Plus, you didn’t just say my name. You screamed it.”

You cleared your throat, embarrassed. “I should d-drive us back now…” you mumbled, trying to stand up, but before you could even blink you were on your back on the leather seat with Yuta sitting between your legs.

“Not yet,” he said, taking your panties off handily. “Wanna taste you.”

If you were on a proper bed, he would lie down on his stomach easily, but the back seat of the car was too small for that. He knew it wasn’t the most appropriate place for mating, but he just couldn’t wait another 25-30 minutes until you were back in the city. It didn’t matter if the position wasn’t ideal; he had to taste you now. 

“Y-yuta?! Wha—” you yelped when your hips were raised by his strong hands, leaving only your upper back, neck, and head resting on the seat. 

He hovered over you and pulled your hips closer to his face, placing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face between them with no hesitation. 

“FUCK! Yuta– Aaaah!” your hands reached for his head and pulled his hair. “W-wait!”

You said I could.

He hummed, sending vibrations through your body as he made out with your pussy.

“I did but–” your legs kicked the roof of the car as a reflex when he sucked on your clit. “B-but not like t-this…”

Why not?

You’re fucking delicious.

And you’re all mine.

“This p-position is…Oh! It’s too embarrassing…” you whined. Your uniform was wrinkled around your waist, tits and pussy exposed as he bent you in such a scandalous and vulnerable way. 

Don’t be embarrassed.

Never with me.

You’re perfect.

Yuta’s tongue circled your entrance slowly and your hands went from his hair to your reddened face, trying to cover your flustered expression.

What’s wrong?

The tip of his tongue slid in. You whined.

Doesn’t it feel good?

He went in deeper, rolling his eyes at the way your walls contracted against the wet muscle.

“Ah!” you squirmed, but he held you firmly, fucking you with his tongue.

Tell me, beautiful.

I need to know

He knew damn well it felt good, especially with the way his nose was rubbing your clit. You wished you could be mad at him, but then one of his hands left your hips to look for your breasts, grabbing and massaging.

Do you like it?

“Fuck! I- I love it ah– aaahh!” you moaned and your hands went back to his head when he started licking your clit again.

Me too. 

I fucking love everything about you.

“Yuta, oh g-god…” you panted and your eyes rolled back when his tongue circled your clit.

Wanted to do this for so long.

Since the first time I saw you.

Wanted to eat you out on the table I was handcuffed to at the station. 

Didn’t care if everyone saw.

You just smelled so good I knew you would taste like heaven.

“I’m g-gonna cum—fuck, Yuta I– Ah! Oooh!” your legs started shaking around his head.

Cum for me, beautiful.

You tensed in his arms and the tip of his tongue flicked your clit torturously fast, bringing you to another orgasm. You moaned embarrassingly loud and pushed his head closer to your center, much to his delight. His arms circled your hips and secured you in your place as he drank your release, only letting go when you became a trembling mess. 

“Does your neck hurt?” Yuta’s voice asked, raspier than usual, taking you out of your post-release bliss. 

“It will surely hurt tomorrow,” you complained weakly. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I’ll give you a massage later,” he promised. “I just couldn’t find a better way…”

“Didn’t think of 69ing?” You asked tiredly.

“Oh,” Yuta hesitated for a moment and then laughed. “No, I didn’t think about it. That would have been good too…”

You snorted. His brain really was consumed by his rut. It was better to take him home soon. The sky was already dark so it was probably getting late. “How about we get back now–Yuta!” you gasped when you felt his hardened member gliding against your sensitive pussy lips lazily. 

“Once. Let me knot you just once and we can go,” he answered, pressing his hips against yours. But he used all his remaining self-control to halt his movements and look into your eyes. “Unless you really don’t want this…”

 When you first found out he had given you serum of truth you were angry, but the more you thought about it, the more fair it seemed. You had access to his thoughts all the time. You knew his real feelings and intentions but refused to communicate honestly. He had been at a disadvantage the entire time, being so open about everything but never getting a single word out of you. Now you couldn’t lie to him. And that was fine. You didn’t want to. If anything it felt relieving to say everything you thought finally.

“I want it,” you said. “I want you.”

Yuta gulped. “Yeah? You sure?”

You reached for his shirt and helped him take it off before you lay back on your back. Your hands wandered over his body, caressing his defined chest and abs, and your fingers traced the outline of a butterfly tattoo on his stomach. His eyes were trained in your hands touching all of him, and he didn’t notice when you lifted your hips slightly, pressing your crotch against his aching cock and he let out a shaky moan, his body bending forward and caging you on the seat. 

“I’m sure,” you said, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

 He kissed you back eagerly, licking and nibbling your lips until the burning sensation of his cock entering you made you gasp. He looked into your eyes as he went deeper. When he finally was all the way in his eyebrows furrowed and he hid his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the bite mark he had left earlier. For a moment he wasn’t able to speak, panting heavily and shaking, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was feeling.

Fuck…

So tight…

This is so…

I’ve never felt…

…Y/N.

His thoughts were a mess and all that left his mouth as he thrust into you were soft moans. 

“I’m s-so full…” you whispered, lost in the sensation of Yuta stretching you over and over. 

Your voice seemed to bring enough strength to him to use his voice. “Yeah?” he grunted, pulling out until only the tip remained inside and then ramming into you harshly, rolling his eyes back and basking in your moans. “I’ll keep you full, beautiful.”

Your head was swimming. All you could do was nod and moan in response to his hips speeding up. He felt so hard and hot inside of you. You may have said that out loud. And you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed right now.

“D-don’t stop,” you begged him.

He kisses your lips softly before sitting up, holding your hips in his hands. “Wasn’t planning to…” he sighed and slammed back into you, his movements becoming so forceful that the car was shaking, and anyone who saw it from the outside would know what was happening immediately. 

I’m not gonna last… Fuck.

“Yuta, I’m c-close too…so close,” you whispered. “Just a little bit more.”

 Yuta’s fingers dig into the skin of your hips, fucking you as hard and fast as he can. For a minute you feel him deep inside of you you couldn't breathe and then there was something bigger trying to push in and stretch you even more. “Aaah! AH! YUTA!”

“You’re taking it so well, Y/N,” he said firmly although his voice was a bit shaky. “My knot is almost in.”

“It’s even bigger…,” you mumbled nervously. “Maybe it won’t fit.”

Yuta kissed your lips. And one of his hands found your clit. “It will fit. We are mates. Our bodies are meant to fit perfectly.”

He massaged your clit and kissed you, and once he noticed you were not as tense as before, he pushed his knot inside right in time for the endless spurts of cum that came out of his cock, pressing insistently against your most sensitive area and making you feel even fuller. 

“FUCK! OH, FUCK Y/N! Aaahh… shit oh!” he moaned, never stopping his hips movements.

Yuta’s hand still hadn’t left your clit, determined to get one more orgasm out of you. He used his thumb to rub the sensitive nub in fast circles that soon had you trembling.

“Yuta— Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod…ah…AH! Ooooh fuck, fuck, Aah!!” 

Your body trembled, trapped by the werewolf’s skilled hands as he caressed your hair and kissed your face, giving you the sweetest compliments to help you come back to reality.

Somehow, Yuta managed to be back on his back with you laying on top of him. He kissed your forehead and caressed your body.

Both of you fell into a comfortable silence again. When you heard Yuta let out a breathless laugh you were going to ask him what he was thinking about, but you could hear it very well.

When I said ‘fuck the police’…

I didn’t think I would do it literally.

You hit his arm. “Yuta!”

And in a patrol car of all places hahah

His laugh became contagious and soon both of you were laughing out loud. 

When you both calmed down you spoke again.

“When your knot deflates we’ll go back to the city, okay?”

“Mhmm, thank you for coming for me, Y/N…”

“How did you know I would come?”

“I didn’t… but I hoped you would.”

You hummed and caressed his chest.

“What are you thinking about,” He suddenly asked. It was his turn to be curious.

“Just… about everything. This really wasn’t in my plans, but maybe it’s not a bad idea to change my life plan.”

“You don’t have to change anything,” he said. “You want stability, romanticism, domestic life with your partner… I can give you that.”

“Can you?” you asked hopefully, but not wanting to put too much pressure on him.

“Of course. I am economically and emotionally stable, all the dates I’ve planned for us were romantic because I am a romantic myself, and I imagine a domestic life with you in which we both help out in the house or I become your house-husband while you catch the bad guys. Whichever you prefer.”

You giggled “So the werewolf in the leather jacket has a soft spot.”

He snorted. “Shut up! I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Just wait and see, Officer L/N”

[clownakai]

Hi! It's me again! Let's talk about: Shiho's trauma and how Gosho's portrayal of it comes as a pleasant surprise within Detco's rather abysmal landscape of in-depth representation

Very important disclaimer(s): I am not a licensed professional yet, and I am not diagnosed with any kind of trauma-related disorder. I nonetheless hold this topic dearly and wish to gather in one place at least a few of the things that made me truly appreciate the portrayal of Shiho's trauma in a way others haven't. Lastly, this remains of course a personal opinion first and foremost, so keep that in mind if you decide to dive into it!

P.S. - While I always try to start from canon material, we lack a lot of details re: Shiho's backstory. I will generally attempt to hypothesize what could have transpired in the past considering the repercussions we can observe in Shiho's attitude and behaviors, but my own speculations cannot compare to canon actually filling in those blanks (which I highly doubt we'll ever get in the first place).

P.P.S. - this thing got long. Like. Really long. And because of tumblr’s newfound habit of flagging random things as nsfw, I couldn't add any manga screenshots. Get ready for a wall of text, gamers

The Roots of Shiho's Trauma

Trauma is in itself an incredibly complex topic— even the mere fact that a set threshold past which events can begin to be considered traumatic doesn't actually exist on the grounds that individuals tend to react differently to the same stimuli (e.g. I once had to watch my father get the shit beaten out of him by a man twice his size to the point he had to go to the hospital, but neither I nor my dad ended up developing any sort of trauma response afterwards— I'm no warier of strangers than I'd been prior to what happened, and my father is as polite and non-threatening around really tall strangers as ever. This isn't to say that the event itself didn't have an impact on us, of course, but it didn't significantly affect our day-to-day functioning in distressing ways either. I do however know of people who, after experiencing this type of assault, developed an all-consuming agoraphobia— among other trauma-related symptoms—, for example) renders things all the more nuanced from the get-go.

With that said there is of course a point to be made about the kind of trauma Shiho herself has been subjected to. In her case, the very environment she grew up in was traumatic: from a very young age— as soon as her giftedness was identified—, she's been pressured to excel, and while studying in the States, although I imagine she hadn't been strictly beholden to furthering the Organization's goals just yet, there must have been BO members or at least affiliates watching her every move.

Later on, she is constantly required to produce results via researching something we can't even be sure she was truly interested in: being a child prodigy and yet leading the research on the "wonder drug" means she was thrust in yet another environment full of adults that likely didn't much appreciate having to listen to a literal teenager, and on top of that her social life was considerably stunted in favor of the job she'd been assigned. At any and all times she'd been under scrutiny, and her own sister was made into an incentive for her to behave herself and stick to her duties. After Rye was outed as a NOC, the situation could only have degenerated— Akemi being most likely compromised meant there was a chance Sherry was as well, which would have translated into stricter regulations and increasingly more controlling behavior from the Organization.

Considering her backstory and how it's presented to us, we also know Shiho didn't have a childhood complete with stable parental figures, and she was separated from her much less useful sister very early on. That too is a kind of instability that deeply affects the developing individual, and if unaddressed it has a high chance of leading to widespread issues later in life.

So, we already have three pretty relevant points to start with: prolonged exposure to stress, perceived (but also very real) threats and instability that spans a decade at the very least. But fear not, for we can add more.

While I think this is somewhat of a point of contention within the fandom, I myself believe that there has been some sort of abuse perpetrated towards Shiho from within the BO's ranks. Her panic reaction extends to any and all members, yes, but Gin (and for some reason Vermouth) gets the biggest externalizations of it (let us never forget that he canonically stars in Shiho's nightmares).

Now, regardless of whether we're going to find out what kind of abuse Shiho went through (psychological, physical, sexual), and considering that we most likely never will, the implications on Gin's part abound in the early manga (and one can even posit that a few specific remarks made by Shiho are a direct consequence of her own experiences, expressed through dry humor and snark as a way of feeling more "in control" of the situation). I understand that Gin is literally "guy who will hunt you down and kill you with a smile", but so are basically all the other BO members, and Shiho only ever reacts so strongly to Gin. To me this means she either directly experienced some form of abuse at his hand, or that she projected well over a decade of stress and fear of the Organization onto Gin, thus turning him into a sort of boogeyman— a herald of every horrifying thing the BO is capable of.

Lastly, the impact of Akemi's death should also be taken into consideration, above all in relation to the role Shiho is firmly convinced she herself had in it. Considering how attached Shiho was to Akemi, and how her older sister's continued safety had been the biggest incentive for Shiho to have behaved herself especially in the past few years, her execution (delivered by Gin himself, once again cementing him as a big player in Shiho's trauma) definitely "breaks" her for good.

It's worth noting that the way Shiho breaks leads her to rebel against the system that's been suffocating her all along, but doing so is insanely hard and given the lack of a solid support system to fall back on, it doesn't go far: her actions aren't even that explosive— she announces that she will no longer work on the APTX until someone tells her the truth behind her sister's death— but they nonetheless elicit an extreme reaction from the Organization, thus further confirming its status as a massive threat to Shiho in her mind. Before the BO she is entirely powerless: they decide whether she's useful or not, they decide whether she's worth keeping alive, they decide what she should do, they decide that she's expendable the moment she displays independent wishes.

We have therefore unspecified abuse and grief accentuated by strong feelings of perceived responsibility re: the loss that transpired in addition to our first three big stars in the constellation behind most, if not all, of Shiho's trauma responses.

While frustrating to my perfectionist mind (everything must have a specific cause and if I do not make an effort to clarify or at least imply what it is in my work I perish; it definitely shines through via my poorly restrained desire to compensate for the chunks and details of Shiho's backstory we're missing), the fact that a great deal of what caused Shiho's trauma in the first place is quite nondescript at first glance, almost as if Shiho were trying to convince herself and others that "it's not a big deal" by rarely— if ever— bringing it up (and when she does she recounts the events matter-of-factly, as if she were largely unaffected by them), is something I've found myself appreciating more and more as the story progressed. Not because it truly isn't important, but because it can actually be pieced together through Shiho's every action, time and time again. At long last, a character whose trauma doesn't only make itself known when a specific trigger is at play, but rather pervades every single aspect of the survivor's life whether they're conscious of it or not.

Now, one thing I won't be doing is attempting to put a clinical label on what Shiho is experiencing: this is because her position in the manga is quite complex, and seeing as the plot itself isn't centered around her and her trauma, things aren't necessarily clear-cut. For example, Shiho did indeed get out of a stressful and traumatizing environment, but that doesn't mean she's out of danger for good just yet— if we were to attempt to categorize the symptoms she displays with the goal of making a diagnosis, we just wouldn't be able to do so due to the very much still present stressors and traumatic elements.

Applying a label to Shiho's experiences is also not the point of this post in the first place, and so I decided not to. I wanted to focus on the visible effects of her trauma, and how she's shown to be willing to at least try to break away from the mechanisms and mentality she's developed.

Which is how we get to the next section of this bad boy:

Haibara Ai And Living With Trauma

From the very moment we begin to learn about Sherry's backstory, her words and behaviors indicate a deeply rooted pessimistic outlook on her predicament— and quite possibly life itself. The very name she picked for her new identity specifically includes the Japanese character for 'sorrow', as opposed to that of 'love' suggested by Agasa. Even with said choice being played off as Shiho— now Ai— intentionally trying to unsettle Conan in every way she can, I can't help but read way too much into it and see a young woman who genuinely sees herself in that Kanji. Pain is all she is. Pain is all the world offers. It's inescapable the way a name is, and she made it into a reminder she's going to hear daily from now on.

It's also interesting how Ai brings up time and time again how Conan is the only one who can understand (and therefore help) her, with specific references to their shared predicament: Conan knows about the Organization, ended up shrunk because of the APTX, and has to constantly hide from them by playing the part of a grade schooler. While a freshly shrunk Shiho's options were insanely limited from the start, she still opted to head for Kudou Shinichi's house because in her mind he was the only person who could ever understand her situation by virtue of sharing the same experience.

As the plot slowly moves forward and we get to see more of Ai interacting with the world around her, multiple other things become very clear: an especially pronounced trait of hers is that she struggles to hold on to positive emotions and trains of thought, most notably very early on in the manga. She always finds a sour note even in the happiest of situations, because her thinking patterns cannot break out of that constant negative spiral— she is effectively still trapped, at least mentally.

As an additional example of this, even though she's been away from the traumatic environment for months, Ai cannot stop thinking about it (this can technically be countered by the fact that the danger itself isn't entirely gone. Shiho is safe for the time being, but the danger is always lurking somewhere. The problem is that she sees it everywhere instead, and cannot let go of the notion that she's going to get got if she relaxes even for a moment, which is what actually makes this kind of reaction encroach into unhealthy territory).

There's a also very obvious disconnect between her and her peers (both perceived— the Detective Boys— and real— other teenagers). To Ai, all these people are too naive for this world, and they aren't ready to handle its cruelty. She is quite defeatist in her outlook on life and has difficulties understanding how the people around her can be so optimistic, which in turn makes forming new bonds much harder for everyone involved: by keeping others at arm's length, Ai acts on the fear of having to experience a loss as devastating as her sister's ever again— here we have the avoidant aspect of her trauma reactions.

Speaking of: she also projects Akemi on Ran multiple times in canon, and always in contexts where danger and death are at the very least in the background. She's just like Akemi in that she decides to protect Shiho by putting her own life on the line. She's just like Akemi and like her she's going to die. Ai's reluctance to even introduce herself to Ran, and especially her shark-dolphin metaphor, is in my opinion pretty indicative of yet another tendency that can be found in trauma survivors, and that is the belief that there is something about yourself that is inherently dirty and shameful (traumatic event(s)), that sets you apart from normal, even good people, and it is a gap that can never be filled because you're now irreversibly damaged.

Dipping our toes into a more cliché detail re: the portrayal of trauma in media, let's not forget that Ai has nightmares featuring one of the sources of her trauma (and while Gosho kind of actually uses the Gin one as a "prophetic" dream, Conan does canonically comment on the fact that Ai is a night owl/doesn't sleep nearly enough, and we could interpret that as her being unwilling to fall asleep and risk yet more nightmares).

A considerable portion of Reunion With The Black Organization is dedicated to showing us just how much of an effect a single nightmare about Gin has on Ai. She's even more withdrawn than usual, prone to getting lost in her head (possibly even dissociating), receptive to the tiniest details that inevitably rouse her memory of the nightmare to the point she fails to assess the non-existent risk factor of her current situation and has a panicked outburst towards a very confused Ayumi, who did nothing apart from touching Ai's arm. Her emotional dysregulation in these panels shows us a clear see-saw between numbness, then mounting fear up to her breaking point (startle reaction), then an unfiltered externalization of her anguish that is ultimately played off as a joke so as to avoid further scrutiny from the Detective Boys.

We also get to see Ai's reaction to the mere sight of a black Porsche 356A, Gin's favorite car. The interesting part is that said man isn't even around at the time— this could be anyone's car. But it's still enough to trigger Ai's freeze response and put her on high alert. Later on, in The Four Porsches, we find out that said car doesn't even need to be a specific color for Ai to start spiraling, which is a pretty good example of how something innocuous and only vaguely analogous to past events can be more than enough to remind a survivor of their trauma.

Even with what little we are given, it's also laughably easy to tell how utterly terrified of "going back" or otherwise re-experiencing the effects of the environment she grew up in Ai is, which naturally includes an abject fear of the people that used to be around her. Ai's "sixth sense", although specifically primed to hone in on Organization operatives, feels to me like a magnified version of the hypervigilance that trauma survivors experience.

Surprisingly enough, as that isn't something I see often in media, we even see her considering (and attempting not once but twice) the ultimate escape as an option: killing herself (or letting herself be killed) would definitely solve all of Ai's problems. It'd free her from the constant fear and misery that characterize her every waking hour— and undoubtedly her sleep as well. It'd even rid all the wonderful, untainted people she somehow managed to surround herself with of the most dangerous burden they could have ever found themselves dragging around.

This constant devaluation of her person plays such a big part in selling Shiho's trauma, at least to me. It doesn't come off as edgy or disingenuous because it has solid roots in her past, in the things she's done and what she's been through. Sherry's value lied in her brain, her genius: in a way, even Ai's working on an antidote, producing prototype after prototype at a frankly insane rate for a person who's working alone and with fragmented data to start with, can be traced back to the unhealthy notions that have been drilled into her by the Organization. She actively relives her day-to-day life as Sherry after she's gotten out, and it's fine because it's familiar. She knows how this works much better than she knows how to hold a friendly conversation with a peer: she's back under pressure, but at least she's in control. And this way she can prove that she's good, that she's useful, that she's worth keeping around.

Truly, having reached this point, the question comes naturally: can it get better? The answer? Yes. Yes, it can.

The Ups And Downs Of Recovery, Between Healing And Fighting Back

Let's not kid ourselves: recovery is hardly a straight line. There's no magical fix-all cure that entirely erases someone's trauma and associated triggers in the blink of an eye simply because the current situation requires it, or because “it's been long enough” and other people just want them to get over it already. Trauma doesn't just “go away” because you really need it to. It doesn't stop affecting you, but there are ways to ensure it no longer takes over every moment of your life.

For Shiho, the first step towards recovery consists in acknowledging that 1) she is not alone anymore, and 2) she may be deathly afraid, but letting herself drown in that fear, only ever running away from it, isn't going to make things better.

Still, “fighting back” isn't all about acting like Conan. Ai is hardly expected to hunt down the Organization the way Conan does, and she honestly shouldn't be. Her experiences with the BO largely differ from Conan's, and even without taking that into consideration, different people may react very differently to traumatic events.

Ai's abject fear and general unwillingness to confront the Organization face to face (or investigating it in general) aren't a sign of weakness on her part, nor is it necessarily bad writing on Gosho's end. I am actually elated to see how consistent Ai is in her avoidance of those massive triggers. She rightfully wants to know when they're around, wants updates on their movements, but she loathes the idea of actively interacting or facing off against them even after Sherry's supposed death on the Mystery Train. Everything about the BO is bad news and bearer of bad memories, and she wants those reminders as far away from her as possible— which is an absolutely valid position for her to maintain.

However, in the eventuality that Ai decides to start facing her fears in a healthy, constructive way rather than as a way to get herself killed (which is in fact what eventually happens in canon), starting small is key— and it's to my delight that Gosho made a point of having Ai do just that. It takes her so, so long, but she decides to stop running because she's reached the conclusion that even if she does, she's never going to be truly safe and free (which is, coincidentally, what happens if trauma goes unaddressed); by refusing to go into Witness Protection, she acknowledges her fears but also the fact that she's not alone in facing them, and that she can't ever expect to find peace if she doesn't start doing just that.

Later on, during Black Impact, we see Ai being proactive and helping out in a small way by providing Jodie with the number she needs to call. Albeit tiny, the action doesn't go unnoticed by Conan, who comments on how unlike Ai that was, nor by Jodie, who shoots her a thumbs up. And here's the thing: of all people, Jodie is maybe the one who actually comes the closest to understanding at least some of Shiho's feelings, especially in regards to the abject isolation of having your family ripped away from you all at once (only to immediately find yourself in danger in return) and consequently the Witness Protection Program.

I'm definitely more than a little biased when I say I'm sad that Gosho didn't explore their parallels further, especially when Jodie herself canonically acknowledges their similarities as well as what sets them apart: unlike her, Ai refused to go into Witness Protection, because she's already found more than enough reasons to keep her in one place, and those reasons— those people— give her courage. It's pretty simplified, of course, because this isn't what the manga itself is about, but it is nonetheless a heartwarming moment that showcases how building meaningful relationships anew can literally be life-changing in the face of trauma. Regardless, I immensely appreciate the fact that these scenes exist at all.

Now, is this all there is to Ai’s path to recovery? Of course not. The Organization itself isn't the only thing weighing her down, after all: her grief and feelings of responsibility regarding Akemi's death play a big part in her day-to-day problems as well. To put one of my earlier observations about the visible consequences of Shiho's trauma to good use, let's jump back to The Mystery In The Net, where we see Ran initially remark on how Ai refuses to even look at her when they're near each other; at the tail end of the case, seemingly out of nowhere, Ai surprises the other girl by willingly introducing herself and offering a handshake. It's genuinely touching to see, most notably because we as readers are privy to information Ran doesn't have— she doesn't know how Ai sees her, nor how the little girl sees herself. She has no idea that what makes her a lovely person to interact with is exactly what's causing Ai to keep her distance, but we do, and Ai managing to put aside her fear and shame in order to reach out to someone like Ran is definitely a massive step forward as far as her interpersonal relationships go.

Along with all this progress, however, come many relapses— usually due to a close encounter with a member of the Organization. In these cases, but most importantly in their aftermath, we're shown just how debilitating Ai's trauma responses are. After The Mysterious Passenger, wherein Ai “only” spent her time in freeze mode because of how close she was to an Organization operative and then proceeded to try to stay behind on a bus that was about to explode because she'd convinced herself that only by dying could she do the right thing, we're plunged into a relatively low-stakes case where a small dog disappears. More than anything else, it's Ai's attitude, her words, and the things we find out through the Detective Boys and Agasa that paint the true haunting picture of the day. Ai has retreated into herself, unable to escape the vicious cycle of her negative mindset, and it's a wonder Agasa even managed to get her to step foot outside— all of this from a girl who was teasing the old inventor for catching a cold right before having to go skiing just a few days ago, seemingly completely at ease in her skin and with the world around her.

I'm not going to lie: this is the kind of up and down that only brings me closer to Ai. It is frustrating to see it happen, and that's good! That's exactly right! Because imagine if, instead of just witnessing it, you were the person this is happening to: opening up the tiniest bit, daring to stick your head outside because you think that maybe, just maybe, today is going to be a nice day, only to be sent spiraling right back into fight/flight/freeze mode and having to start the process of loosening up all over again. Rinse and repeat. It's infuriating. It's maddening. It's despair-inducing. Will it ever end?

That's what I love about Shiho, Sherry, Ai. This feels so real in a way I don't see often, and it's the reason why, despite all my gripes with Gosho's writing (particularly that of these last few years), I actually think he's done a pretty damn good job with Ai. Yes, even now that she's “so annoying”. Even now that she snaps and snarks and externalizes her emotions in a way that clearly doesn't appeal to everyone. Because that, too, can be what it looks like when someone starts taking their life back piece by piece: their personality, if carefully repressed in the past, begins to unfurl. And it's not always one-hundred percent pleasant, but honestly? I wouldn't expect it to be, especially not from someone like Shiho, and especially considering that yes, she's beginning to heal, but it's not a monitored process. She isn't actively being helped nor taught about ways to manage her trauma, and it's amazing that she's made so much progress on her own. It's amazing that she wants to live now (most days).

And it's going to get better. It's going to get better, and she's going to be there for it.

[annie-creates]

Almost four hundred years

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x sister reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 900

Note: So I usually don't introduce new characters on a whim but I've been so obsessed I literally jumped out of the shower for this, so I just had to write it right away even when it's not that good. And to my possibly new Marvel/witchy/Agatha fans who haven't seen me before, hi, I hope you like this and please check out my blog for more very demure, very cutesy and most of all very lesbian fanfictions I write.

When you got on the Witch’s road, you didn’t know exactly what you expected to get out of it. You weren’t hungry for power, you were doing alright for yourself and there were seemingly no problems to be fixed or mysteries to be answered in your case. But the thought of belonging somewhere some time again was taunting, almost mocking you. You knew building an actual lasting coven with Agatha by your side was impossible, but still you hoped to have something that at least reminded of home.

As you left today’s trial behind and healed the teen’s wounds, you set up a campfire gathering around, using whatever was available to sit on. In your opinion, the ground covered in leaves was good enough. The kid was resting and Agatha was nowhere to be found, which gave room for an actual friendly conversation with the rest of the witches. One by one they shared stories and funny encounters, keeping the mood up, and you quite enjoyed their quirky company.

“Y/n, what’s your problem with the kid?” Lilia asked suddenly, all of them noticing you weren’t exactly fond of his chirpy personality. “Why are you so cold to him?”

“Nonsense, I’m great with children,” you emphasized, slightly offended.

“Come on now,” Jen forced with an amused smile.

“Well first of all, he’s unhealthily obsessed with Agatha and that in itself is a red flag if you ask me,” you shrugged. “And anyone who likes her this much just doesn’t know her enough.”

“Well for how long have you known her?” Alice reiterated.

“Almost four hundred years,” you admitted with a bit of shyness.

“How come?” asked Teen joining you at the fire without you noticing. “What’s your problem with her anyway. People change, she’s not the same witch she was in Salem.”

“Not this much, no. She killed my mom… my family, my coven, everyone I knew at the time,” even after all this time it was hard admitting everything that happened, partly because you blamed yourself for at least half of it. “And unfortunately, she’s my sister.”

“Wait so you’re… Y/n Harkness?” Alice questioned.

“Yeah,” sometimes that name scared even you yourself. “And believe me there isn’t a day I didn’t wish I was there back then to stop her. But at the same time… she’s my sister, you know? And she wasn’t always bad… she was a good witch, corrupted by her powers too young,” you turned to Teen. “It’s like having an emo kid, you think it’s just a phase and fun and the next day they’re smoking pot and running around at 1 a.m. playing Batman.”

“You think dark magic is just a phase?” Jen laughs.

“Well who hasn’t ever tried a bit of it, right?” you brush it off with a guilty smile.

“Wow you’re acting like I’m the only one wicked here. I clearly remember you set your ex-boyfriend’s car on fire… with him in it,” Agatha snaps back as she joins your circle.

“Hey, that was your idea! And I was only a 100, you led me to it,” at your response she snorts and gets up again to rather get a walk.

With a sigh you get up off the ground to follow her this time, which wasn’t any hard of a task. Your relationship with Agatha was complicated at the very least, but to you, she was still the only family you had left, even if it was her fault. Gently brushing her clearly tired shoulder she refuses to look at you.

“Agatha… I know I haven’t always been the nicest to you, but you’re my family, I love you. And I want you to know I will always stand by your side, even if I don’t agree with you,” after all you would be a little lost in this world without her.

Giving into your comforting words she turns around embracing you in a tight hug. It was hard being mad at you, after all she was the one who always caused the problems in your relationship. No matter how much you wanted to talk sense into her, she was always selfish and short sighted. As she hugged you, she felt herself finally catching the first break in at least the last five years. You could feel all the trauma and exhaustion from the past few days getting just the littlest bit lighter when you shared it together.

“I miss him so much,” she admitted into your shoulder.

“I know. I miss him too,” you assure her, her lost son clearly being a constant on her mind lately.

“I don’t know if I can save him,” Agatha whispered with vulnerability you didn’t see often.

You thought of something comforting to say. „I know you will try everything you can to get him back,” you kissed her cheek lightly.

Holding onto her, you didn’t feel completely lost in the wide world, and you realized no matter how bad she screwed up, you’ll always be her light, just like she was your torch, hurtful when held too close for too long but helpful, warm and comforting at the same time. You didn’t know if there was any chance her son was still somewhere at least a little alive, but you knew that if there was one parent in the world who would move mountains and rivers to find their child, it was Agatha.

[live-laugh-legolas]

I don’t know if you’ve already done a request like this before but I was wondering if you could write for Legolas and Elrond with a reader who is a dragon shifter. The reader is super affectionate and kind of like a cat, hugging them randomly and rubbing their face against them but also fiercely protective of them. The reader can be a little chaotic at times since they’re a rather young shifter (in dragon years they’re basically a teenager). How would they react upon first meeting them and getting to know the reader?

I’ve been resurrected guys. Wasn’t feeling motivated but was going through my inbox and old posts and decided, eh what the hell. Let’s do this one! Probably won’t be great but I feel like putting something out.

Legolas & Elrond x dragonshifter!reader

Legolas:

-He is absolutely fascinated

-We should remember he is also young (by elf standards that is)

-So he matches any rambunctiousness with equal strength

-First meeting he would be super respectful and maybe a little shy

-But once he sees you’re chill he’s all in

-He immediately is coming up with ideas for tricks you two can do

-Will try and “surf” on your back as you fly and shoot his bow

-Despite his impeccable balance; initially this ends with a lot of Legolas getting humbled

-Ok…maybe sometimes you purposely try to throw him off…just maybe

-In terms of being affectionate while in dragon form he loves it

-Likes to pretend you are his pet when you guys go out to mess with people

-Will pull stunts to make it look like he’s “tamed a beast”

-Push him over with the snoot

-He deserves it; and secretly loves it

-Elves may not be the most physically affectionate but I think Legolas would be an exception

-As someone who has met cows; hugging the big heads is so nice. So imagine that even bigger! Incredible

-Will sit kinda wrapped in your tail while reading or snoozing

-Finds you being protective absolutely hilarious but also annoying

-Depending on the situation it’s either “Yeah you better run!” or “dude. I had that handled”

Elrond:

-So I stick with the idea that this guy is like “ok” to literally anything at this point

-Like I’m sorry but he’s just seen too much to really give a shit

-This doesn’t mean he doesn’t think you are incredible

-Yet another child for him to adopt; hopefully this one doesn’t date one of his other kids…

-Anyway

-I think he would try and keep your gift a secret

-He would urge you NOT to go flaunting your scaly side

-He wants to keep you safe

-That being said; he knows you don’t listen; and at this point he’s too tired to bother really trying to stop you

-“no shifting in the house” vibes

-He finds any nuzzling endearing but in moderation; like “ok. That’s enough. Stop. Y/n. I said quit…”

-Allows you to protect him when he knows it’s not truly a danger to you

-Like doesn’t want you in a war but if someone is bothering him he will absolutely use you as an advantage

-“careful. They haven’t eaten yet today”

-Does not wish to fly

-Maybe did it once. Not a fan if not necessary

-Will watch you do tricks and stuff kinda like how parents do when their kid has “something to show them” but they literally do the lamest things

[cumplanecrash]

So not to pathologize the blorbos, but Shen Jiu totally has OCD, yeah?

(I so wanna reblog and come back for style reasons but I also want the whole thought in one place.)

Okay so qijiu reconciliation is on my mind, right? And the thing is, Yue Qingyuan thinks that he made one specific mistake (did not come back for Shen Jiu at the Qiu Estate) that, if he can just make up for it somehow, he can be forgiven and he and Shen Qingqiu can become close again.

But honestly, we know he had a good excuse for not coming back: he was locked in a cave by some of the most powerful cultivators he could be held hostage by at the time, with no hope of overpowering his Shizun, especially with his life being drained by Xuan Su. And you'd have to be a completely petty, heartless bastard not to forgive him knowing that.

The kind of petty, heartless bastard that would take advantage of the Sect Leader's guilty conscience for his own benefit.

And Shen Jiu does not ask for this.

If anything, he's irritated by Yue Qingyuan's favoritism. He also never speaks in his own defense when his crimes, true or false, are brought up. Because Shen Jiu has decided that he's an irredeemable monster, unworthy of defence and too tainted to be allowed to touch the flawless sect leader, and the sooner everyone else sees that, the better off they'll be. (This is a type of OCD.)

You see, once upon a time, he had written off his dear Qi-ge as dead (or dying, or in need of rescue) and mourned him in his heart, because he believed that only death or dismemberment would keep Qi-ge from at least trying to keep such an important promise. But then, when his best-of-a-lot-of-bad-options shifu took him to the Immortal Alliance Conference to raid the inevitable dead bodies and, not so secretly, make some of their own, he saw that same Qi-ge there, and there was no sign of permanent injury visible. He didn't even make any excuses, just apologized for not coming. And Shen Jiu — accepts that "No matter how [Shen Jiu] changed, he was a rat", that "Some people were rotten from birth. Shen Jiu thought of himself in exactly this way — someone vile and poisonous from the start. Because, at that instant, he came to a crystal-clear realization:

That he'd rather have met a Yue Qi who died in some unknown corner, his remains unsightly and forgotten, then a Yue Qingyuan who was elegant and powerful, his prospects and future boundless."

It's a hell of a thing on a young person to wish someone dead, truly and with your whole heart. To do it to a loved one can be especially hard. But the thing is: brains aren't literal. Especially when they're trying to understand emotional pain.

To go all Pop Psychologist on the character who definitely does not have access to therapy for a brief moment, he doesn't want Qi-ge dead anymore than I want to commit a random shootout on the way home from work after a long day. It's dram;, it's poetry, in a sense. I think what that quote literally means is that having Qi-ge betray him to the point of not even attempting to come back for him when he actually did well for himself, hurts just as bad as if he had died. But that's where the OCD comes in, he takes the literal meaning of his thought and condemns himself as the worst kind of human being, or rather "rat", imaginable.

And if he's the worst, what's the difference if he does whatever it takes to fulfill his every whim, as long as he doesn't get caught?

Shen Jiu performs the role of Scum Villain because he's convinced himself that he must be one, for having a dramatic thought in a moment of weakness, and that he can never earn forgiveness for that thought, that it's a thorough and unforgivable betrayal of the young man who dreamed of it being his turn to save Qi-ge, and that's exactly what makes us want to see him grow and change.

Where it often falls flat, is that we think that Shen Jiu needs to forgive Yue Qingyuan, when who he really needs to forgive is Shen Jiu.

[local-lamppost]

Maddie and Caitlyn and Piltover

Probably the most jarring twist of the Act was Maddie and Caitlyn's relationship. It seemed very sudden, until you take a look into the few lines from her in Act 1 and realize they all centered around Caitlyn. That Maddie was the first Piltie to 'dedicate her heart' to Caitlyn with Noxus. Maddie likes Vi because Caitlyn vouched for her and deems her 'one of the good ones' because of Caitlyn.

Let's talk about Maddie: she's an average young Piltie. She's Cait's age, give or take, and feels hurt both by the recent Zaun attacks and Marcus' betrayl. Caitlyn is the first person after all this that is trying to do something to fix the mess. Cait's a Kiramman, an inspiration, a fighter, and kinda sorta pretty. Maddie was starry eyed by Cait and couldn't see any problems with her actions or flaws because of this. When given the option to have Cait lead, she jumps at the chance.

Maddie is something of a trick with her introduction. She doesn't have a personal stake like Vi or Cait, isn't there to look after her new buddy like Loris (until told otherwise he is there just cause he is Vi's old man friend); she believes in combating Jinx. Peacekeeping in Zaun with gas and hextech weapons to go after one person, but oh isn't she so cute? Introduced in a halo of sunlight and being so sweet to Vi?

Maddie is a proud Piltie, who feels betrayed by Marcus and the Undercity, who wants to punish them and rebuild her home in topside. And yes, she feels betrayed by the Undercity, she consider's it a part of Piltover one way or another, and most topsider's are ignorant of why Zaunites are so upset with them. To Maddie, these attacks came out of left field.

What's interesting is that Maddie is anti-Ambessa, or at least pro-Caitlyn. You could see this as her being a moderate. She tells Cait that she can withdraw from Zaun and reestablish the council, but ends that statement by reaffirming Caitlyn as their leader, "The Enforcers, Piltover... I follow you". Cait and her military rule makes Maddie feel safe and proud in her city.

Onto Cait. Yeah, Cait's not necessarily using Maddie, but she is utilizing her. She's learned from her percieved mistakes/weaknesses and is keeping her work and personal life seperate. They have sex and talk about the state of the city, but Cait never talks about her feelings with Maddie as she did with Vi. Cait's an emotional person too. She was always quick to express herself to Vi, to Ekko, to her mother and father, to Jayce; but she is hurt and alone and can contribute both of those facts to her emotions (sans Jayce).

Begs the question of why Cait is sleeping with Maddie? But even that is simply her coping. It's her version of Vi drinking and fighting. It's stress relief and a quick way to at least make someone else happy. Cait also likes touch, so it stands to reason she'd find someone in her isolated state (Vi pushed away, father a living ghost, Jayce and Mel magiced away). Also, if Word of God is anything to go by, it's not out of character for Cait to find a pretty girl to fool around with.

Cait's main focus is still Jinx. Her mind is literally shown overlapping with her's. Maddie a tryst for the off hours, and even that's kept to the minimum as Cait would rather work than get any rest.

I do wish we could've gotten a scene of Cait replaying her interactions with Vi (think season 1 shower scene), but instead we have Maddie to contrast their relationship. Maddie is kind of the 'Piltover Approved' Vi; she's a red headed enforcer who loves her city, her council, the noble houses, and Caitlyn. She's safe and she's someone that Caitlyn doesn't have to put any excess energy into. Which must be gratifying for the surface levels of Cait's issues. Vi forces Cait to act better, to look inward and reflect, to consider other people and not just her own hurt (something season one Cait wouldn't have even needed another's help with).

The little detail of Vi not calling Cait a cupcake until episode 6 is also telling. At first it's likely Vi realizing the seriousness of everything, but it could also be that she disapproves of Cait's actions. Cait doesn't have that sweetness in her, or at least isn't allowing herself to act on it. When Vi does call her cupcake again it's not an endearment as it was by the end of season one, but a call out to what Cait has become.

Going forward, what's next? Vi and Cait aren't back together, but are together. They have to fight the Noxians (which was hinted at by Maddie herself) and help with the Arcane.

I kinda want Jinx to be the one to spell everything out to Cait; to tear her a new one. Jinx kept an eye on Vi during her pit fighter era, saw the drunk, broken mess that her sister became; a sister she is now on tentatively good terms with and will likely be a bit protective of after Isha. Something like, "I saw what happened to Vi after you guys split, she destroyed herself like you destroyed the city. I always thought I would be the one to break her, but you did a bang up job! Two of us have that in common, hurting Vi, but I'm trying now. So what does that say about you? None of this was Vi's fault, all she was trying to do was keep you from acting like me, ya know, deranged and violent? Huh, Vi-olent."

So in Act 3, Cait needs to be the one to get a kick in the ass and have that conversation with Vi. She needs to own up to her mistakes. How she was guilting Vi into the enforcers, how Vi was right about her loosing control and almost shooting a kid, maybe even for using Vi's affection for her against her. Vi will forgive her, she's Vi and has the self worth of a pebble, so long as Cait takes accountability and starts acting on any promises to change-again, why a shovel talk from Jinx could help set their relationship in the right direction.

[deaddovedecadence]

hello ! I hope you’re well I wanted to ask you if are planning to do something about the platonic batfamily ? Thank you for your work, you’re literally my favorite blog 🥰. (sorry if there are spelling mistakes)

Ah thank you for the question i love it so much! What we’re doing today is breaking down each yandere and how they treat you in order

Alfred: very gentle, very caring. He makes you think that he’s on your side only to betray you if you ever try to run away. His loyalty is to the health and well being of the family and if you left it would nasty for all parties involved. He isn’t overly possessive, and is the most likely to let you out and about (so long as you’re with him or another trusted member of the family)

Bruce: At least you were a tool for making up with his son, but he grew to see you as his own child. You’re younger then Dick so he treats you as such, and is very unlikely to let you out of his grip,/let you out of the house because he’s paranoid. He’s the ultimate possessive yandere, wanting to keep you safe in the house at all times. He’s like this with his children too but because they’re fighters/have proven themselves it’s a lot different

Dick: Good luck with this. Dick sees you as someone who deserves childhood, who deserves to be young, so he treats you younger then you actually are. He’s very possessive, and almost doesn’t realize that you’re capable of taking care of yourself and he’s ver y smothering because of that. He’s the type of yandere to be in his own world and not really see. things as they actually are..

Jason: Caretaker to the fucking MAX. He likes. taking care of people and things that he considers his and you are absolutely one of those things to him. He needs to tak3 of things because it makes him feel real, feel. focused again especially when he’s tired of angry. The least likely to ever hurt you but will break you mentally if he has to.

Cass: does not get it, at first. She doesn’t understand why her family wants something that she perceives as helpless as one of them. Cass is all about getting her shit done and you interfere with that. It isn’t until she sees Jason visibly relax around you and stay in the same room as bruce that she understands. You keep things stable which means that you need to stay. She‘ s obsessively, can be cruel and uses physical punishment like forced dancing or sparring to keep you in check if you leave or deny your place in the family.

Tim: Oh good fuck. Tim is pretty close to yandere in canon, he’s terrifying, possessive of what he thinks is his and cruel as hell. with you he’s cruel cold, only to turn gentle when he deems it the right moment. Tim wants to break you because that means that you won’t run away and try to go and be somewhere else (with someone else). Tim is sadiastic and if he and damian are working together it’s best to go and beg jason for sanctuary from them.

Duke: Honeslty you aren’t sure whether he’s like you or like them at first because Duke is so easy doing, listens to your problems so well and makes. you feel like you’r valid for being angry. It’s all true what he says, it’s just that he also is on his family’s side about you and is slowly working his way into your heart in a way that the others can’t because they’ve never been where you (and he) has. Duke is the gentle yandere unless you really manage to make him angry by getting hurt in any way.

Damian: I wish you the best of luck. Damian is the son of thalia and bruce. His ver y nature is to be possessive over anything that he considers his and you are his. You’re his older sibling in a way that Dick is, someone to be trusted, someone to ask questions too, but that does not mean he’ll let you escape. If anything the thought makes him infuriated and he’s likely to blow up. Damian is obsessive, and sadistic, willing to do anything if it means that you’re safe at home with him.

[fishfingersandscarves]

I don't even bother scrolling the ao3 armandaniel tag anymore, I just wait for your glorious art and then read whatever you illustrate...

That being said if you had any recommendations I'd happily take the o' knowledgeable one

ah nonnie i am happy to pull some from my meticulously vetted list

remember to read and mind all the tags

a haunting just for company by valkyrisms

"I know what a breakup looks like," Daniel says. "The better question is, why are you coming to me about it? I'm the one who broke up your little sham." "This is what humans do, don't they?" Armand asks, letting his voice drop. "Crashing on their friends' couches when there's a blip in their romances?" "Except we're not friends. We're actually very much not friends." Daniel shrugs, as if it's all the same to him. "And I can't imagine the great vampire Armand deigning himself to sleep on my fucked-up sofa. That thing's been here since the nineties." "Well," Armand only says. "I saw you have a guest bedroom."

Lie Back and Let Me Unlock You by Thunder_Puss

Independently wealthy man, early 30's, seeks arrangement with young male aged 18-25, not too muscular and no more than 200lbs (anything more would be most unmanageable) to share my apartment and affection with for 1 year until slaughter. All needs up to that point will be met -surpassingly so, I must admit, as I can be rather doting. There will be no need to consider expenses as they will be covered entirely by myself- "-There will be a rigorous interview process consisting of correspondence by email..." Daniel shook his head, laughing. "Of course, buddy. I'm sure I'll have a lot of competition." He raised his whiskey glass to his lips and wet them. "If this sounds like an amenable blah blah... Christ, this guy is verbose. I'll have to bring along a thesaurus to keep up." Daniel Molloy was 24, not too muscular, and no more than 200lbs. He was also steadfast and enterprising -when he could keep his nose clean- and had nothing more interesting to do than chase a story about an independently wealthy man with the screen name Botticelli_Angel who seemed to have the world's most taboo kink. Daniel could play the part, see where the story took him for a while. If shit got too weird, he'd dip. (Spoiler: He doesn’t dip.)

the sin and this mess we're in by ringfinger

He’s sitting on a beach he hates, trading shitty jokes with a centuries-old monster whose body count would put Ed Gein to shame and who is almost certainly also plotting to turn him into a flesh lampshade. “Don’t be dramatic,” Armand says, picking up on that thread, “I do wish you’d stop returning to that.”

how memory makes monsters into myth by blueskiddoo

“I said I’m fine, Alice,” Daniel snaps, and time itself grinds to a halt. Not literally. Ha. The things you have to specify with vampires. Daniel wishes he could laugh, but the sound is stuck somewhere in his throat, along with his heart. Now, of course, his hand chooses to be perfectly still. Why the fuck did he say that? * daniel keeps slipping up and mistaking armand for his ex-wife and the more he looks back on his memories, the less reliable they get. he's pretty sure he married alice molloy, but how do you marry a woman who apparently never existed? armand is armand about it.

chase away my heart and heartache by sahwen

With nowhere to go and an eternity ahead of him, Armand decided to work his way backwards. Or: Armand's Tour de Divorce in six acts.

to stretch the night, to fill it fuller with dreams by typefortydeductions

Armand and Daniel return to Venice to confront some of Armand's oldest demons. Louis comes with them, trailing ghosts of his own.

I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. by cannibalenthusiast

“Did we call each other boyfriend? Surely not. Sounds weird even saying out loud.” “You were my beloved,” Armand says. “My lover. My boy.” “Your human pet. Your mortal fool. I get it,” Daniel says, not neglecting to notice his use of the past tense. “You want to go see a movie?”

such a pretty box (all fancy wrappings, and a bow on top) by snuffreel

“That is a fascinating shade of scarlet. In the dark, now, it almost matches the color of her blood.” Or: Armand, Daniel, and the age-old question of what's really inside a girl.

flash the camera (you're a star) by exastris_scientia

Daniel is starting to think he should put a little more thought into the promises he makes in the heat of the moment. He’d qualified it a little, sure, so technically he doesn’t have to do it. And it’s not like he needs the money, not after Louis and Armand had thrown his that’s my whore number comment back in his face by actually paying him ten million fucking dollars. But a promise is a promise, even if it’s one literally no one would expect him to follow through on. Whatever. He said he would, so he will. It might be fun. So he starts an OnlyFans.

bang it up inside by leavethebes

"Come on," Daniel goads. "Come the fuck on."

she will be your living end by kanxie

Daniel reaches his hand out for Armand to take. They wait a few moments in silence as the world stops moving around them. The animals hush. The air stills. A faint smell of smoky dust drops from the sky and lifts from the ground. Rural Armenia has always been too quiet for Armand, but this is to a level where noise itself seems to atrophy into a cold, nightmare-like state. Armand takes his hand, and the usual dampened sounds of movement are stark in this nothingness. “It's okay to admit you're scared,” says Daniel. His deep and rumbling voice. Armand keens for it in the lamplight.

Armand and Daniel are at home when the bell tolls.

Backroads to Sonoma by burntcrimson

Where the hell have you been, Daniel wonders, and why me? A bloody American summer in the belly of the AIDS crisis.

open eyes and behind your teeth by tisiphones

It wasn't fascinating, the way the boy didn't know whether to lean into the touch or away from it, confused by the comfort and the pain it offered in equal measures. It wasn't. Armand could do the same thing — did do the same thing, whenever Louis deigned to touch him at all — and Louis still thought he was boring. It couldn't be this that had captivated him. But that didn't mean it wasn't fun. --- Armand weighs the pros and cons of dog ownership.

[sleepythegh0st]

Who Each Saiki K Character Would Main in Mario Kart

Because I had so much fun with the PJSK one hehe

Saiki used to use Link because not only was he a relatively normal choice, but also because he thinks he's cool. Now that Link is gone, however, he's decided to use Luigi instead, considering how popular he is among casual players.

Nendo uses Wario. He'll always choose Wario, no matter how many times Kaido complains about him for some reason.

Kaido was one of the many angry Dry Bowser fans. He has since bitterly decided to switch to King Boo, although he's willing to admit there are much worse options.

Teruhashi uses Peach. It's her way of trying to come off as innocent so people will go easy on her, because really, she's very competitive.

Yumehara uses Toadette because she thinks she's cuter than any of the princesses.

Hairo uses Donkey Kong. Big fan of that guy. He also exclusively plays with tilt controls, although he isn't very good.

Toritsuka uses Rosalina. Exclusively on motorcycles. He's been dedicated to her since a very young age. For a brief moment he considered switching to Pauline, however he considers that cheating somehow.

Mera has never played Mario Kart before. Every time her friends have played it with her around it's been at some kind of special event where there was food involved so she was too occupied to play. She's been enlightened on the Cow, and her interest has piqued, although maybe for the wrong reason.

Kuboyasu is the Bowser to Kaido's Dry Bowser. He shares Kaido's rage at the loss, but not to the same extent. He tries to cheer Kaido up by reminding him that they both still get to play as the bad guys.

Saiko used Pink Gold Peach. To him, she was the best of the best because not only is she high class, she is also literally made of gold. He's completely distraught over her being cut from the game and has since settled for Pauline.

Rifuta is, shockingly, completely okay with Teruhashi using Peach. That means Peachette is all to herself! She is the cuter version of Peach after all. Unfortunately, with the character being cut, she has decided to use Baby Peach instead. It won't give her the reactions she wants =[

Aiura already was a Daisy fan before, but after finding out Saiki plans on changing his main to Luigi, she will NOT stop reminding him.

Satou does not, in fact, use Mario. Nobody uses Mario. He uses Yoshi. Another very common character choice nobody would think twice about.

Akechi uses Toad. This irks Saiki for some reason.

Suzumiya has a deep appreciation for Lakitu, as he is what keeps you on course. She can't help but wonder if he floats everywhere because he's clumsy too.

Kusuke used Ludwig before. He has since decided to make the switch to Bowser Jr. Yes, he does main them in Smash, too.

Makoto uses Mario to match Kokomi. She really wishes he wouldn't.

Takahashi uses Waluigi. He's one of those.

[ohholydyke]

Notes on Grief

Capitalism requires endless production, endless movement, endless consumption and endless productivity. If you are not at work, society says, then you ought to be productive on your own projects, conducting your basic survival tasks such as sleeping and eating, or engaging in some form of consumerism (shopping, bars, movies, park tickets, and so many other forms of fun which arrive at a price tag). Places and moments without buying and selling, where you can just exist unproductively—that is, without working to produce a commodity or carrying out basic survival—are few and far in between. Hobby culture dwindles, cities become barred by privatization and unwalkable infrastructure, and scrolling on socials feeds the machine (after all, we are the source of monetization, and our attention is lucrative). We are bombarded with advertisements and products and imperatives for more more more. I crave an escape from this even as I cannot help but be sucked in, and this is by design. You cannot opt out of capitalism’s linear productive, a time of the assembly line, and survive.

I crave stillness. I crave pockets in which I may simply Be. Where I may sit and listen to the wind as it speaks to me.

As I write this, I can hear the cry of mourning doves. Small, brown and white little birds with a distinctive wailing call from which their name arises. Their other common name is turtle doves. Their Navajo name is hasbídí tibágígíí, according to Wikipedia at least. Acknowledging them in the native tongue of one of the peoples to whom this land belongs feels more honoring than English, though I cannot pronounce it properly or parse any deeper meaning. Perhaps that is part of what the doves mourn for, alongside their extinct cousin the passenger pigeon. I wish I knew their name in the languages of the native tribes whose lands I currently stand on as a displaced settler. Then perhaps I could afford them the dignity of being called by their name as it would be recognized here. In Nheengatu, the language of my grandfather and our ancestors that I am desperately trying to relearn, the closest literal translation I know of is xiúsára. Chorador. Crier. Picuí, meanwhile, means dove, so Picuí-xiusára. Crier dove. Speaking in Nheengatu feels like a prayer. Finding it and a workable dictionary feels like a miracle. I would love to find a teacher one day. In another world, it would have been a first language to me. I, too, mourn for what was lost. In this sense, I stand in solidarity with the mourning dove.

Following the way of Saint Francis and the animist in me who recognizes God’s hand in all creation, I turn to the mourning dove for guidance and teaching. Like many of us, their homes are precarious, maintained only through love and dedication. Monogamous and pair-bonded, the mourning doves construct their nests and coordinate nesting shifts so as to split the load of rearing their young, who always emerge in pairs. The mourning doves always maintain multiple intimate ties, always in proximity to each other. They roost communally and breed large families, allowing them to survive in harsher periods of scarcity, hunting or predation. They build community and move together, commuting in and out of the roost collectively, like a commune of friends and family. They are plentiful here. The birds all sing loudly for the storm to come, greeting it as it arrives. I whisper my own greeting to the approaching clouds, and for a moment a shot of lighting on the horizon flashes in response. The mourning dove’s call attracts mates and coordinates the group, it also (like many birds) signals the approaching storm. The Cherokee saw them as harbingers of peaceful rains. The gentle wind seems to confirm this. Peace-bringers.

Grief disrupts assembly line time. It does so practically—bereavement, days off for funerals, depression that locks you away from productivity–but it also does so temporally. Grief keeps us present in the now of absence, acutely feeling what it is to Be without something or someone. Simultaneously, it launches us into the past before that absence, in which connections and emotions are relived and longed for over and over again. We even feel it in our bodies, slumping under mental and physical responses to loss. Acknowledging loss forces you to acknowledge change and the pain which results from it, disrupting the narrative of endless constant upon which capitalism stakes its claim to ceaseless production, growth and profit. If things can change, then the system is not inevitable or eternal. If they are not endless, we must reconsider a philosophy of growth for the mere sake of growth. If we grieve, we start to wonder what life will be like in the absence of what we took for granted. To capitalism, this means danger.

Perhaps that is why so many Americans have forgotten how to grieve. After a few days, people are expected to get over it and get back to work. Depending on the loss, there is a limited period before people’s sympathy ends. We are expected to grieve as quickly, quietly and individually as possible, and to never return to that space after. As if acceptance signifies placing grief on a shelf to be forgotten and gather dust (the five stage model itself inaccurately suggests that grief possesses linearity, in reality the stages are not always sequential, can repeat, occur out of order, vary in duration and do not encompass the whole range of grief).

What would it mean to refuse such barriers—to become Xiúsára, criers, mourners—not as a momentary experience but as a way of Being? To find ourselves in the shifting past and present now of absence, to cede linearity to mourning and reckon with change, with lack, with what was, is not, and could yet be? What if, like the mourning dove, we took up our cries regularly in search of connection, kinship, and community? What if through our cries we herald the peaceful rains, which may nourish us and our environment and wash away the filth of our systems of endless extraction? To find identity and care in mourning and, in doing so, access a different time and a different place in which we may finally sing and be still.

I stay out until the storm draws too close for comfort, then return inside. As soon as I close the door I am separated from the wind and the bird cries. I feel their absence immediately. Rather than move on, I sit with this absence and allow myself to grieve the separation between us and nature created by capitalist colonialism, just as I grieve for my people’s tongue and community. I think I will sit here a while longer, alongside the mourning dove, until I am forced to return inside, back to the temporality of the assembly line. Join me, if you wish. There is love and community here as we wait for the peaceful rains.

[justabeatingheart]

I SAID I LOVE YOU FIRST ( sentence starters from the album by selena gomez and benny blanco )

YOUNGER AND HOTTER THAN ME

"I used to feel like an angel."

"Now I'm a dog on your leash."

"Wish I never loved you."

"We're not getting any younger, but your girlfriends seem to."

"Is it all in my head?"

"Should have moved on instead."

"Was I someone else?"

"Now you are someone else."

CALL ME WHEN YOU BREAK UP

"Call me when you break up."

"I wanna be the first one on your mind when you wake up."

"I miss the way we'd stay up."

"Maybe for a time I could have the space they take up."

"When you're feelin' down, I can show you what you're made of."

"I'll make it worth it."

"I'm battlin' the lack of us."

"Look, I'm emotionally bankrupt."

"We're so meant for each other."

"God, when will you wake up?"

"I'd like to be there when that day comes."

"You know I'm always here, so don't ever be a stranger."

OJOS TRISTES

"You probably feel worse than me."

"It's not your fault I have to leave."

"Please don't you look that way, baby."

"You know I don't wanna say goodbye."

"Just hold me for one last time."

DON'T WANNY CRY

"I should cause a scene for shit you've done to me."

"The saddest part is we both know that I would never leave."

"I'm just another hand you hold."

"I don't wanna cry now."

"There's nothing to say, it's not gonna change."

"Maybe I'm the one to blame."

"I know I said I'd forgive you once."

"It's been a hundred times, and I still crawl back for more."

"Now I found another hand to hold."

SUNSET BLVD

"I don't care who knows it."

"Love me 'til I die."

COWBOY

"Kiss me like we're meant for each other."

"Say you'll never leave."

"Put your hands on me."

BLUEST FLAME

"I just wanna go insane."

"Never get you out of my brain."

"You know how it feels."

"It's you and me and it's real."

"I don't know if I can take this."

"You're all I want."

HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE FORGOTTEN

"You walked in, big-ass grin."

"Talkin' like we're friends, what were you thinkin'?"

"He loves me, I love him."

"You're so embarrassin'."

"How does it feel to be forgotten?"

"I hope one day you heal."

"I know it must be difficult."

"I know it isn't what you thought."

DO YOU WANNA BE PERFECT

"Actually, just be exactly who you are."

"There's literally no one like you."

YOU SAID YOU WERE SORRY

"I wouldn't leave him even if you paid me."

"I had a dream you said you were sorry."

"I had a dream, that's all it was, that was enough for me."

"Oh, this is love, now I get why people like it."

I CAN'T GET ENOUGH

"No one's gotta know, we can keep it lowkey."

"I'll be fine alone, as long as you're with me."

DON'T TAKE IT PERSONALLY

"I know the two of you used to talk like every day."

"Ever since I came around, it hasn't been the same."

"You probably got a dart board with my face right in the middle."

"Please don't take it personally."

"Some things are just meant to be."

"I know you're gonna find somebody perfect."

"You're so beautiful, it's still hard for me to swallow."

SCARED OF LOVING YOU

"If I broke your heart, would you take me back?"

"When I was young, I would love too fast."

"I'm not scared of lovin' you, I'm just scared of losin' you."

"I'm not scared of anyone or dying young."

"How could they love you as much as I do?"

"If I lose my shit, promise not to laugh."

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

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៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ‘better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

[harryshousekey]

Target {H.S.}

This is on wattpad (harryshousekey,) but sharing another spicy chapter that the groupchat was scared of :)

THIS IS SMUT. - Harry x OFC // From Harry's POV

Whatever Harry era you want (it's BTA harry in the book)

Vienna is a small blonde with brown eyes :)

He was literally hired to kill her. If you happen to read this psychological warfare of a book i'm writing, leave me a comment over there and we might have to kiss.

Word Count: 3,207

Vienna Pierce

While I have no idea what Harry is saying to the man at the bar, I feel absolutely terrified. He’s got his glass in his hand, fingers gripping tightly. My skin is crawling with anticipation, and I can’t wait to sit back down. Listening to Kaydie say perverted things to Niall sounds about four hundred times better than watching Harry inch on the line of killing a man.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, making me spin my head around. Just a young couple, trying to get past me into the club. I step to the side and turn back around–oh. Harry has either used the glass or his fist to punch the man in the crotch. Yeah, he might kill me tonight. I see him speak to him once more before casually walking away, leaving the man folded over in pain. Sorry, Jack.

Harry is quickly approaching me, eyes dark and my wallet in hand. I had left it sitting between him and Kaydie when I went to find drinks. I really wish I’d stayed on that couch now, even if I’m sure it’s got more blood and bodily fluids on it than a public toilet. Beats the anxiety I feel churning in my stomach as Harry gets closer.

His feet finally meet mine, and he quickly grabs my wrist, and drags me out of the loud club. The humid night air feels like a drink of ice-cold water compared to the sweaty feeling of the club. There’s enough body heat in that building melt the Arctic. We shove our way past the bouncer, the crowds of people smoking, and a drunken bachelorette party before finally reaching the sidewalk. 

Harry’s hand still has a tight grip on my wrist, my fingers attempting to pry it off. His heavy rings are hurting my new nails, and his grip is no match for me, even with how angry I am. Adrenaline can’t beat crazy. Nothing beats crazy.

Despite my obvious defeat, I keep working at my wrist, trying to use my left hand to pull him off. His eyes watch in amusement as I continue to struggle, knowing I’ll never win this one. Eventually I give up, and he calls a cab.

Harry doesn’t say a single word on the way back. He doesn’t have to. His grip on my wrist says everything he’s holding back. Every hard step he takes, every clench of his jaw, and the way his nostrils flare each time I even shift beside him—it all tells me just how pissed he is.

The entire car ride is suffocating. I try to press myself against the door, wanting as much distance as possible, but it doesn’t help. His silence is worse than shouting. At least shouting would give me something to fight back against. This? This is something else. It’s calculated, seething, controlled in a way that makes my stomach churn.

I think about the poor man who decided to speak to me, just drinking with a girl at a bar before he got assaulted. Harry seems punchable right now, not even facing me. He put his seatbelt on, though. I can appreciate that.

When we finally pull up to the house, I barely wait for the car to stop before I yank the door open and step out. My heels click against the pavement, but before I can get too far, Harry is behind me. His fingers wrap around my upper arm this time, and he all but hauls me inside.

The door slams shut. I spin around, ready for whatever comes next, but he just stands there, staring at me. His eyes look void of any compassion or empathy I mistakenly saw. He looks like the man in the woods again. But at the same time, I know he couldn’t have cared less about a man hitting on me if he truly felt that way. He’s so paradoxically emotionless, it makes my head spin and my stomach spin.

“Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna keep acting like a fucking caveman?” I fidget with the hem of my dress, voice wavering slightly. As pissed as I am, I know he’s more pissed. The difference is he has no qualms about shooting me. His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t answer.

“Oh, right. You’re too angry to speak. Too busy deciding whether I deserve a lecture or a bullet, yeah?” I throw my hands up, even though he’s not looking at me. “Just get it over with, Harry.” The last sentence comes out as more of a plea for mercy, really. I can’t take much more.

His silence snaps like a wire pulled too tight. He spins quickly on his feet, fists clenched tightly as he turns around. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He throws his own arms up in the air for emphasis now, startling me.

Discreetly taking a step back, I roll my eyes. “Here we go—”

“No.” His voice is sharp enough to cut through my skin. He steps forward, and for the first time tonight, I actually second-guess pushing him. “You don’t get to roll your eyes like a brat and brush this off. You walked straight into that club dressed like—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to me. He uses his hands to gesture up and down my body. “Like you had no fucking clue what could happen to you.”

My face burns. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He steps closer, lowering his voice to something more lethal. “You put yourself in danger. Again. And for what? To have a good fucking time? To see how far you could push it before someone decided to take advantage of you?”

I shove his chest, and he barely moves. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“You’re not my fucking keeper, Harry.” I remind him harshly, and even I’m not sure how true that statement is. His lip curls, and he lets out a harsh laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Really? Because I’m the one dragging you out of clubs before some asshole gets the wrong idea about a girl dressed like a–”

The words hit me like a slap. My breath catches in my throat, and for a second, I can’t do anything but stare at him. I know the word that comes next. The word I’ve been stabbed with countless times. Gun on my thigh, I’m tempted in a sinister way. The room feels too quiet, like even the house knows he crossed a line.

I swallow, forcing down the sting in my chest. “Fuck you, Harry. You don’t get to decide who I am. And what the fuck are you so pissed about?” I dare to take another step foward, cocking my head to the side. “The fact that maybe a man doesn’t want to kill me? That maybe it’s possible for someone to find me attractive? You’re honestly and genuinely a psycho, Harry. In every form of the fucking word.” Hate spews from my mouth before I can stop it, and Harry takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair.

He opens his eyes after calming down. “No, Vienna. You wanna know what I’m so worried about? Why I’m such a fucking psycho about that guy?” His voice is deeper than usual, his drawl heavy in a way it only gets when he’s pissed. I cock an eyebrow and tap my foot impatiently, waiting on an answer. “It’s because that man, if you can even call him that, was drinking water.”

My eyebrows furrow at his words, still not understanding. “What the fuck do you even–” he cuts me off, taking a step back so we’re both now inside the kitchen island, surrounded by clean granite. “Water, sweetheart. He was going to get you drunk and stay sober.” My eyes widened in realization, horror washing over me as images flashed through my mind–another universe where I’d stayed at the bar.

“So that’s why I’m so psycho, if you really wonder.” He turns us around, trapping me in on the intersection of the counters. He smiles too calmly, and opens his mouth to speak one last time. “Do you think I’m that crazy, sweetheart? Or are you too arrogant?” He phrases it like a question, but gives me my answer. It burns in the back of my throat. His words smell like whiskey, and the whole thing is just too much. My senses are in overdrive now.

He taps his fingers on the cool countertop beside us, expectantly. He’s waiting on my answer. I feel my mind whirl, and I already know. I just nod slowly.

I don’t move. I can’t.

The weight of Harry’s words, the way they slither through the air and coil around my throat, keeps me frozen against the cool granite. My heart pounds so loudly that I can barely hear myself breathe. My entire body is waiting, caught in a limbo between fight and flight, but there’s no real decision to make. Not when he looks at me like that. Not when I realize—I like it.

I like the way he scares me.

It hits me all at once, like a crash I saw coming but refused to brace for. The tension between us has always been sharp, but now, it cuts deeper. My skin prickles under his stare, the air between us thick with something I don’t want to name. Fear should make me want to run. It should make me push him away, scream at him, do anything but let this moment stretch out the way it does. And yet…

Harry takes his time, tapping his fingers against the counter beside me. His rings click against the stone, steady, measured, like a countdown to something inevitable. His other hand stays exactly where it is—his palm heavy against my thigh, right where the gun rests. He hasn’t moved it since he trapped me here. It’s a silent reminder, a warning, a promise. My skin burns beneath his touch.

He tilts his head, studying me like he’s waiting for something. A reaction. An answer. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Do I tell him that I finally understand? That the fear he puts in me doesn’t push me away—it draws me in? That I can’t tell where the fear stops and the desire starts? I swallow hard, my throat dry.

“Say it,” he murmurs.

I blink up at him. “Say what?”

His grip tightens on my thigh, fingers pressing into the sensitive flesh. The gun doesn’t move, just sits there, a cold contrast to the heat between us. “Say you know I’m right.”

I don’t need to ask what he means. We both know. My lips part, but no words come out.

Instead, I do something reckless.

I lift my hands and slide them up his chest, slow enough to feel every ridge of muscle beneath his shirt. He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t move at all. Just watches me, his expression unreadable. My fingers trail up to his jaw, my nails barely grazing his skin, and I feel the sharp inhale he takes.

The air shifts.

Then, before I can think better of it, I push forward and kiss him.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a collision of heat and frustration, of defiance and surrender all at once. I half-expect him to shove me away, to tell me this is another one of my bad decisions. But instead, he grips my waist and lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, never once removing the gun from my leg.

I gasp against his lips, but he doesn’t give me space to think, to second-guess. His hands move like they own me, fingers digging into my thighs as he spreads them apart, pulling me flush against him. My dress rides up, and the gun presses firmer against my skin, reminding me exactly who I’m dealing with. Exactly what he’s capable of.

And I love it.

I break the kiss just enough to look up at him, my breath uneven. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly parted, and for a moment, neither of us speak.

Then he smirks, dragging his fingers along the edge of my dress. “That’s what I thought.”

I should hate him. I should slap him, scream at him, do something other than pull him back in.

But I don’t.

I kiss him again, harder this time, and let myself fall. His fingers drum against the countertop beside me, each tap digging into my skin like a warning, a countdown. I can’t breathe. Or maybe I’m breathing too much, too fast. My lungs burn, and my stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with him.

Harry fucking Styles.

He’s watching me, head tilted just slightly, amusement flickering across his face like he already knows the answer I don’t want to give him. His smile is the cruelest thing about him, carved sharp enough to cut. I hate that he sees right through me, right into the part of me I don’t want to acknowledge.

My body betrays me before my mind can catch up. I nod, slow and hesitant, but he doesn’t miss it. Of course he doesn’t.

His eyes darken, his smirk widening. “That’s what I thought.”

Before I can respond, before I can even process, he moves. His hands grip my thighs, rings biting into my skin as he lifts me onto the counter. My breath stutters. The cold granite sends a shiver up my spine, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his body, the way he doesn’t pull away.

The gun never leaves my leg. The barrel is cold through the fabric of my dress, a silent reminder of what he is, of what he’s capable of. Of what he’s already done. My heart pounds, every pulse screaming at me to run, to fight back, to do something—

But I don’t. I sit there, knees bracketing his hips, watching him. Wanting him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is low, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on my thigh. My breath hitches.

“I don’t—”

“Liar.” He leans in, his nose brushing against mine, and my head tilts back instinctively, giving him room. My throat feels too tight, my body too warm. His breath is whiskey-laced sin, and I am drowning in it.

“Harry,” I whisper, but I don’t know if it’s a plea for mercy or for more. He must know, though, because his smirk deepens, his grip tightening just enough to make me gasp.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, his lips ghosting over my jaw, lingering just beneath my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

I should. I know I should. But the words lodge in my throat, suffocating beneath the weight of what I really want. What I can’t admit.

He waits, but we both know I won’t say it. And when his lips finally crash into mine, I don’t pull away.

I pull him closer.

His fingers press against my thigh, the cold bite of metal from the gun a stark contrast to the heat burning under my skin. I should be afraid. Maybe I am. But not in the way I should be.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken things. He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t let me go. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath warm against my jaw.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost amused. “The way I scare you.”

I can’t answer, not with my breath locked in my throat. But he sees it—sees the way my thighs squeeze together, the way my fingers grip the cool granite beneath me. He smiles. It’s not kind.

His hands find the hem of my dress, pushing the fabric up until it’s bunched at my waist. I should stop him. Tell him no. But I don’t. I don’t want to. My head tilts back as his fingers slide against my bare skin, dragging over my thighs, teasing closer and closer to where I need him most.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark eyes drinking me in. “So desperate for a man you claim to hate.”

I shudder as his lips brush against my inner thigh, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me whimper. My hands tangle in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as his mouth moves higher. He groans, the sound vibrating against me as he presses a kiss over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Harry—”

He pulls the material to the side before I can finish, his tongue flicking out to tease me. My hips jerk in response, a strangled gasp slipping from my lips. He holds me still with strong hands, fingers pressing bruises into my thighs as he licks a slow, agonizing stripe over me.

“Fuck,” I choke out, thighs trembling.

He chuckles against me, the vibration shooting straight through me. “That’s it,” he mutters, before his tongue delves deeper, flicking and curling in ways that make me see white.

My head falls back, my breath coming in quick, uneven pants as he devours me like he’s starving. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth, it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. He’s relentless, like he wants to ruin me right here on this counter.

My grip tightens in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against me. The sound sends another wave of heat rolling through me. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. The pressure builds in my stomach, winding tighter and tighter until I’m about to snap.

His fingers dig into my thighs as he sucks hard, and I break. A cry rips from my throat as pleasure crashes over me, my body trembling under his hold. He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m writhing, whimpering, begging him to let me breathe.

When he finally pulls away, his lips glisten, his eyes locked on mine with something dark, something possessive. He drags the back of his hand across his mouth, smirking.

“Still think I’m a psycho, sweetheart?”

I nod desperately, my eyes begging for him to return to what he was doing. My fingers move to try and grab at the countertop, obviously failing. He watches me for a second before dropping to his knees on the hard floor below us, leaving me exposed in the air. My legs are open in the exact direction of the door. I pray to God Niall and Kaydie keep it in their pants long enough to not rush home.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts as Harry continues, giving me no warning before pulling my panties to the side again, metal rings digging cold into my skin. He’s actually going to kill me. I’m going to die. Rather it be from a stroke due to the way he’s furiously lapping at my skin, or from the gun on his side. I’m going to die. And you know what the worst part is?

I’m not even mad about it.